Mademoiselle Belle…?
Erik scoffed at himself as he watched the gypsy girl crawl beneath the tent canvas with the basket hugged within the circle of one bent elbow. He must be truly exhausted, or even delusional, to say such an insane thing to one of the people holding him captive! It didn't matter that one particular gypsy was being kind to him, and certainly couldn't be held responsible for the actions of those harming him and holding him against his will. Was he out of his mind to call her Beauty? He would have argued – had he a handle on her language – that her correction of how he'd pronounced her name was indeed just a phonetic mistake that wouldn't be made again. But it would have been a lie. He might have said it in a moment of weak-mindedness, but he'd said the word with that deliberate diction.
She'd been afraid of him… he'd seen it in how she cautiously held her body away from the cage so he couldn't try to harm her again. She hadn't wanted to be weak in front of him, and that terribly false tone of gaiety in her voice had nearly screamed her ill-ease. Still… she'd come back to him. She'd fed him, given him medical care, and even gifted him with a meager blanket – which was all he really needed at this time of the year. It took a great deal of nerve for anyone to have such kindness in them… Even someone who'd experienced so little kindness from others, he knew that.
What else could he have done but acknowledged and admired her inner beauty?
Thank God she'd simply thought it a mistake on his part! At least, while she was just a little afraid, neither of them would expect more than a perfunctory acquaintance of captor and captive. He wouldn't have any need to feel more than obligatory gratitude, and she could feel good about herself for showing mercy to such a pitiful monster. If she had an inkling of how touched he really was, she might try and bring more to him than strictly necessary… and what might he owe her then?
The flap to the front of his section of the tent opened only a few precious minutes after her departure, and he all but trembled to see his tormenters from the day before walking in.
He was mildly surprised when whey placed a bucket by his cage and began to pour in a source of food. It wasn't anything more than what you'd expect a pig to eat… but it was food, food that was even better for him than mere warm biscuits, even. There were chunks of apples, and scraps of vegetables, something he was well aware could potentially give him strength in the coming hours if it wasn't too rotten. Still… it was nothing more than slops for livestock, and the humiliation of being fed like an animal made him turn away with bitter rejection.
If he never saw that gypsy girl again, and she never brought him warm biscuits to feed on… he would one day be forced to give in and crawl on the ground like a worm for his nourishment. But today was not that day… and he'd be damned if it would be tomorrow.
The two men began circling his cage, talking amongst themselves in that odd language he couldn't hope to understand – at least not so soon. He'd been a captive for mere days, after all, and in incredible amounts of distracting pain for most of it. What he could gather from the tones of their voices was that his life in this cage so far was about to get much, much worse. They were inspecting him closely – including the strips of cloth that Bella had dressed his wounds with. Apparently, they were pleased with what she'd done, and after a close look at his face decided something that made them grin fiendishly at each other. One made a motion that Erik had come to associate with money, although he couldn't quite recall where it had come from in his short history.
Not long after their lengthy discussion and inspection, the flaps to his tent were tied back so that he could see into the front room of the massive canvas abode. Beyond he could see an arrangement of other human oddities. They all seemed to be dressing and putting on rouge or powder to enhance whatever about their faces or bodies made them different. He instantly felt the harsh sting of jealous bitterness that he was beyond the mercies of being allowed the freedom they were.
Almost straight across from the flap that separated him from them, another tent opening had been drawn wide open to allow a brilliantly bright sunshine to filter through. The grass out there looked so vibrantly green that it hurt his eyes after so much dimness, and he was forced to look away.
If he'd known what was coming that day… he might have forced himself to choke on that mornings' biscuits.
Late that afternoon, when most of the crowds had returned home, Erik huddled in his cage, trembling with rage and humiliation and pain. He'd never imagined that agony could be mental in nature. The faces of the people who had paid to look at his face; that had pointed and screamed or laughed or jeered… would haunt him for the rest of his life! He was sure of it! He'd done all he could to turn and escape them, curling in on himself so that his face was buried in his knees and his arms blanketed his head. But they'd surrounded him, reaching through the bars to shove or pull him around for a better view. They hadn't been strong enough to force his head up…
But the men who held him captive had been. By mid-morning they had tied him to the bars of his cage like Christ on his cross, stretching his long and painfully thin frame out as far as it could stretch. It had been so thorough that he'd been in constant pain, feeling his joints strain and his muscles burn. Afterward, when his struggles for liberty against the robes had caused several distraught observers to undoubtedly demand back payment, both of his captors had come into his cage and given him yet another thorough beating. Most of the bandages the gypsy girl had placed on him were now rags, as they cloth before them had been, and all dampened if not soaked with blood. The men liked their improvised whips…
The girl had tried to come into the tent again. He'd noticed her ever-so-briefly three times during the day once he'd been tied against his bars. Twice, it had been during the exhibition… but the third time had been during his punishment. He'd seen her silhouette against a now lowering sun in the front of the tent, and heard her distinctive voice above his own cries.
But she hadn't come into his part of the tent. He wasn't entirely certain his tormentors had even been aware of her near intervention, and knew they hadn't frightened her off… but he hadn't been able to tell during his thrashing and crying what had sent her away. Maybe she hadn't even come in to help him at all… and just voiced an angry opinion about his treatment while on another errand.
