AN: Well, not much to say, except man, I never realized how long this thing was until I saw its FFN word count. And I'm still not done uploading all the old chapters.
"Second Chances"
by EsmeAmelia
Chapter 10
As the days went by, Quasimodo started to become quite fond of Minerva. Any shields of awkwardness or shyness that he had up against her were quick to vanish. He found himself eagerly awaiting her daily visits to the tower. Likewise, Minerva often found herself heading for the tower early in the morning, sometimes before she had breakfast, which meant that Quasimodo would share his breakfast with her. She would work on the dress for an hour or two while she and Quasimodo chatted about any and all subjects. It always amazed Quasimodo how she could carry on a conversation without disturbing her work.
Nearly every day, after an hour or two of work, Minerva and Quasimodo would spend time together touring the city and seeing the sights, occasionally running into Esmeralda and Phoebus on one of their romantic outings. Minerva did insist on paying Quasimodo, but he would usually spend that money on meals for the two of them while they toured Paris. Staying out until long after sunset was a common occurrence - Minerva often returned to the boarding house to find that Phoebus had fallen asleep in one of the chairs while waiting for her. As the wedding dress gradually took shape, so too did a bond between Quasimodo and Minerva.
"Der Katz," Minerva said one morning as she pointed to a small black cat sitting on a vacant table outside of the bakery. She and Quasimodo were seated at one of the other tables, alternately enjoying a meal and having a lesson in German.
"Der Katz," Quasimodo repeated.
"Ja," complimented Minerva. Then she tilted her head to the side and raised her brows, which sent a signal to Quasimodo that he would now have to describe the cat - in German.
"Hmm," he began. "Der Katz istz..." He paused. What was the word for "black," again? It started with an S, didn't it? He squinted at the cat for a moment, as though that would make him remember. "Uh...Der Katz istz..." he began again. He ground his teeth, frustrated at this block in his mind. He knew the word, he knew it...it was..."Schwartz," he finally remembered.
"Ja, zehr gut," complimented Minerva.
"Der Katz istz klinne," continued Quasimodo.
"Ja," said Minerva. "The cat is little."
Quasimodo wasn't sure exactly why he wanted to learn German. Maybe he was fascinated by the sound of the words. Maybe he enjoyed learning a new language. Or maybe he simply wanted to spend more time with Minerva. He was about to try describing the cat again, but the cat's owner picked him up off the table and carried him away.
"Enough German for now," said Minerva. "This cake on our plates does not wish to become stale."
"Ja - I mean yes," said Quasimodo."
And speaking of cake," continued Minerva, "do you know who will be making the wedding cake?"
"No, but I imagine it will be one of the gypsies. The wedding will be held in the cathedral, but the reception will be decked with Gypsy traditions."
"I know," said Minerva. "Don't you think the wedding is the subject of all my brother's sentences?"
Quasimodo simply grinned at that statement. In truth, it seemed that the upcoming wedding between the former captain and the gypsy dancer was the subject of everyone's sentences. No one could recall there ever being a wedding like this before, thus it was indeed an event, perhaps an event that would never again occur in their lifetimes. Many dubbed it as "the joining of two worlds," although there were a few who relentlessly called it "a devil's wedding."
"Anyhow," said Minerva, "would you like to learn a few phrases that are relevant to the event?"
"Of course," said Quasimodo.
"All right," Minerva said as she stuck her fork into her cake. "I'll never have any use for these phrases, so I don't mind passing them on to you."
"Why not?" asked Quasimodo.
Minerva hastily stuffed a rather large piece of cake into her mouth, as though she thought any lingering would spoil the food beyond edibility.
"Well, why not?" Quasimodo repeated.
Minerva's mouth made very slight chewing motions: barely moving at all, as though swallowing would cause her to choke to death. It seemed like a good two minutes went by before the mushed cake in her mouth became unbearable and forced her to swallow.
