The carriage wheel was heavy, yet moved smoothly over the cobbles as she rolled it toward the dilapidated cart. The wheel had been repaired that morning by one of her father’s old friends. The work was sturdy enough, but looked horrible. Where the stone had gouged out the wood was still clearly visible. Kira inspected his handiwork, running her fingers over each ripple. A sturdier job could not have been done.
Sliding the wheel onto the rusted hub she scanned the marketplace. He would be out there sometime and Kira would meet up with him. Kira only had the wheel to repair and to have Danté and Rose’s shoes reset. That wouldn’t take long. She had to know this man, this “Quasimodo”. Such a cruel name to give a child. An image of Claude Frollo entered her mind; cruelty incarnate.
Having secured the wheel, she carefully maneuvered the cart back into it’s corner, Rose watching her every move. Rose must have known she’d be pulling it again this afternoon. Father was leaving to visit Andry to pick up flour, wood and some sort of packet from Diane. Kira chuckled. Father was always going to the mill.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Kira” Elsa called from the kitchen.
“Coming” She stumbled over her own feet as the wood she was standing on began to slide out from beneath her.
Elsa pulled her into the small kitchen.
“Would you mind running out to the mill this afternoon?”
“Why?”
“Kira. I don’t want to worry you, but you must go because your father can’t.”
“I don’t understand… why…?”
“Every week your father goes out to the mill for flour and wood. That’s an excuse. The packet from my sister? It’s medicine. For your father.” She nodded.
“What do I have to do?”
“Leave after the noon bells, take the west road, turn left at the big oak tree. From there you’re be able to figure it out.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was Kiras’ afternoon. Throwing a rope onto Rose and Danté, she led them out of the small stable and toward the horseshoer. Clopin stood in his puppet wagon, surrounded by children and a few young women. A typical morning in Paris.
Tying Rose to the post she mentioned to Jehan what father wished to be done. If only her orders would be followed, or rather the orders of her father. The only reason they even considered her words was her father. This was due to her father being friends with most of the locals. Since he sent her due to his health, they must have felt it necessary.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kira patted Danté’s neck and ruffled her red mane. Another horse appeared beside her, white and much taller than Danté. The horse stood as if a statue, in full tack.
“Achilles, stay.”
The man walked to the shoer, leaving his horse untied. The horse did not move.
Kira’s eyes led her back out to the square, scanning the variable crowd for one blue-cloaked figure. The puppet wagon was deserted. Her scan ended at one of the cathedral doors, where the bellringer emerged with Clopin, who wore the blue cloak. Odd.
She stared at the hunchbacked bellringer as he and Clopin walked toward the puppet wagon. Clopin slipped inside, passing the cloak back to the hunchback. He quickly threw it onto himself, exchanged greetings with Clopin and began to walk through the market, a small basket in hand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Only when the shoer took Danté’s reins from her hands did Kira realize she was once again losing her focus. She watched as her little red horse was led to the back of the lean-to. Rose stood further down, dozing.
Her eyes again wandered to the square. There he was. Quasimodo. She smiled at the thought of his name, for she knew what it meant. What was funny was whether or not he himself knew. Kira watched the man, mesmerized. “Who are you, Quasimodo?”
The white horse nickered. The man approached.
“What is it, ‘ol boy. See someone you know?” The white horse nodded his head, the golden-haired man looked into the square. Kira followed his line of vision to the bellringer, whose name she had such trouble saying. The man smiled, he must have known him.
He patted his horse. “Good to see Quasi of that tower of his, isn’t it Achilles”
The man looked at the girl, her horse, then the girl again. His expression was kind, as if he wanted to say something. He was almost laughing, the corners of his mouth fighting to remain straight-faced. Kira stared at him blankly. Was this man a lunatic? He began to speak.
“New to Paris, I see.” Leaning with one arm on his horse, he motioned with his gloved hand toward the square. “Seems that you have yet to meet our Quasi.”
“I’m not that new and yes, I’ve met the bellringer. Well… once. Briefly.” Kira watched the square as she spoke, following the man’s path.
“Then you haven’t really met him. You should.” The man scratched his horse’s back as he spoke, his eyes fixed on my every move. Kira turned to face him.
“Why?”
“I see the way you’re watching him so closely.” The blonde man let the smile emerge, he really wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
At that moment Jehan stepped up and handed Danté’s reins to Kira. The blonde man did not have to put much effort into convincing Kira. She hopped onto Danté, then reached down to untie Rose. The blonde man set the rope into Kira’s hand, smiled then led his horse in to be shod. Quasimodo was beginning to approach the shop. If she hurried, she would be able to meet up with him.
A New Friend
Throwing the horses into the stable quam celerrime, Kira dusted of her skirts. She scrambled around madly for something to make it appear as if she’d been there all morning. Kira reached into her pocket & found one of her carving knives, definitely not; there had to be something other than that. There wasn’t. Kira’s violin was in the loft, and she was not going to touch the flute. For lack of anything else, she seized a broom and began to sweep the dust out of the stable.
