Invocabit

The nave remained dark and empty of parishioners. A few monks and priests moved about, arranging fabrics and dusting sculptures. Quasimodo walked between the columns and statues, replenishing candles and removing bits of spilled wax.

Quasimodo paused and he watched as a man in a black cassock and a red belt determinedly walk in his direction. Suddenly, the figure turned and darted toward the cloisters, stirring dust and bits of hay with his robes.

Quasimodo strained to follow the figure, which seemed to disappear into darkness. He felt the presence of another to his left. He turned, to find Father Lacroix with a concerned expression.

"You are back early."

"A young man was looking for a thrown horseshoe. I helped him find it. He went to the blacksmith and I returned to Notre Dame." Quasimodo looked back between the columns. "Who was that?"

"Archdeacon Tremblay. He arrived late last evening."

Quasimodo watched Father Lacroix closely.

"It will take a bit of time. He didn't seem prepared, despite…" Father Lacroix's words trailed off.

"The warning." Quasimodo mumbled.

"The Bishop explained who you are and your roles within Notre Dame. He should know better. Give him time."

"I could avoid him. He doesn't have to see me at all, if that would be better."

"That would not work to anyone's benefit." Father Lacroix plucked a spent candle from the candelabra. "Which reminds me. Your friend, Esmeralda, had some questions about your name."

Quasimodo winced.

"I know what it means."

"Maybe, in the literal sense. Your friend Phoebus is correct. Your name is found in a poem of sorts. More correctly, it's part of an introit said on the first Sunday after Easter. Having never attended mass until recently, you would have no way of knowing."

"My name has nothing to do with white robes."

"The day has many names, one that will probably surprise you. One of the new printed bibles has arrived in the Cathedral library. You should go there and read the first few chapters of Peter."

"I have chores to do."

Quasimodo held out his basket, which contained a mix of wax stubs, candle drippings and fresh candles.

"There is more than enough help at the moment. The library will be nearly empty at this hour, and the light adequate for you. The Lords word and some introspection are overdue. Take those to brother Rocher on your way there. When you are done, you are needed in the gardens."

Quasimodo held onto the basket.

"You are dismissed."

Father Lacroix watched as Quasimodo limped toward the cathedral school.

The library was brighter, with windows on the south side. Sunlight fell upon the rows of tables, a few occupied by novices and monks. Some copied texts by hand, others read in silence. At least ten shelves of books graced the north walls. Three identical volumes stood close together on the shelf. Quasimodo removed the third volume of the printed bible.

Quasimodo carried the volume to a table nearest the window and farthest from the others. The book filled most of the available space on the angled desk. The cover slid neatly against a wooden ledge.

The words on the pages were perfect, eerily so. The Latin was different than what he knew, yet clearly Latin. He leafed through the pages, searching for the gospel of Peter. The same letters donned each page, without ink blot or error. The first letter of each section was different from the others, most coloured and embellished. The margins of the pages were brightly coloured and painted with leaves, flowers, angels and beasts.

The letters were easily read, the flawlessness of the printed words remained unsettling. He located the first book of Peter and began reading.

"in quo exultatis modicum nunc si oportet contristati in variis temptationibus" 1

I don't know how many more I can take."

"quasi filii oboedientiae non configurati prioribus ignorantiae vestrae desideriis." 2

Were those evil desires? That could not be what Father Vanier meant, this does not appear poetic at all. I wanted to see the city, be a part of it. I still want to be a part of it.

Quasimodo finished the chapter and sat for a while. He closed his eyes for a few moments, thinking about the words and what they meant, or could mean, and what he could be missing. Then, he looked out at the birds and frozen branches.

Maybe I am a bird. Is there one in that bush that can't fly like the others? One that the others would rather fly away from?

Quasimodo turned and looked through the room, at the monks and novices that read in silence. None seemed to mind his presence, or even notice he was there. A chill moved through him as he corrected his thoughts.

"quasi modo geniti infantes rationale sine dolo lac concupiscite ut in eo crescatis in salutem." 3

That should say "sicut."

He abruptly stopped reading, looking up from the page. His lower lip parted as he stared off into the distance for a moment. 'Dominica in albis,' 'Low Sunday' were the names he knew and the names Master had used. Had he heard that other name, his own name, before? Back when he could hear, at some time, a time long ago? He felt bile rise into his throat.

"ad quem accedentes lapidem vivum ab hominibus quidem reprobatum a Deo autem electum honorificatum." 4

He continued to read, his mind struggling to find the proper meaning for the words. Was it man that were made of stone, living gargoyles such as himself? Was the stone a representation of Christ, a foundation of sorts. The letters distracted him. The strange Latin and the metaphors confused him. He read and re-read the lines. These were the same passages he'd read before. The different Latin gave different nuance, setting him into a state of uncertainty. He questioned his knowledge of other passages, of their meanings. A chill moved through him, causing his shoulders to twitch.

Quasimodo stopped at the last line of the second chapter and remained still. His good eye ached. His hands rested on the edges of the table, his wrists limp. The open book lay before him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, allowing the air to pass through slightly parted lips. He swallowed before closing the book and opening his eyes. No one looked his way, the monks, novices and priests milled about as if they were each alone.

Quasimodo returned the printed bible to its shelf, next to its matching volumes, and left for the garden.

1 – Peter 1:6

2 – Peter 1:14

3 – Peter 2:2

4 – Peter 2:4