JMJ

NINE

Frollo turned to Esmeralda then with a predatory leer and Esmeralda glared back trying to keep a strong stance as she bit her lip.

"As for you," Frollo said darkly, but he paused, glancing briefly at Fr. André and straightened himself into a more dignified stance. "Fr. André will take care of you for now. But you know. Unless something is worked out you cannot leave the cathedral without being arrested."

Esmeralda's eyes did not stray from the archdeacon as he turned to make his exit with a sweep of his robes. They remained fixed upon his back until he disappeared behind the door of the cloister's portal. The closed door might have remained her sole fixation too if Fr. André had not stepped delicately to her side.

"Don't be too afraid of him, poor girl," said Fr. André kindly. "He's been ill and unhappy recently. You'll be safe here for now, and I am confident that something will be worked out before long."

Shifting her head towards the little priest Esmeralda's frown deepened.

"How can you be sure?" she demanded. "What if they sneak in anyway?"

"They can't," Fr. André insisted. "The church is not part of France. It's as if you have passed the border into another country. Its King is God."

Here he thrust a finger boldly up to the High Altar, and Esmeralda had to admit that she was in awe of its magnificence, for never had she beheld the inside of Notre Dame. The cool gleaming floor to the vast high vaulted ceilings, and of course the statuary of the High Altar itself bathed in the rainbow of sunlight through the great stained glass windows certainly made it seem as though this was another world. She gazed up at the stained glass glittering like fairy dust with a mixture of intimidation and wonder.

"And according to God's laws," continued Fr. André. "'Thou shalt not kill.'"

"Why only in the church?" asked the girl turning to the priest demandingly.

Fr. André looked surprised by the question at first but shook his head sadly soon after.

"It shouldn't be that way. It shouldn't be just in the church. It should be everywhere …"

"I didn't kill him."

Angrily she fought back her tears.

"Sh-sh-sh-sh, there, there, child," said the priest patting her arm. "Come here you poor thing."

Leading her gently he pulled out a stool with his foot and had her sit down.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," said the girl wiping her eyes.

"It's quite all right, I promise you," said the priest. "If you need to cry just cry …"

Esmeralda shook her head, and said quietly, "Why is the world so cruel? Why can't someone do something about it?"

A heavy sigh escaped Fr. André, and taking a handkerchief of sorts he gave it to her to dry her eyes.

"There's only one person I know who can do something about it," admitted the priest.

"Who?" asked Esmeralda.

A second time, though far more sober in motion, he pointed up to the High Altar, and Esmeralda lowered her head.

"I will do what I can to help," Fr. André promised, "but right now I think the only thing to do is to pray."

"Of course you would think so," said the girl not rudely, but very unhappily, "you're a priest."

Fr. André smiled sadly.

"I'll be back shortly," he said after a pause. "I was caught a little off guard with this whole thing, I'm afraid. You just relax here, and I'll be back."

Only heaven saw the oddly shaped silhouette in the gallery just above the Portal of St. Stephen watching and listening. It did not shift until Fr. André had gone; then it settled against the rail and looked down upon La Esmeralda.

The girl remained upon her stool for a moment or so and then standing up she began to look around. First she looked once more at the High Altar. Then she turned towards the portal of the Cloisters in through which Fr. André had disappeared. Slowly she crept over the crossing to the north transept. Pulling back the door she peeked outside but she soon saw that it led only to the cloisters, and to shift across the grounds any way would be a useless pursuit as the guards were still about anticipating an escape.

Did not these men have other people to pursue?

Angrily, Esmeralda let the door close again and leaning her back against it she closed her eyes and sighed little knowing that the black shape in the gallery sighed sadly with her though far more softly.

After a moment the girl began walking along the aisle beneath the north side gallery. Soon hidden in shadow herself the silhouette began to move along the south side gallery to try to see where the girl was going. Her movements proved slow, and she walked like one in a melancholy dream. Though, her eyes remained alert and curious as she examined the windows, the pillars and the statues. She found the side chapel lit by long candles in an otherwise rather sheltered alcove. A painting hung upon the wall and a statue resembling the woman and the young child outside the cathedral. Notre Dame herself of course; Esmeralda knew that. And she beheld this statue a moment looking from the serene woman to the serene little boy. Flowers were set at her feet, and the girl paused to touch their petals and smell their fragrance before looking up at the woman again, the woman she heard be called the Mother of God.