"I have neither reason nor ability to marry," she finally said between short breaths. "I'm fully able to support myself with my dressmaking, so I don't need a husband to earn money. Mother has three other children to carry on the family line..."
"Four," interrupted Quasimodo.
"Three," insisted Minerva. "She kicked Phoebus out, remember? In addition, she also believes I'm dead, so I have no obligation to make sure the family line continues. And aside from all that, I'm twenty-eight years of age, which is far too old for a woman to marry. All single men want younger women."
Quasimodo didn't think her age would have anything to do with her ability to attract a husband. One could not tell she was twenty-eight simply by looking at her, and besides, she had an innate charm that surely would overpower any stigma about her age.
"I may be too old to have any use for these phrases, but you are not," continued Minerva. "So here they are. Mann means husband. Frau means wife. And Ich leibe dichmeans 'I love you.'"
Quasimodo did his best to repeat the phrases. "Mann. Frau. Ich leibe..."
"Stop," interrupted Minerva. "Don't use that last phrase on me. Save it for your true love."
What sort of cruel joke was she playing? How could she possibly think that he had more chance of finding a soulmate than she did? She was normal-looking and gregarious - both of which were traits that he completely lacked. The fact that she was seven years older than him carried no weight.
Minerva seemed to sense that she had touched something sensitive. She cleared her throat and said, "Quasi, would you mind going somewhere with me?"
"Why?"
"I have something I want to show you."
. . . . . .
"Minerva, where is this thing you want to show me?" Quasimodo asked as the two of them explored the graveyard.
"Patience, Quasi, it's around here somewhere." She took long steps in various directions as she surveyed the field of final resting places. "Goodness, it's amazing how everything looks the same around here."
"You don't remember where it is?'
"I'm sure I can find it," Minerva said hastily. "Give me a minute - I haven't been here in ten years and...oh, here it is."
She motioned to Quasimodo to join her in front of a large gravestone. The instant he arrived, his eyes grew wide when he noticed the lettering on the stone. It was the grave of Captain Pierre de Chateaupers'.
"This...this was your father?" he said timidly.
Minerva nodded as she ran her fingers along the edge of the stone. "Every Sunday, Mother used to take us all to see our father's resting place, although it was usually a disaster because Phoebus and I and our little brother Ulysses would often get restless and start climbing on the other stones. A few times we were actually chased away for disturbing an internment."
Quasimodo let a small laugh escape before growing serious again. He watched silently as Minerva gazed solemnly at the stone.
"Did Phoebus ever show you this?" she asked after a few minutes.
"No, in fact he never even talked about his family until Christmas." He pondered for a moment. "But...if his father was buried here, why didn't he ever come to see the grave?"
"I know why," said Minerva. "He's like me - he has no memory of his father, and thus he has no grief. Why pretend to mourn someone you remember nothing of? It is duty, not emotion, that would drive either of us here. I'm sure he probably had intentions of visiting here, but his days filled up with things that were more important to him."
Quasimodo tried to imagine what he would have done if there had been a grave for his mother here. Would he have allowed other things to distract him from visiting her resting place? He thought that he would be more interested in his mother than Minerva was in her father. His mother had sacrificed herself for him, and yet he didn't even know her name. It was a piece of his past that he could never get back, not just a stranger who only deserved a dutiful glimpse.
"Father, I wish I could have known you," Minerva whispered.
They both stared at the grave for what seemed to be an especially lingering moment, until Quasimodo felt the urge to end this dutiful moment for the dead. He gently took Minerva's hand. "Minerva," he said. "Would you mind coming with me? I have something to show you as well."
Minerva smiled. "I'd love to see it."
"All right." He hastily led Minerva over to the other side of the graveyard, where a particularly large and forbidding stone with no lettering stood. "Here," he said. "This used to be the entrance to the Court of Miracles, the gypsies' secret hideout."
"The Court of Miracles!" Minerva exclaimed, her eyes glowing with delight.
