III : Tears, Laughter, and Fireflies
Aimée was wrong in her assessment of her father. He was indeed a harsh man, she just didn't want to speak wrongly of him to the guard out of fear and a loyalty she didn't understand.
By the time she returned home from the market with her mother, dusk had already started to fall. Aimée's father was in the small dining room, sitting at the table with papers and ledgers spread out across the wood. His hair was in a state of disarray and his bloodshot eyes were cradled in dark bags of stress. Aimée did not ignore the empty bottle of wine that lay on its side next to a large marbled ledger.
"Where've you been?" Gérard Lamenté slurred, his words clumsy already in the early evening.
"We've been to the market," his wife answered, keeping a steady hand on her belly as she moved the baskets of food to the pantry. "Are you ready for dinner, my love?"
Aimée crinkled her nose, wondering how her mother could call Gérard such things.
His brow furrowed. "I was ready to eat hours ago!" he boomed, struggling to stand up. "You and the brat left me alone to do all the work while you shopped our money away! And you, girl, what are you doing out of the house after you destroyed my garden?"
Aimée's eyes were not on her father, but instead looking down at her shoes. For a moment, she wondered what the uniformed guard with the thinking eyes and scruffy chin would say if he were here. Unfortunately, as she was lost in thought, she didn't hear her father's question.
He reclaimed her attention with a sharp smack across the face.
"Gérard! Stop that!" Melanie shouted, yet too afraid to get her vulnerable pregnant belly anywhere near the drunk.
Aimée's fingers were cool against her stinging face as tears pricked her eyes. "Mama told me to help her shop today."
"You don't listen to her, you listen to me, understand?" Gérard bellowed, stomping back to the table.
"Honestly, Gérard, I don't know what's wrong with you," Melanie slowly stated, trying to get her husband's attention away from little Aimée as she clambered up the stairs to her room.
There, amidst her ribbons and treasures, the little girl curled up in the corner and hugged her knees. Mama's and Father's voices were getting ever louder and, even now at the age of sixteen, they stung her ears and pricked at her eyes. The sharp stinging of Gérard's hand across her cheek was starting to fade away into a dull ache, sure to bruise.
Staring at her bed, she hummed a lullaby until the voices stopped and dusk had swollen into an inky blackness. Underneath her door, she saw no warm glow of light. Her parents had gone to bed.
The girl stood and grabbed a shawl from the worn wardrobe that sat opposite her bed. Pulling it around her shoulders, she tiptoed downstairs, snatched a few small bread rolls and slipped out the door. The dew was slick against her feet as she dashed across the green grass to the uneven cobblestone of the road. The stars twinkled down at her, guiding her with the help of pearly moonlight to the now deserted square. In the square sat a small fountain. Crossing her legs under the large fabric of her dress, she sat on the stone edge, watching the trickles of water escape cherubs and water creatures. Aimée started to pick at her bread, sniffing from the dampness of the night and the pain from her father between bites
"You shouldn't be out here," came a heavy voice from behind her. She nearly jumped into the water from shock.
"Who is there?" Aimée demanded, whirling around. Through the moonlight, she saw the straight-backed figure of the guard. "Oh, it's you."
"You shouldn't be out here," he repeated, ignoring her surprise. "Why aren't you in your home?"
The girl was silent. Instead, she brought her hand up and cupped her own cheek.
"You should be at home."
"I'm not going back there," she answered, her tone biting.
Javert found himself feeling awkward, surprised by the fire in the young woman's voice .Even from his courteous distance away from her in the dark, he could see anger spark in her eyes. The silence flourished.
"You should go home…you don't know what's out here," he finally said, his hand secure around his baton.
"You're out here. And besides…I'd rather be kidnapped than beaten," Aimée sniffed, wiping her eyes and putting another piece of bread into her mouth. Javert watched her, not wanting to get any closer and wondering what to do.
She turned her head, the moonlight reflecting off of her dusty blonde hair. "Why are you out here? Why aren't you at the wharf, guarding the inmates?"
"I'm in training to be Inspector," he said, "Part of my training includes nightly patrols."
"So then I should call you Inspector…" she waved a hand around in the darkness. "Inspector What's-Your-Name, considering I don't know it."
He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Javert…my name is Javert."
Aimée thought for a moment, her nose wrinkled up. "What an unfortunate name," she finally said, looking at him.
In the starlight, she noticed as a thick crease form between his heavy brows. His downturned eyes regarded her fixedly. "Excuse me?"
She shook her head, "I'm just kidding. I like your name. Sound's strong. It's a lot better than Lamenté," she said, her last name making her tone bitter. "Do you remember my name?"
Javert said nothing, but nodded as Aimée finished off her bread. "
"You don't talk much."
"No, I don't." Javert wasn't about to admit that this was one of the longest conversations he'd held with someone in months. This brusque exchange added on to the chat at the market that morning was starting to add up into more interaction than the man was used to.
"Mademoiselle, why are you out here?" This time when he asked, his voice demanded an answer, yet it was not harsh or unkind.