She noticed that although the woman had a crown, she had nothing upon her feet. No sandals, no shoes. She could not help but wonder what the symbolism was behind that, for it seemed a contradiction that a lady with a crown would also go as barefoot as a pauper's girl. The boy too had nothing upon his feet. Beneath her own feet, she became conscious of the cold stones, and she looked again at the little boy who was supposed to be the Christian's God before his enemies killed him and yet he was alive again.

As she contemplated she did not perceive the form from the gallery now lurking in the shadows very near her instead of in the lofty heights. It opened its mouth and lifted its hand as though to make its presence known. More than once it did this, but nothing ever came out of the throat. It would fumble and recoil like a snail back into its shell.

Why did the Christians celebrate his death so much? It did not make much sense to her, for there were small carvings of his agony and crosses everywhere. Even Fr. André wore one around his neck. And if the Christians truly did pity their God's torture and death and loved a woman who was both for the rich and the poor, then how could they allow a man like that owl Claude Frollo walk about as a demigod of evil freely through their cathedral and a boy who had done nothing wrong be whipped as the enemies of the Christian God obviously had done to Him?

Part of her almost asked the statue of the woman this question as she looked up upon her face, which seemed to her that if one looked hard enough a tone of sadness could be seen within those stone eyes. Perhaps the woman too mourned what was becoming of her own cathedral.

A clank of brass echoed behind her, and stiffening, she immediately spun around. Someone had nearly knocked over a candle stand. That same someone was also trying to put it back into place, but spun around in fear towards Esmeralda with eyes wide with horror that he had been caught.

"You …" Esmeralda breathed.

Freed from his stupor the bell ringer steadied the candlestick and fled without a sound.

"Wait!" called the girl.

Some people looked up with confusion, but Quasimodo did not look back. Racing for the steps even faster with the knowledge that now others would see him too because of Esmeralda's call, he flew up into the tower. Esmeralda followed.

The bell ringer long outran her as she coiled along the spiral stairs; she felt the walls closing in upon her claustrophobically as she climbed, and she looked back down behind her as though she might be trapped in there. A small window like a flowery star shone in and she looked out upon the square below before continuing on into the darkness. At last she reached the top step lit by ruby glass glowing like huge red lanterns. She had already heard the door open and close, and with only a short pause she took hold of the door and found that she had come to the high balcony from one tower to the other. Welcoming the brightness and warmth of the afternoon sunshine and blinking a little as she grew accustomed to the change she moved on. She looked down over the stone rail only once very quickly and wrinkled her nose a little at a gargoyle, but she lost little time in coming to the next tower door, which had been shut the moment she stepped outside. Opening this new door, she peered into the tower.

"Hello?" she asked stepping in with care but leaving the door open so as to allow in the light. She glanced behind her once more too, before venturing in further and she said again softly, "Hello?"

"I'm sorry …"

Esmeralda jumped and turned towards the voice in the gloom, and having again grown accustomed to the sunlight outside, she could just barely see the form of the bell ringer, which in shadow form did indeed look like some terrible half-man half-beast, but Esmeralda knew it was only the broken boy that had been whipped for her sake. Cocking her head and squinting, she tried to make out his features into what he was truly: just a poor disfigured person.

Taking her movements as confusion for his apology, the boy clarified, "For running into … into your tent. I mean … oh …" He wrung his hands and shifted uncomfortably and seemed to be shrinking further into shadow.

"Oh no," said Esmeralda quickly and coming closer to him a pace or two, "I know you didn't mean anything by it. You were running away. Anyone could see that! Besides! You were more than—well!" she paused. "That shouldn't've happened to you."

Again the boy shifted, but it was more from a lack of finding the right thing to say in return than because of fear, it seemed to the girl. Encouraged by this assumption, Esmeralda stepped further into the gloom after him, but the boy tensed and grabbed hold of a beam as though she was going to turn into a beast herself and devour him.

With a sigh, Esmeralda crossed her arms. "You don't have to be afraid of me."

The boy lowered his head, and she could make out his shaggy hair falling into his face. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Esmeralda insisted kindly. "It's just …" She smiled a little. "Boy. What's your name?"

Again the boy hesitated.

"I know you're the bell ringer, and I know you live in the tower and they call you the hunchback of Notre Dame, but you must have a real name."

The boy cleared his throat and took a careful step towards the girl so that there were only a couple feet between them now.

"Quasimodo …" he said very softly.

"Quasi … what?" asked the girl.

"Quasimodo," said the boy again looking embarrassed.