"Uh...y-yes," said Quasimodo, a bit puzzled by her reaction. "Uh, you know about it?"
"Of course," replied Minerva. "It was a well-known legend all around Paris."
"W-w-well," Quasimodo continued, "there was a secret method of entering that was only known by the..." He was cut off by the sound of heavy stone sliding to the ground - Minerva had pushed the lid off the false gravestone, revealing the stairway that led underground.
"I guess you're better at figuring things out than your brother," he finished.
Minerva gazed down at the tunnel with excitement. "Shall we go in? I'd like to see the Court of Miracles."
"There's nothing to see down there anymore," said Quasimodo.
"Why not?"
"It's all been destroyed by fire. After Frollo discovered this place, he had it burned so that it could never be used again. All that remains are bones and some pieces of burnt wood."
Minerva seemed to lose control of her breath. "Oh my god..." she whispered between gasps, "...oh my god...it's all been destroyed..." She ran her fingers ever-so-slowly along the edge of the stone and gazed mournfully at the tunnel. "It's all been destroyed."
"Yes," said Quasimodo. "It's all been destroyed."
"It's all been destroyed..." Minerva repeated.
Quasimodo was greatly confused by Minerva's behavior. Why had she only given her father's grave a dutiful glimpse, but given the Court of Miracles and honest grieving? Although she had never known her father, they were still connected by blood, while the Court of Miracles had been nothing but a story. Yet here she was, staring at the Court of Miracles as though it was a dead loved one. Minerva breathed loudly and blinked rapidly, as though she were struggling not to cry. Her breath gradually decreased its intensity until she seemed to have gained a bit of composure.
"Well," she said between inhales, "shall we move on?"
. . . . . .
In the hour of nightfall, Minerva stood on a bridge, leaning over the rail, staring down at the dark waters of the Seine beneath her, which distorted her reflection and the reflection of the waxing moon. Her eyes were motionless, gazing at nothing, tranced by the steady motion of the river. Time seemed to halt itself in the river. She might have stood there a few seconds...or a minute...or an hour...or a day. None of it could be differentiated in the river.
The river's wavering movement seemed to hypnotize her, calling her away from the real world and into the unchanging world of the water. The serene ripples on the surface coaxed her lips to move in the same way, drawing a soft song out of them.
At this moment, Quasimodo happened to be walking past the bridge when Minerva's song brushed past his ear. In song, the voice was unrecognizable to him, but there was a bit of familiarity to it. He paused in his movement and strained his ear to hear the words, only to discover that the words were in German. Though he could not understand the meaning, the music seemed to have a melancholy, nostalgic feel to it. He unconsciously moved toward the source of the song, anxious to discover the singer's identity.
"Minerva?" he exclaimed.
Minerva immediately broke the spell that the river had on her, halting her music and jerking her head up to face Quasimodo."Qu-qu-quasi?" she stammered. "Wh-what are you doing here?"
Quasimodo suddenly felt very intrusive to have walked in on a moment where she obviously wanted solitude. "Uh...I-I heard your singing, and y-you had such a l-lovely voice that..."
Minerva raised a hand to hush him. She held the hand in the air for a moment or two before slowly lowering it down of the rail and pressing all but one of her fingers against her palm, silently telling Quasimodo to look down at the river. He leaned over the rail and gazed down at his wavy reflection tinted by the moonlight.
"Have you ever thought about water, Quasi," Minerva said in a hushed voice.
Quasimodo looked up at her. "What do you mean?"
Minerva pressed her hand against his cheek and pushed his head back down to facing the water. "We all need water to survive. Water - it sustains our lives, and yet we can drown in it. Such an odd paradox, that the very thing that preserves our lives can also end them."
A lingering silence followed that statement, the sort of silence that seems to be more than merely an absence of sound, the sort of silence that seems to hover in the air, making the mind hesitant to break it. During this silence, Quasimodo stared down at his reflection, repeating Minerva's words in his head without pondering their meaning, for the river had tranced him as well. It took him a long moment to realize that Minerva's reflection had vanished. He looked up to see Minerva standing a few feet away from him with her body in a twisted position, as though she were turning to leave but had something else to say first.
