Chapter Eighteen
Quasi did not know how long it felt like he'd been mindlessly wandering the cathedral's hallways. Cloaked in a gray cape, he needed to clear his mind, and it was taking much longer than he had ever anticipated. But he knew he could not go back up to his tower and face her yet. Not after the abhorrent way he had behaved towards Madellaine.
What had he done to her? He hated himself. Quasi hated how his anger would build, burning his insides on the way out, burning the one on the receiving end, which was now his wife. He might as well just build a pyre and burn her alive with his anger and be done with it.
But he wouldn't. He loved her too much to ever leave her. In times past, every person he'd ever lost control with and had flown into one of his outbursts, he'd reckoned they deserved it. But not Madellaine. She never deserved that. All she had done in the time he'd known her was help him. She was his salvation, his heaven's light. She calmed his soul. In times past, there was the explosion of his rage and then afterwards, the mental framework to avoid guilt, avoid owning the shame that was his.
That was how he stayed foolish for so long, so immature, refusing to learn over and over sacrificing whom he was supposed to be to keep a pristine ego. But that pain, that realization, when he let it in, was more education than anything Sister Maria or Victor could have ever taught him. If he continued to be so angry, how could he love anyone right?
How he could he love his wife properly, the way he knew that she deserved? How could he love their child? How could he even begin to love himself? Quasi found himself outside the kitchens, where he knew Maria would be working. Not bothering to knock or wait for permission to be granted entry, he kicked open the door, ignoring Maria's shouts as he looked up from whatever it was that she was cooking.
The nun's anger at the interruption evaporated almost instantly when she saw how upset the man who had become something of a son to her was. "Don't you know how to knock first? Is this what our relationship has come to these days and you—Quasi, what is it?" Maria said calmly, standing up and coming over to the bell ringer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, hoping it would be enough to calm him. "What's happened? Are you hurt in any way? Quasi, talk to me, please, what's going on?"
"Madellaine and I, we…We got into an argument," he moaned, collapsing into a chair, and burying his head in his hands. "I—I can't."
"What happened?" Maria prodded gently, pulling up a chair to sit beside the cathedral's bell ringer, fiddling with the spoon she'd been using to stir a rather meager vegetable stew, hoping it would be enough to bring as a peace offering to Quasi and Madellaine, for she had heard the shouting from all the way down here.
Quasi's voice carried when he wished it to. When he turned to look at the nun, Maria was not surprised to see his face had gone hard and rigid, his muscles tensing as he attempted to quell the worst of his anger.
God help me, the bell ringer thought, despaired. I—I don't want lose control. Please… "You knew, didn't you? You knew all along th—that she was pregnant, and she came to you first and you didn't think that information was worth sharing with me? Why did she tell me about this last? You, you're supposed to be my friend. You knew, and you kept it from me. I'd have never believed it possible of you, Maria. Why?"
Maria felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. The nun hoped he would never find out. Not like he had. "It wasn't my business to tell. It always had to be her choice. Given the horrible way you reacted, I don't blame her for being hesitant to tell you, boy," Maria responded airily, feeling her voice grow cold, steeling herself for another of Quasimodo's horrible outbursts.
Quasi swallowed and his face drained of color. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees as the tensions mounted. "No, you don't understand, Maria," he said at last. "None of you know what it's like."
"Well, then, I guess it's up to you to explain it to me," Maria said, fingering her spoon still in her hands, twirling it between her fingers. "Tell me."
Quasi sprang to his feet. His chair toppled over backwards, and he glared at the well-known nun so fiercely, that for the first time, Maria saw the shadow of a demon on his face. The shadow of a monster. His blue eyes were raging and livid. "Do you not understand what I've done to my wife and my unborn child?" he shouted, running a hand through his tuft of fiery red hair. "I've made her an outcast, I know it. I never should have married her. I've gotten her pregnant and the child will be like me, I am convinced of it. A monster, like its father. It will be like me."
"It won't, you must trust Madellaine and I on this. You two will be wonderful parents," Maria spoke up quietly, unfazed by his outburst. "You're not a monster. You are a man, my son, and it's time you started seeing yourself as one. Your wife does. I do. Phoebus and Esmeralda do. Why can't you?" She hated to see the heartbreak in the bell ringer's eyes.
"How can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my condition to my child?" he shouted, beside himself with fury that coursed through his veins like fire.