"Well, you said it so softly the first time," the girl tried to tease, but it did not seem to ease any of the boy's tension. Perhaps he did not understand being teased. "Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Quasimodo," she then said far more candidly. "I'm called La Esmeralda."

Quasimodo at last carried a hint of a smile himself, the girl thought; though he was still too much in shadow to tell for certain. It was in his body language anyway, that bashful smile, and in his voice as he said, "Oh, uh. I know your name. I heard it … at … at the trial."

Esmeralda looked down, but she was not about to let the conversation fall away before it got started, so she lifted her head again and said casually, "How did you come to be here, Quasimodo? In this dark tower?"

"I …"

"You are the one who rings the bells, I know, but—"

"Oh, yes," said Quasimodo beaming in spite of himself, and he at last came out of the shadow onto the platform where Esmeralda stood. "I ring the bells. All the bells. I make sure never to miss a time. For every mass and every vigil. Every wedding and every funeral. For vespers and news. Well … everything."

Esmeralda smiled. "Did your father ring the bells?"

"I … no," said Quasimodo as though the question confused him slightly. "My master kindly gave them to me to watch over. I … never knew my father."

"Neither have I," said Esmeralda.

"I'm sorry."

Esmeralda laughed. "Don't be. I never knew him."

"Sorry …" said Quasimodo again, but he was smiling shyly, which satisfied Esmeralda. Then after a thoughtful pause he asked even more shyly, "Uh … would you … would you like to see them?"

"The bells?" asked Esmeralda.

"Yes," said Quasimodo fidgeting a little.

"Well, I've always been kind of curious, and I am here …"

With the eager simplicity of a small child Quasimodo grinned, and Esmeralda could not help but laugh a little to see him for he did look a little silly. Quickly she stifled it for his sake even if he did not know that his grin was the cause of her laughter.

"This way, Esmeralda," he said leading her up a flight of creaky wooden steps, and Esmeralda was surprised to see the many things that lay about in a sort of good-natured menagerie. Ordered but peculiarly so in the many boxes, half-shelves, and feather woven baskets.

There were books, she saw, and the makings of a mat bed in an alcove and an assortment of other home-like things such as a stool and a hook for his cloak and all amidst magnificent naked beams, long ropes, and large nails. Behind a heavy piece of ragged cloth she could see the glistening of rainbow color dancing with the breeze, which aroused her curiosity immensely as she followed Quasimodo up a ladder. As she neared the top, she could look over the cloth and could see the spinning loose pieces of stain glass hanging on a mobile of sorts hovering over near a table upon which sat wooden buildings and what looked like little figures to go with them. She paused in her climb up the second ladder to get a better look at the sun lit scene through an opening shaft like a window, but she was interrupted by Quasimodo. He pointed out the bells upon reaching the top on the new platform.

And she looked, and was staggered by the size of the first massive bell.

"Wow …" she breathed, and grinned as she came to the platform herself.

"That's Big Marie," said Quasimodo touching the bell's Latin engravings and smiling at his first true guest he had ever had.

"She's beautiful," said Esmeralda coming to touch the bell so large it could be lived in if it was set onto its side.

"Yes," agreed Quasimodo.

It was bigger than a caravan wagon, and its ball inside, she saw, was bigger than her head. It was a trinket on a massive scale as a mouse might perceive a wagon wheel. Ducking inside she looked up to the darkened top inside. Quasimodo ducked under too, delighted to see Esmeralda so enchanted by his beloved favorite of the bells.

"How do you ring it?" asked the girl. "It's so huge."

Dropping a finger to the floor, Quasimodo pointed out the rope that went through to the lower levels underneath, and after following his finger, Esmeralda looked up again to see where the rope was attached.

"It works like a pulley," Quasimodo said, "so it's not as hard to pull as a person might think.

"That's amazing," said the girl coming out again from under the bell.

Quasimodo looked a little surprised. "You really think so?" he asked timidly. "No one's ever called it that before."

"It must be a lovely job. I would like to have it, I think." said Esmeralda beaming.

"You would?" asked Quasimodo more surprised than before.

"Yes, it would be better than dancing in the street."

"Dancing in the street doesn't seem like a bad job," Quasimodo insisted, "and you're very good at it."

Esmeralda smiled sadly. "So I've been told." But she quickly changed the subject from a topic, which the boy was obviously too sheltered from the world to understand. "But how did you get the job? After all, many people can dance, but there is only one bell ringer of Notre Dame."

"It was my dream to pull them," said Quasimodo in full seriousness. "I love the bells. Big Marie and her sisters were given to me very kindly by Master."

