Capítulo 21: Chapter Twenty One
The streets were mostly empty, aside from the occasional old couple walking home in the early night and smaller groups of men and women making their way to a quieter tavern. Raphael could hear Paris' rhythm more vividly tonight. Across the main river which divided Paris, the sound of Fete de Paris radiated down even the furthest of streets; music, laughter, fireworks. But Raphael heard more than that, he heard the steady drip-drip of leaky pipes, the silent drone of insects and the occasional happy call from drunken men at a bar.
As he walked with Maria on his arm, he closed his eyes occasionally, listening out for the noise of radio static and the systematic shutting of windows as mothers put their children to bed for the night. He relied heavily on Maria to guide him while he listened to the pulse of Paris.
"Raphael?"
Raphael opened his eyes and looked to Maria, "I'm sorry, I was somewhere else. Did you say something?"
"Where are we going?" Maria asked, her tone was still saddened.
"I have a few things in mind. Our first stop is Her Majesty's Theatre," Raphael informed with a smile.
Maria cast a quizzical look. "Aren't the theatres busy during Fete de Paris?" she asked.
Raphael nodded, "Usually. Nothing says celebration quite like a classical orchestra."
Maria cracked the smallest of smiles. "How do you plan on getting into such a thing? I don't have any money and theatre tickets are expensive."
"Don't worry about it, I know a guy," Raphael assured.
"You have a guy?"
"I know a lot of people," Raphael explained.
The pair turned onto a livelier street, a dozen or so people were outside 'Cabaret de Paris Her Majesty's Theatre.' It was a larger building which housed some of France's most exquisite music and musicians. Unlike the buildings surrounding it, the theatre was alive with bright light. Staff smoked roll-ups and cheap cigars outside while the music played, having become desensitised to the melodies of classical music to bask in the cool night air and partake in friendly chit-chat. Raphael often envied them, being able to hear the world's greatest, yet simultaneously felt sorry for them as they no longer found any sustained magic in the music. There was one man who stood out to Raphael; a man in all black with a high collar leaning against the wall, the glow of a cigar being the only means to see his otherwise hidden face. He didn't appear to be one of the staff members.
As the pair approached the theatre, Maria gasped at the size and magnificence of the theatre. It was made from clean, cream coloured stone and had dozens of windows allowing light to escape out and passers-by see extravagant gold interiors. In honour of Fete de Paris, the exterior was decorated with blue, red and white flags and any promotional material was printed in the same colours.
Raphael approached a young man dressed in staff blacks and whites, sitting on the ground by his bucket and mop, a small cloud of smoke lingering above his head before disappearing, leaving behind a subtle stench. At the sight of him, the young man smiled and greeted him in a foreign language, standing to embrace Raphael, who replied in kind.
"Oh Raffaello mio amico, è stato troppo lungo," he said joyfully as he pulled out of the embrace.
Raphael barely knew Italian aside from a few choice words, very slowly managing to say, "Le mie scuse, Martinez, ma francese per favore, forse l'inglese se si può."
Martinez gave a hearty chuckle and grabbed Raphael's shoulder happily, "For you, Raphael, I shall try." Martinez was a delightful immigrant Raphael had met several years ago, coming to Paris with his father to experience French life, however, no matter how well he spoke English or French his delightful accent and tanned complexion was something he couldn't, nor wanted, to hide.
Raphael asked Maria for a moment as he put an arm around Martinez for a hushed conversation. "I'm pulling in every favour you owe me, Martinez," he informed.
"What do you need?" the Italian asked.
"Is there any way you can get us into the theatre tonight?" Martinez groaned. Raphael added hastily. "Even if it's just the projection box or behind the lights, please Marty."
Martinez took a long breath of his cigar before answering, "Not all the favours in the world could correlate that, Raphael. I could lose my job if my boss thinks I'm sneaking in unpaid customers."
"I wouldn't get caught," Raphael assured coolly, but quickly added, "And if we are I won't mention your name Marty. I'll even pretend I don't know you."
"Oh, you better not know me if you got caught, not that you're going to. I can't help you," he informed.
"Martinez please," Raphael requested, "I'll spot you some tea, let you borrow my record player or my piano or my art supplies, just help me out here. My friend hasn't had the best night and I'm trying to cheer her up."
Martinez looked over to Maria, silently admitting how beautiful he found her before holding his arms and said with a smirk, "Raphael, da quando hai appuntamento?"
Raphael blushed at the notion of this being a date, "Non è un appuntamento. È una mia amica," Raphael assured, "Please, Marty. I won't ever ask anything of you ever again."
Martinez exhaled a lungful of smoke as he pondered, eventually elbowing Raphael playfully. "Fine, but we're even now, alright?"
