"Here." He handed her the coins and watched as she slipped them into a little purple coin pouch. She was fairly pretty, a trait he'd noticed was uncommon for prostitutes. She was saying something to him in Spanish now. He shook his head; the few times he thought of his father, he cursed the old man for forcing him to learn Latin and Greek instead of a practical language. Jean-Claude was fluent in Latin, but it only aided him when he was in church, which he rarely was these days.
"You through with her yet?" René entered the room, sweeping the flimsy red curtain aside without waiting for a response.
"She's all yours." Jean-Claude buckled his belt. The prostitute was saying something to René, taking hold of his hand and motioning to the bed. René shook his head and said something in Spanish; the prostitute nodded, then knelt before him obediently. Jean-Claude left the room. "I'm going across the street."
"I don't know why you bother," called René, "we're all damned anyway."
Jean-Claude ignored him, stepping out of the dingy little room and into the street. He found it odd that a prostitute would do her business across the street from a church; perhaps it was more for her customers than for her. Her own soul was probably damned to Hell. Jean-Claude entered the church, crossing himself, and slid into the narrow confessional. He hoped that the priest spoke French.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since my last confession." The words came automatically, and Jean-Claude closed his eyes. The confessional was dark and quiet. He liked it.
"Ah…go ahead, my son." The priest's French was stilted and slow.
"I have made love to a woman I am not married to."
"Do you…how do you say? Do you intend to marry her, my son?"
"No, Father. She is a prostitute. I am engaged to a woman in Paris."
It was always the memory of Cosette that drove him to confess his infidelities. If God could forgive him, then surely she could too, though he would never tell her that he'd been with prostitutes. Once they were married, he would have no need for prostitutes. Once they were married, she would allow him to touch her, to hold her and caress her, to make love to her. She would satisfy the urges he felt.
He left the confessional, kneeling with his rosary. He prayed quickly, with his eyes shut. The prayer beads were worn and smooth; he'd had them since he was a boy. They made him think of his father now. His father would be ashamed to know that he'd been with a prostitute; he himself was ashamed of it. Once he married Cosette, though, it would all end.
His father would have been proud to know of his engagement to Cosette Valjean. She was a beautiful girl, and came from a relatively wealthy family. She came from a life he had once had, a life that he was determined to win back, no matter the cost. Her father was a merchant; Jean-Claude had had to prove himself to the old man. Naturally, he hadn't liked the idea of his daughter marrying a soldier. Soldiers tended to have short lives, after all, and there was a certain stigma attached to being a widow these days. Cosette was young and beautiful, much too young and beautiful to become a soldier's widow. Jean-Claude had recently been promoted to lieutenant, though, and Cosette's father was impressed.
"You started with nothing and worked your way up," he had said, "perhaps I will let you marry my daughter."
Jean-Claude was flattered, of course, but by no means satisfied to remain a lieutenant. Young as he was, he was determined to climb to the top, to reach the great destiny that his father had always promised him.
"You through yet?"
He turned and saw René seated beside him. "Yes."
They rose and left the church in silence. The prostitute was standing outside of her little room, and she waved at them. René winked at her. "Gypsies," he said. "Only good for one thing."
Jean-Claude glanced back at the prostitute. She did have the dark skin that came with Gypsy blood, and she wore bright, loose-fitting clothes. He shrugged. He had never told a soul that his own mother was a Gypsy, that her blood flowed through his veins. Of course, he didn't look like one. He'd inherited her thick, dark hair, but that was it. He had his father's pale complexion and blue eyes. "Yes," he said.
"I may visit that one again before we leave."
"We leave tomorrow, don't we?" Jean-Claude was eager to return to Paris. He would be seventeen in less than a month, and would be able to access his inheritance.
"Yes, but it won't take long. It never takes long with Gypsies. You spent more time with your rosary than you did with her."
He knew that the others laughed at him for attending confession, but he didn't care. His father had always told him that the act of confessing not only cleansed the soul, but eased the mind as well. Perhaps René didn't feel guilty for visiting prostitutes, but then again, René didn't have a fiancée waiting for him in Paris.
~xXx~
"If that's what having a baby sounds like, then I'm not going to have one."
"I'm quite sure your own mother said that when she was your age, but she had you, didn't she?"
Theresa rolled her eyes. "Still," she said, "it sounds like it hurts a great deal."
"I'm told that it does, but don't mention that to your cousin."
She looked over at Giovanni now. He was pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. "Hold the baby, will you?"
She took the baby from her father. Dante was three now, far too old to be called a baby. After all, he could walk and talk now. Theresa bounced him on her knee, making him laugh. He reached for her necklace now, and she let him grasp the pendant with his chubby hands. He held it up to his face, examining it.
"You're going to get a baby brother or sister," she said to him, "aren't you excited?"
