A MEETING OF PORTENT
By Joy Chettle

It was still raining. Daaé sighed as he pulled back the rough sacking that partially covered the small window of the barn. This was the second day that he had been forced to seek shelter here in this godforsaken place when all he wanted was to return home. Thank goodness he'd had the foresight to purchase enough food and wine to last a few days, when he had passed through that small village.

Suddenly, he was racked by a spasm of coughing. This had happened quite a few times in the last twenty four hours, and he supposed it must be a result of getting soaked before he found this barn to shelter in.

Breaking into another fit of coughing, this time more violent than he had experienced before, he groped blindly for his wine bottle. The drink helped to ease his throat and the burning inside him but it did little or nothing for his throbbing head.

'If only I could return home', he thought again, but he knew even in his dazed state that if he travelled far in this inclement weather feeling as he did now, it would be tantamount to committing suicide.

Thinking of home made him realise that for the first time he was glad that his little daughter Christine had been unable to accompany him on this trip. He had really missed having her by his side singing and dancing while he played his violin. Yes they made a good pair and he loved having her with him on these trips to weddings and fairs, but he would not have wanted her to see him in this sorry state. It had really been a blessing in disguise when she had fallen and hurt her leg. Madame Valerius had quite rightly insisted that she should stay at home until her wound was completely healed.

He smiled to himself now as he pictured the pout on her face when told of this decision. He had promised to bring her back a present, and the pretty ribbons were even now wrapped in tissue paper and hidden in a corner of his bag.

"But who will look after you Papa if I am not there?" she had asked, genuinely concerned.

"I think I am old enough to look after myself just this once," he had answered smiling to himself.

'Well I haven't done very well on that score have I?' he thought wryly to himself.

As if in answer to his question he was hit by another spasm, worse than anything he had so far encountered. And his head was spinning as if he was on a merry-go-round. The pain in his head increased and his chest hurt so much that he could hardly catch his breath. He felt so weak that he could do nothing except drop exhausted on to the pile of straw at his feet.. He knew that was where he would have to stay tonight, he certainly did not have the strength to climb the ladder into the loft as he had done last night.

"A good night's sleep and I shall be fine," he managed to say aloud authoritatively, as if by giving himself an order, his body would not dare to disobey.

"I doubt that very much," replied another voice from somewhere above him, but by this time he was to weary to notice, and he drifted into an uneasy feverish sleep, one from which, had he but known it, he would not awaken for another twenty four hours. Maybe not at all if it had not been for the owner of that voice.

*

The stranger climbed down from the loft above Daaé's head, the same loft that the sick man had been unable to reach because of his weakened state. Also seeking shelter he had arrived the night before, just ahead of Daae, and had been able to make himself comfortable on the far side of the loft. Luckily this loft was divided by a wooden partition, so that when his unexpected roommate had appeared he had been completely hidden. And so adept was he at concealing himself (something he had been forced to do all his life) that the old man had thought himself alone.

Like Daaé, he was also a traveller, and also like Daaé he loved music and was a fine musician, but there the similarity ended. He may have been a traveller but he certainly did not look like one. Anyone seeing him could be forgiven for thinking that he was on his way to the theatre of the opera, dressed as he was in a well tailored black dress suit and fine white ruffled shirt. This was finished off by a warm black cloak lined with the finest red silk.

After examining his newly acquired patient who was by now burning with fever, he took off his cloak and used it as a blanket to cover the sick man. He then climbed back up into the loft and descended again almost immediately, carrying his leather travelling bags. As he crossed the floor of the barn, a beam of moonlight revealed by a passing cloud, caught him as it shone through the inadequately covered window. It was gone as quickly as it came, but not before it had revealed some kind of cloth mask covering most of his face.

Now, kneeling down, he sorted through one of his bags until he found what he was looking for.. a small leather pouch. This he pulled out, and taking it to the window he took out from it a small number of phials. Using the small amount of light coming from this window, he selected one of these and nodding to himself, he carefully replaced the rest.

Returning to the old man, the stranger knelt down and, placing one arm gently under Daaé's head, lifted him until he was able to drop a small amount of liquid from the phial between his lips. After covering him again with the cloak there was little else he could do for the moment so he began searching in the straw where Daae had been sitting.