As the bellringer came into view, Kira began to sweep closer to the door and gather the dust in a pile. Luckily, the floor was actually quite clean to begin with. He stood only a few feet away when she stopped sweeping. Looking up at him, she realized his face was fully exposed. In a brief instant, her eyes scanned his entire body from his crooked legs to his hunchback and nearly hidden left eye. Such a strange looking man he was.
Leaning the broom against the wall, she smiled at him.
“Kira?”
“Monsieur Bellringer” Kira nodded, still smiling.
“My name is Quasimodo.” The man smiled as he spoke. So he didn’t mind his name.
“And my name is not Kira, its Carmen.” His eyes lit up.
“Sweet song…” The way he said it made her heart palpitate.
“Yes.” Kira nodded.
He traced the lines on his palm with one of his large fingers, watching it’s movement, speaking something under his breath, not meaning her to hear. The corners of Kira’s lips curled into a nervous smile. He knew. Kira watched him as he stood before her. The blonde man was right, she really didn’t know him. Kira could feel him watching her every move intently, as she remained silent. Oh! How she wanted to know him! When or how was the question. Taking a step away from the stable toward him, she nearly tripped on a piece of wood. That was it!
“I’ll be leaving in the cart for the mill soon and could use some company…” His head lifted as she spoke. “Come with me?”
“What?”
“I’m going to the Mill this afternoon and need company. It’s quite far. Will you come along?”
“The bells.” He motioned toward Notre Dame with his large hand. “I… I… I can’t.”
“I will wait for you. Please?”
The bellringer smiled and nodded. Hopefully Elsa wouldn’t mind, of course, there was little she could say. She was not there to say no. As for being in the company of a man? Quasimodo was a member of the church, not exactly dangerous. Kira felt safe with him, and her instincts had yet to lead her astray. Those eyes could not lie. Then again, she really didn’t know what she was getting herself into. Kira only knew what she had heard about him, which wasn’t much.
“Meet me at the bridge as soon as you finish ringing the bells.”
He gave a quick smile and nod, then disappeared in the direction of the cathedral. It was nearly noon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kira sat in the stable listening for the bells, picturing Quasimodo silhouetted by the early morning light, as she had seen last Sunday. She wondered if he knew she was watching him that morning, or even looking for him in the marketplace. If he knew that she scanned the edifice of Notre Dame each morning, hoping to catch a glimpse.
The bells began to toll. He had agreed awfully quick to come with her, a woman he didn’t know to a place he’d probably never been. Then again, maybe he wanted to get out of the city for once and was willing to grab any opportunity that came along. No, it had to be something else; something simpler. Kira thought of the blonde man with the white horse, who referred to him as “our Quasi” only moments before. It couldn’t be, could it?
Discounting the idea, Kira threw a wineskin and some bread under the seat of the cart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Leading Rose in front of the house, Kira looked up to the loft of her narrow home. The window shutters were barely open and she could not see father. As the last peal sounded, Elsa rushed out of the kitchen to send her off. Elsa told her the directions once more and what she was supposed to pick up.
“I’ll be fine, Elsa. Don’t worry. Now I really should go now if I’m to be back for dinner.”
“I suppose you’re right. Here’s some wine if you get thirsty and a basket of rolls. Oh and don’t forget these!” Elsa dropped a bundle of cakes into Kira’s hands. Dear Elsa, as close to being a mother as she could ever be.
As Rose began to trot through the square Kira looked toward Notre Dame’s towers. They were so high, would he be there? She couldn’t wait long.
As she approached the bridge, a blue-clad figure came into view, leaning on the side of the bridge and watching the Seine. Quasimodo. Kira whistled, his attention remained on the water. She stopped the cart directly behind him and he turned around.
“Carmen. I thought we were…”
“Walking? No. It’s pretty far.” Quasimodo looked at the horse and cart nervously. “Rose will get us there and back in lots of time.” He looked skeptical. “She’s been pulling this cart for years, nothing will happen.”
Kira could see Quasimodo’s line of vision meet the wheel.
“It’s safe.” Reaching out, she took his hand into her own and guided him into the cart. As he stepped inside she realized how small her own hand was compared to his, as well as how her calluses slid on his own. Kira watched as he gently made himself comfortable on the wooden seat, adjusting his shirt. One hand on the side of the cart, the other on the edge of the seat, his expression told her he was ready. Hardly containing herself, Kira tapped the reins over Roses’ back. She was safe with him.
The cart bounced along the rutted dirt and stone road,
Rose choosing her footing with care.
There was no need to hurry, the mill was not far off and she had the
rest of the day. Taking a sideways
glance at her companion it became apparent that he was engrossed in his
surroundings. Had he never been out of the city before? The way he watched as
the trees and fields passed by led me to believe so. They really were not that
far out of Paris, for the twin towers of Notre Dame remained within view.
