"I said I was sorry, Evalyne! You don't need to try to make it hurt!"
Ferdain protests as I sew up a wound on his arm.
"If it hurts it's your own fault." I snap back. "You should count yourself lucky that guard didn't slit your throat, and pray that I don't do it for him."
I am so cruel to him when he is so foolish, but Ferdain learns no other way.
Ferdain makes a person learn many useful skills: medicine, cleaning, mending, how to escape with a 24 year old on your shoulder, how to successfully scold him when you are safe.
"Really, Evalyne-"Ferdain says, hacking and coughing, a result of the vicious kick to his lungs. "I'm very, very sorry." I sigh.
"Good. Stay sorry and perhaps you'll remember this next time we pass a tavern, which probably won't be for a very long time." He looks at the ground sorrowfully, as if this is a great loss to him. I get up and take my fiddle.
"Are you going out again?" I smirk at him.
"Obviously we're not staying in Paris for very long, so I'd better get to work while I still can." I duck out of the tent and stop to talk to Antessa.
She is rapidly becoming my good friend here in Paris.
"I heard about your fool of a brother." She says, shaking her head.
"He'll be all right. As long as I don't try to murder him next."
"He doesn't seem as though he would challenge a songbird let alone a Parisian guard."
"He wouldn't. Only when he's drunk." Ferdain becomes the devil himself when drunk. I become the devil when playing.
Eventually the devil shows up in all of us.
"I'm betting those brutes had it coming, though." Antessa's voice is hard, and she stares at some spot far off in the distance, like she's recalling some intricate memory.
"It can't go on much longer." She says desperately, leaning forward and talking to me as though I can do something about it. "It's getting to be too much. The stares and the snarls you get when you go out there, the way they hate your children-"Her words catch in her throat and she pauses to collect herself. "My husband can't keep himself contained for much longer. If they insult him or kick him out of a building once more, he'll burst. You can only let them murder you so many times."
Something is rotten in the city of Paris, and I have a creeping feeling that I will find out about it first hand. Antessa is so sincere, so full of pain. I feel for these gypsies, who live in a lovely court underneath a lovely city but are persecuted the moment they enter it.
I don't know that pain of being rejected in your home. Ferdain and I have no home.
"I suspect you've had your share of run-ins with locals who don't like you very much." Antessa says; finally back to her conversational self.
"We aren't as brave, I'm afraid. Ferdain and I cower the moment they give us a nasty look. We're not very courageous gypsies." Antessa shrugs.
"Sometimes to be careful is a far better thing. And still I'd think you'd be a regular spitfire to those guards up there, considering your parents and the way you're inclined to treat certain goateed gypsy kings."
Must he invade everywhere? Even in my everyday conversation? Apparently Clopin is not refused often, so my disinterest must be something of a shock to this Court.
"If something happens to me, Ferdain is lost. He wouldn't know what to do with himself. He'd waste away. I don't have the luxury of sticking my neck out when I get spit upon. While our parents were very brave and I honor their memory, I don't want to end up dead as they did." Antessa laughs.
"You're a very funny person, Evalyne. In some ways you're sensible and completely reserved. In others you are fearless and daring."
Everyone is a contradiction. I am both foolhardy and sensible. Ferdain is both kind-hearted and stubborn.
Clopin is both irritating and amusing.
I leave Antessa and make my way back up to the city. Paris is beautiful in the morning. I wander around for a while, not too eager to disturb the air with my playing.
There's a certain feeling to a sunny morning, all the people beginning their days. Everyone is happy, full of promise. The events haven't yet happened- the day is not yet a bad one. It still has all the potential of being good. No one hates me for being a gypsy yet. I do not hate anyone for hating me yet.
I come upon Clopin and his cart. He's already started. Children sent out to do morning chores, collect the day's supplies and food are already getting distracted and spending the money that is supposed to be for their families to hear another of Clopin's tales.
"What shall it be today, little ones? Adventure?" Puppet hops out of nowhere, slicing the air with a stick. Clopin leans out over them, his black eyes shining from within his mask.
"Tragedy?" Puppet cries.
"Comedy?" Puppet laughs, holding his sides.
"Romance?" Puppet kisses Clopin on the nose. Clopin feigns shock and taps Puppet on the head. The children laugh.
Of course they want every bit of it. It really doesn't matter what Clopin says- he could recite the alphabet and they would leap into the air with joy.
I am off to the side of the cart, and so Clopin does not see me as he begins his tale. I wander closer, but hide behind the cart. I don't want to distract his audience.
