five years he expected to spend studying architecture at the Villa Medici, as a pensionnaire of the French Academy. Neither I nor the professor was prepared to admit to ourselves that castles in the air were the only things Erik would ever be given the opportunity to build. Like two ostriches we buried our heads in the sand and refused to look on the ugliness of reality.
I dared not think of the life which lay ahead of Erik beyond the protection of my door, in a world whose sole purpose would be to mock his grotesque appearance. I dared not begin to anticipate the future.
But I could not deny him his dreams.
Even then I was aware that dreams were all he could ever have.
A few months after he had begun to study architecture with Professor Guizot, Erik asked me for a mirror.
I was taken so completely by surprise that I
did not know what to say to him. My first instinct was to refuse, but since my instincts where he was concerned were usually wrong, I decided to yield to his bizarre request. Fetching a small hand mirror from the drawer in my room where I was careful to keep it hidden, I gave it to him with uneasy reluctance. He never spoke about "the face," but since I was still regularly awakened by a single scream of terror from his room, I assumed the memory still troubled him.
He took the mirror from me with exaggerated care, as though it were a poisonous snake that might bite, and turned it hastily facedown upon the table. He was panting a little, as though he had been running hard, and I sensed such fear in him that I was sorely tempted to snatch the mirror away. But I resisted the urge and waited.
"If I took off the back," he began hesitantly, "Would I still be able to see…
things
?"
"No," I said steadily, "the reverse surface of a mirror reflects no image. You will see nothing at all."
His sigh of relief was painfully and unmistakably audible.
"It has a safe side, then," he muttered to himself. "That's good." He glanced up at me uncertainly. "May I look inside, Mama?"
"If you wish."
I watched him remove the backing from the mirror with dexterous fingers and prize up a loose corner of the tin foil.
"It's only glass underneath!" he cried, in astonishment. "It's only glass and a piece of tin! How could the face get inside?"
I felt cold with misery as he looked up at me. All that brilliance, all that learning, and still the simple truth of this eluded him.
"The face was not inside, Erik, it was outside. A mirror merely reflects an image of any object that is placed in front of it."
"Then how are the images changed into monsters?" he demanded seriously. "Is it magic? Will you show me how it works?"
I felt sobs massing in my throat, and as I took up the mirror and looked into it, I was aware of him straining to see over my shoulder.
"Oh! It's not working!" he exclaimed with disgusted disappointment. "There's nothing there, it must be broken."
I altered the angle of the mirror so that my image swam abruptly into his view and he gave a cry of delight.
"Look!" he shouted in great excitement. "There's two of you! The magic has changed."
"Erik… there is no magic. Whenever anyone looks into a mirror they see a reflection of themselves… nothing else but themselves. A mirror has no power to show a monster unless that monster stands before it."
"But I saw one!" he insisted angrily. "I
saw
one!"
I laid the mirror face downward on the table in front of him.
"Yes," I said gently, "I know what you saw."
I left him alone then and went into the adjoining room to wait for the first scream of understanding; but it did not come. When I looked in, I saw that he was playing with the mirror, holding it carefully at an angle which did not show him his face. Presently I heard him go upstairs and when I went to retrieve the mirror from the table, I found it gone.
He came down to supper, seeming perfectly calm, and asked if he might have the mirror to keep. Surprised and relieved, I agreed to his request without
I dared not think of the life which lay ahead of Erik beyond the protection of my door, in a world whose sole purpose would be to mock his grotesque appearance. I dared not begin to anticipate the future.
But I could not deny him his dreams.
Even then I was aware that dreams were all he could ever have.
A few months after he had begun to study architecture with Professor Guizot, Erik asked me for a mirror.
I was taken so completely by surprise that I
did not know what to say to him. My first instinct was to refuse, but since my instincts where he was concerned were usually wrong, I decided to yield to his bizarre request. Fetching a small hand mirror from the drawer in my room where I was careful to keep it hidden, I gave it to him with uneasy reluctance. He never spoke about "the face," but since I was still regularly awakened by a single scream of terror from his room, I assumed the memory still troubled him.
He took the mirror from me with exaggerated care, as though it were a poisonous snake that might bite, and turned it hastily facedown upon the table. He was panting a little, as though he had been running hard, and I sensed such fear in him that I was sorely tempted to snatch the mirror away. But I resisted the urge and waited.
"If I took off the back," he began hesitantly, "Would I still be able to see…
things
?"
"No," I said steadily, "the reverse surface of a mirror reflects no image. You will see nothing at all."
His sigh of relief was painfully and unmistakably audible.
"It has a safe side, then," he muttered to himself. "That's good." He glanced up at me uncertainly. "May I look inside, Mama?"
"If you wish."
I watched him remove the backing from the mirror with dexterous fingers and prize up a loose corner of the tin foil.
"It's only glass underneath!" he cried, in astonishment. "It's only glass and a piece of tin! How could the face get inside?"
I felt cold with misery as he looked up at me. All that brilliance, all that learning, and still the simple truth of this eluded him.
"The face was not inside, Erik, it was outside. A mirror merely reflects an image of any object that is placed in front of it."
"Then how are the images changed into monsters?" he demanded seriously. "Is it magic? Will you show me how it works?"
I felt sobs massing in my throat, and as I took up the mirror and looked into it, I was aware of him straining to see over my shoulder.
"Oh! It's not working!" he exclaimed with disgusted disappointment. "There's nothing there, it must be broken."
I altered the angle of the mirror so that my image swam abruptly into his view and he gave a cry of delight.
"Look!" he shouted in great excitement. "There's two of you! The magic has changed."
"Erik… there is no magic. Whenever anyone looks into a mirror they see a reflection of themselves… nothing else but themselves. A mirror has no power to show a monster unless that monster stands before it."
"But I saw one!" he insisted angrily. "I
saw
one!"
I laid the mirror face downward on the table in front of him.
"Yes," I said gently, "I know what you saw."
I left him alone then and went into the adjoining room to wait for the first scream of understanding; but it did not come. When I looked in, I saw that he was playing with the mirror, holding it carefully at an angle which did not show him his face. Presently I heard him go upstairs and when I went to retrieve the mirror from the table, I found it gone.
He came down to supper, seeming perfectly calm, and asked if he might have the mirror to keep. Surprised and relieved, I agreed to his request without
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