A Long Walk to Forever
By Jstarz927
A/N: While battling a bout of writer's block for the next chapter of my phic, I thought I'd give you this ficlet just for fun. It's based off a Kurt Vonnegut short story of the same name.
Disclaimer: I really don't own anything this time. All characters and the plot belong to LeRoux and Vonnegut respectively.
Additional author's note added on 4/16/05 torespond to some reviews and criticisms that I've received. I have said that I take no credit for the characters, plot, dialogue, or anything else that may be related to plot. Plot is purely Vonnegut, the original story which you can find by googling "Long Walk to Forever Vonnegut" and clicking on the fist link on the page. Read it, its great. The only thing, I repeat, the only thing I take credit for is merging the two story worlds and tweaking sentences to make them meld perfectly together.
They had always understood each other. From the first day when he let his voice travel through the mirror in her dressing room to her waiting ears, they had both known that they had begun something special. Even when he had thrust her into the arms of his rival and told them both to go, they knew that their lives had not yet taken separate paths.
Now it is almost a month after; they have not seen each other for the same amount of time and there has been no more talk of love.
His name was Erik. Her name was Christine. In the early afternoon, Erik knocked on the front door of the de Chagny estate.
Christine came to the door. She was carrying a fat, glossy magazine she had been reading. The magazine was devoted entirely to brides. "Erik!" she said. She was surprised to see him.
"Could you come for a walk?" he said. He was a shy person, especially with Christine. He covered his shyness by speaking absently as though what really concerned him were far away—and he always spoke through music, so she instantly assumed that there was more than one meaning to everything he said. This manner of speaking had always been Erik's style, even in matters that concerned him desperately.
"A walk?" said Christine.
"One foot in front of the other," said Erik, "through leaves, over bridges—"
"I had no idea you were out of Paris."
"Just this minute I got out."
"Still not comfortable around people I see."
"And never will be," he said. He had spent the past few days hiding in the labyrinthine tunnels that had once been his home and his beautiful dress suit and cloak were rumpled. His shoes were dusty. He needed a shave. He held out his hand for the magazine.
"Let's see the pretty book," he said.
She gave it to him. "I'm getting married, Erik."
"I know," he said. "Let's go for a walk."
"I'm awfully busy, Erik. The wedding is only a week away."
"If we go for a walk, it will make you rosy. It will make you a rosy bride." He turned the pages of the magazine. "A rosy bride like her—like her—like her," he said, showing her the rosy brides.
Christine turned rosy, thinking about rosy brides.
"That will be my present to Raoul de Chagny," said Erik. "By taking you for a walk, I'll be giving him a rosy bride."
"Will you—will you be around for awhile?"
"That I very much doubt."
"What do you mean by that?"
"At present, I am what you call a fugitive," he was studying a two-page ad for flat silver. "I have finally given the police proper reason to take me in and have not taken the time to cover my flight."
"Oh, Erik! You didn't!" she exclaimed.
"Sure I did," he said, still looking at the magazine.
"Why, Erik?"
"I had to find out what your silver pattern is," he said. He read names of silver patterns from the magazine. "Albemarle? Heather?" he said. "Legend? Rambler Rose?" he looked up, smiled a rare genuine smile. "I plan to give you and your husband a spoon," he said.
"Erik, Erik—tell me really."
"I want to go for a walk," he insisted.
She wrung her hands in childish anguish. "Oh Erik—you're fooling me again."
Erik hummed "Funeral March" and raised his eyebrows.
"What—what did you do?"
"Nobody died," he said quickly.
"But?"
"The managers' office is in rather bad shape right now."
"How long did it take you to get here, Erik?"
He raised his thumb, jerked it in a hitchhike gesture. "Two days," he said.
"Why did you come at all, Erik?"
"Because I love you," he said. "Now can we take a walk?" he said. "One foot in front of the other—through leaves, over bridges—"
They were taking the walk now, were in the woods with a brown-leaf floor. Erik tried to walk casually. He tried not to look around at the trees and leaves with child-like wonder.
Christine was angry and rattled, close to tears. "Erik," she said, "this is absolutely crazy."
"Of course it is. I'm a madman. Everyone says so."
"What a crazy time to tell me you love me," she said. She stopped walking.
"Let's keep walking."
"No. So far, no farther. I shouldn't have come with you at all," she said.
"You did," he said.
"To get you out of the house," she said. "If somebody walked in and heard you talking to me that way, a week before the wedding—"
"What would they think?"
"They'd think I was crazy," she said.
"Why?"
Christine took a deep breath, made a speech. "Let me say I'm deeply honored by this crazy thing you've done," she said. "I can't believe that you would still love me after how I hurt you, but maybe you do. But—"
"I do," said Erik.
"Well, I'm deeply honored," said Christine, "and I'm deeply fond of you as a teacher, Erik, extremely fond—but it's just too late." She took a step away from him. "I haven't got the remotest idea of how to respond."
"Just walk some more. Have a nice time."