Kira let the reins slack, tying then to the front of
the cart, Rose had never been one to run away.
After pushing the stray tendrils of black hair behind
her ears, Kira let a few words pass her lips. “See something interesting?”
“Oh..” She must have startled him. “It’s more
beautiful than I ever imagined. Are
those cattle? They look so, so peaceful.”
Kira followed his line of vision to the edge of a forest; he turned, his eyes
meeting hers. “I’m surrounded by such beauty!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As they approached the oak tree, Kira tried to remember which way Elsa had told her to turn but couldn’t; her memory was failing her. Rose turned left. The trail was less worn, but Rose would know for sure. Loosely holding the reins Kira looked over to her companion.
“Good thing the horse knows where we’re going, eh Quasimodo?” He appeared worried until she began to laugh.
“So this is where the mill is. Esmeralda has mentioned it before, but I’ve never seen it this close.”
“We’ll be there shortly.” He said nothing, but smiled yet again as he continued to drink in his surroundings. “You’ll just love my aunt, Diane; I have no doubt that she’ll like you.” A spark lit in his eyes.
“The miller’s wife is your aunt? How could that be?”
“What do you mean, Quasimodo?” Kira picked up the reins, adjusting them in her hands.
“Quasi.”
She bit her lower lip lightly. “Sorry”
“Clopin has mentioned that you’re one of his tribe.”
For a brief moment Kira just stared at him in disbelief. Had he just said what she heard him say? He must have, for Kira saw things, not imagined them. She finally looked ahead where the mill was coming into clear view.
“Look, Quasi. There it is.” Kira nodded toward the tower of the mill, four monstrous blades of wood slowly turning.
As they got closer to the mill, she caught sight of Diane, who was busy hoeing one of the many small gardens surrounding the house. Kira’s eyes led her to the windmill itself. It was working, but remained, to a large degree, a frame of wood and iron. The house, however, looked finished as thin grey tendril of smoke rose from the chimney. Two small children ran about the yard, chasing a young pup, which bounded about merrily.
Quasimodo stared at the mill, his large eyes focused high and neck craned to catch sight of the top of the blades as they turned. Watching the way he held himself, it dawned on Kira that he couldn’t throw his head back as easily as she could.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the cart got closer, the puppy began to bark wildly. It then left the children, ran under Diane’s skirt and down the dirt path. Diane began to shout at the puppy, then the eldest of her children, who ran after it. Quasimodo shot Kira a nervous glance, she couldn’t help but laugh.
As soon as Diane caught sight of Rose, her scowl melted away into a warm smile.
“Carmen! So nice to see you again!” Diane ran toward the cart, dropping the hoe onto the damp grass. “And who is that you have…” She stopped speaking as soon as they came into view.
“Halt” Rose slowed to a stop beside one of the gardens.
“Wasn’t expecting you today. Well, now that you’re here, you may as well come in. You can’t just bring a guest and expect to leave without tea, Carmen.” Her words were sharp, yet meant in kindness. Having grown up with Elsa as a mother, Kira was used to such words.
In the time it took for Quasimodo and Carmen to put Rose in the barn, Diane had laid tea, biscuits and cakes out on the table. She quickly ushered them to the large rough-hewn table, where they sat directly across from each other, Quasi’s back to the wall. Diane gently pushed a dish of plum tarts before the bellringer, who didn’t seem to notice, but watched as a large pot boiled on the hearth.
Suddenly, Quasi jumped back slightly, his eyes wide open.
“Poilou!” The boy dashed under the table, reappearing with the puppy in his arms. Quasi seemed relieved that the attacker was merely a pup.
“Mommy” a the boy tugged at his mothers’ skirt and pointed to Quasimodo, the puppy squirming in his other arm. “Who is that man.”
“He’s the bellringer of Notre Dame, darling. Now go outside and play”
As the boy walked toward the door his eyes remained fixed on Quasimodo. Quasimodo smiled. The boy smiled. Then he ran outside and shouted to the other child “See! I told you!”
“Why all of this?” Carmen whispered to Diane.
“Why, it’s not every day the hero of Paris comes to our mill. Here you are, young man” Diane poured a cup of tea for Quasi and smiled at him.
“Merci”
Carmen sat there for a moment, looked at Quasimodo, looked at Diane, then Quasimodo again.
“I wouldn’t say ‘hero’, madam.”
“Oh don’t you just love that, he’s so modest” Diane chuckled as she walked past Carmen, returned the kettle to the fire and sat down at the table. She touched Carmen’s arm, nodded toward Quasimodo, who sat across from her at the table and began to speak. “You know, just three months ago, he saved the entire city from burning to the ground, defeated our oppressor single-handedly, saved the life of a gypsy girl…”
“Wait a moment. Quasimodo, you did all those things?”