It was obvious by now that she was upset over his treatment. In spite of the pity that he couldn't stand to see in her eyes, it was hard to miss how distraught his circumstances made her. That morning, in spite of what he'd done the previous evening, she'd done all in her meager power to rectify his pain and anguish. She'd even tried to talk to him – if only a little.
He felt hatred rising inside him, thinking a mere gypsy girl was so intent of feeling sorry for him, and stooping to charity to assist him. If anyone really cared, wouldn't they free him in spite of any risk they took for themselves? God knew that he would have freed an unwilling prisoner, if the roles had been reversed. He might not have done it so compassionately, he knew… but he might have unlocked the cage, pulled the person out, and helped them run to freedom before going his own way.
Why was she constantly around, tormenting him with such paltry mercy? In spite of his respect for her determination and kindnesses… he couldn't understand, and he couldn't tamper down the dark loathing forming in his heart.
He was startled out of all his tumultuous thoughts, swinging from gratitude to resentment like a metronome, when a tiny figure came creeping into the tent from the front room. He covered his face at once, peering through one set of slightly spread fingers to realize that the tiny figure wasn't a child that might be terrified of his appearance.
It was a tiny woman! He'd never known such diminutive people existed! She came forward on swift toes, her arms curled around a blanket that seemed far too large for her, and dropped it beside his cage. She stood looking down at him with her hands planted on her hips; while Erik almost forgot his own face and lowered his hands just enough to have a clear look at her. She had a tiny, perfectly shaped, woman's form… with breasts that seemed large for her stature and hips that flared out beneath a tightly cinched outer corset. Still wearing powder and rouge, her lips looked as brilliantly red as ripe apples, and her cheeks like blossoms. Long strawberry-blonde hair had been pulled back into a high and tight ponytail to accentuate her tiny neck and petite shoulders.
"Arabella insisted I give you this." She said finally, in a voice that came from much too high up in her nasal cavity and was toned with impatience. "It's more medicine and an old shirt to wrap up in."
Awed, Erik cautiously lowered his hands further. The sight of his face shown plainly, however, seemed far too much for the girl to withstand. She made an absolutely disgusted sound and turned away, folding her arms across her chest. Her teeny tiny body trembled with some uncertain emotion.
"You… you… speak my language…" Erik whispered.
The woman glanced over her shoulder in his general direction.
"I'm French, too." She admitted brusquely. "I heard you yesterday when you were doing all that ungodly screaming."
Nodding, Erik looked uneasily down at the bundle she'd dropped by his cage. He didn't want to annoy this woman, who could so clearly communicate with him, any further than necessary, so he hurriedly dug into the blanket and found the jar of medicine, fresh strips of cloth, and a shirt that – even on him – would easily reach his knees if he pulled it on over his head. It looked more like a dress for a prepubescent child than the shirt of a boy or man… but it was clothing. He supposed it was just asexual enough to cause him no further humiliation.
"Can you help me?" he asked tentatively, making the girl whirl to glare at him, even though her eyes remained just above his head.
"What?" she demanded.
"I… I can't reach my back…" he explained miserably. "The girl… Arabella… she helped me this morning."
The woman hesitated.
"I won't try anything!" he insisted quickly. "I promise!"
Sighing, the woman stepped closer to the cage and reached out to snatch the medicine jar from his hand. Erik quickly turned his back to her, pulling off the dirtied bandages the best that he could. Again, the woman made her sound of disgust, but this time he could clearly hear a twinge of empathic horror at the sight of his wounds. It was clear she'd never been beaten the same way, although perhaps beatings had existed in her path.
Erik clenched his teeth against the pain as she worked.
"What's your name?" he asked through a near whimper after several endless minutes of her struggling with one medicine-heavy bandage.
"Gloria." The woman replied curtly.
"Thank you… Mademoiselle." He offered softly. "Can you thank her for me, too? I can't… she doesn't… understand me."
Gloria sighed heavily as she finished her work and scooped up the blanket as he pulled on the over large shirt. Apparently, the blanket was not part of his gifts tonight.
"I can do that." she admitted begrudgingly. "But understand this, boy. I'm not a translator… and I won't keep doing these little errands of mercy little Angel Arabella is so set on. I look out for myself, and that's more than enough responsibility for a woman like me in this place."
Erik nodded, staring up at the woman with his hands once again hiding most of his face so that he wouldn't disturb her so badly again.
"Thank you." He repeated. "I understand, I think…"
She looked him over one long moment more.
"No…" she decided. "I don't think you do. You're too young and… too god-awful hideous."
With that, she turned to stalk out into the front half of the tent. Erik flinched at her blunt words, but he didn't feel the same pang of anger towards her. It hurt, of course… he'd known for a very long time now he was a human monster… But he couldn't fault her for being so straightforward after the day he'd had with its' screams and shrieks.
A short time later, Erik found himself curled up on his side, much more comfortable than he had been; reasonably warm within a shirt and beneath a thin blanket… and drifting off into uneasy sleep. Outside, instruments and voices had begun to rise in celebratory song. Laughter erupted here and there, some so far away that it was barely audible.
While he slept on, tossing slightly from discomfort from the cage floor and the nightmares that started… another voice ruined the harmony. It was much too far away for him to hear, but it still reached out into the night. It was the soft, feminine crying of a soul fighting not to be broken… just like his.