Aimée's oceanic eyes studied the water in the fountain. "I lied to you when I told you my father wasn't a harsh man earlier." Javert swallowed, wondering why the girl was confessing to him. "He's actually cruel. Today, after Mama and I returned from the market, he was already drunk."
"I see."
"And he struck me, harder than he usually does."
In the darkness, as Javert's eyes adjusted, he could see that one of Aimée's cheeks was mottled with a bruise. She looked over to him and motioned the side of the fountain.
"You could sit down if you wanted."
He swallowed uncomfortably. Javert was not used to this kind of offer or interaction. "I…I should really start to continue on my patrol, mademoiselle," he said, slipping his baton on his belt and taking a few cautious steps forward. As he neared, he could see the shining streaks of tears on Aimée's face and he could feel the distaste start to swell in his throat. He swallowed again, trying to force it away, but it was lodged firmly in place. His memory of witnessing Aimée being struck in the square yesterday was flashing behind his eyes.
She looked down, disappointed in his answer, facing the water again. Javert's jaw tightened and he brought his hands forward, looking down at his feet before he glanced back up at the girl, bent forward and silently crying.
"May I escort you home, Mademoiselle Lamenté?" he asked before he realized the words had escaped his mouth. She turned and looked at him, standing stiffly with his hands clasped in front of him as he regarded her.
He was amazed when she accepted his offer, sniffing and wiping her eyes free of stray tears. Javert held out his arm for her, which was expected out of courtesy, and she lightly took it. The wool of his jacket was rough under her hand, but she didn't seem to mind.
The odd couple set off down the cobblestones, the heels of his boots making a muffled tap with every step. Their pace was comfortable, not too brisk or too slow. Aimée was silently admiring Javert's arm under his sleeve. It felt solid and strong underneath her small hand and she immediately felt protected.
"What made you want to be a guard?" she asked as they walked.
He cast a sidelong glance towards her. "I want to be a man of the law. I have to start as a guard, then work for Inspector, so on and so forth."
Aimée nodded, "I want to be an artist."
"The world isn't kind to artists, mademoiselle" Javert said matter-of-factly.
"Nor is it to people of the law," Aimée fired back.
He regarded her in the moonlight, surprised by her brusque comment. Javert had a habit of studying the people he met, whether it be a passerby on the street or a fellow guard. Now, in the weak light, he felt like it was safe to look over the girl. Javert acknowledged her beauty, even as a young woman, and noted her strong jaw. He pictured what it would look like clenched in stubbornness or slack as she slept. Exhaling to cast the image away, he turned his eyes back to the street ahead.
Out of the corner of her eye, Aimée saw him watching her, his stormy eyes curious in a firm way. It was a little strange for her to be acknowledged by a man that wasn't her father or a screaming market salesman. Aimée decided she enjoyed his company, even if it was gruff and formal.
"When I was little, before my parents moved here, I lived in the countryside," she said, wanting to fill the silence. "The moon and stars were brighter there, but we had to move because Papa was looking for work."
"What does your father do?" Javert responded, finally starting to ease in to conversation.
"He's a tax collector and he also does paperwork for some kind of rich man. I don't understand it," she said, waving her free hand, "But before we moved here, I would always chase fireflies."
"Fireflies?" Javert, a man born of the city streets, had never heard of fireflies.
"Yes, they're little insects that twinkle like the stars," she explained. "I was always happy when I chased them, but now that I'm older, my father said I'm expected to grow and act like a lady."
Javert looked at her. "That was apparent when you had mud streaked on your dress, mademoiselle."
Aimée laughed then, a strong sound that did not match her slight form. Javert felt the corner of his own mouth twitch upwards. It was a welcomed change from the tears and spite that the guard had witnessed when he first came across Aimée sitting on the fountain. He was still uncomfortable in her presence, but he would choose laughter over tears.
When their walk had ended, Javert found that Aimée's house was larger than average. It was comfortable looking, not affected by the poverty that filled the rest of the town and the rest of the country. No one who lived here had probably experienced hunger or cold.
"Well, thank you for escorting me, Monsieur Javert," Aimée said, taking back her hand and giving him a small curtsey. "Maybe I'll see you out and about." Her voice was casual.
He gave her a curt little bow as she turned and snuck back into the quiet house. Javert waited a moment after he watched her disappear before he turned to leave. The man was still as serious as ever, yet he felt content after his walk with the young woman. She was brighter than her years, and she would age into quite the beauty for some nobleman to marry.
Out on his patrol, Javert felt a small pang of loneliness. The stars dulled and the night swelled around him without her company. He thought of her laughter. It didn't sound like the light tinkling of bells as he would've imagined, but instead was solid and strong. Javert noted with sadness that he didn't remember the last time he laughed, chuckled, or even smiled from ear to ear.
His mind wandered for the rest of his patrol, and by the time he returned back to his quiet house, he was mentally exhausted. The last thing he thought of before he drifted off to sleep was the twinkling lights fireflies .