His face reddened and he bit his lip slightly
Wisdom Comes
With Age
Carmen was right, Diane liked Quasi; there was no mistaking it. She went to every length to ensure his comfort. The children loved him, the puppy wanted nothing but to lay by his feet, giving his toes the occasional lick. The time went by all to quickly. Soon, it was nearly time for the ringer to return to his bells.
Placing the packet with father’s medicine under the seat, Carmen removed the packet of uneaten food from Elsa. She would not be eating it, nor what she had packed. Carmen was nearly certain that Quasi could make more use of it than she could.
Carmen bid Diane goodbye with a warm hug. She swore she could feel her ribs cracking as Diane gave her one last squeeze. As she lessened her grip, she whispered into Carmen’s ear.
“If there’s anything I’ve learned in my thirty five years, it’s about matters of the heart.”
“Pardon?”
Diane leaned in a little closer. “He likes you, my dear.”
Carmen began the start of a laugh; Diane held her finger between their faces. “It’s only a matter of time for the pair of ye.”
Leaving Diane to bid Quasi goodbye, Carmen hitched Rose to the cart and began petting her velvet nose. While Quasi was talking with Diane, she stepped into the cart, arranging the bag of flour and bits of wood piled behind her head. A moment later Quasi had seated himself in the cart and they were on their way home.
The ride back was far more interesting than the ride out. Having heard about the siege of the Cathedral firsthand, Carmen was amazed at Quasi’s strength and bravery. Neither Diane nor Quasi mentioned his past, but of course, she already knew, to some degree, how he’d lived before that time, due to the song she had heard in early January. This would have been close to the time this had all happened.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rose champed at the bit to get home sooner. Pulling the reins slightly, Carmen turned to face Quasi. A piece of wood must have fallen from the back of the cart, as a small piece lay in his hand with a glint of silver. He smiled at her. Carmen liked silence, it gave her time to think. This silence was agonizing.
“So why did you finally leave the belltower?”
Quasi’s eyes sparkled slightly. “Oh no, Carmen. It’s your turn.” The corners of his mouth curled up, baring his jagged white teeth. He laughed under his breath.
She couldn’t help but smile as well. “What is it you would like to know?”
There was a pause. “By what means does a young gypsy woman, such as yourself, grow up away from her family, knowing nothing of her people and customs?”
His question wrenched her heart. She turned toward him, her eyes locking into his. Firmly, she repeated his question. “By what means does a young gypsy man, such as yourself, grow up away from his family, knowing nothing of his people and customs?”
Quasi backed off a bit. The guilt struck her almost instantaneously. Another pause.
“Perhaps you have a question that I can answer?” Carmen gave a nervous half smile.
Quasi nodded “It would be best, I suppose.” Setting his finger to his chin he thought for a brief moment, then pulled his finger away as his lips parted. “Do remember how you came to live with the carriage maker?”
“For the most part, yes.” She laughed. “That was an easy one Quasi.”
“Then how did you come to live there?”
Carmen proceeded to tell him what happened that night as the scene repeated itself, a silent pantomime, acting itself out in her mind as she stared off into the distance. She mentioned no names, but through the corner of her eye, saw Quasi wince ever so slightly when she mentioned the three-cornered hat with the flowing tassel. Carmen finished her tale while crossing the bridge.
Rose fought to go straight home, yet stood near Notre Dame as Carmen’s passenger stepped out and around the back of the cart carrying the packet Carmen had given him. He stood before her, looking up at her face. His mouth opened, his hand lifted near his lips, yet he said nothing. His eyes closed and he shook his head slightly. Resuming his gaze, he reached his hand toward her face. He bit down on his lip. Before he could pull his hand away Carmen guided it to her cheek with her own. Quasi’s face faded into a shade that rivaled that of his hair.
“I will see you tomorrow at noon, Quasi?” He nodded shyly, then scooted off into the Cathedral to tend to his bells.
Approaching the house Carmen watched the upstairs window. The shutters remained closed. Elsa was nowhere to be seen. Letting Rose go, she vaulted out of the cart with father’s medicine in hand. Rose would wait in the barn for her. Something wasn’t right.
Carmen stepped into the kitchen to meet with Elsa, hunched over the table. Three pots boiled on the hearth, the sharp scent of onions striking her nose, causing her eyes to water profusely.
“Kira. Glad you’re back.. Yes, just set that down over there. Would you mind chopping these while I go upstairs for a moment? Thanks.”
Carmen stood there dumbfounded as Elsa set more onions on the table, handed her a knife and disappeared up the ladder with soup and blankets in what seemed one motion. Carmen chopped as softly as possible, as to hear the goings on upstairs. Coughing, deep coughs. Fluid. It was in his lungs. She could hear Elsa’s voice, soft and low.