He is amazing, I'll give him that much. Even I want to know what happens next.
But just as Clopin gets closer to the climax, several mothers and fathers come out. They call to their children, glaring at Clopin suspiciously. They can't believe their children would be so intrigued by a mere gypsy. Of course he must be the devil. Of course it must be a spell. No gypsy could be so talented.
The thought of his energetic talent going to waste angers me. I lift my fiddle and begin to play from behind the cart. The children ignore their parents, laughing and clapping, believing that somehow Clopin is making music without any kind of instrument. I can't see the look on his face, but he only hesitates a moment before continuing with his tale.
I keep my music consistent with what he says. Sad music for a sad moment, fast for an exciting moment. Sometimes he tries to test me, spontaneously changing the mood and seeing if I can keep up.
He finishes the tale and I finish my playing. The children give him all their coins, begging for another story.
"Perhaps later, little ones! I've someone I need to fiddle with right now." He says loudly to the back of the cart. They are all too dazzled to care about their parents or the lack of another story and go skipping off.
I come around to the front. Clopin grins, leaning on his elbows.
"Well Cherie, at the very least you are not stealing my audience. I don't need any help keeping them, however." He's stuck between being glad I enhanced his performance and irritated that I thought it needed enhancing.
I shrug, tapping out a tune with my fingers on the cart.
"Maybe I just felt like playing." Clopin rolls his eyes at me.
"Even being friends with you takes work, I see."
"Not work. A bit of tolerance. A lot of patience." He laughs.
"And a good sense of humor, no?" He reaches out idly to grab my hand, the tapping fingers becoming annoying, but I deftly fiddle them out of his way.
"How is that brother of yours?" He asks.
"Not any wiser. But thank you for helping to get him out of there. I wouldn't have known what to do." He chases my fingers around the top of the cart, but I keep making imaginary leaps on the strings.
"Kings do not abandon their people, even if they are temporary or foolish."
"However did you become King?" I ask. He chuckles.
"Clopin fought hundreds upon hundreds of envious gypsies for his right to rule! Along the way he charmed all of their wives and tricked the entire Parisian guard out of their annual salary!"
"At least," He adds, "That's what I tell my audience."
No one can rival him for a story, even if it's entirely impossible. He has a way of making you believe that whatever he says is the truth.
"And what's the real story?" He finally claps his hand over mine but I continue to move my fingers underneath his hand.
"A simple case of inheritance. My father was king, and naturally I took over after he died." He says 'died' like its 'flown away'- something physically impossible.
"They didn't accept me right off. It took some doing to convince them that I could lead as well as he had."
"What did you have to do?" My voice is a bit too eager to hear. He laughs.
"If I tell you all my stories now, little fiddler, you won't talk to me anymore." I stare at him for a moment.
Then, without any warning, I yank my hand out from under his and continue tapping away on the cart.
"I think there is a demon in your fingers, Cherie." Clopin says teasingly, watching them dance about. Suddenly Puppet raps me on the knuckles with his stick.
"Naughty boy!" Clopin admonishes him. I glare at them both.
"She's giving us an evil eye, Puppet. Do you suppose we are cursed?" He says conspiratorially.
"If I cannot play tomorrow-"I say with a look of death in my eyes.
Sometimes I over exaggerate as Ferdain does.
"Rubbish!" Clopin declares, and Puppet is out of sight before I can even realize he is gone. "You would play even if you had no hands, Evalyne."
I've had my fill of Clopin Troullifou for today. I turn and start walking away.
"You haven't even played yet." I look up. He is standing in front of me, though how he got there I don't know. I walk around him.
"Unless you want to be competing with me for coin all day, I'd better go somewhere else."
"How will you play without your fiddle?" I realize that there is nothing in my hands. Clopin has somehow snatched my fiddle, and I have only my bow. I jab it into his chin as if it's a very sharp sword.
We stand like this for a moment or two.
"Did the devil give you this as a reward for your eternal service to him?" He says, glancing down at the fiddle.
"Ferdain got it for me, actually." He stares at me in half-shock.
It even surprises me that my lazy brother should be the start of the thing my life revolves around, but it's true enough. Ferdain stole it for me years and years ago, when we were just children.
This is probably why I put up with him, protect him, allow him to continue to be so lazy and troublesome.
This is probably why I still love him.
Clopin hands it back to me, but not before seizing my bow and yanking a few hairs from it.
"You horrible gypsy." I mutter, inspecting it for damage.
"I'm sure you'll snatch away any decent parts of my soul before you're done, little fiddler," He says with a devilish grin. "Consider that an equal exchange- a piece of yours for a piece of mine."
