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by Therese
"Esmeralda, are you sure she won't mind my coming with you? Clopin says she's very particular. He calls her Madame Porcupine, and his Little Pincushion, and...""For the last time, everything is going to be fine! Madame is going to love you. She may be a bit prickly at first," the girl conceded, "but once she's sure you know who's boss, she'll be your best friend."
"No," Esmeralda's companion smiled shyly at her, "you'll still be my best friend."
And the little goat who trotted alongside them bleated in agreement.
More than a few heads turned as the companions made their way through the streets of Paris. Of course, a fair number of male heads were swivelling in response to the staggering beauty of La Esmeralda, the gypsy dancer, who was now quite a local celebrity, thanks to the efforts of Judge Claude Frollo to reduce her to a pile of ashes in front of the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris. The young man who accompanied her, long a great mystery, and the inspiration of a good deal of gossip and storytelling, was the one who had saved her from the flames, the Cathedral's famous bellringer, the fabled Hunchback of Notre Dame, himself.
Hardly two months had passed since the siege of Notre Dame and the death of Claude Frollo, and Quasimodo was still growing used to roaming the streets of Paris. He had been surprised to find that the stares he attracted did not bother him as much as he had thought they would, probably because he had expected them to be worse. Oh, there were still some who mocked him, and many who cringed, or turned away in disgust, but he had come to realize that at least a few people stared out of simple curiosity, and he had learned that, when he met their eyes, a friendly smile from him would sometimes win a smile back. At the moment, he couldn't tell who was staring and who wasn't, for his view was blocked by a long, thick roll of fabric, bound up with cord and slung over his shoulder. He followed Esmeralda into the Rue de Cigognes, and stopped when she pointed and said, "Look, there she is."
Craning to see around his burden, it took him a moment to realize that Esmeralda was pointing not at a person, but at a sign that swung over the street. It depicted the head and shoulders of a plump, shrewd-looking woman in a neat, white cap. "Manon Chabrol painted it," Esmeralda explained, as they approached the door identified by the sign. "It looks just like her, wait and see."
The front of Madame Darbois' tavern was generously blessed with windows, and through them the visitors could see the brown shoes and blue-and-white striped skirts of someone standing on a stool that had been pushed up to the glass. She was in the process of washing the windows, and the upper panes were still too soapy for her face to be clearly visible through them, but, when Esmeralda tapped at the glass, she bent down and peeped out. Seeing who had summoned her, the window-cleaner smiled and waved at them and, hopping down from her perch, came to open the door.
Quasimodo's first thought, formed by only a glimpse through the thick glass, was that Madame Darbois didn't look anything at all like the sign in the street, but when the window-washer opened the door, he decided that this young woman was not the tavern-keeper, after all -- unless Madame had suddenly shed a significant number of years and pounds, dyed her hair blonde, and put a blue patch over one eye.
"Good morning, Anne," Esmeralda greeted the girl, motioning for Quasimodo to carry his burden inside and set it down. "I brought a friend with me. This is Quasimodo," she nudged him forward; "he rings the bells at Notre Dame."
"Oh, I know who he is," Anne was smiling brightly at him. "You're very famous, you know. Saving Esmeralda, and the Cathedral, and everything. It's an honor to meet you." The young lady held out her hand to him. The frankness of her gesture startled him for a moment, but he recovered himself enough to take her hand and gently shake it.
"Thank you, miss. Um-- I'm very pleased to meet you, as well."
"Anne is Madame's Assistant," Esmeralda explained, then asked the girl, "Is she here?"
"She's here! She's here!" came a voice from the depths of the tavern. "Come in, but don't look too closely, the place is still a mess." This was unmistakeably the plump little woman on the sign outside, thought Quasimodo, as she came bustling into the room. "Oh," Madame Darbois frowned, "so you brought him, I see. Well, I suppose I'd might as well let him in, since he's already here."
Startled and shamed by the woman's sharp words, Quasimodo flinched and turned bright red -- until, with a bleat and a clatter of tiny hooves, Djali pushed past him and scampered up to the cross little woman, and he suddenly realized she'd been referring to the goat.
"Once I'm open, I won't be so tolerant," Madame shook her head at the animal as he nuzzled her hand. "This is a respectable dining establishment, not a barnyard." Djali trotted around the room, exploring the new place, as the owner called after him, "And the old rules still apply, I'll have you know. If I catch you in the kitchen, there'll be Chevre en Cidre Normand for tomorrow's dinner!" The goat bleated in reply and knocked over a stool, and everyone laughed at this, except Madame, who regarded them with what looked like a grin masquerading as a scolding grimace. "I thought you'd be Monsieur David's men," she told her visitors. "They're supposed to be delivering my first stock of wine this morning. What's that you've got there?" she nodded at the roll of fabric propped against the wall.