The sounds of Father and Elsa were suddenly drowned out by the tolling of the bells. Such a beautiful melody, a wasted melody. Had it been any other day, any other time she would have joined in his happiness. Carmen shuddered slightly. She didn’t care for her situation a single bit, she felt sick herself. It was simply wrong, no other word could describe her feelings. At that moment tears began to fall with the water of the onions, quickly transforming a trickle to a stream.
Guiding the chopped onions into the soup kettle with the knife she stared into the broth as it boiled, whisping the steam away with the cutting board. Little squares of onion floated in the golden broth. The occasional piece of salt pork was churned toward the top with the boiling soup. Salt pork too. Horrid stuff.
Carmen set the lid onto the boiling pot, leaving room for the steam to escape. Rose needed tending to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rose was eating hay, Danté stood in her stall. In a matter of moments Rose joined her, and the cart was quickly unloaded and tipped back. Having piled the wood, she picked up the sack of flour and laid it with last weeks. There was no bread and Elsa was busy. Scooping a cup of starter out of the crock, Carmen began the task herself.
Time dragged, Elsa sent her out of the house after the bread was set to rise. Danté in hand Carmen sauntered through the streets, alone with her thoughts. Danté grazed by the river while she sat by her, watching the river flow. Father was getting worse, the time was approaching where he would not recover. Each time he came ill caused Elsa to lose health. There was little she could do to help either of them. She cooked, she cleaned, she made music; there was nothing else she could do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night Carmen slept in the kitchen near the stove. Fathers coughing kept her awake throughout most of the night. Carmen listened intently as midnight came and went. Coughing and Elsa’s footsteps. She stared up at the streams of candlelight falling downward between the floorboards, pierced by Elsa’s shadow as she moved about the room.
Three o’clock; the bells shook Carmen out of her daze, no beams of light shone down upon her. Staring around the room Carmen realized she was not alone. Someone was in the room with her, yet she could not open her mouth to ask whom. She felt for her dagger, then remembered it was in the stable.
The figure came into view. Carmen slid herself toward the wall as silently as possible as not to be seen or heard. She backed into a sharp corner. Reaching around she felt the crates’ contents and grasped a large piece of wood, heaping it with the sticky powder that smothered it. As the tall figure walked toward the ladder she threw the mass at it. The figure vanished.
Moments later Carmen was rekindling the fire that until now had almost entirely died away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bells finished tolling, it was noon. Elsa had gone to fetch the healer, as father had not improved. Carmen sat near fathers side, wiping his face with a wet cloth. He was sweating. Father’s age was unbeknownst to her, yet she was sure he was old. Carmen continued to wipe his face with water, which was getting warm.
The cool water was near the window, which was open due to the warm weather. While rinsing out the cloth she looked across the square. Quasi would be waiting for her in the tower; father needed her more. Carmen stifled her tears. Quasi would have to wait.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Carmen remained by his side, throughout the afternoon waiting for Elsa to return. Every few minutes she would walk toward the window to rinse the cloth. Father set down his teacup, then nodded toward the table by the window. Carmen scooped the damp cloth into her palm. Father set one hand on the cloth, weakly motioning toward the bow with the other. She let go of the cloth.
While fumbling about in the drawer for a block of rosin, Carmen’s gaze drifted downward. Quasimodo was approaching the door. She called out to him, yet he didn’t seem to notice. She watched as he peered in through the open door, shrugged his shoulders and began to walk away.
“Quasi! I’m up here!” He didn’t bat an eye. He never looked behind as he walked away. He ignored her. “Quasi! Don’t go! Please wait!”
Quasi was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Having slathered the bow, Carmen set the violin on her shoulder, resting her chin upon it’s worn surface. She softly drew the bow along the strings as her calloused fingers coursed over the neck. “You have a beau?” Her father whispered. “Who is he?” Gabriel smiled, then drifted off to sleep. She continued to play.
The healer came, bled Gabriel, then put him to rest. Later that evening, Elsa mentioned pork had been dropped, salt littered the floor and that Carmen ought to have been more careful not to spill.
The next morning father was feeling better. Elsa swore that it was the healer; father swore it was the music that made him better. Carmen’s personal opinion was that father pulled himself out of bed out of fear he would be bled again, and next time not be so lucky to survive. She knew not to argue.
Carmen spent the day in the shop, finishing the carriage which father and her had been building over the last three weeks. The entire carriage was painted black, the carved portions showing brilliantly. The doors were elaborately decorated with trailing roses and a carriage pulled by four dock-tailed horses. Below the horses and joining the wreath of roses were two bells tied with a thin ribbon that wrapped in amongst the wooden foliage. It had turned out much better than she thought it would. Running her fingers over the delicately carved horses, she realized her abilities had come far. The bells, she had put extra care into the bells. Her thoughts began to drift to Quasimodo. She missed him so. Missed him? She barely knew him. Is it possible to miss someone you barely know?
