chances3

"Second Chances"

by Christy

Chapter 3

   Quasimodo practically flew down the side of the cathedral after ringing the bells to close the servase. He landed squarly on the steps and waited anxiously for Esmeralda, wanting to be the first one to greet her when she came out of the building.
   Every few moments a new group of people would emerge from the doors, each of which would be chatting away about the gypsy who'd been baptized. Quasimodo scanned each group carefully for Esmeralda, but there was no sign of her. He shrugged, figuring she was probobly lingering inside the building.
   After pacing around the snow-covered steps a few times, Quasimodo began to sense he was not alone. He whirled around and found himself looking up at the sharp brown eyes of an about-twenty gypsy woman with a long braid of black hair.
   "Melenie?" he exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"
   "I imagine the same thing you're doing here," said Melenie, "Waiting for Esmeralda."
   "Oh, yes," said Quasimodo, realizing his hope of being the first one to greet her was diminishing. He sighed and leaned against the wall, wondering how long she would linger.
   Melenie leaned aginst the wall a few feet away from him. Esmeralda had introduced her to Quasimodo shortly after the raid on Notre Dame, but not much had developed between them. For Melenie, he was a fine person to chat with for a few minutes if they ran into each other in the street, but no one to ever engage in real conversation with, and certainly not a confidante of any kind. However, she knew Esmeralda thought very differently. Esmeralda had often told her about how Quasimodo was an open ear and a warm hand. Indeed, if Esmeralda were interested in any man Melenie would suspect Quasimodo, not someone who used to be a soldier!
   Then it occured to Melenie. If anyone else knew about Esmeralda's real relationship with Phoebus, it would be Quasimodo.
   "Quasimodo?" she asked.
   "Yes?"
   "Quasimodo," said Melenie, "have you had any aquaintence with a man named Phoebus?"
   Melenie predicted Quasimodo's reaction. His eyes grew wide for a moment, then he sucked in his breath and stepped closer to her.
   "Phoebus?" he said, "He was the previous Captian of the Guard, and..."
   Melenie raised her hand. She wasn't about to hear more of that. "That's not what I ment. I mean, you and Esmeralda spend a lot of time together. Has she ever implied any...intrest in Phoebus?"
    Quasimodo winced. No matter how much he'd tried to ajust himself to it, the mention of the words Esmeralda and Phoebus together still stung him like a bee. He knew the real feelings Esmeralda had for Phoebus, and not for him. He'd known ever since they found out about it themselves.
   But what should he tell Melenie? He wasn't sure how much they wanted others to know, or how much it was even safe for others to know, but what would Melenie suspect if he said nothing? She would believe Esmeralda had been sinful, or worse.
   At this awkward moment, luck seemed to step in and save him, for the doors opened and Esmeralda emerged, her eyes shining brighter than Quasimodo had ever seen them before.
   "Esmeralda!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around her, "Congratulations again!"
   Esmeralda bent over and embraced him back. For a moment he closed his eyes and absorbed her warm touch. When he opened them, they narrowed slightly as the likely reason why Esmeralda was lingering came out of the cathedral.
   "Oh, hello Phoebus," he said to the tall blonde man who had just come out of the doors.
