Act 5, Scene 4

In the middle of the room Roxanne sat, staring at the pages scattered on the floor around her. The floor lamp’s dim light barely shed enough illumination for Roxanne to see the marks on the papers. Curving lines and spots covered the pages, and the longer Roxanne stared at them, the more her vision swam. 

Roxanne shut her eyes for a moment. Briefly she wondered why she'd never smelled Orpheus before. Sighing, she shook her head, as if dispelling such questions. What did it matter? Whatever the answer happened to be, it didn't change her situation. 

Roxanne opened her eyes, but her vision hadn't cleared as she'd hoped. She’d been sitting there for a long time. Orpheus had blocked the passage at the top of the shelf, as she’d suspected, and now he sang somewhere in the dark. Roxanne didn’t know what to do. She wanted to escape, and she’d thought of several plans, but a multitude of ways a plan would fail accompanied each new idea. She eventually had given up plotting escapes for sitting amongst the moldy papers, pretending to study them so Orpheus would leave her alone.

It seemed to work. Orpheus remained in the shadows and didn’t talk to her, but his singing continued throughout the day. Roxanne sensed Orpheus wanted to continue her lessons, but she held no desire to sing, especially in this eerie room.

“Are you all right, Roxanne?” Orpheus asked.

The change from singing to speaking made Roxanne jump. She flicked her head about, searching for Orpheus, and when she didn’t find him, she lowered her head again. It was the first time he’d spoken to her in… hours? A day? Not for the first time, Roxanne wished she had a window to judge the passage of time.

“Perhaps, Roxanne, if we begin your lessons—”

“No,” Roxanne interjected, rising to her paws. Her mind raced to say something, anything that would prolong the lessons. Straining her voice above a whisper, she said, “I want to listen to you sing instead. You have such a beautiful voice.”

“Yet an ugly face.”

The despair in Orpheus’s voice made Roxanne wince. She didn’t want Orpheus growing angrier with her for fear of what he might do. Roxanne’s mind scrambled to find a different subject to discuss, a topic not about beauty of any sort, but she could think of nothing. She pressed her lips tightly together and sat down again.

Her chagrined attitude did not fail to make an impression on Orpheus. Roxanne’s ears pricked toward rustling in a corner, and when Orpheus spoke, he sounded closer to her than before.

“You poor creature,” Orpheus crooned. “I know I am not handsome—indeed, my face strikes fear in everyone—but I never meant to stir similar feelings of dread in you.” A raspy sigh followed. “Alas, I was foolish to think otherwise.”

For whatever reason, Orpheus’s words moved Roxanne toward pity. For the first time, she realized that Orpheus was just another cat, albeit one with a… well, a unique face. After all, was he not still her teacher, the cat who had taught her so much, who had helped her improve her voice beyond imagination?

A spark of bravery flared in Roxanne’s heart. Perhaps, if she said the right words, freedom could be hers. Latching on to the seed of boldness blossoming within her, Roxanne said, “I don’t find you frightening. Really, I don’t.”

“I do not care for patronizing, even from you,” Orpheus growled.

Roxanne shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean to… to patronize you. I don’t care for it myself. I just… I…” Was it permissible to express pity for Orpheus out loud? She thought she had known her teacher, but it seemed that recently everything she said or did made things worse. She decided to finish her sentence as she originally intended, simply to see how Orpheus reacted. Besides, there was nothing else to do. “I just feel sorry for you.”

Silence met Roxanne’s words. She pricked her ears forward, wondering if Orpheus had left or if her words angered him so much that she’d rendered him speechless.

“Pity,” Orpheus meowed. Had that been anger or sorrow in his voice? “No cat has ever pitied me before. It’s strange that you should feel that way toward me.”

“But I do,” Roxanne insisted. She surprised herself when she realized she’d meant her words. “Surely, though, there have been cats who have felt sorrow at your plight. Your mother or father, I’d think—”

A thunderous hiss erupted throughout the room. It burned Roxanne’s ears, and she fell to the floor, swatting at her head in an attempt to stop the pain. It took a few seconds for Roxanne to register that Orpheus had been the source of the hiss.

“No one has ever pitied me, or loved me, or felt any genuine feelings of warmth for me!” Orpheus exclaimed. “My mother reminded me every day that my face had been the reason my father left her. She tried killing me several times, but I proved too strong, too willing to live. I terrified them both, and they despised me!”

Roxanne remained in her crouched position. Tears fell from her eyes. She couldn’t determine if they fell from the pain spreading in her head or from what Orpheus said about his parents. Despite Orpheus ending his tirade, Roxanne kept trembling, waiting for him to say something else, yet terrified he’d yell again.