"Fr. André?" asked Esmeralda squinting.

"Oh, no," laughed Quasimodo softly, "he just got here. He's the acting priest. The archdeacon, his honor, Claude Frollo is my master."

Esmeralda made a face. "Oh …"

Turning to Quasimodo again, she thought how hateful it would be to be a servant of that man. To have those eyes glaring down upon a person every day like some kind of vulture waiting for its prey to die.

But as she thought these things looking upon the poor boy she could not help but see also the true state of his features in the sunlight pouring in through the slating louver-boards. He truly was deformed; though she tried not to think badly of him. The bones in his spine not only were hunched but leaned painfully over to one side besides. His nose and his chin looked as if someone had shoved them into his face and neck, and although one eye was as clear and bright as the morning sky, the other was tightened and his eyelid stretched queerly as a result of what looked like some great welt or possibly a wart pressed out from his eyebrow. It looked the most painful of all, and she wondered if it pained him that very moment.

She saw the boy's elation fall away, and she turned away ashamed.

Quasimodo sighed. "I know. I'm hideous."

Esmeralda gasped and turned back to him. "No, it's not that!"

"You don't have to lie to me," said Quasimodo rubbing his arm queerly. "I know. I've seen my own reflection. Everybody looks at me like that, like a monster, and I don't blame them."

"I didn't say I thought you looked like a monster," Esmeralda asserted.

"But I know I do look like one," said Quasimodo. "I …"

"Well, I know you're not one."

Quasimodo did not answer as he seated himself on a beam beneath a smaller bell. Esmeralda sat beside him and let her legs dangle beneath as she scooted closer to him.

"If I thought you were a monster, would I have followed you up here?" the girl demanded.

With uncertainty did Quasimodo look up at Esmeralda's face, wreathed in her usually so dark hair, shining like gold in the filtered sunlight now.

"I … don't know," Quasimodo said and shrugged. "I suppose not. But … does that mean, you aren't repulsed by me or … afraid?"

"If you were planning on hurting me you would have done so already," Esmeralda retorted. "As far as I can see you are as gentle as a lamb. You just seem lonely, like you're a prisoner here under such a master."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Quasimodo holding up his hands in his defense. "I'm not a prisoner here! I've lived here all my life. My master saved me when I was a baby after Gypsy bandits who are usually very evil people" (Esmeralda frowned) "came to rob my parents and they ended up getting killed, and he's taken good care of me ever since. I know he has. He seems stiff and hard sometimes, but he really is the best master I could hope for …" He paused looking away thoughtfully as he wrung his hands between his knees. "But it does get lonely up here …sometimes."

"Well, I'm a prisoner here," said Esmeralda in spite of herself. "If I leave they'll arrest me."

Quasimodo looked upon the girl sadly but shook his head. "They can't catch you because of the law of sanctuary, you know."

"You heard all that at the steps?" asked Esmeralda leaning her chin in her hand and her elbow on her lap.

"Yes … I know you never meant to harm anyone …" said Quasimodo hesitantly, "um … but I've always known the law of sanctuary. This is a place of safety, this cathedral, because no outside law of execution is allowed within the borders of God's House. Only God can judge a man within His house, and the afterlife is where one is rewarded or condemned."

"But I can't stay here forever," said Esmeralda.

"I do," said Quasimodo helpfully as he rose to his feet and spread out his arms towards the slate allowing in the light. "It is a nice place to live. You can see the whole city from the balcony and even further from the top of the tower." Here he reached out with a sweep of his arm towards the stone steps leading still further to the cathedral's pinnacle heights. "There's plenty of places to walk around, and they'd feed you, and I'd take care of you."

Esmeralda smiled. "I'm sure you would."

"And you aren't like me. You can go freely down into the church and pray all day long down there like the sisters and the brothers from the cloisters."

"But I don't live here. I live somewhere else, and I already have a place of my own and people I know."

"Oh … I see," said Quasimodo nodding in sympathetic understanding.

Esmeralda sighed.

"And you think you're a monster," she muttered.

"Esmeralda," said Quasimodo after a pause, and he spoke with a most princely determination even if childlike simplicity. "I've never met anyone like you before. You've been so good to me even though we've only known each other for a short time. You are good and courageous like St. Veronica to come to me when I was whipped and like St. Theodora in disguise as Theodore and wrongly accused, but you are right. You should go home. I know it's selfish of me to wish you would stay …"

Again Esmeralda could not help but sigh. The pedestal upon which the boy was placing her was a little uncomforting, but his loneliness was the cause, she knew. Her heart only went out to him all the more.

