Christine

Christine's diary.
April 11, year 1884.

I never even suspected that there might possibly be children like Anrio...I never thought that a boy, A ten years old boy, could possess my mind and soul with just a few words, few geastures of his hands, few storis told by his magical voice.He was blind , but he saw many things, that I never thought existed.Sometimes it semed to me that his blind eyes saw me through, and I could not hide a single thought from him.When Andre almost forced me to come and talk with Anrio, assuring me, that I will like him, and that he's the most special boy he ever knew, I wasn't sure about anything he told me.After a few weeks that I worked at Dubois's house I found out, that Andre was a very vulnerable and imaginative boy.He often talked about some fairy-tales that Anrio told him and wondered if all those mystical stories were true.Knowing about his uncontrollable fantasy, I was thinking that he just made up Anrio, and if he even,really existed, I was quite sure, that Andre, simply made up his own Anrio, basing him on the original one. But after five minutes of talking with this incredible child, I understood that each word of Anrio was true.Though I was still under some kind of shock of being employed as a servant and I was ery frustrated by this humiliating fact, I've forgotten about all that bothered me, enchanted by the boy's gentle and simple way of speaking.He was so clever, so intelegent and so kind.I never thought that I'll long to talk with a small boy, eight years younger than me...He became my friend and I want to become his.I came to see him each day when I had a free second,to flee out of the house and to take a cab to the Boulogne forest. He doesn't talk much about himself, he likes me to tell him about my life and about places I've been to, though I haven't seen lots of places, and I thought that my life was and remained quite boring, it seemed to me that Anrio was interested in each detail I told him and he listened to me as if I've been telling him the stories of famous pirates or travellers.If talking about such stories, it wasn't me who took the place of story-teller as it often happened in the country place I lived in.I couldn't be even compared with Anrio...he was incredible...just incredible...

April 17, 1884

I often ask him about his family.His answers are short and it uccured to me after a few attempts to find out anything about his father, that this subject is somehow unpleasant for him to talk about, and that he doesn't like me to question him about that aspect of his life.Unfortunately such behaviour makes me even more curious...I wonder what he hides within his heart? He's not a simple child, I know, and I'm really eager to find out what is his father like...He might be handsome and, of course he might be bloody clever and talanted if his child is so unlike other kids at such age...Somebody had to raise such boy...and I wonder if there's someone who taught Anrio all this.All those questions burn within me, and I hardly stop myself from asking Anrio again and again, those endless questions about a man who picks him up in the forest at the same time each day, without walking out of the carriage.I know that curiousity has killed the cat, but I dodn't care much about that unfortunate animal...I dodn't want to care about the sense of that phrase...now, as I write those lines, I think, that perhaps I should... As time passes, I notice that there is someting in Anrio that botheres me...not actually botheres, but makes me think about him in a troubled way.He is so gentle , so joyfull, but yet, sometime, so sad...For the first time I thought that it was because of his blindness, but after a while I understood that the reason lies deeper...somewhere within him, there is a wound that makes him suffer and I can't find out what is the reason of it.I do really care about this boy and he does mean a lot to me...He's like a brother that I never had, or perhaps, that's what I want my son to be like sometime...

April 29, 1884

This day was incredible, as each day I meet Anrio.I noticed that I write something in my diary only on those days when I see him...I suppose that's because only those days are worth writing about.My life is dreadfull...I don't want to be just a servant...and after the thing that happened today, I know what I want to, and I know , also, that, that's impossible...Allright, I'll stop complaining, and countinue describing this day. All began as it always have.Andre and me, set beside Anrio and we started to talk.We talked about the nightingales.Anrio asked me what their songs are like.I was very surprised by the fact that he never heard them.I asked him, to tell me the reason, and he told me that his father doesn't bring him in the forest or out of the house at night-time, when they do usually sing their best songs. It sounded quite simple and reasonable, and still something bothered me in his words...There was something very bitter in them...something that he couldn't hide, even, if he wanted to.I wondered what his secret was and the thought of solving this mistery found it's place in my mind and captured it from inside. So, today, after talking about nightingales, I suggested to sing an old song telling about those birds.It was a very beautifull song, written by ancient ministrelles , telling that the song of the nightingale is the voice of the happiest or perhaps the unhappiest soul who found the true love...and that true love is something that happens only once in a whole life and only to one of the couple.Anrio was quite intrigued by the subject and insisted on hearing me singing. After a short hesitation, I agreed.I sang a song with all my soul, trying to sound the sense and depths of love that is destined to be ununswered and that's why it's true, because it's the love because of love, not because of selfishness or jealousity . I hardly kept myeslf from crying when I sang it and same was with Andre and even with Anrio.His unseeing eyes were full of tears and he wispered when I finished : «" Christine, I never thought that someone besides...besides my father could sing like this...Now I know what the nightingales are like...I would recohnize it's song if I'll hear it."» His words affected me so much.I never heard myself singing with such inspiration.I understood, that music was the only language I can talk with him with same knowlege.I'm not saying that I'm that skillfull and educated in musical theory or in music in general...but the only thing I can say with no hesitation: music is the only language, that I can understand, feel, savour and express my feelings and thoughts on without any difficulty.Finally, after a month of trying, I found a secret path to Anrio's heart.Though he was always friendly and gentle with me , it was obvious, that he didn't let me to become his friend in the full sense of this word.He kept the door to his heart shut for me and I knokced and knocked and knocked, without any success, until this moment, when I sang to him. From the moment, when he pronounced with his wonderfull, clear, voice wich even trembled a bit, that nobody, but his father could sing like that, I understood, that the door was opened to me at last, and though there were hundereds of little dark corners unexplored in his soul, I knew that now I was welcomed as his friend.The only thing that really intrigued me and wich remained uncovered to me, was his father...He told that no one , but his father can sing like that...so I suppose, that his father does sing....I wonder if he's a musician or a person who has some connetcion with art...He had to be that someone who helped Anrio to become the incredible boy he is...

May 4, 1884

I haven't seen Anrio for a rather long time, because I was very busy around the house.It's so tiring to be a servant...Sometimes I'm very close to depression...I'm not the me I was anymore...I'm much more thinner and very pale...I achieved nothing of what I wanted to...I didn't become the singing teacher or a singer...I became a servant....I try to escape those sad thoughts, but my uncontrollable mind brings me back to this subject against my will. Father always wanted me to become a singer, and it was his dream...Not long before his death, he told me that I have to serve music, and that my mission is to sing on stage...I failed you father...I failed you...Thanks, God that you're gone and that you don't see your daughter, who's not worthy you...
My only audience in Andre and Anrio...and...someone who sits in the couch sometimes...and never walks out...I know that this is Anrio's father, but I just didn't dare to ask Anrio about the reason of such...well...conspiration...why couldn't he just come out and sit with us?What is the secret of this small family?I really want to meet his father...May be one day, I'll just hide somewhere, before he'll come and then I will appear and see him at last...Perhaps that's crazy and childish, but I mean this.

May 8, 1884

I'm going to make my plan come true...I kept on watching the couch coming and going away...Still, his father never went out of it.The driver left his place and led Anrio to the couch by hand.I also noticed that the couch comes at the same time each day, so I figured out, in wich time I'll have to go away and hide, to be back in time. My plan was already clear and rather rational.I decided to hide in the bushes just near the place the couch stops (I know that sounds stupid) and wait untill the couch will come, and then, when the driver will lead the boy towards it, I will run quickly and jump into it, saying that I forgot to tell Anrio something...this will give me a chance at least, to see his father...He must be very...unusual. Now I'm sure...I will do so.Tomorrow.