Raphael held out a hand to shake, which Martinez firmly shook.
Martinez nodded, "You picked quite a night then, Raphael. The entire Parisian orchestra is in tonight, so exclusive not even unnecessary staff can linger to listen." He approached Maria and introduced himself properly, kissing her hand and explaining to both what was to happen. "You'll have to follow close behind me, anyone asks you arrived late and are in too much haste to answer any questions. I can get you as far as upstairs, but then you're on your own."
*
Martinez kept to his word, having successfully gotten the pair into the theatre with little friction from fellow staff members and even the manager, Martinez peered up the grand staircase and gestured for them to follow. Raphael and Maria took small steps up the stairs, Maria choosing to press her back against the wall while Raphael thanked Martinez, who wished them luck before returning down the stairs and back outside.
Raphael slotted next to Maria, who stood mesmerised by the clean gold decor of the upstairs theatre. Raphael acknowledged the theatre's attempts to look classy but recognised many cheap knock-offs designed to create the illusion of expensive taste. The most distinguished being the countless floral painted vases and artificial roses which decorated every wall, exactly six meters from each other.
The gimmick of gold was just for show, Raphael doubted anything was of real extreme value, as he took Maria's hand and quickly ran down the hallway to the farthest door, using the red rug to muffle his feet.
"…Go down the left to the farthest door on your right when you get to the hallway. Be careful, the boss has a tendency to come out of the door directly across from it to do patrols every twenty or so minutes." Unlike all the other doors which were polished golden caramel, this door was made of sparse wood with evidence it had been kicked in once or twice.
Maria jiggled the doorknob. "It's locked."
"Is it?" Raphael tested it himself. "Can you just keep an eye on that door there for me?" He pointed to the wooden door across from him. Maria obeyed, turning to face it whole folding her arms.
"Maybe we should just leave Raphael. I know you're trying to cheer me up, but I really don't think-"
"And voila!" Raphael opened the door with a long creak.
Maria turned so quickly her hair whipped the side of her face. "Wasn't that locked?"
"No," Raphael fibbed pressing his lock picks against his back, he attempted to distract her with his free arm as he gestured for her to go in.
She offered a smirk and walked through the doorway. As Raphael closed the door, she called over her shoulder, "Nice lock picking."
Raphael laughed as he pocketed them and ensured they hadn't been locked in.
It was dark.
The pair blindly walked up rickety stairs, following a dim light at the top. Raphael could barely see at first. A dim light illuminated the room entirely from the cervices between the wooden planks which made up the floor and the walls. When his eyes adjusted he could see small specks of dust floating around from their disturbance. The room was crowded with boxes stacked to the ceiling and old bits of furniture ranging from proper carpet armchairs to basic wooden stools. Maria ran her hand over the surface of a dead piano, several of its keys were chipped and missing but showed evidence that once it had been loved.
Raphael had only ever been here with someone one other time, with his father, to sneak into an interpretation of some of Charles-Valentin Alkan's, a now-dead Parian pianist, pieces on the piano. It was a captivating evening, being one of the first times Raphael had ever broken the law and it had been for music. Aside from that, on his own, he had been here dozens of times.
Through the wooden walls, the pair could hear a choir of classical instruments, mainly string instruments, playing an intense but fascinating tune. "Come this way," Raphael urged approaching the far wall. The room had initially been used for lighting, as evident by large iron lights laid out on the floor. Raphael grabbed a small handle in the wall and pulled it across, momentarily blinding Maria as she peered out.
From their angle, they could see the stage, every seat, every violin, every clarinet, every music stands and every person. She could see the conductor waving his wand to guide the musicians to the music. She became bold as her whole head poked out of the hole to look down at the audience. Rows of seats were occupied by faceless shadowy figures, likely dressed in their best evening attire and every tenth person possessing indoor binoculars or spy glasses.
Raphael touched her shoulders, encouraging her to come back in. "We don't want anyone to see us," he informed, "I don't want Martinez to get in trouble, and I certainly don't want anyone stealing such a nice spot."
Maria nodded. "It's lovely."
Raphael pushed aside some sheets covering some chairs and took a deep breath to blow away a layer of dust. He gestured to the armchair he had cleared, "Milady."
Maria thanked him and sat down, sinking into the cushions as her skin stuck to the leather. Raphael pulled up a creaky wooden chair and sat before her. The music drifted inside the room, both sitting in silence, closing their eyes to take in the music. Raphael rested heavily on his arms, swayed by the music so angelically he felt sleepy. The classical music was enough to lull them into a severe state of relaxation.