   Melenie's ears perked up at the word Phoebus. She automaticly recognized the prisoner who had punched out his guard and motivated everyone to fight, only now she eyed him with facination and suspision.
   She decided to try the casual approach; embracing Esmeralda and congratulating her yet again. "How does it feel?" she asked.
   "Beyond words," murmered Esmeralda, her eyes still sparkling.
   "I'm sure it is," said Melenie, then she turned to Phoebus. "And who's this?"
   Esmeralda extended her hand to Phoebus. "Melenie, this is Phoebus." She then extended her other hand to Melenie. "Phoebus, this is Melenie. She has been a good friend of mine for a long time."
   Phoebus bowed extravagantly. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Melenie," he said, "I'm Phoebus. It means 'sun god.'"
   Melenie's cheeks grew hot. No one had ever adressed her as Mademoiselle before. If he'd introduced himself to Esmeralda like that, Melenie certainly couldn't understand why she would take any intrest in a man like him.
   Meanwhile Quasimodo couldn't help laughing at Phoebus's suave introduction and Melenie's embarrassed reaction. He had half a mind to tell her this was how Phoebus always introduced himself to women, but then he figured that would be Esmeralda's job. Instead, he turned to Phoebus and approached him with a question to which he knew the answer.
    "So Phoebus," he said, "what were you talking about in there?"
   "Oh, nothing much," shrugged Phoebus, "I congratulated her, she thanked me, we chatted for a few minutes, that sort of thing."
   "Well that was a very long few minutes!" teased Quasimodo, suspecting he knew what they'd been chatting about.
   While the men were talking, Melenie seized this opportunity to duck behind a building and give Esmeralda back her things.
   "Do they know about this?" Melenie asked, holding up the drawstring bag.
   "No," said Esmeralda, quickly taking the bag.
   "Not even Phoebus?" Melenie inquired with a raised brow.
   "Melenie, what is this sudden intrest you have in Phoebus?" Esmeralda asked with a hint of irritation.
   "Uh.....well......I....." stammered Melenie.
   "Have you been talking to Rosanna and the other gossip spreaders?" accused Esmeralda, "Did they tell you some ridiculous story about me and Phoebus?"
   There was certainly no denying that. "Esmeralda," Melenie sighed, "people are talking about you. They.....they say you....didn't convert sincerly."
   "Melenie, I'm ashamed of you!" Esmeralda snapped harshly, "How could you believe such a thing??"
   "I never said I believed it!" retorted Melenie, "I'm just saying..."
   "Well you obviously have taken an intrest!" inturrupted Esmeralda, "Otherwise you would've just taken it as meaningless gossip!"
   "Look," said Melenie, "they just think...."
   "That Phoebus was the reason I got baptized??"
    How could Melenie answer that? She couldn't deny the fact that, although she didn't believe it per se, the rumors she'd heard had stemed worry in her head. Being completely honest with herself, she'd been feircly trying not to believe it.
   Esmeralda could see the concern in her friend's eyes. She reached over and touched her on the shoulder.
   "Melenie," she said. Her voice was gentle now. "Are you worried about me?"
   Melenie could feel tears forming in her eyes. She nodded guiltily.
   Now Esmeralda wrapped her arms around her friend. "Melenie, hear what I say," she whispered, "You and the other gypsies are always what's most important to me. No matter what may happen, I would never leave you."
    Melenie touched the bag hanging from Esmeralda's fingers. "Not even if you found them?"
Esmeralda was silent.

