Chapter 2
Disclaimer: Sadly, no.
Author's note: It appears that A/N are now illegal. However, I am part of a protest against that. Anyway, I will say, however, that I will double the Ts in Giry's name, and yes Giry would be an appropriate last name. People in those times often married their cousins and wot not. It was a common practice for poorer girls, because then they could still keep their homes in their family. Ok, that's all.
I spent my morning with the boy, but had to leave for my ballet lessons. I tried to reassure him that I would come back, and that he would be safe. He simply gazed at me with his same mistrusting, unreadable expression. He reminded me of a wild animal, like a feral kitten. I had once found a kitten starving in an alley, and had tried to take care of it. It had behaved much like the boy until it grew to trust me.
I put out my hand and laid it against the boy's bruised shoulder. He flinched and shuddered. "You'll be safe," I whispered gently, "I'll be back as soon as my lessons are over. I'll bring some more food, also."
He looked at me warily, glancing from my hand to my face. I noticed that he never once made eye contact, and kept his gazed fixed no higher that my mouth.
"Good bye," I said, getting up. I felt guilty leaving him alone, but if I didn't attend my lessons I wouldn't be able to dance. Then neither of us would have a home. Nevertheless, I still glanced back at him several times as I walked away. The boy curled up on top of the blanket like a cat, shivering silently. I hoped he wasn't cold, and resolved to take him a few more things that evening.
I hurried up the stairs from the cellars and entered the world of light. It astonished me how people could go about their daily lives while people like the boy in the cellar were beaten and treated horrendously. What was worse was that some of the people who lived 'above' had see the boy and had joined in tormenting him. How those people could continue their lives with no feelings of guilt was beyond my comprehension.
I hurried to dress, but when I reached the ballet studio I was still late. The instructor, Madame Nicoline Norelli, glared at me, and chided my tardiness. Some of the other ballet girls giggled and shot me mocking glances. I shuddered, remembering their taunting laughter at the fair as the watched the gypsy man beat the boy.
"Are you deaf?" Madame Norelli asked, "To your position."
I walked quickly and joined the other dancers, continuing to block out their snubs and glances. The Madame Norelli began to tap out the rhythm for our dance: one-and-a-two-and-a-three-and-a-four. The dance was in allegro, and our steps had to be swift and light to keep in time with the speed. Several of the younger girls slipped out of step and were scolded. Though I knew I should not succumb to the of pride, I couldn't help but gloat at how poorly all those stuck up girls danced. They looked like puppets! However fine they may think they are now, I thought, it will be the people whom they hold in disdain that they will out do them in the end.
Once our first routine was practiced, went over, and corrected numerous times we were allowed a rest. I was most thankful, for, because I arrived late, I had missed the warm-ups and stretches, and my joints ached terribly. I sat with Gertilline, Ninon, and Kassandré to do my stretches and rest. Gertilline and Kassandré were my only friends in the class. Ninon wasn't nearly as nice, and was often a gossip, however, she was Gertelline's half-sister and had to stay with us.
Normally I felt comfortable with my friends, but after the fair I felt strange. I had thought of them –or at lease Gertilline and Kassandré- as good, kind girls. I knew they had their faults, yes. Gertilline, or Gerti, had been known to play the dice and Kassandré drank. But I had never expected them to stoop so low as to mock a defenseless person, and laugh at their torture. I felt a sense of betrayal as I listened to their playful banter; I felt like I had somehow joined those who had hurt the boy –my boy. I felt possessive about him, like a mother owl. I felt the strong need to defend him. He was, in a sense, mine. He had no known family –none that cared for him- he just had me. The thought that I was resting in the company of people who didn't care if he was hurt or mistreated sickened me.
"What's the matter, Laurette?" Kassandré asked as she reset her long, auburn hair into a tight knot.
"Yes, Laurie," Gerti added, "you haven't said a word all day, and you were late for practice. What's going on?"
"She slipped out this morning with a blanket and her pillow," Ninon stated prissily.
"What?" Gerti exclaimed.
"Now what would that be for?" Kassandré asked.
"Yes, you must tell us!" Ninon pressed, hoping for a bit of gossip to share.
"It's a boy isn't it?" Gerti said.
"Oh, yes!" Ninon squealed, "Tall, dark, older..."