Carmen deliberated. She missed her mother, sister and especially her baby brother. He’d only been around a month before they were separated, herself only four. Mama said he would be tall; he had blue eyes and black hair. Technically, she never knew him. Her sister? She barely remembered her face and would in all probability not recognize her now had she survived. Calliope wanted to become a dancer, marry a Trouillifou and go to Germania. Mama? She wanted the best for her family. They were gone, yet their dreams remained a part of her, so they were not lost.
As for Quasi? He wasn’t beautiful, nor would he ever be, but there was something else there that she liked. His mannerisms told Carmen more than words ever could. His nervousness, hesitations, his gentle nature, the way he hid himself when inside he knew he’d been accepted endeared him to her. Here was a man capable of thought, with musical talent and manners. His heroics during the siege of Notre Dame did not surprise her much; Quasimodo was a fascinating person capable of more than perhaps even he was aware. Miss him? She hardly knew him. While it remained possible, Carmen came to the conclusion it was not at all sensible.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The following day Gabriel, Elsa and Carmen sat at the table, Elsa knitting yet another blanket, half asleep. Carmen watched as her father gazed out the door toward the square, his hand absently stirring his broth with a chunk of bread. He lifted his hand to speak, only a small piece remained in his hand.
“Has Marcelle stopped by to pick up his harness yet?”
“No, not yet, father. He’ll be by this afternoon.”
“What of those doors, the one’s for La Fleure’s chaise? Have we gotten around to them yet, my dear?”
“I’ve fixed the break in the one, they just need to be sanded off. I’ll get on that soon.”
“What about the…?”
“The carriage is ready to go, father. Finished it yesterday.”
Father nodded his approval, sliced a new piece of bread and resumed stirring his broth.
Carmen thought back. She had not remembered seeing a harness in the barn, other than the old one used on Rose, unless… She recalled having trouble tipping the cart back, it likely sat underneath.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The doors were finished in moments and soon were re-attached. Such an impractical vehicle, especially when driven by highly bred horses that spooked at nothing. Father’d only been working on carriages in Paris for a month, yet had repaired it twice before now.
The harness was, indeed under the cart and covered in dust, which wiped away easily. Hanging it on one of the meat-hooks for Marcelle, Carmen peered into the cart. What a mess of blankets. She tossed them into the corner; more wash. In a few moments, the stalls were mucked, horses fed and the stable swept clean.
The week’s wash lay next to the stable door, Elsa having left it there after breakfast with the scrub board and bar of soap. Carmen took the hint. The blankets that lay in the corner also needed a good wash, as the smelled horrible and were covered in grime. Firmly grasping the corner of the roughly woven cover she whipped it out of the corner, stirring up a great cloud of dust. Chaff flew into the air while she stood vigorously shaking it outside the door. Stomping it into the bag, another object drew her attention. A dark blue mass of fabric lay in the corner, littered with stable dust.
Immediately, Carmen became aware what this was and whom it belonged to. It smelled as horrible as the blanket. Though soiled, the fabric was very soft and of good quality. Running her fingers over the cloth, she decided that a washing would be welcomed by it’s owner.
Throwing caution to the wind she crept into Danté’s stall with the cloak, as not to be seen, and put it on. The sleeves were huge, as was the rest of it. The hood hid her face completely. It must have been made specifically for Quasi, as a mound of extra fabric lay on her shoulders, which would accommodate his shape perfectly. Carmen wrapped it around herself as tight as possible, as if embracing Quasi himself. She froze. This wasn’t right. Carmen quickly removed the cloak and folded it up in her arms. He would be missing it, only once had she seen him without it, which was two days ago and she had not seen him since. Then again, maybe this was the reason.
Throwing the filled bag of wash onto Danté, Carmen walked to the river. Danté stood beside her as she washed, nibbling the fresh grass. Carmen began with the filthiest blanket, which was from the cart, working up to the cleaner items requiring less strength.
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Having washed the cloak she set it out to dry with the rest of the laundry and began baking the days’ bread, which was ready for the oven, and dinner. Elsa was gone, likely to market, father in the shop talking with Marcelle and La Fleure, who had come at the same time to retrieve their goods. Sweeping the floor was her last task. After washing her hands free of bread dough and removing her whitened apron, Carmen herself was free.
Quasi’s cloak lay soft against the roughness of her palm. It’s shade had changed from dark blue to a more royal blue. It also smelled much better. Carmen folded it up carefully, avoiding any creases, then made her way to Notre Dame, cloak in-hand. As to avoid any suspicion from Elsa, she placed a sou into her pocket as an alibi.