"Yes." He looked at her, letting the pendant fall back against her breast. Theresa was told that he looked the way Giovanni had when he was three. She could see the resemblance. Dante had his father's straw-colored hair and blue eyes, but he had his mother's smile. Theresa glanced toward the house now where Katarina and the other women were. Another muffled cry came from within, and she rose. Perhaps this wasn't the best place to wait with Dante. Katarina's cries of pain were only growing louder and more frequent, and they were bound to frighten him sooner or later.
"Come," she said, putting him down and taking hold of his hand, "let's go see if we can find rabbits."
She led him along the path towards the woods. She had spent most of her young life on the outskirts of Lyon, living between the city and the thicket that surrounded it. She and her siblings had explored the woods to their heart's content. Dante was much too young to go into the woods, but she brought him with her occasionally. She never ventured far when she was with him; he was much too small to keep up with her anyway. She picked him up now, stepping onto the well-worn path.
"Now remember," she said, "we have to be very quiet."
"Because the rabbits hate noise."
"That's right."
"Shhhh!"
~xXx~
Living in Paris had not suited him, and neither had living in Lyon. Quasimodo had decided long ago that it was the solitude that made it unbearable. It was strange to live in a thriving city, surrounded by people, yet still feel so alone. It had not been comforting to see Esmerelda and Phoebus together either. Oh, it had been wonderful to find out that she was still alive, that Frollo was dead and that she was free of him; it hurt, though, to see her with Phoebus when Quasimodo still loved her so much.
Seeing their daughter made the pain even worse. Knowing that she and Phoebus were connected, that they had created a being of their love, and that no one would ever love him that way was too painful to bear. He'd accepted Frieda's offer, leaving Lyon almost as immediately as he'd arrived.
The circus was anything but lonely, and Quasimodo found that he wasn't simply to be put on display in the Freak Tent. He carved figures and sold them at a table outside of the tent. People marveled at the little carvings, rarely commenting on his own deformed appearance. He secretly loved the praise.
He loved the traveling even more. He'd spent well over twenty years locked up in the Notre Dame cathedral; he had never imagined a world outside of it, or Paris for that matter. The world was beautiful. The scenery was simply breathtaking; the cities bustling with all different kinds of people. The languages were strange to him. They sounded beautiful, though, and he'd managed to learn a few key phrases in German and Italian. Hans was fluent in several languages; Quasimodo wondered how he managed to keep all of them straight in his head.
He rarely watched the performances. He saw enough rehearsals to know how everything went. He'd occasionally watch Brunhilde and Conradine dance. They were amazing; Frieda had been right about them. People did indeed come from far and wide just to watch them dance. He loved to watch them. They were so graceful; they moved together perfectly. Their dancing truly drew the crowds, and often the audience would begin to dance. The Freak Tent would fill with people, all of them dancing. Joy and merriment hung in the air, spreading throughout the circus. Quasimodo loved it. He'd rarely known or even seen such happiness; it filled his heart until he thought he would burst.
~xXx~
She was not one to believe in omens, but she'd had the nightmare again, and she now wondered if it had been a warning of some sort. Katarina was having her second baby, and the second birth was always easier than the first one. This was not the case. Katarina was sobbing, gripping her mother's hand. The baby within her was being stubborn; Rosalie wondered if she would have to reach inside of her and pull it out. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to Marie.
She knew that Marie did not want to be a midwife, but it was the only skill she could offer her daughter. Marie's deafness prevented her from dancing, and Rosalie did not want her to steal as Pierre did. The punishment for stealing was a harsh one; Pierre had been caught and was now missing the little finger on his left hand. It would undoubtedly be worse for Marie simply because she was a girl. Though the guards in Lyon weren't anywhere near as perverse as the ones in Paris, Rosalie still worried about her only daughter's safety.
She motioned to Marie now, and Marie came forward timidly. "Go fetch some more hot water," said Rosalie. Marie nodded, turning and scurrying back to the hearth where a kettle was being heated. She hefted the kettle, half-carrying-half-dragging it over to where Katarina lay. Rosalie dipped both her hands into the warm water.
"Katarina," she said, her voice loud and calm, "I have to reach inside of you to get the baby."
Katarina groaned. "It hurts so much – "
"I know, I know."
She took a deep breath, and reached inside of Katarina. Katarina cried out; Rosalie felt her muscles tighten. She could feel the baby now, soft and warm and slick. She gripped it and pulled slowly and gently. "Katarina, you have to help me," she called, "you have to push."
Katarina screamed now. Rosalie eased the baby out of her. It wasn't breathing, and Rosalie felt her heart quicken. She heard a dull thud from behind her, but ignored it. The baby wasn't breathing. She cut the cord connecting it to Katarina and lifted it up towards her face. She pried the baby's mouth open; it was filled with a clear gooey fluid. Rosalie bent, pressing her mouth to the baby's, and sucked the fluid out. She turned and spat, noticing for the first time that Marie was lying on the floor. She had fainted. Rosalie barely had time to contemplate her daughter's situation; the baby in her arms began to cry.