"There must be one here somewhere," he said to himself. "Ha! I thought so!" Then bending down he picked up an empty wine bottle that Daaé had discarded earlier that day. He checked his patient again and satisfied he walked over to the door and opened it just enough to slip through so as not to make a draught on the sick man and went outside.

It had stopped raining at last, and the moon was lighting the woods and fields surrounding the old barn. He seemed to know exactly where he was heading as he slipped through the trees and across the first field like a shadow. At the corner of this field he stooped down and took the bottle from under his cloak. After rinsing it thoroughly he filled it with fresh clear water from the spring hidden there. After quenching his own thirst he returned back the same way as he had come, just as quickly and quietly, hardly disturbing a blade of grass or the fox watching him strangely unafraid.

On entering the barn he went straight over to the other man's belongings and searched through them until he found a clean handkerchief. This he soaked with some of the cool water from the bottle and then laid it across the fevered mans forehead. He then settled down, prepared for a long night.

*

Throughout the night the sick man tossed and turned. At regular intervals his new friend dosed him with the draught from the phial and occasionally given him sips of the fresh water. Suddenly! just before dawn, Daaé sat up and in his delirium began to call for his beloved daughter.

"Christine, Christine, where are you my little one? Come and sing for me....why won't you sing Christine?"

His companion tried to calm him down and replaced the wet cloth, but Daaé only pulled it off and became more and more agitated.

"Where are you my little Princess, are you hurt. Why won't you sing for your Papa?"

He was in such a state that there was only one way to calm him. Softly at first, and then a little louder, he began to sing. It was only an old folk song, the kind a child would sing to it's father, but such beauty was there in that voice and such purity, that even a storm would have been subdued by it. Daaé was no exception. He was immediately calm and in a few minutes fell into a deep restful sleep. After making his charge comfortable, the man took the opportunity to drink a little wine and eat some of the goats' cheese that he had in his bag.

Several more times during the morning Daaé became restless, calling in his delirium for his daughter, but each time he was calmed by the golden voice. Once, around midday, he seemed to stare directly at the singer with a questioning look on his face. Then he smiled to himself and nodded as if everything had become clear and said weakly, "Of course...the Angel of Music," and then fell into a peaceful sleep.

His companion smiled ruefully and said, "I have been called many things my friend, but Angel of Music will do for now." And taking advantage of the quiet, he too settled down and slept.

*

He slept longer than he had meant to and Daaé was the first to wake, the delirium having left him. By now it was starting to get dark again and he could not at first remember where he was and he struggled to sit up and look around. He felt a hand on his arm and a voice beside him said gently, "Take it easy my friend, you have been ill, do not try to do too much all at once. Here, take a little of this cheese and some water, and then try to rest again."

Daaé did as he was told, but while he was resting he tried to think back to what had happened. Who was this stranger? He could not see him very well, just a shape in the shadows, but he sounded well educated when he spoke, and that voice...he had never heard one quite like it...it could charm the birds from the trees. But before he could think any more he drifted off to sleep again.

He awoke a couple of hours later feeling quite well again. ' I have a lot to thank this stranger for, whoever he is', he thought. He sat up and looked around. It was still dark and the only light was coming from the moon shining again through the window where the stranger was standing with his back to him, gazing out into the distance.

"Has it stopped raining yet?" Daaé asked, more as a way of starting a conversation than a need to know about the weather.

The stranger seemed not to hear at first, then he moved carefully away from the window into the shadows as though deliberately trying to avoid the beam of light. He joined his former patient and sat down near to him, though still staying in the shadow.

"Yes," he said answering the question, "It stopped raining last night but you were to ill to notice."

Once more Daaé noted the beauty of his voice. "I must thank you for caring for me Sir. Might I ask the name of my saviour and where he is from?"

His companion hesitated for a moment and then answered. "My name is Erik, but as to where I am from....I was born here in France, but I have travelled around the world since I was a child and have no permanent home. So I suppose you could say that I come from everywhere and yet nowhere."

He was dying to ask more but restrained himself, not wishing to upset his new friend. "Well Erik, wherever you come from, you were certainly here at the right time, and I must thank you once again. I wish I could repay you in some way, but I am a poor man and my violin is the only thing of value that I have, except of course for my precious little daughter whom I love dearly."

"She is a very lucky young lady to have a father who loves her so much. A parent's love is something to hold onto and cherish," he replied wistfully. Then, as if mentally shaking himself, on a lighter note he asked, "Maybe there is a way you can repay me...do you feel well enough to play me something on your violin?"