Walking through the square she was lucky enough not to come across Elsa. Clopin, however watched intently from his puppet wagon as she slipped trough the crowd. Carmen could feel his eyes tracing her every move. If she was one of his tribe, why would he not just approach her? Before setting her foot onto the first step of Notre Dame, Carmen returned his stare. Clopin smiled and laughed, his puppet waved it’s hands at her. Apparently having lost interest, he turned to his puppet and began talking with it, pointing to the North tower. Carmen climbed up the steps, shaking her head. How could someone so intelligent come across as such an idiot?
The church was nearly empty, only a few monks wandered the cloisters. The whispered prayers of the parish hummed through the rainbow-walled belly of the church. Standing within the circle of colour shining down from the rose window, Carmen clutched the cloak to her chest with her left arm. She dropped the sou into the bed for foundlings. Running her hands over the wooden cradle she began to wonder how many children had suffered splinters in unfortunate places before it had worn smooth.
Backing away from the cradle she backed into someone and met with the eyes of an old monk. His face held an expression of peace and calmness. Carmen lowered her head to him, and revealed the neatly folded cloak. The monk nodded softly and began to walk away, motioning for her to follow.
The monk led her up a flight of spiral stairs, to a narrow passageway that bridged the two towers, columns on either side. Two columns were broken, one heavily cracked. This must have been where Quasi was chained back in January. Carmen shuddered slightly; Quasimodo broke them. The strength required to even crack one would be formidable, Danté would be incapable of such a feat.
The monk held his hand out to her, then made his way into the North tower, while she stood between the columns amongst four gargoyles. Only one sat watching the city in a regal position. The other three seemed to be fighting. Carmen had never seen gargoyles this close before, yet knew they weren’t typically made in such positions. Whomever had carved them had a sense of humor. Making a fist, she knocked on the fattest one’s head. Stone. The stories they could tell if they were alive.
Everything seemed so small from this height; Clopin’s brightly-coloured puppet wagon appeared as a toy. Straining her eyes, she could not make out her home among the buildings. The air was slightly cooler, as well; the scents present in the square were absent. Carmen breathed deeply.
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Moments later she sensed another approach, yet not the monk. Quasi stood behind her. Carmen turned around, meeting his eyes. The most beautiful shade of blue. The height of the building began to take it’s effect on her. Carmen shook her head, breaking eye contact.
Carmen held out the cloak. “I found this in the cart, I believe it’s yours. I hope you don’t mind, I washed it for you.” Her words were rushed, yet his smile told her he understood. He accepted the cloak, then set it on the ledge between the gargoyles.
“While you’re here, would you like to see the bells?” It was an offer she couldn’t refuse; she smiled and nodded.
“I’d love to.”
“This way.” He led her across the narrow walkway to the spire of the cathedral. His steps were light and effortless, whilst Carmen struggled to keep her balance. As she felt herself beginning to lose balance, she grabbed his massive arm. After stopping for a brief moment, Quasi continued to the belltower. Soon, they stood within the spire, gazing upward.
“Is that the only way into here, Quasi?” Quasi smiled, a mischievous, devilish smile. Of course there was an easier way. Quasi pointed upward. Six bells hung above their heads, one of which was wooden.
Next was the south tower, where Big Marie and Jacqueline “lived”. Finally, the North tower, where he showed her the last six bells, Gabrielle, Thibauld, Pasquier, Guillaume and two others that she couldn’t catch the names of. Carmen thought it best not to ask him to repeat himself, she would not have remembered had he told her anyhow. Besides, she knew she’d be seeing the bells again and come to know them in time.
Finally, Quasi took her to the top of the North tower. She could see for miles; the entire island surrounded them. The mill, the forests and roads were all visible, in miniature. The view was breathtaking.
Quasi quickly led her back down through a set of steps to what must be his living quarters. They were simple yet beautiful. Mobiles of coloured glass hung from the beams, the occasional broken statue and large pieces of wood formed rooms and tables. Buckets of water sat in a row next to the wall, earthenware dishes sat piled neatly on a plain shelf with a small collection of baskets. One lay covered with a checked cloth next to a corked bottle. Set on top of a large stone sat a metal bin, ingeniously transformed into a small fireplace. A copper kettle spat boiling water onto the hot coals, causing them to hiss and spit.
Quasi soon cleared a spot on a large table supported by thick pieces of wood. He quickly hung the blue cloak onto a peg hammered into one of the beams, how it had arrived there remained a mystery to Carmen. Pulling up a second stool, he motioned for her to sit.
A miniature city, inhabited by figures she recognized, lay out before her. The blonde-haired man was there with his white horse, as was Clopin, the baker and blacksmith. Carmen soon recognized father, yet could not find herself. A poorly made figure lay hidden within the model church, not nearly as nice as the others. Gently scooping it into her hand, she soon recognized it as Quasi’s self-model. It did not encompass how she saw him. The figure had one eye, little hair and knelt forward on both knuckles as if unable to stand under the weight of it’s humped-back. Unlike the other figures, it had no mouth or ears; it was shapeless.