"A surprise," said Esmeralda. "Quasimodo was kind enough to carry it over for me. I don't think I've introduced you..."
"I don't think we need an introduction," Madame replied, but not unkindly. "Welcome to Chez Therese, sir; we've heard a good deal about you."
"Thank you, Madame," he bowed slightly to her, and she acknowledged the gesture with a nod.
"Come in and sit down," she beckoned, "and show me what you've got there. And close that door, before someone thinks we're open for business."
Quasimodo turned to oblige the tavern-keeper, and scuttled back in surprise as a brightly-dressed figure appeared in the doorway from nowhere.
"Ah, but, open or not, you wouldn't be so cruel as to leave your best customer standing in the street, Madame." Clopin Trouillefou, Master of the Dramatic and Perfectly Timed Entrance, laughed merrily and advanced on the tavern-keeper, his arms open wide.
Therese waved him off. "Don't start that, now!"
"Ah, poor Madame, forgive me -- appearances, appearances. Esmeralda, my dear," he turned to the gypsy girl and, taking her in his arms, kissed her cheek. "Lovely Anne, a kiss for Clopin, if you please..." The fair girl obliged him. "My friend, the bellringer," Clopin bestowed a bear hug on the startled Quasimodo. "And Djali!" He knelt and called the goat, and Djali, with a conspiratorial bleat, came running and licked his face. "Now, Madame," Clopin stood up and opened his arms to her again, "you've always said I wasn't to treat you any differently than the others."
"Well, I'm not going to kiss you after the goat!" she huffed.
Clopin roared with laughter at this. "Suit yourself, my dear," he grinned wickedly, catching up Esmeralda and Anne, one in each arm, and planting a fresh and noisy round of kisses on the girls' cheeks while they both giggled and swatted at him.
"Oh, stop that!" Madame snapped. "Before I come over there and give you a smack you won't like. Now sit down and be quiet! Esmeralda's brought me something, and you're interrupting."
"Forgive me, Madame," Clopin bowed, still chuckling under his breath. "I live to obey. What have you brought for Madame, Esmeralda?" he asked, sprawling in a chair.
"Quasimodo..." she motioned for him to fetch the roll of fabric, and he laid it at her feet. Esmeralda produced a knife and cut the cords that bound it. The bundle was made up of rugs, in a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns.
Quasimodo and Esmeralda began to spread them out on the floor as Therese exclaimed, "My goodness!"
"Do you like them?" Esmeralda asked, an uncommon tinge of shyness in her voice.
"They're lovely." Therese picked her way thoughtfully among them. "What do you think, Anne? Which do you like best?"
"They're all beautiful," the girl answered diplomatically, but she had her eye fixed on one decorated with fluttering bluebirds. "I think this one is my favorite, though."
"I like that one best, too," ventured Quasimodo.
"Very well," Madame nodded. "I'll take the bluebirds, the big one over there, and this green one. How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing!" Esmeralda shook her head. "They're yours. They're all yours."
Startled, Therese put a hand to her heart. "What?"
"They're a present, for you." The gypsy girl held out her hands to the tavern-keeper. "From all of us. You've been a good friend to us, Madame, and we wanted to thank you."
"Well, I'll be..." Therese reached out absently for Esmeralda's hand and looked around at the mass of colorful rugs. "I don't know what to say."
A faint sniffle drew her attention to Anne, whose blue eye was shining moistly. "Don't you start," Therese warned the girl, "or you'll set me off, too. Did you know about this?" she demanded of Clopin.
"I'd heard something, but it was all Esmeralda's idea."
"Come here," Therese embraced the gypsy girl. "Thank you. And thank everyone else for me. You've been good to me as well, and this is much too generous-- " Therese broke away and fanned her face with one hand. "All right, that's it. No tears. Thank you, Esmeralda; they're beautiful, and I'm very touched. And now look, this is perfect," she groaned, "here's Monsieur David -- Anne, go let him in." Therese turned away and hastily resorted to her handkerchief in an attempt to restore her dignity.
Giles David, the younger and thinner of the two wine-selling David brothers, hopped down from the wagon and popped his balding head through the door. "Good morning, Anne -- Madame -- " He nodded to the rest of the company and pointed with his thumb toward the cart. "Shall I send my man around to the back, or...?"