"I belong with the stone grotesques," said Quasimodo, "not with such beauty."

But here Esmeralda could not stop her frown. "Well, feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to help."

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," said Quasimodo. "It's true."

"What's true? There are a lot of people worse off than you. I've seen them. Far sicker and poorer than you. Some people are missing limbs and have rotting teeth and eyes that are dried up and can no longer see."

"Except they aren't missing the most important thing."

"What's that?" asked the girl.

"A soul."

Esmeralda's eyes widened with surprise, but she answered simply, "You have a soul."

"No," said Quasimodo with a shake of his head.

"Who says?"

"It's just true," said Quasimodo.

She had a good idea what nasty owl would imply such a thing to such a helpless boy. With a shake of her head Esmeralda stood up on her feet and leaning against a diagonal beam she studied the poor creature a moment, and she knew he believed exactly what he said.

"You have too much life in your eyes," said Esmeralda sternly but ever-so tenderly, "to not have a soul."

"My eyes?" asked Quasimodo uneasily.

"They're too gentle and thoughtful not to have a soul behind them."

Quasimodo considered this a moment clutching another beam and staring out towards the sunlight.

"This might be a strange question, Esmeralda," said Quasimodo, "but what do you say that a soul is?"

Esmeralda thought a moment herself now, and gathering her thoughts upon a topic in which she knew she was no master, she said, "It's what makes you alive. It's what makes you, you."

After a long silence, Quasimodo said, "So I wouldn't be me without one."

"No."

"I never thought about it like that before," said Quasimodo, "but I think Monsieur Archdeacon Benjamin tried to tell me something like that once. Most people make it sound so complicated."

"Maybe it is," said Esmeralda. "I don't know, but I don't really care. I just think you are being very foolish to worry about not having one."

"I'm not sure …" said Quasimodo to himself as he looked up at the great bell known as Big Marie, "I'll have to think about it."

"I think you have a strong soul actually."

Quasimodo blinked back at the girl.

"Oh? Uh, thank you. Uh, I think."

"I'm a gypsy, you know, and I've known some gypsies who can tell the future, because their souls are so strong."

"Oh …" Quasimodo looked disappointed somehow.

"I just know," Esmeralda said, "that you have a depth to you that is definitely not stone."

Quasimodo smiled a moment, and then blinked thoughtfully once more.

"You're not like other gypsies."

Esmeralda laughed. "How would you know if you never met one? I'm not saying all gypsies are angels, but I'm not evil."

"Of course not!" Quasimodo exclaimed.

"Even if I'm not an angel either."

"You're very pale for a gypsy."

Wrinkling her nose wryly, Esmeralda said, "Or do you mean that you don't think I'm mean enough?"

Twiddling his fingers uncomfortable Quasimodo lowered his head.

"Before my aunt told me that she couldn't take care of me anymore and sent me off," said Esmeralda then quickly as she was enhanced in her belief that Quasimodo did not understand teasing, "I heard her say that my father was not a gypsy but a Frenchman." She glanced at Quasimodo. "You know … you're awful dark to be a normal Frenchman too. People aren't always what they seem to be, you know, and you're living proof all around."

"But you're as kind and gentle as you look," said Quasimodo helpfully.

"I don't know about that," said the girl looking away from his puppy gaze, and she sighed. "Either way, kind or not, I'm still stuck here."

"Oh, yes," Quasimodo said nodding solemnly.

"If only I could just fly away," the girl breathed like the wind that would sweep away comfortably beneath a flying dove.

"Like an angel …" whispered Quasimodo, and with a wistful sort of expression he said, "Maybe you can."

"Don't be silly," laughed Esmeralda, "no one can fly, soul or not."

"Well, not literally," said Quasimodo with a sheepish grin. "I meant I know a way you could slip out without anyone knowing."

"You do?" asked Esmeralda.

Quasimodo nodded.

"I told you I've lived here my whole life. I know every nook and cranny, and believe me, there are a lot of them!"

"But what about when I'm outside? They're guarding all around the cathedral."

"On the ground," Quasimodo reminded her. "Like you said, no one can fly literally."

"I have to step on the ground sometime too then," said Esmeralda.

"Yes," agreed Quasimodo, "away from the doors."

Esmeralda smiled once more with a playfully.

"All right then, Quasimodo," she said, "show me the way."