Raphael glanced to the small rectangle of gold light, past the glare he saw the curious artwork on the walls of the theatre; countless babies depicted in clouds. It was a pure looking image he was convinced would've taken several men several days.
The longer he took in the details, the more troubled he suddenly became, as if he was forgetting something, something nagging in the back of his head. He suddenly remembered.
"If you'll excuse me," Raphael said standing, Maria had been in a similarly relaxed daze, jolting awake when he spoke. "I need to use the facilities," he informed pressing a hand to his stomach, "Stay. Enjoy the music. I won't be too long."
Maria nodded as she watched him leave the attic-like room. Glancing at her violin which she had placed by the armchair.
Raphael peeked out of the door to the hallway. Finding it empty, he emerged from the door and closed it. Her Majesty's Theatre was a large building, filled with countless corridors and doorways each leading to one large theatre and potential several smaller ones. Raphael smoothed out his coat and buttoned it as he walked, on the off chance of running into someone he wanted to appear as presentable and wealthy as his mediocre attire would allow him.
He scanned the walls, looking at each artwork hung up, many framed by glossy oak or delicate polished stone. He lingered before some to admire them. Many of the artworks were landscapes of some variety, carefully detailed works depicting beachy sceneries, cliffsides and another outside of Paris environments.
There was one artwork which stuck out to the rest. After walls of scenery and nature, there was a portrait of Queen Elizabeth and her late husband proudly perched on the biggest space provided with the largest most exquisite frame. Having just seen the Queen a mere hour ago, Raphael was impressed by how accurate the portrait was. Granted, the Queen was much older, potentially by a decade, but the artist had captured the same sense of sadness in the Queen's eyes. "You've outdone yourself, father," Raphael breathed running his fingers across the smooth polish.
Raphael admitted it was never a good idea to steal an artwork on a whim, or out of immediate convenience. But taking a quick glance both ways down the hallway, his box cutter emerged from his inside pocket. Being in a rush, Raphael didn't take as much care in slicing the double portrait from its frame as he should have.
Once the frame was bare, Raphael made quick movements to roll up the forgery and awkwardly fit it in the rim of his pants. He trapped half the image down his pants and hid the rest in his waistcoat close to his back.
After taking a few difficult steps, Raphael got used to the discomfort scraping against his back. He now had all the artworks his father had forged. He would replace the portrait tomorrow, perhaps the day after, and perhaps sell off the ones he hadn't destroyed. Advertising them as accurate replicas of course.
He and Anita could finally leave Paris if they pleased, his conscious clear.
Raphael stopped mid-stride and suddenly felt frozen, a chill causing goosebumps and a moment of nausea. He cursed as he looked around for a clock, noting the late hour. He swore under his breath as he took off his hat, having forgotten about Anita still at the palace. He took another look at the clock and sighed, Anita would have left the palace. Raphael pondered perhaps she had the crown with her, didn't need his help.
By midnight, Raphael decided, I'll be home by midnight, Anita.
Raphael hastily walked the rest of the hallway, sneaking back inside the attic before anyone could find him. The music drifted to the bottom of the stairs, even as he walked he appreciated it.
Until he realised it was much louder than before, and not the pieces of music by the same composer. Mixed with the proper classical notes, it sounded improvised.
Raphael emerged from the stairwell to see Maria playing her violin while she danced. She wasn't playing stridently, but she almost mimicked the tone of the orchestra below. Raphael waited to be noticed, taking in the layered music he was hearing.
When Maria turned she stopped, "I didn't hear you come back," she said dropping her violin from her chin, "I found this style of music interesting. I wanted to see if I could perhaps replicate it." She seemed bashful about it as she looked out the rectangle of light, "I don't get a lot of violin music from my small town. We only get folk songs from people who pass through. Something like this is just…" She sighed, lifting her head to the ceiling with a smile.
Raphael nodded, folding his arms and leaning against some of the boxes. "I have one more stop on our little trip."
Maria tilted her head, "Better than this?"
Raphael chortled. "A place that has much better music," he assured, "Besides, we came here a little late. We need to get out of here before the music ends, unfortunately."
Maria looked disappointed but nodded and collected her things. She walked over to the rectangle of light and peered down to the orchestra a final time before dragging the door panel across, sending the room into shadows.
PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
Chickadee1235555
Chickadee1235555 Oh Raffaello mio amico, è stato troppo lungo = Oh my friend Raffaello, it's been too long
Le mie scuse, Martinez, ma francese per favore, forse l'inglese se si può =
My apologies, Martinez, but French please, maybe English if you can
Rafael, da quando hai appuntamento =
Rafael, since you have an appointment
Non è un appuntamento. È una mia amica, =
It is not a date. She is a friend of mine,
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