Therese considered for a moment and said, "Don't bother, you can't hurt anything. Let's just bring it through here this time."
Giles nodded, and went out to confer with his burly assistant about unloading the wagon, and Esmeralda and Anne began to gather up the rugs from the floor. Therese waited for the first cask to come through the door, and directed the man toward his destination. Giles came behind, lugging a case of wine bottles. He was puffing under the weight, and Quasimodo reached out to him. "Here, sir, I can carry that." M. David almost toppled over as the weight was lifted from him, and Quasimodo, toting the case as if it were a box of feathers, asked Madame where she wanted it. The carter, observing this, whistled under his breath and remarked, "He's got a pair of arms on him, I'll say that. Mind if I borrow him, Madame?"
"He's not mine; you'll have to ask him, yourself. Quasimodo, would you mind helping Monsieur David's man unload his wagon?"
"Oh, I'd be happy to," Quasimodo grinned broadly, delighted to find himself useful. "Just let me put this down somewhere..."
"Giles, what is that, anyway?" Therese peered at the case. "I don't think that's mine."
"Oh, yes it is," the wine merchant rubbed his hands together. "Young man, would you set that on the bar, please?"
"But, I didn't order this," Therese was still protesting, lifting the bottles out of the case and reading their labels. "Good heavens, Haut-Brion – St. Emilion -- When I asked you for some good Bordeaux, I didn't mean anything so extravagant. And Bourgogne, too -- oh, this is ridiculous, Clos de Vougeot! Giles, take this back, I can't pay for this!"
"Not to worry, Madame, the bill has already been taken care of."
"Now I am not going to let you do that," she shook her head stubbornly. "I know I'm a good customer, but..."
"Ha! Not us, I assure you. My brother still makes the business decisions, remember, and he's the one who wanted three months rent in advance. No, no, Madame, you have a benefactor."
"Clopin..." she eyed him suspiciously.
"Not I," he protested. "I know nothing about this one, I promise."
"I have his name here, somewhere," Giles was patting his pockets. "Here he is -- one P. de Chateaupers."
"Well, this is a mistake, then, because I don't know anyone by that name," said Therese."I do," said Esmeralda, as surprised as any of them. "It's Phoebus!" she explained to the others. "That's his name. That's him."
"Phoebus?" Therese frowned.
"Her idiot captain. Pardon me, EX-captain," Clopin snorted.
"He is not an idiot, Clopin! If it weren't for him, you'd still be rotting in a cage in the Place de Notre Dame."
"If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have been in the damned cage to begin with!"
"All right, stop it!" Therese came between them. "I've already heard this story; I know who this Phoebus is. I want to know why in the world he sent me a case of -- " she grabbed the nearest bottle and nearly fainted. "Oh, Lord, Corton-Charlemagne!"
"Probably an apology for burning down the old Goose and Grapes," said Clopin.
"So help me, Clopin--" Esmeralda flared. "Phoebus had nothing to do with that," she assured Therese. "He'd already turned against Frollo by then; Quasimodo knows. Quasi--?" But, the bellringer had disappeared. Esmeralda, Clopin, and Therese all looked around for him.
"He went to help M. David's man with the wine," Anne told them, pointing toward the kitchen.
Esmeralda started that way, but Clopin caught her by the arm and said, "Leave him be. You don't think he's tired of hearing you go on about Phoebus? He must be the only one who hates it more than I do."
She shrugged him off, but abandoned her quest, and turned to Therese. "Madame, I don't know why he did it," she indicated the case of wine, "but I'm sure it was only meant as a gesture of kindness. He's heard of you, from me, and from the others, and heard of how Frollo's men burned the Goose and Grapes, and I'm sure it's only his way of offering his help. He's a good man." She dared Clopin with a glance to say otherwise.
"Well, he has excellent taste, I'll say that for him," Therese was inspecting the wine bottles again. "I'm putting this away, for special occasions. And tell your M. de Chateaupers that, once I'm open, I'll be glad to treat him to a round of his favorites."
Quasimodo came back from the kitchen, following M. David's man out to the wagon. Therese stopped him on the way. "Before you do that, would you carry this into the kitchen?" she indicated Phoebus' gift. "Anne, come help me put these away."
Therese, with Anne trailing behind, led Quasimodo back through the kitchen to her lovely, spacious new wine pantry. "Set that case down, and we'll put the bottles on that shelf. I want to separate them all, so I can see what we have. What's that?" she asked, as he lifted the first bottle from the case.