“I have frightened you once more,” Orpheus murmured. “Now I truly am a treacherous beast, if I have frightened you—if I have hurt you—”

“No, I’m fine,” Roxanne insisted, rising to her paws. Perhaps if she kept talking, Orpheus would remain silent, and she could make him forget his ugliness for a short time. Then she wouldn’t have to be subjected to his sorrowful words or self-admonitions or the terrifying hisses. “I… I never thanked you for the other night, when you sang the songs my father composed for my mother. That night seems so long ago.” Soon, Roxanne found herself babbling, her words rushing out in a torrent. Her words came easier the more she spoke, and she discovered that talking took her mind off her current situation. “You know, I have several siblings, but I don’t know where they are. My brothers went off on a ship destined to cross the ocean—at least, they claimed it was sailing across the ocean—and my sister went off to the country. She always talked about how the stagnant city air smelled disgusting and how we would all fare better in the country. I’m sure my sister and brothers would have loved to hear you sing my father’s songs.” Roxanne paused. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “How did you know about the songs my father created? No one knew about them, only my mother and siblings and me.”

“Ah! That is quite easy to explain. When you first arrived here, you sang those songs every day when you thought you were alone.” Orpheus chuckled. “Those songs are what first alerted me to your presence in the opera house. Those songs have great meaning to me as well, you see.”

A shiver ran along Roxanne’s spine. Those songs—her father’s songs, songs she treasured in her heart—had been what drew Orpheus to her. She shuddered.

Her mind fuzzy from the discovery, unsure of what else to say or what to do, Roxanne blurted, “I told Harry about my parents. He is such a dear friend, always worrying about me and wanting the best for me. Regarding my singing, that is…”

A pale white skull appeared in the gloom. Roxanne drew in a sharp breath, and her fur stood on end upon seeing the skull. She tried composing herself by taking slow breaths, but they made her heart flutter more.

“When you speak of this Harry fellow, your eyes shine,” Orpheus growled. “Tell me, does he capture your attention? Are you smitten with him?”

“No!” Roxanne wailed. She hadn’t intended to sound so defensive. “He’s simply a friend. He’s almost like a brother.” Roxanne wilted under her lie. Harry was nothing close to being a brother to her. Indeed, he meant much more, but she sensed that it would be best if Orpheus didn’t know that.

“Then you won’t have any reservations about becoming my mate.”

Roxanne blinked. Her mind went blank. She knew Orpheus meant for her to stay with him forever, but becoming his mate? That thought had never occurred to her.

Orpheus continued, his voice taking on a sarcastic tone as he spoke: “You will be such a happy little mate, Roxanne. We will perfect your singing, and together, we will sing such sublime notes that any who might hear us will be brought to tears from our voices! What a wondrous life awaits us!”

A future living in the dark cellar made Roxanne want to scream. She wished Harry was with her.

“Enough talking. Now we must sing!” Orpheus declared. He leaped over Roxanne to an old, dusty harp in a corner. His tail trailed over the harp strings, golden notes resounding in the room.

The notes Orpheus played thrummed in Roxanne’s ears. She stifled a sob. Orpheus played more notes while Roxanne padded closer to the harp, her current situation forgotten at the realization that Orpheus could manipulate a human instrument similar to, if not better than, an actual human. She didn’t know any cat capable of playing the instruments humans used to accompany their screechings, yet Orpheus played the harp with a grace Roxanne had not thought possible for a cat. 

“Let us move on from the depressing topic of other, more handsome, cats,” Orpheus declared. He ran his tail over more harp strings. “Come, Roxanne. Sing ‘Ave Maria,’ from Otello!”

Orpheus sang a few notes, drawing Roxanne out of her dismal mood. Orpheus’s glorious voice tugged at Roxanne's heart, and she surprised herself by singing “Ave Maria.” How her heart soared! Whenever she sang, she felt alive; she felt as though she was doing the very thing that she’d been born to do. Singing flowed in her veins like blood; indeed, it was almost as necessary for her life as food or water. It made her forget the last few hours she’d spent with Orpheus.

Orpheus’s voice flowed around Roxanne’s, his notes caressing her own, making her tremble. The sound of both their voices singing together frightened Roxanne, mostly because she couldn’t fathom her voice being accompanied by Orpheus’s glorious one. She thought about his ugliness and how he’d said no cat had pitied or loved him. At that moment she hated herself for thinking him ugly. Certainly, there was no shortage of cats for that task.

So Roxanne sang for as long as Orpheus played the harp and accompanied her. She sang long into the night, although she wasn’t aware of the fact. And as her pity for Orpheus grew, so too did her self-pity, because although she felt sorrow for him, she hated being trapped with him in the room. She wanted freedom.