"The river saves lives, but it also kills," she said in a monotonous voice. "People are like that as well." With that cryptic remark, she turned and walked away, vanishing into the darkness.
. . . . . .
"Melenie, hurry up!" Esmeralda called. "We're going to be late for the wedding rehearsal!"
"Forgive me for being made to carry all this stuff," Melenie grunted as she struggled with the boxes she was carrying.
"Patience, cherie," said Clopin. "You and I both know that if they dare begin the wedding rehearsal without the bride, I shall be sending them to the gallows."
Esmeralda might have rolled her eyes at that statement or made a sarcastic response, but at that moment, her feet suddenly froze and her eyes widened. Her mind became unaware of Clopin, Melenie, her wedding rehearsal, or anything else other than the house in front of her with the forbidding bars in its lone window.
Clopin understood what was happening. "Esmeralda," he said gently, "just move quickly by."
Esmeralda was vaguely aware of Clopin's voice urging her to move, but her body could not obey that command. Her breath came out in uneven gasps as she heard the mad one throwing herself against the walls within the house and wailing out curses. Her feet seemed to plant invisible roots in the ground to prevent her from moving.
By now Melenie had caught up with them and noticed what was occurring. She placed her boxes on the ground and gently clasped Esmeralda's stiff hand. "Esmeralda," she whispered, "it's all right. Come on, we can pass her together."
Esmeralda's unblinking eyes were staring at the house, but she still had enough presence of mind to manage a small nod. She clung tightly to her friend's hand as they moved closer to the cursed house.
"DAMN BITCH, GET AWAY FROM MY HOUSE!"
The wicked voice from behind the bars suddenly stimulated Esmeralda to move faster. Now it was she who was leading Melenie, instead of the other way around. Her legs broke into a sprint as she dragged Melenie past the window as though the bars were about to attack them. It wasn't until they were far away that she was willing to slow down.
"Esmeralda," Melenie panted, "exactly what is it with you and her? I never see you like this except when she's around. Why does she terrify you so?"
Esmeralda gave a long sigh. "I've been trying to figure that out for a long time. When she's around...something inside me freezes. It's like there's an invisible wall around me that prevents me from defending myself."
Clopin walked up to them. "Don't be too hard on her, cherie. She's suffered more than you realize."
"What do you mean?" asked Melenie.
Clopin gave a small exhale. "According to the stories, she was once beautiful. She's not as old as she appears to be - fifty at the very most. The premature aging came from her suffering."
The two women gave intrigued looks.
"Now as I said," continued Clopin, "she was once beautiful. Too beautiful. She attracted the worst kinds of men. They harassed her, humiliated her, and finally...one of them forced her into a sexual relationship."
"Who?" asked Esmeralda.
Clopin sighed and glanced downward. "You two must understand that every group of people will have a few scoundrels living among them."
"What does that have to do with this?" asked Melenie.
Clopin sighed again. "According to the stories, she was raped by one of our own kind."
Esmeralda and Melenie simultaneously gasped.
"I know it's horrible to think of," said Clopin. "Our people generally detest sexual abuse, but as I said, every group will have a few scoundrels living among them. Who the man was, I do not know, but it is said that he gave her a child."
The nerves in Melenie's stomach started churning at the thought of one of their own kind abusing a woman. The nerves in Esmeralda's stomach started churning at the thought of that mad creature bearing a child.
"And yet, through that horrible experience came her saving grace," Clopin continued. "She loved that little girl with all her soul - her every moment was spent caring for the child. She would take the infant out into the streets for the townspeople to gush over. And gush they did. The child was as beautiful as her mother, and she attracted the same kind of attention: the wrong kind."
"What happened to her?" asked Esmeralda.