Quasimodo, holding it gingerly, studied the label and ventured, "Cham- Cham-ber-tin. Is that good?"
"Well, personally, I prefer a nice Chateau-- " Madame suddenly stopped short, looked at the label, then at him. "Did you read that?"
"Did I say it right?" he asked, uncertainly.
"You can read?" Madame pressed, clearly amazed.
"A - a little. I know my alphabet."
Therese handed the Chambertin to Anne, and picked out another bottle. "What does this say?"
Nervously, he studied the letters and sounded it out. "Moo-sig-nee."
"Close enough," said Madame, and handed the Musigny to Anne, as well. "You are just full of surprises, aren't you?"
Quasimodo did not know what to say to this. Before he could frame an answer, M. David's voice came between them. "Madame, at your convenience..."
"Yes, yes, I'll be right there. Anne," she looked pointedly at the girl and asked, with just the slightest flicker of her eyes toward their unusual helper, "do you think you can finish this without me?"
However subtly she presented it, Quasimodo recognized the question for what it was: Are you afraid to be left alone with him?
Anne's answer, prompt and smiling, was, "We'll be fine."
Madame looked at Quasimodo, and he nodded and echoed, "We'll be fine." He hoped she understood - and believed - that he was harmless.
"Then I'd better go and take care of M. David."
Left to put away the rest of M. de Chateaupers' wine, Quasimodo and Anne worked quietly for a moment, then the girl said, "Madame likes you, you know."
With a rueful trace of a smile, he shook his head. "Oh, I don't think so."
"Oh, yes, she does," Anne insisted. "You can read. That always impresses her."
"I'm not very good at it. I know my letters, but I'm very slow."
"Letters are more than most people know. I wouldn't know an A from a Q if she hadn't taught me," said Anne. "How did you learn?"
"Master Fro- my master." Frollo was not a beloved name in Paris, and Quasimodo resisted saying it aloud. "I would repeat the alphabet for him. You know: A for abomination, B for blasphemy, C for..."
Anne had stopped cold and was staring at him. Even her eyepatch looked appalled.
"Is that wrong?" Quasimodo asked.
"No, it's not - wrong," she admitted. "But -- is that how he taught you?"
He nodded uncomfortably, feeling that he had offended her.
"Well, I suppose that's all right," she considered. "But, when Madame taught me, A was for apricot, and B was beef, and C was carrot-- " Anne laughed. "Of course, for Madame, everything always comes down to food. No," she assured him, "there's nothing wrong with your alphabet. It seems a little - grim, that's all."
And Quasimodo had to agree, Apricots, Beef and Carrots seemed a much nicer way to learn.
"Haven't you finished with that yet?" Madame came back into the kitchen, with Clopin ambling behind.
"Nearly there," said Anne, hastening back to her work.
"I'm sorry, Madame," Quasimodo scuttled out of the pantry.
"I told M. David I'd send you back out to the wagon; his man's about to crush himself under a barrel."
"Yes, Madame," he bobbed and bowed his way out the door.
Therese watched him go and shook her head. "He is a piece of work, isn't he?"
"He's a good lad," Clopin remarked offhandedly, plopping down in a chair. "It's too bad..."
"Well," Therese finished his thought, "he can't help the way he looks. And, frankly, after the first minute or two, it's surprising how you start to get used to it. He's not stupid, anyway, and that's the important thing."
"He's not stupid," Clopin conceded, "but he's naive enough to make up for it. And I wasn't referring to his appearance. I was thinking that it really is too bad that he worships Esmeralda so. He follows her like a puppy. He knows she's moon-eyed over this Sun God of hers, but he doesn't care. She is the most perfect creature on earth, and he is bound and determined to Love Her Hopelessly Until He Dies."
"On second thought, he is stupid," Therese muttered.
"I think it's romantic," Anne ventured. "To love someone that much."
"Pining away for someone who is never going to return the favor is not romantic," Therese informed her. "It's foolish. I've done it enough times, myself, I should know."
"The worst of it," Clopin said, "is the way Esmeralda prattles on about how wonderful Phoebus is -- It's not enough that she has to be smitten with him, she wants all of us to be, as well! Any blind man could see how it eats at Quasimodo, but he shrugs it off and says 'Oh, yes, Esmeralda, he's a fine fellow, I couldn't be happier' -- Poor fool," Clopin sighed. "Therese," he sat up and put his elbows on his knees, "you wouldn't mind if he came around here from time to time, would you? Perhaps you might find some little odd jobs for him to do? It would give him an excuse to get out on his own more."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd adopted him," Therese chuckled. "Such a protective papa!"