"Your condition?" snapped Maria, feeling her own temper begin to swell to the surface. It was unlike her to get this angry with the boy.
He was usually so quiet and polite, shy to a fault and socially awkward, those traits she was used to and could even appreciate, but this…she almost thought she had seen the shadow of Frollo cross his features, and she wondered if somehow the man had some sort of hold on his conscience, even in death, and Maria knew she didn't like it, and had indoctrinated into the boy's head that no matter what he tried to do with his life, he would be nothing more than a failure, a monster.
Slanderous falsehoods, all of them, and she knew it would be up to her to help make him see things her way.
"What condition? There's nothing wrong with you! Heed my words, Quasi, right now, and listen to me well. You are normal."
"I never should have married her! I've made her and our baby an outcast. I—I did it against my better judgment and I regret it very much," the bell ringer yelled, pacing the floor of the kitchens, agitated. "What have I done to her?" he cried.
If Sister Maria couldn't get him under control, there's no telling what would happen. She stood up so fast she barely had time to process what was happening, as she got close enough so that her face was only inches away from Quasi's. "You don't mean a word of that!" Maria shouted, a muscle behind her eye twitching as she felt her own anger begin to surface. "I know you don't! You love Madellaine more than yourself. I know you do. I swear, if you're even thinking about leaving your wife and unborn child, I will hunt you down and drag you back here kicking and screaming if I must. You're not leaving her. You're not leaving me. You won't leave your unborn baby fatherless. You're not leaving your family alone like this! You won't. I won't let you do this. You're needed here. We need you."
Quasi kicked aside the chair he'd overturned. He looked livid.
"You have no idea what it's like for me, Maria!" he bellowed.
"Explain it to me, then!" retorted Sister Maria angrily.
"You've only ever seen me here in the safety and sanctuary of Notre Dame, you don't know the daily struggles I face when I dare to go outside!" he shouted. "You don't know how most of Paris sees a creature like me! The stares and the whispers from the townspeople behind my back as I pass them by. They take one look at my deformities and my red hair and immediately label me the devil. When they look at me, they can barely talk to me. They're afraid to! Don't you see what I've done? The stigma I've attached to Madellaine, to our baby! I can't inflict that on either of them. I won't do that to them. If—if her parents were still alive, I've no doubt in my mind they would be disgusted by our marriage. What parents want their only daughter to marry a monster?" he ranted, disgusted with himself. "I imagine were her parents still alive, they would hate me for what I've brought upon their only daughter, what I've done to her. I've married her, made her an outcast for life, and our baby—our baby is doomed to a life of misery. I can feel it."
"You don't know that," Sister Maria responded quietly. "I think her parents would adore you, just as I do, just as Madellaine does. You made the right choice when you married her."
"If, by the grace of God and a miracle happens and the child is born not like me, then it will be better off, a thousand times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed! No child should have to suffer having a monster for a parent!"
Maria wasn't sure where her rage was coming from, but the nun could quell it no longer. "You know what, you're right," she responded calmly, cringing as she felt her voice go dangerously soft and quiet. A storm was coming, and nothing could stop it.
Quasi stared, looking as though Sister Maria had hit him.
"Come to think of it, I'd be ashamed of you, were you my father," Maria snarled through gritted teeth. "You're afraid of the outside world because of what it's done to you. I'll give you that one, but you must move on and not let it define you. Instead, you've let it consume you! But I'd have never believed this of you, Quasi. Just a year ago, you risked your life to save your wife from Claude, I watched you throw him over the balcony yourself after he stabbed that poor girl. You were ready to give your own life for hers to make sure she was safe, and yet, here you stand before me, afraid to become a father to your unborn child, ready to abandon it and your new wife at a moment's notice. This isn't what you are. You're not the son I've grown to love and respect and think of as family. Instead, what I see standing before me is a coward. A COWARD!" Maria shouted.
She watched in grim satisfaction as the boy's face drained of color, and he kicked aside the chair he'd overturned and stormed out of the kitchens. Sister Maria shook her head in disgust, flinching as she heard the front door of the cathedral slam hard enough, she wouldn't be surprised if she were to go out there and find a few wood splinters.
No doubt the Archdeacon was going to want details a little bit later.
"God help us all," she moaned, rolling her eyes in disgust at the boy's abhorrent and unnatural behavior. "What's gotten into you, Quasi?" Something told her that his wife would know. Sister Maria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "By the gods, boy, what are we going to do with you?"
