Hi guys! Thanks for all your nice reviews, you made me feel uber-special. I think you'll be seeing more frequent updates, I just kept putting off writing that Sister Simplice story. This story is about little Azelma, and all grammatical mistakes are intended. I know my grammar, but Azelma don't. Or, doesn't. Enjoy!
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There's a man who comes to our tavern sometimes. He gets on well with Papa 'cause he's a good tipper. Maman likes him because he always says what lovely girls we is, says her cooking's good, an' makes fun of Gavvy, who can walk now. He says Gavvy's a stupid boy, and Maman always agrees- "Soon as 'e can talk, 'e's out the 'ouse, I assure you."
Seems like I'm this man's favorite. "Zelly" he calls me. Sometimes it's "Zellette." He has got so many other pet names for me, tryin' to make me "feel comfortable" with him.
I am sore afraid of this man.
His hands is always on me, patting my head an' touchin' my hair. Ever since I saw Maman knock the Lark clear out, I've been afraid to be touched. I squirm out of hugs. I look at 'Ponine all upset an' scared when she waves her fist at me.
I don't know if he's gonna strike me, when he reaches him hand out to touch me, usually he just wants to stroke me cheek. That's the worst of all- one of Maman's favorites with the Lark is to stroke her face all lovin'-like; then suddenly twist the Lark's cheek between her thumb and her finger. The Lark always has two bruises on her left cheek from this dirty ol' trick, and she always looks sad.
I can tell from her face that no touch is good.
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The door clicks. I see familiar shoes an' knees, but I'm too short an' I can't see nothin' else expect a little bit of a familiar face. I step back a little and look up again. This time, I can see him.
"Salut, Zelmimi!" the man says, bendin' down to look me in the eyes. I can see his arm reaching out to touch my face, like Maman does to the Lark.
I whimper an' step back from him. "B-Bonsoir, M'sieur." I say. I'm dead scared. I look at Papa, unsure of what to do.
Papa points to his mouth. This means, "talk to him." Papa an' me an' 'Ponine made up some signs a long time ago, we use 'em to charm patrons outta their money. I like this game enough, so long as Papa don't cross his arms. That means, "hug him."
Talk to him, talk to him…what will I say? Papa points to his shoes.
"I got me some new shoes yesterday." I tell him. "They weren't even nobody's first!"
Papa points to his teeth. I give the man a big smile.
"Really, Azelma?" The man returns my smile.
I nod. "Maman's gonna dye 'em blue, even! To match my Sunday dress!"
Papa coughs. This means, "look at me and I'll tell you what to do." Papa runs his finger through a hole in his coat.
"I need a new dress sore awful, but we haven't the-"I glance at Papa quickly. "Five francs for all the new stuff Maman needs to make it." I put on a sad face.
"I insist on buying you that dress." The man pulls out the five franc piece. Maman takes it and puts in into her apron. She is laughing.
I look at Papa, who draws a P in the air.
"My old Sunday dress used to be 'Poinine's. Now she don't even have one. "
The man insists on buying 'Ponine a dress as well. Papa smiles at me as he helps the Man to a table. A smile means, "Good job."
I am put to waiting on the man, and I bring him glass after glass of wine. Soon, Maman says he can't have no more; he drank a whole bottle. I go out to tell him this, but instead he asks me to sit on his lap.
His eyes is peerin' into mine, as he leans off the chair. I can tell he's real drunk. I look at his face. I can see something dead sick an' twisted. My stomach begins to hurt. Something inside my tummy tells me not to sit down. If I sit on his lap, he'll be touching me. He will bite me or hit me, I think.
"I shan't!" I scream. "I don't trust you none!"
"Zelly!" He calls after me. But by that time, I've run off.
Maman catches me by my apron strings as I try to make me way outta the tavern. I jump as I feel her touch me.
Maman scolds me under her breath fer losing them customers. I cry silently for a moment 'til Maman sends me off ta bed, wit a slap on ma back.
I learned my lesson that night. You can't trust nobody, and you can't trust a touch.