"Call him a reclamation project," Clopin answered this. "He is Romani by blood, and he lives in Paris, that makes me at least somewhat responsible for him. Frollo spent twenty years corrupting him, I can spend a little time repairing the damage."
"Hshh," Therese motioned him to silence at the sound of a barrel heading toward them. Quasimodo came in and unloaded his burden.
"You should go outside, if you're not busy," he smiled. "Esmeralda has Djali doing tricks in the street. She's drawing a big crowd!"
Clopin got up and said, "Let's go and see, Anne, shall we?" Madame nodded her permission, and Clopin and the girl went outside.
"You should go, too, Madame," Quasimodo suggested politely, maneuvering the barrel into place. "Esmeralda's very clever; you can't imagine the tricks she's taught him."
"In a minute, perhaps," Therese said. "So, tell me, Quasimodo, what exactly do you do at the cathedral?"
"Well, I ring the bells, of course. And I clean the cloisters, and -- well, things like that."
"Do they pay you for that?"
"They let me live in the bell tower, and they provide my meals, and clothes-- That is, Master- my master," he stopped himself again from saying the name, "used to do that; now the Archdeacon does."
"But, they don't pay you?" Therese pressed.
"Oh, not money," he shook his head. "What would I do with money?"
"Why, spend it, of course," she smiled. "Now that you're out and about, I'm sure you could use a little pocket money."
"I could never ask them for money," he insisted. "That would be -- " Master Frollo's voice supplied the word, "blasphemous."
"I wasn't speaking of them. You've made yourself useful, today, and you can see I have more work to do before I open this place. I was thinking that, if you happened to have a little spare time here and there, between bell-ringings, I'd be willing to pay you to come around and do some odd jobs for me. Nothing particular, lifting and carrying mostly. It wouldn't have to be every day, only when it's convenient. I can't promise to keep you on forever, but, if you're interested...?"
Quasimodo was taken aback by the offer. "Madame, I -- I'd be happy to help you, if you want me to. You wouldn't have to pay me anything, I'd be glad to help."
"No, no, no," Therese wagged a finger at him. "You're not doing me any favors, and I'm not doing you any, either. This is a business proposition. You work, I pay. In fact," she rummaged in the purse that hung from her waist and took out a coin, "here. This is for today. Go ahead, take it," she insisted. "Finish helping M. David, and we're even."
"Thank you, Madame," he stammered. "I'll go finish right away. Thank you!"
Late that afternoon, as the day was waning, Quasimodo lit a candle in the belltower and sat down to eat his supper. He was still carrying in his pocket the coin Madame Darbois had given him, and now he took it out and looked at it. It astonished him that a mere piece of metal could hold so much power. The only thing more astonishing was that this little seed of a fortune belonged to him. What would he do with such a thing? He turned the coin over in his hand and wondered what it would buy. Something for Esmeralda, perhaps -- but she earned money enough of her own, and whatever poor present he could buy her with his little wages would be nothing against what Phoebus could come up with.
Phoebus. This led him off on another train of thought. He liked Phoebus, he really did, Quasimodo insisted to himself. Esmeralda was right, he was a good man. And of course she loved him, that was only natural. He understood that; he expected nothing from Esmeralda now, he was grateful to have her as a friend, and willing to do anything for her happiness. That was his reward. After all, what else could he expect? "Phoebus is a good man," he said, aloud, to the coin in his hand. "I mean, look at him; he gave Madame Darbois a whole case of wine, and he doesn't even know her."
Quasimodo wished he could do something for Madame. She'd been kind to him, and he'd seen how happy she'd been with Esmeralda's rugs, and Phoebus' wine. He wanted to do something for her, himself; something besides moving barrels around. With a sigh, he turned the coin over one more time, and decided to put it away for now. He took out the little chest where he kept his knives and woodworking tools, and tucked his first day's wages into a corner of it. Idly, still turning over all these wishes in his mind, he picked up a knife, and a scrap of wood, and began forming a little person, a plump little woman with her hands on her hips, and he smiled as he imagined how much like the tavern keeper she would look, once he had painted her -- And then it came to him. He knew what he could do for Madame Darbois, and it would be wonderful! Putting down the little figure, he began to look among the rubbish in the belltower for some good, clean wood...