"It would be an honour Sir, and the very least I can do. Would you be kind enough to pass my instrument to me, I believe it is by the side of you in it's case."

When Erik had done so, Daaé took the violin from it's case, tucked it under his chin and began to play a beautiful French love song. After a while he was surprised to hear Erik singing the words to his song. It wasn't the fact that he was singing that surprised him, but that it was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard. Could this sound be coming from a human throat? It was so ethereal that Daaé was mesmerised for a moment and forgot to play. It really put his playing to shame and he had been told many times how good he was.

"You have the voice of a angel, Erik," he said when they had finished their duet.

"Thank you, that was what you called me when you were ill and I sang to calm you," Erik answered. "You called me the Angel of Music."

"I was right, that describes you perfectly. I will have to tell Christine how I met the Angel of Music, she will be enchanted, she loves my stories - of course, I won't tell her how ill I was, she worries enough about me as it is. She also loves to sing, and one day hopes to be a great and famous singer, though she will never be your equal in that."

"Then I hope she does my friend. You must find her a good teacher when she is old enough, one who will be dedicated to bringing out the true beauty of her voice, and one to whom she would give her soul to please."

A tall order Sir, but I agree entirely," replied the doting father. I hope that when the time comes I will be able to find such a person. But tell me Erik, what are your plans for the future? With a voice like yours surely you must be using it to charm large audiences on the stage?"

"Alas, that is not an option that is open to me," Erik replied mysteriously, and, Daaé thought, a little sadly. But before he could question this remark, Erik went on... "I have no definite plans but I did think I might eventually make my way to Paris. I hear they are planning to build a new Opera House there and as I have more than a passing interest in architecture I should like to see some of the designs that have been submitted."

"Architecture, music, medicine - you are a man of many talents Erik, it's a wonder I haven't seen your name and face all over theatre billboards and news sheets."

Avoiding the last part of this statement, Erik answered, "Thank you, yes I will be very interested to see the development of this new Opera House. Who knows, maybe one day your little Christine will be good enough to sing there."

"Who knows Erik, who knows indeed. Stranger things have happened," Daaé answered stifling a yawn."Forgive me Erik but I am feeling tired again and as I must begin my journey home in the morning, I think I had better get some more rest now."

"Of course my friend, I too must get some rest and be on my way tomorrow now that you are quite well again. Goodnight, and sleep well."

"You too Erik, it will be nice to see you in daylight tomorrow," he said with a smile. With that, both men settled down for the night content with each others company.

*

When Daaé woke the next morning the sun was streaming through the window giving the promise of a fine day. 'Now I will be able to see what my new friend really looks like' he thought to himself. And out loud he said, "Good morning Erik - it's a beautiful day," he called out. "Maybe we could travel part of the journey together if you can stand my company a bit longer." He stood up and stretched his stiff limbs.

There was no answer, and, puzzled, he scanned the room before realising that he was alone. Thinking he must be outside, Daaé popped his head out of the door and said loudly, "Enjoying the sun already Sir, you put me to shame." But the only one to answer him was a blackbird enjoying his breakfast.

Feeling disappointed and a little bewildered he went back inside and for the first time noticed that Erik's things were missing. Bending down to pick up his own things he caught sight of the bottle of water, obviously freshly filled since last night and the rest of the goats cheese wrapped loosely in a cloth. It was than that he noticed the scrap of paper that had been folded and placed under the bottle. Picking it up he realised it was a note, and on opening it, he read:

GOODBYE MY FRIEND, ENJOY YOUR BREAKFAST. I REGRET THAT MUST LEAVE EARLY. MAYBE ONE DAY OUR PATHS WILL CROSS AGAIN. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF AND THAT LITTLE DAUGHTER OF YOURS, PERHAPS I WILL MEET HER ONE DAY, TELL HER TO KEEP PRACTISING HER SINGING.
YOUR FRIEND, ERIK.

Daaé smiled to himself. "Goodbye Erik, Angel of Music - you are a true gentleman. If my Christine should meet someone like you when she grows up I would count her very fortunate indeed...yes very fortunate indeed."

Then he ate his meagre breakfast, picked up his bag and violin case and walked out into the sunlight.

"Yes, it certainly is a beautiful day Erik," he said, and happily headed for home and Christine.