"Esmerelda," she called, "come hold your granddaughter for a moment."
Esmerelda rushed to her, her green eyes wide with delight. "Oh God, Rosalie, she's beautiful!" Rosalie turned back to Katarina. The baby was out, but there was the afterbirth to deal with. She wished that Marie had not fainted, but she simply had no time to deal with her; Esmerelda would have to wash the baby. Rosalie could hear her talking to the baby, cooing at her and telling her how beautiful she was.
"My…my baby?"
"You have a girl," she said, looking up at Katarina. Katarina lay there, exhausted and in too much pain to move. Rosalie cleaned her, gently running the white towels over her legs. She straightened now, moving over to Katarina and helping her sit up. "That was difficult, I know," she said, "but you're all right now."
Katarina nodded. She reached for the baby now, and Esmerelda handed it to her with some reluctance. Rosalie watched for a moment as Katarina held the baby, smiling down at it. She turned to Marie now and knelt beside her, shaking her shoulder.
"Come on," she said, knowing that Marie couldn't hear her, "get up, Marie."
Marie stirred, opening her eyes. Rosalie helped her sit up. Marie looked around, bewildered. "You fainted," said Rosalie. Marie sighed, making the motions with her fingers that meant 'I'm sorry.' Rosalie helped her to her feet. She did not like to think that Marie was useless, but sometimes it seemed as though she couldn't do anything. The birthing process was difficult, Rosalie knew that; it was painful and gory. Clopin had vomited after watching his son being born, and Giovanni would not have faired much better if he'd been here with Katarina. Still, though, Rosalie wondered what else she could teach Marie. She had to earn her own money somehow.
"Go fetch Giovanni," she said, pointing to the door. Marie nodded and ran from the house, letting the door slam behind her.
Rosalie returned to the basin of water and began washing her hands. The water became clouded with blood, and it reminded Rosalie of the nightmare. She shuddered as it spilled back into her mind; the soldiers, all four of them, on top of her, inside of her. She'd woken up convinced that she could still feel the pain between her legs. She wondered now if the dream had had anything to do with Katarina's difficult birth. The baby had very nearly died; she herself had been so certain that she would die too, convinced that the soldiers would tire of her and slit her throat.
She knew that dreams meant nothing. Dreams were merely fragments of memories. These memories, however, would not stop haunting her.
~xXx~
René was not his equal, at least, not in rank. René was, however, the closest thing he had to an intellectual equal. Most of the other soldiers that Jean-Claude had encountered were illiterate peasants. René, on the other hand, was well-read and fluent in Spanish; Jean-Claude liked him enough to consider him a friend.
Jean-Claude leaned against the wall, bracing himself as another chilly gust of wind rattled past him. He wondered briefly why he had bothered accompanying René. He knew that he would not be visiting the Gypsy prostitute. He had no desire for her company.
"You want a go at her?" René appeared beside him, adjusting his belt. Behind him, the prostitute was smoothing her skirt. She looked at Jean-Claude and said something in Spanish, holding her hand out.
"No."
"Are you certain? She may very well be the last girl we see until we reach Paris…"
"I'm certain."
René shrugged. He turned to the prostitute, saying something to her in Spanish. Jean-Claude watched as René goosed her, then handed her some coins. She disappeared back into her room, clutching the coins.
"I don't know why you follow me everywhere."
"I'm your lieutenant," said Jean-Claude. "It's my job to make sure you don't get into trouble."
René laughed. "Are you sure you're not here to make me go to confession?"
"You can go if you want to. I certainly won't force you."
" 'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,' " mimicked René, " 'I've been with the whore who lives across the way.' You know, it wouldn't surprise me if the priest has been with her too!"
"That's only because nothing surprises you."
"True," said René. "When will you and Cosette finally marry?"
"When her father decides I'm good enough for her," said Jean-Claude bitterly. If his own father was still living, he was fairly certain that he'd be married to Cosette right now. If his life had not been completely and utterly destroyed by his father's death, he'd be a lawyer right now, or possibly a judge, and Cosette would be his.
René rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you waste your time trying to prove yourself to him," he said, "just take Cosette and run away with her! She'd go with you willingly, wouldn't she?"
Jean-Claude had briefly considered the option. He was quite certain that Cosette would follow him to the ends of the earth out of love. Even though she would not let him touch her until they were married, she did love him very much. Still, it would cause a scandal if he ran off with her, and he knew that she couldn't live with such shame. Even if they left the country, even if they went somewhere where no one knew them, she would still feel it. She could no more disgrace her family name than she could make love to him before they were wed.
"I'm going to prove myself to him," said Jean-Claude, "and once I have, Cosette and I will be married."