"If it hurts it's your own fault." I snap back. "You should count yourself lucky that guard didn't slit your throat, and pray that I don't do it for him."
I am so cruel to him when he is so foolish, but Ferdain learns no other way.
Ferdain makes a person learn many useful skills: medicine, cleaning, mending, how to escape with a 24 year old on your shoulder, how to successfully scold him when you are safe.
"Really, Evalyne-"Ferdain says, hacking and coughing, a result of the vicious kick to his lungs. "I'm very, very sorry." I sigh.
"Good. Stay sorry and perhaps you'll remember this next time we pass a tavern, which probably won't be for a very long time." He looks at the ground sorrowfully, as if this is a great loss to him. I get up and take my fiddle.
"Are you going out again?" I smirk at him.
"Obviously we're not staying in Paris for very long, so I'd better get to work while I still can." I duck out of the tent and stop to talk to Antessa.
She is rapidly becoming my good friend here in Paris.
"I heard about your fool of a brother." She says, shaking her head.
"He'll be all right. As long as I don't try to murder him next."
"He doesn't seem as though he would challenge a songbird let alone a Parisian guard."
"He wouldn't. Only when he's drunk." Ferdain becomes the devil himself when drunk. I become the devil when playing.
Eventually the devil shows up in all of us.
"I'm betting those brutes had it coming, though." Antessa's voice is hard, and she stares at some spot far off in the distance, like she's recalling some intricate memory.
"It can't go on much longer." She says desperately, leaning forward and talking to me as though I can do something about it. "It's getting to be too much. The stares and the snarls you get when you go out there, the way they hate your children-"Her words catch in her throat and she pauses to collect herself. "My husband can't keep himself contained for much longer. If they insult him or kick him out of a building once more, he'll burst. You can only let them murder you so many times."
Something is rotten in the city of Paris, and I have a creeping feeling that I will find out about it first hand. Antessa is so sincere, so full of pain. I feel for these gypsies, who live in a lovely court underneath a lovely city but are persecuted the moment they enter it.
I don't know that pain of being rejected in your home. Ferdain and I have no home.
"I suspect you've had your share of run-ins with locals who don't like you very much." Antessa says; finally back to her conversational self.
"We aren't as brave, I'm afraid. Ferdain and I cower the moment they give us a nasty look. We're not very courageous gypsies." Antessa shrugs.
"Sometimes to be careful is a far better thing. And still I'd think you'd be a regular spitfire to those guards up there, considering your parents and the way you're inclined to treat certain goateed gypsy kings."
Must he invade everywhere? Even in my everyday conversation? Apparently Clopin is not refused often, so my disinterest must be something of a shock to this Court.
"If something happens to me, Ferdain is lost. He wouldn't know what to do with himself. He'd waste away. I don't have the luxury of sticking my neck out when I get spit upon. While our parents were very brave and I honor their memory, I don't want to end up dead as they did." Antessa laughs.
"You're a very funny person, Evalyne. In some ways you're sensible and completely reserved. In others you are fearless and daring."
Everyone is a contradiction. I am both foolhardy and sensible. Ferdain is both kind-hearted and stubborn.
Clopin is both irritating and amusing.
I leave Antessa and make my way back up to the city. Paris is beautiful in the morning. I wander around for a while, not too eager to disturb the air with my playing.
There's a certain feeling to a sunny morning, all the people beginning their days. Everyone is happy, full of promise. The events haven't yet happened- the day is not yet a bad one. It still has all the potential of being good. No one hates me for being a gypsy yet. I do not hate anyone for hating me yet.
I come upon Clopin and his cart. He's already started. Children sent out to do morning chores, collect the day's supplies and food are already getting distracted and spending the money that is supposed to be for their families to hear another of Clopin's tales.
"What shall it be today, little ones? Adventure?" Puppet hops out of nowhere, slicing the air with a stick. Clopin leans out over them, his black eyes shining from within his mask.
"Tragedy?" Puppet cries.
"Comedy?" Puppet laughs, holding his sides.
"Romance?" Puppet kisses Clopin on the nose. Clopin feigns shock and taps Puppet on the head. The children laugh.
Of course they want every bit of it. It really doesn't matter what Clopin says- he could recite the alphabet and they would leap into the air with joy.
I am off to the side of the cart, and so Clopin does not see me as he begins his tale. I wander closer, but hide behind the cart. I don't want to distract his audience.
He is amazing, I'll give him that much. Even I want to know what happens next.