Returning the figure to it’s resting place Carmen looked up toward the man who’s self model she’d momentarily held. He gently sprinkled tea leaves into the copper pot with his large hands. Carmen stared in wonderment, before her stood a man who was strong, brave and caring. A man whom chance had given a great mind housed within a misshapen body. A man who couldn’t see in himself what was so blatantly obvious to herself. Poetry in motion. He was nothing like the figure.
Carmen turned her head toward him as he walked toward the water pail. His movements, so fluid, so smooth. Such beauty. She must have mouthed the words while she thought them, as Quasi’s expression suddenly changed from that of relaxation to questioning.
“What did you just say?”
“I didn’t realize… I didn’t think you could…” Carmen fixed her sight into the depths of his eyes “You’re beautiful”
“But… Look at me!”
“I am.”
His eyebrow raised slightly. “Why? Just look at me! You can’t possibly believe…” He motioned at different parts of his body with his large hands with jerky motions, following them with his eyes as he did so. His hunched back, crooked legs, distorted face and single good eye.
Halting each of his hands with her own, she clutched as much of each as she could. “Just accept that I do.” Quasi seemed to understand, or at least accept, this. Quasi stepped over to the edge of the belltower and looked down into the square.
“Would you mind if I asked you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but would you mind?” Carmen smiled and nodded. “Why is it the people call me “hunchback” even when they know my name?”
Carmen didn’t know what to say to him. How to explain this? Even she was guilty of this, calling him hunchback, before she knew his name, before she knew he was bellringer. Even now, she would occasionally refer to him as “the hunchback.” Elsa and father, the priests, everyone she knew was guilty of this.
Quasi looked up at her, she had his full attention.
“As far as I know, the people knew of you before they knew who you were, yet could see glimpses of you every now and then. Your shape being distinct, they named you according to that and nothing more, you became the Hunchback of Notre Dame first, everything else second. And since you do have a hunchback…”
Quasi nodded as she spoke, but then turned to her directly. “But should I known only by the shape of my back, as if that is all I am?”
“This isn’t unique to you, the people aren’t trying to be cruel. Nearly everyone with a back like yours will be called hunchback, just as others are called “shorty” or “stringbean”. It’s just the way things are.”
“It doesn’t seem right”
“I agree” Quasi looked saddened, Carmen placed her hand on the highest part of his hump.
“Please don’t do that.”
“It’s beautiful”
“It’s ugly, just like the rest of me. Why must you touch me there?”
“Quasi, you’re not ugly”
“Then you haven’t really looked at me, I mean, REALLY looked at me.” His pleading, asymmetrical eyes stared into her own perfect green ones. What could she say to help him to feel better?
“I’ve watched you, Quasi, studied every one of your features. I’ve seen nothing but perfect harmony.”
Quasi gave a half smile; she’d said the right thing.
“Do you really think so?”
“I do” Quasi smiled and lowered his gaze to the floor. Carmen whispered. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have a hunchback.”
Quasi’s eyes grew wide as he stared at Carmen in disbelief, almost offended. Carmen said nothing. There was nothing to say, the statement had slipped out.
While deliberating her statement, she found herself slowly leaning in toward him, caressing the softness of his cheek with her left hand. Quasi leaned slightly forward into her and to his right where the side of his face nearly brushed her shoulder. Carmen nestled her head into his short neck, gently kissing his cheek. Quasi shivered, Carmen felt his weight shift. “Don’t go, please don’t go” She thought. A large warm hand pulled her further into him. He'd understood.
Moments later Carmen & Quasimodo sat in the belltower locked into an embrace. Carmen held Quasi’s left hand to her heart, their faces close enough where they could see into each others eyes and souls. Quasimodo’s right hand stroked Carmen’s black hair, which was now beginning to loosen from it’s bonds. Carmen’s left hand reached up, guiding his lips to her own. Quasi lowered his head, avoiding her kiss.
“It… it… It’s blasphemous to do that here”.
“Then let me hold you?”
“We shouldn’t even be doing this. It’s wrong. Oh! How I wish it wasn’t, but it is.” Quasi stood up and began to walk around with his hands near his ears. He looked toward her, lines filling his face as he forced out his words. “Not even couples are to do this within the walls of the church. We can’t do this.” His hands sliced though the air horizontally; cutting the invisible tie that seemed to pull them together. There was a long pause; Quasi took a hard swallow. “Carmen” The whites of his eyes were beginning to redden slightly. “You must leave…now.” She nodded in understanding, then bowed her head.
“I’m sorry.”
As she left the Cathedral with her head lowered she felt as if all eyes were on her, mocking her for what she had just done. She had kissed a man who was not her husband. She had no husband. She had kissed that man in the church, a man of the church. An act that she never thought she was capable of.
Carmen only glanced at Clopin’s empty puppet wagon as she made her way through the square, and back to her home. There was work to do.