Grumbling to herself, she hastily poured a bowl of hot soup and ripped off a chunk of a baguette loaf to take to the girl in their tower.
Something told her Madellaine needed her counsel more than Quasi did at the moment. "He'll be all right," she growled as she ascended the stairwell, having to take the steps one at a time. She set the tray on the table she knew the two of them usually took their meals in his tower once she'd reached the upper mezzanine and headed out to the balcony.
When Sister Maria reached the terrace, her heart practically shattered into a million pieces at seeing the poor child like this. The girl's heart had been broken by the person she loved the most. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and wet from crying, and she sat against the balcony wall, forsaking her chair, her back resting against the cold stone wall, resting her chin on her knees. She watched the oncoming thunderstorm numbly, her blue eyes listless, growing numb and void of emotions.
"Maria," she spoke up softly. "Th—it's good to see you, Sister…"
Maria favored silence as a response for a moment, taking a seat on the harsh stone floor and pulled her close, an arm wrapped around her shoulder. She did not protest as she felt the young girl lean her head into her chest, snuggling in slightly. If anything, the gesture calmed her anxiety. "I take it the whole church heard our…our argument," Madellaine whispered, biting her bottom lip, actively avoiding the nun's knowing smirk.
"It's going to be all right," she said soothingly.
"No, it won't!" she wailed, her tears coming again.
"Yes, it will," Maria reassured, gently rubbing her back.
"How do you know?" she asked, not looking at Maria.
"Child, you listen to my words, to what I am about to say. I promise you; they are medicine. They come from my soul—a bridge to your own. They are something you can trust, though I know it hasn't always appeared that way. I am sorry for the pain my brother has caused you. He never wants to hurt you. He loves you too much." Maria paused to gather her thoughts. "They say…they say to give and not expect to receive. There is wisdom in those words. I guess the challenge is learning how to give so much with so little returned and still never expect any help or kindness. I have hope for you and Quasi. He loves you with all his heart. I know he will do whatever it takes to keep you at his side, safe. This little…argument, it is nothing to trouble yourself over."
Madellaine burst into tears and smiled weakly, the smile not reaching her eyes. She held out her hand and Maria grabbed onto it tightly, knowing full well the poor dear needed the comfort now.
"Thank you, Maria," she said. "For everything. Truly."
"In your hand," Maria muttered softly, grinning. Madellaine looked down to notice the nun managed to slip her a small goblet of red wine, the kind they used in communion, barely more than just a single sip.
"What, oh, no,no, no! No. I cannot accept this. Sister, I can't drink wine, I'm pregnant. Remember?" Madelaline began, teasing her friend only just slightly, the tiny ghost of a smile on her lips.
"None of that," Maria teased, holding up a hand to stop her.
"But—" she started, but the nun didn't let her finish.
"I promise you, Madellaine," Maria. "It won't harm the baby. It's just a sip. Nothing more, nothing less. A—a tonic to soothe the nerves, and hopefully help you sleep tonight."
The nun stayed close to the bell ringer's wife over the next several hours, keeping her company and doing her best to entertain her with stories from her youth.
"I know it's late," Madellaine apologized, looking up from a book she held open in her lap. "I haven't been able to sleep, so I—I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed from the cathedral's library Tristan and Iseult," she muttered quietly, a pink blush gracing her cheeks. "I hope the Archdeacon will not mind." Madellaine quirked her brow at Maria as she thumbed through a few of these pages. "You read it often, I can tell by these pages." When Maria did not elaborate, she smirked. "I saw you sneak off with it to your chambers the other night when you thought the Archdeacon wasn't looking. You've read this what, half a dozen times by now?"
"I have, it's one of my favorites during down time," the nun admitted, not ashamed to admit it.
"If you read this anymore, it'll fall apart," she teased. Madellaine looked away for a moment. "I knew I was right to like you and your taste in good books." Madellaine didn't know how long she stayed like that, her head resting against the nun's shoulder, but she knew it was a moment she'd not trade for anything in the world.
At thoughts of her husband drifted towards the center of her attention, she angrily brushed them away for now. Quasimodo would be fine. He had, after all, abandoned her and made his choice, and she had made hers. She was going to stick by his side, no matter what.
And it was just that tiny flicker of hope against the wind that made Madellaine hopeful that soon enough, Quasi would come to his senses.
It wasn't much, that little bit of hope that she clung to like her life depended on it. Barely more than an inch, fragile and soft, but it was enough.