They started walking again.
"How did you expect me to react?" she said.
"How would I know what to expect? I've never done anything like this before."
"Did you think I would throw myself into your arms?" she said.
"Maybe," he said.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," she said.
"I'm not disappointed," he said. "I wasn't counting on it. This is very nice, just walking."
Christine stopped again. "You know what happens next, don't you?"
"No."
"We shake hands," she said. "We shake hands and we part as friends. That's what happens next. Or should happen next anyway." She muttered the last few words.
Erik nodded. "All right. Remember me from time to time. Remember how much I love you."
Involuntarily, Christine burst into tears. She turned her back to Erik, looked into the infinite colonnade of woods.
"What does that mean?" said Erik.
"Rage!" said Christine. She clenched her hands. "You have no right—"
"I had to find out," he said.
"If I'd loved you," she said, "I would have let you know before now."
"You would?"
"Yes, angel," she said. She faced him, looked straight at him, her face quite red. "You would have known," she said.
"How?" he said.
"You would have seen it," she said. "Women aren't very clever at hiding it."
Erik looked closely at Christine's face now. To her consternation, she realized that what she had said was true, that a woman couldn't hide love.
Erik was seeing love now.
And he did what he had to. He kissed her.
"You're hell to get along with!" she said when Erik let her go.
"I am?" Erik said.
"You shouldn't have done that."
"You didn't like it?"
"What did you expect," she said, "—wild, abandoned passion?"
"I keep telling you," he said, "I never know what's going to happen next around you."
"We say goodbye."
He frowned slightly. "All right."
She made another speech. "I'm not sorry we kissed. These are better circumstances, and we have been so close...I'll always remember you, Erik and good luck."
"You too."
"Thank you, Erik."
"Death," he said.
"What?"
"Death," he said. "That's what this kiss will cost me."
"I—I'm sorry," she said, "but I didn't ask you to destroy the managers' office."
"I know," he said.
"You certainly don't deserve any hero's reward for doing something as foolish as that," she said.
"Must be nice to be a hero," said Erik. "Is Raoul de Chagny a hero, Christine?"
"He thinks he needs to be. But I don't think he likes it much anymore," said Christine. She noted uneasily that they had begun to walk again. The farewell had been forgotten.
"You really love him?"
"Certainly I love him!" she said hotly. "I wouldn't marry him if I didn't love him!"
"What's good about him?"
"Honestly!" she cried, stopping again. "Do you have any idea how offensive you're being? Many many things are good about Raoul!" she said, "and many many things are probably bad too. But that isn't your business. I love Raoul, and I don't have to argue his merits with you again!"
"Sorry," said Erik.
"Honestly!" said Christine.
Erik kissed her again. He kissed her again because she wanted him to.
They were now in a large orchard.
"How did we get so far from home, Erik?" said Christine.
"One foot in front of the other—through leaves, over bridges," said Erik.
"They add up—the steps," she said.
Bells rang in the tower of the nearby church. Erik smiled bitterly as he remembered the last time he had heard church bells. They had performed an exorcism on him then.
"It's getting late," said Christine. She shook her head in drowsy wonder. "I've got to go back now," she said.
"Say good-bye," said Erik.
"Every time I do," said Christine, "we seem to kiss."
Erik sat down on the close-cropped grass under an apple tree. "Sit down," he said.
"No," she said.
"I won't touch you," he said.
"I don't believe you," she said.
She sat down under another tree, twenty feet away from him. She closed her eyes.
"Dream of Raoul de Chagny," he said.
"What?"
"Dream of your wonderful husband-to-be," he said.
"All right, I will," she said. She closed her eyes tighter, caught glimpses of her husband-to-be.
Erik yawned.
The bees were humming in the trees, and Christine almost fell asleep. When she opened her eyes she saw that Erik really was asleep.
She let him sleep for an hour, and while he slept, she adored him with all her heart.
The shadows of the apple trees grew to the east. The bells in the church tower began to ring again.
"Chick-a-dee-dee-dee," went a chickadee.
Somewhere far away an automobile starter nagged and failed, nagged and failed, fell still.
Christine came out from under her tree, knelt by Erik.
"Erik?"
"Hmmm?" he said. He opened his amber eyes and stared at her sadly.
"Late," she said.
"Hello, Christine," he said.
"Hello, Erik," she said.
"I love you," he said.
"I know," she said.
"Too late," he said.
"Too late," she said.
He stood, stretched groaningly. "A very nice walk."
"I thought so."
"Part company here?"
"Where will you go?"
"Wander around...and around and around."
"Good luck."
"You too," he said. "Marry me, Christine?"
"No," she said.
He smiled, stared at her hard for a moment, then walked away quickly.
Christine watched him grow smaller in the long perspective of shadows and trees, knew that if he stopped and turned now, if he called to her, she would run to him. She would have no choice.
Erik did stop. He did turn. He did call. "Christine," he called.
She ran to him, put her arms around him, could not speak.
FIN