I looked from my place on the bed and noticed the face of the poet. The sun had broken through the spaces between the houses on the street and danced upon his exhausted visage. He spoke not a word, the melancholy air seeming to choke any conversation that could be had. I rose and followed him into the main room.
Upon the table lay bread and three pears that had clearly seen better days. He motioned for me to take my place at the table, and as I sat he followed suit. We were silent for a time, though the tension made it clear what we were both pondering: what should be done with me? His eyes traveled over me, resting momentarily on each exposed part of my body; from the skin on my brow to the skin of my wrists. I followed his gaze and came to realize that I was covered in dark bruises that had not been present in the previous days. I tugged at the hem of my sleeve, pulling it down so as to cover my shame. While I presumed him to be a man of intrigue, he kept silent. Clearly while curious, he still had an air of propriety about him (which was, too, curious considering the company he kept). After what seemed like a brief eternity, the silence was broken.
"If your intentions are to remain here, you are going to have to contribute to the court. Have you any talents?" He took a pear into his hand and sighed as his teeth sunk into the darkly bruised fruit.
Talents? Me? The only thing that I had ever been trained in was sewing; needlepoint, garment mending, things of that nature. Would that be enough to ensure me a roof over my head or was I destined for the gutter once more? "I can sew" I breathed. "My father is a merchant – my mother a seamstress." He laughed.
"Yes, that's all well, but I mean can you perform? Juggle, sing, dance, anything such as that?" My eyes widened and red flushed my cheeks.
"N-No! I do not participate in such – such vulgarities!" I clasped my hand over my mouth. "I am a proper lady!"
"Yet you ran around in a shift covered in mud?" his eyebrow raised. "I hear many things from many people. My master mentioned you, actually. That you stumbled into the cathedral and found yourself at the mercy of the hunchback? You failed to mention your brief respite in the towers of Our Lady with the creature!"
"He has a name…" I whispered.
"Aha, so it is true. Some affection for the creature rests in your soul then - !" he laughed. My cheeks burned and I sunk down to the table. "I mean no offense, naturally, but it would explain your predicament. They say he's cursed, you know. I am not sure that I agree with those sentiments entirely, though it could explain how I've never been successful…"
"I am aware…and I hold no affections. It is…nothing more than curiosity. A scholar such as yourself should be familiar with such things. Curiosities." What a liar I had become. At the thought of his striking eyes I felt my heart race, and the thought of that momentary embrace caused my fingers to tremble. What was it about that creature – that man – that affected me so? I refused to accept that I had any amorous affection toward him. He was a monster and I wanted no part of his twisted world. And here I was lying to myself, again. His world was beautiful – high above the world below, spiraling up into the heavens above. Though it may be made of stone, it captured my heart. Our Lady had always been a mystical place in my mind, her columns rising from the earth and resting at the base of God's feet. My life had revolved around her song – I woke to the angelus bells and rested with the vesper bells.
"As you say" the snide grin was present in his voice. "We must decide a profession for you to take up. I must go to work, though. I propose you join me today…not in my performance, since sewing is far from entertaining." He chuckled at his joke, clearly finding himself to be a master of the word. "I have...my wife's tambourine still. Perhaps you can simply make noise with it and collect money? You are fair, in a respect anyway, and should certainly gain a few sous for a smile alone…" his eyes traveled to my lips and he groaned. "You can smile, can't you?" I curled my lips bitterly, and he was satisfied that I could at least contort my lips into a grin. "We're off then."
"We what?" I spat back. "I couldn't possibly - "
"La Esmeralda had some colorful scarves she'd wear on occasion. I imagine scarves fit any woman. She also had ornate jewelry which she adorned her hair and wrists with. I recommend you do the same. You've turned vagabond now, Mademoiselle Moon, and it is only appropriate that you look the part. I will wait for you in the court – I must practice again for my performance."
I shuddered and made my way into the bedchamber. The ornate bohemian finery glittered on the small table. Beads, bells, coins of all colors, scarves of many colors, and jingling silver bracelets soon adorned me. I took my long hair and braided it with a few of the bead strands. Pulling it up and over my head, I secured it under another layer of my hair and left the room to find the poet. How my life had become so complex I would never understand, but what could I do? Reconciliation was not a word in my father's vocabulary, nor was it something a grieving mother would consider. Someday, perhaps, I could face the bell ringer again…but my shame would permit me from finding the courage for a time.