"No, Laurie's not like that," Kassandré interrupted, "It's more probable that she's helping a spy or a criminal hide. You know how Laurie's always off getting into adventures! Who is it Laurie, we promise not to tell!"
"Oh, yes we promise!" Gerti begged.
Ninon didn't promise anything. I knew that whatever I said would be passed around the entire ballet academy by the next day if she had anything to do with it. She looked at me greedily, like at rat. Her beady eyes glittered hungrily and she twisted a lock of her golden hair in her chubby fingers.
I stiffened, "I don't think I want to share my secrets with people who laugh at other people when they are hurt!" I said hotly.
"Oh, Laurie, I didn't laugh at you today!" Gerti said in a hurt tone, "I'm your best friend, I never laugh at you!"
"I didn't laugh at you either!" Kassandré agreed.
"And I was, um, laughing at someone else!" Ninon lied.
"I didn't mean me!" I replied, "I meant when we were at the fair."
"And when did this alleged laughter happen?" Ninon asked sarcastically, using most of her vocabulary in one sentence.
"You know very well when!" I snapped, "You all laughed when that poor boy in the cage was being beaten!"
"What boy in a cage?" Ninon asked.
"The one they called the 'Devil's Child'. That poor boy!" I answered, "You all laughed when that evil man was beating him. I couldn't believe that you all could be so cruel!"
"Oh, so Mademoiselle Santa Laurette is here to free the world from cruelty!" Ninon said, rolling her eyes, "I can't believe what a goody you are! What a muff!"
"Clam up, you!" Gerti snapped. She turned to me, "Oh, I'm sorry if we offended you, Laurie."
"I'm not!" Ninon muttered.
"Be quiet!" Kassandré commanded.
Gerti continued, "But you see, Laurie, it's not like we were watching a real person get hurt. I mean, none of us would ever watch someone hurt a real person. But, Laurie, you saw it. It's an animal. It's not as if it can think or has a soul or anything."
"Yes, and you have no morality issues about bull fights and cock matches!" Ninon exclaimed.
"See?" it was Kassandré who spoke now, "It's now the most civilized of entertainment, but it is still amusing."
"Speaking of which, did you see how that freak rolled over when the keeper hit it?" Ninon asked, giggling, "As if turning over could help!"
"It seemed more concerned for that stuffed rag it was holding that anything!" Gerti said.
I felt my stomach turn. How could my friends be so blind? I wouldn't put it below Ninon to find torture funny, but Gerti and Kassandré seemed swept along with the vile 'amusement' too.
"I don't agree with you at all!" I cried, "Anyone could see that he was a person! His face was hurt, that's all! And it's wrong for you all to think that his pain was entertaining!"
"Oh, come now, Laurie!" Kassandré coaxed, "Don't get all saintly on us. You probably thought it was funny, also."
"I did not!" I said, clenching my fists in frustration, "And he is a person, not an animal! There are even saints who were deformed. Margaret of Castello was a hunchback!"
"Don't be so sickeningly Catholic!" Gerti groaned, tossing her black hair. Normally my Catholicism was Gerti's only complaint against me; she was an avid Calvinist.
"You know, I would bet that it was to that freak that Laurie was bringing the blanket and things. After all, it would have taken her all morning to have gotten down to the fair and back in time to dress," Ninon smirked as she spoke.
Gerti gasped, "You didn't! Not all alone in the streets of Paris!"
"Calm down, Gerti," Kassandré interrupted, "I read in the newspaper today that the freak killed it's owner and was perused into the river where it drowned. Its body was pulled out blue as Briton. Laurie couldn't have been helping it!"
I was startled at Kassandré's words. I knew that the gypsies would have had to tell the press something, and probably wouldn't want the upper-class people who already despised them to know that they had let a "killer" slip past them. However, my heart thudded as I wondered what other poor 'dispensable' life had been destroyed to cover for this lie.
"So, who was the person you helped?" Gerti asked.
I thought quickly, racking my brains for a plausible excuse.
"Laurette Giry!" Madame Norelli's voice broke my train of thought, "Are you deaf? How many times must I call you?"
"Yes, Madame?" I asked.
"It seems you have an important opportunity ahead of you," She replied.
Ok, that's that! Tell me how you like it. I am trying to capture the psychological trauma that Erik must have been going through. Also, please note my various animal analogies, (there by the Title: Feral). There will be more of those. Ta-ta.
M.