Clopin gave another long sigh. "Now listen, I do not know whether or not this story is true, but it is said that she showed the infant to some gypsies, and...the following night the child vanished."
Esmeralda's eyes bulged.
"It is unknown whether or not a gypsy had anything to do with it, I want to make that quite clear, but one way or another her child vanished, and that incident drove her to insanity. All she loved, all she had to live for, was now gone forever."
"Is that why she hates us?" said Melenie.
Clopin nodded. "It is said that she believes our people stole her child and devoured her flesh."
Neither Esmeralda nor Melenie could find any words with which to respond. That hellish creature had suddenly gained a more human image. Esmeralda was particularly bewildered by the notion. An odd dizziness entered her head, as though her mind was refusing to accept that there might be a bit of humanity in that creature.
Clopin could sense her discomfort, so he thought it best to alter the subject."Come you two," he said. "We don't want to be late for the wedding rehearsal."
. . . . .
"Come on Quasi, can't I look now?" said Esmeralda.
"Not just yet," said Quasimodo. He had his hands over Esmeralda's eyes to ensure no peeking while Phoebus got the wedding dress. In truth, he was growing even more anxious than she was, for the feeling of her soft skin against his hands was sending shivers through his body. Waves of tingles pulsated through his body as his heart increased its pace. He wanted so much to run his fingers down her, to press his lips against her flesh, to feel every inch of her body around him in the most intimate way. This was not an unfamiliar feeling - he had felt it so many times before, and he had been out of the tower long enough to understand what it was. He wanted to love Esmeralda - not just emotionally, but physically. This made the next day even more difficult for him. Tomorrow night Esmeralda would be touched by a man, but not by him. Never by him. With the stiffness he was feeling at the moment, that thought seemed almost unbearable. And yet, somewhere deep inside his head, he knew that he possessed the strength to handle it. He concentrated on finding that strength.
"All right Quasi, you can let go of her now."
Phoebus's voice jolted Quasimodo out of his thoughts - he hadn't noticed him entering with the finished dress in hand. He reluctantly removed his hands from Esmeralda's eyes.
Esmeralda gasped in delight when she saw what her husband-to-be had in his arms. She slowly reached out to touch the soft satin fabric as Phoebus let it fall out of his hand so she could see the dress's full beauty.
No one could ever tell that the dress was made out of old bedsheets - Minerva's talent as a seamstress shown through. The fabric seemed to shine and glisten, as though it were producing its own light. The elbow-length sleeves were cut with a curving pattern, adding personality to the sleeves. The bodice had a complex design embroidered on it: a dancing mixture of curves, swirls, buds, and flowers. Accompanying the dress was a long veil that Minerva had made out of her own material and a gold necklace that Minerva had donated.
"It's beautiful," Esmeralda murmured as she threw her arms around Phoebus. "Thank you so much."
Phoebus absorbed the embrace for a moment or two, but then he pulled back. "I'm not really the one to thank here. Yes, I had the idea, but someone else did all the work."
"Who?"
Phoebus extended his arm, signaling Minerva to step out of the shadows.
"You?" asked Esmeralda with a raised brow.
"You know," said Minerva, "talking in single words doesn't get too many points across, but yes, I made you that present. Sewed every last stitch in it, and those stitches will not come undone, even if you were to tie one end to a pole and have a horse pull on the other end, but I wouldn't suggest trying that."I
n truth, Esmeralda was having a hard time believing that the seemingly flippant Minerva had obviously put a lot of time and patience into making the dress - she had not gotten the best impression from their meeting.
"Well...thank you, Minerva," she managed to say.
"Oh, I'm not really the one to thank either," said Minerva.
Esmeralda raised both brows. "Well then, is there anyone I can thank?"
"Of course," said Minerva as she extended her arm to Quasimodo. "You can thank it not for him, none of it would have been possible."
Esmeralda warmly touched Quasimodo's cheek and looked into his eyes. "Thank you, Quasi."
Quasimodo again concentrated on finding that strength.