Chapter 7: Ignorance Is Bliss

Notes: See the In The Dark home page.

Disclaimer: Although this is inspired by the Vampire Chronicles, all characters and situations are MINE. However, if you want to use them for non-commercial purposes, *I* won't sue you, I promise. ;)

Writer Contacts: To contact Wiebke (and especially if you would like to link to this site or any of the stories), email wiebke@juno.com.

I was stunned. Flabbergasted. How could this have happened? Why now? So many questions. I was speechless, my brain caught in a whirlwind. My teacher waited patiently. Finally I felt the happiness bloom in my heart. He loved me. He really, really loved me. He loved me so much he was finally going to do this one thing for me. He really cared. I knew it all along, of course I did, but this was different. He was going to come see me!

I must have thanked him a thousand times that night. Any niggling doubts I'd had about my beloved's peculiarities dissippated that instant. He was perfect, wholly perfect, and there was nothing left to do but prepare for the concert. There were other concerts in the intervening months but if he didn't attend those, it didn't bother me. He would come to the important one. At last, at long last, he would come.

The summer of 1985 was pure bliss. Once I had received Mr. Hoffmann's "vow" so to speak -- I'd seen the ticket myself! -- the joy I felt in life increased a hundred fold. I loved my music more than ever. I loved to talk with him more than ever. The world was bright and beautiful and the future was going to be even better. Franz and I -- yes, I did call him Franz by then, we had dropped the "Mr. Hoffmann" long ago actually -- were going to be together. I knew it. He loved me. I knew.

The date approached. It was mid-October and I we had worked on my performance for weeks. At that point I went down to New York to do some preparations. I made several trips from Boston to New York. Every time I'd come back to Franz and tell him about New York, my hopes and dreams, and I'd thank him for all he'd done. I wasn't nervous; I was happy.

One day, however, something happened which broke this happy pattern. Two days before the concert, I had been in New York for a day and had returned to Boston around 6 p.m. It was already almost dark so once I got home to my apartment, I called Franz to see if I could visit. He didn't answer the phone. I decided he must have gone out. I called again at 8 p.m. He was still out. Finally I called at 9:30. When he answered the phone, I heard something in his voice I had never heard before.

I had asked him if I could come by and visit him. No, he told me, I couldn't come over. Something had come up. He was very upset, he told me. I could tell that was true, as his voice quavered in a way I'd never heard it. Would it help if he talked about it? No, he told me, absolutely not. He needed to be alone. Something terrible had happened. What was it? Something terrible. I asked him again, actually several times, to tell me. He tried not to answer and he lied to me and I could tell. Finally I got him to answer.

Some friends of his had died. A large group of them. He had just found out. I couldn't understand, he told me. He needed to be alone, to grieve, to remember his friends. I would be better off staying away from him and concentrating on the future, specifically on the concert not two days away. And, yes, he would be attending, he confirmed. No matter what, he would be using his ticket. Depend on it, he told me.

As I hung up the phone, I had no doubt that he would keep his promise. I went to bed and went through the next day, doing all the things I needed to do to prepare. That evening I tried to call Franz but he didn't answer the phone. I decided that I would leave him alone and simply expect him at the concert. I didn't have much personal experience in grieving, but was sensitive enough to appreciate its value.

Finally I left for New York on a morning plane. I arrived and settled into the hotel before going to the hall. As the time of the concert drew near, the sense of anticipation built to a fever pitch, and not only because it was such an important concert for me. Franz was going to be there! I kept opening the side door to check the light. Sundown, twilight, then, finally, darkness. Or least as much darkness as Manhattan could afford. The photophobia problem wouldn't be an issue.

My parents were there. "Where is Mr. Hoffmann?" they asked me. They knew all about his "peculiarity" and when I'd told them he'd be coming, they'd been amazed.

But Mr. Hoffmann wasn't there and worse, neither were my flowers. He had been sending me flowers for years. Wouldn't I be getting them on this night of all nights? It would seem not, my mother told me. My father assured me that Mr. Hoffmann was probably going to deliver them in person after the concert. After all, before he had not been able to attend and so of course he had someone else bring the flowers. Tonight would be different.

My father's words helped me to pull myself together. I steadied myself into the right frame of mind, putting to use all that Franz had ever taught me. I packed away all my doubts and personal fears and concentrated only on the music and what I would need to make it right. The world faded away and I was ready. At the appointed time, I glided out onto the stage into the glare of the bright lights. I bowed and took my seat the piano. As the orchestra began to play, I waited for my entry and I looked out into the crowd. Impossible to find Franz' face in such a crowd, but I knew he was there. And there I was. Everything would be perfect.

It was. From the first note to the last, my playing was on a level it never had been. Despite the slight anxiety I had experienced prior to the concert, it was as if I had ascened to a new plane. The happiness at knowing Franz was there was no doubt a factor. I was so happy. It was so perfect. There was a standing ovation. I was called back four times. Someone from the crowd came forward with a bouquet of roses. It wasn't Franz. The roses weren't from Franz. Where was Franz?

The cheers went on but suddenly I was panicking. I scanned through the front section seats. I had seen his ticket with my own eyes. I couldn't remember the seat number, but I knew he'd been close to the front. He wanted to observe me at close range, he'd said. But where was he? I didn't see him. So many suits and pressed shirts and fancy black evening dresses. The piles of hairspray on those tacky 1980s New York socialities. Suddenly it was all hideous, the applause, the people, everything. Where was FRANZ?