But just as Clopin gets closer to the climax, several mothers and fathers come out. They call to their children, glaring at Clopin suspiciously. They can't believe their children would be so intrigued by a mere gypsy. Of course he must be the devil. Of course it must be a spell. No gypsy could be so talented.
The thought of his energetic talent going to waste angers me. I lift my fiddle and begin to play from behind the cart. The children ignore their parents, laughing and clapping, believing that somehow Clopin is making music without any kind of instrument. I can't see the look on his face, but he only hesitates a moment before continuing with his tale.
I keep my music consistent with what he says. Sad music for a sad moment, fast for an exciting moment. Sometimes he tries to test me, spontaneously changing the mood and seeing if I can keep up.
He finishes the tale and I finish my playing. The children give him all their coins, begging for another story.
"Perhaps later, little ones! I've someone I need to fiddle with right now." He says loudly to the back of the cart. They are all too dazzled to care about their parents or the lack of another story and go skipping off.
I come around to the front. Clopin grins, leaning on his elbows.
"Well Cherie, at the very least you are not stealing my audience. I don't need any help keeping them, however." He's stuck between being glad I enhanced his performance and irritated that I thought it needed enhancing.
I shrug, tapping out a tune with my fingers on the cart.
"Maybe I just felt like playing." Clopin rolls his eyes at me.
"Even being friends with you takes work, I see."
"Not work. A bit of tolerance. A lot of patience." He laughs.
"And a good sense of humor, no?" He reaches out idly to grab my hand, the tapping fingers becoming annoying, but I deftly fiddle them out of his way.
"How is that brother of yours?" He asks.
"Not any wiser. But thank you for helping to get him out of there. I wouldn't have known what to do." He chases my fingers around the top of the cart, but I keep making imaginary leaps on the strings.
"Kings do not abandon their people, even if they are temporary or foolish."
"However did you become King?" I ask. He chuckles.
"Clopin fought hundreds upon hundreds of envious gypsies for his right to rule! Along the way he charmed all of their wives and tricked the entire Parisian guard out of their annual salary!"
"At least," He adds, "That's what I tell my audience."
No one can rival him for a story, even if it's entirely impossible. He has a way of making you believe that whatever he says is the truth.
"And what's the real story?" He finally claps his hand over mine but I continue to move my fingers underneath his hand.
"A simple case of inheritance. My father was king, and naturally I took over after he died." He says 'died' like its 'flown away'- something physically impossible.
"They didn't accept me right off. It took some doing to convince them that I could lead as well as he had."
"What did you have to do?" My voice is a bit too eager to hear. He laughs.
"If I tell you all my stories now, little fiddler, you won't talk to me anymore." I stare at him for a moment.
Then, without any warning, I yank my hand out from under his and continue tapping away on the cart.
"I think there is a demon in your fingers, Cherie." Clopin says teasingly, watching them dance about. Suddenly Puppet raps me on the knuckles with his stick.
"Naughty boy!" Clopin admonishes him. I glare at them both.
"She's giving us an evil eye, Puppet. Do you suppose we are cursed?" He says conspiratorially.
"If I cannot play tomorrow-"I say with a look of death in my eyes.
Sometimes I over exaggerate as Ferdain does.
"Rubbish!" Clopin declares, and Puppet is out of sight before I can even realize he is gone. "You would play even if you had no hands, Evalyne."
I've had my fill of Clopin Troullifou for today. I turn and start walking away.
"You haven't even played yet." I look up. He is standing in front of me, though how he got there I don't know. I walk around him.
"Unless you want to be competing with me for coin all day, I'd better go somewhere else."
"How will you play without your fiddle?" I realize that there is nothing in my hands. Clopin has somehow snatched my fiddle, and I have only my bow. I jab it into his chin as if it's a very sharp sword.
We stand like this for a moment or two.
"Did the devil give you this as a reward for your eternal service to him?" He says, glancing down at the fiddle.
"Ferdain got it for me, actually." He stares at me in half-shock.
It even surprises me that my lazy brother should be the start of the thing my life revolves around, but it's true enough. Ferdain stole it for me years and years ago, when we were just children.
This is probably why I put up with him, protect him, allow him to continue to be so lazy and troublesome.
This is probably why I still love him.
Clopin hands it back to me, but not before seizing my bow and yanking a few hairs from it.
"You horrible gypsy." I mutter, inspecting it for damage.
"I'm sure you'll snatch away any decent parts of my soul before you're done, little fiddler," He says with a devilish grin. "Consider that an equal exchange- a piece of yours for a piece of mine."