   Meanwhile Quasimodo and Phoebus had noticed the women's absence and were now searching for them.
   "Oh, I'm sure they're around, probably discussing some secret Gypsy matters," stated Phoebus as he peered around a wall.
   "Probably," replied Quasimodo, "but keep looking anyway."
   "Yes, I know," said Phoebus, bending over. He reached down and cupped his hands in the snow.
   "Phoebus, what are you doing?" Quasimodo asked suspiciously.
   Phoebus didn't answer as he formed the snow into a ball.
   "Oh no!" gasped Quasimodo, "Phoebus, you wouldn't!"
   "And whyever not?" quipped Phoebus with a sly grin.
   "It's childish, it's improper, and it's Sunday," stated Quasimodo. "And furthermore..."
   Phoebus wasn't about to listen to what would come after "and furthermore," for he spied Esmeralda and Melenie coming out from behind a building. Giggling slightly, he took aim and threw the snowball, which hit Esmeralda on the shoulder.
   Esmeralda momentarily jumped in surprise, then she glared at her attacker, bent over, and formed her own snowball.
   "Gather your troops, Captain!" she shouted as she flung the snowball at Phoebus, "This means WAR!!"
   Within thirty seconds, Esmeralda and Phoebus were engaged in laugh-happy snowball combat, as Quasimodo and Melenie exchanged raised-eyebrow glances and shook their heads.
   "Do they always act like this?" Melenie asked, pointing at the two fighters in a snowball-throwing frenzy.
   "No," said Quasimodo, ducking one of Esmeralda's balls, "Sometimes they act completely crazy." He turned to Esmeralda, who had tackled Phoebus to the ground and was now shoving snow in his face. "Will you two stop that fighting??"
   "Who's fighting?" sputtered Phoebus, "I surrender!"
   "Fine," said Esmeralda with a cheeky grin, "but I still have one snowball left. It would be such a shame to waste it!"
    Phoebus covered his eyes as Esmeralda raised her hand to strike. His action proved unnecessary, however, since at that very moment an icy sting hit the back of Esmeralda's neck like a whip. She jumped in pain and rubbed her burning neck. This hadn't been a playful snowball thrown just for fun.
   She turned to find an old woman with frazzled gray hair and bared teeth slinking toward her. The woman's eyes resembled hot coals, and her teeth resembled fangs. She wore nothing but a skimpy old dress, but she showed no signs of chill despite the cold wind blowing through her hair and the ice under her bare feet. Rage and hate were her only expressions.
   "You damn wretch!!" she yelled, "You bloodthirsty snake!" She spat in the snow and growled like a wild animal, her eyes so wide with hatred they were almost popping out of their sockets.
   "You filthy, damned witch!" she continued, "You muderous devil!" She yanked at her own hair like a mad woman then, with much more strengh than one would expect from such a feeble-looking body, she shoved Esmeralda down into the snow. Esmeralda lay there staring up at the woman as she spat one final time and ran off growling.
   Phoebus rushed over and helped Esmeralda to her feet. "Are you all right?"
   Esmeralda brushed snow off her skirt. "Yes," was all she managed to say.
   Quasimodo didn't know which was more confusing: this mad woman who appeared out of nowhere and attacked Esmeralda for no reason, or the fact that Esmeralda didn't fight back. He knew enough about gypsies to know that it was a gypsy's deepest instinct to always fight back when threatened. Why, or even, how, could she fight off that instinct and just lie there allowing that woman to carry out her blows?
   "Esmeralda, who was that?" he asked.
   "Sister Gedule," Esmeralda said in a disgusted voice. "At least, that's what everyone calls her."
   "Why was she after you?" continued Quasimodo.
   "She hates gypsies," Esmeralda said bluntly. "Many say she's insane. She spends most of her time locked in her tiny house. She'll stay there for days, sometimes weeks, and throw curses at us through the window."
   "How does she get food?"
   "People leave food on her windowsill," replied Esmeralda.
   "What does she do when she leaves her house?"
   "What you just saw," said Esmeralda quickly, clearly uncomfortable with the subject.
   Phoebus could see her discomfort. He decided it would be best to withdraw from this conversation.
   "Esmeralda," he offered, "would you like to come to my place for lunch?"
   No one saw Melenie's eyes grow wide.
   "Yes, thank you," replied Esmeralda, 'That would be very nice."
   Phoebus turned to Quasimodo. "Would you like to join us?"
   "Of course," said Quasimodo.
   Phoebus turned to Melenie. "How about you?"
   "Oh, no thank you," said Melenie, trying to conseal her shock, "My caravan will be leaving soon."
   "All right," said Phoebus, "It was nice meeting you."
   "It was nice meeting you, too," Melenie said awkwardly, then she turned to Esmeralda, "I shall see you soon."
   "Take care," said Esmeralda, "Goodbye!" Then she was off for the boarding house with Phoebus and Quasimodo.
   Melenie stared at them until they vanished from sight. So, she thought, that was Phoebus. Melenie didn't think she knew him enough to give fair judgement, but from what she had seen, he seemed very calm, yet somewhat feisty, and suave. Would Esmeralda show intrest in him? This was the question that lingered on Melenie's head for the rest of the day.

   Small.
   That was always the first word that came into Quasimodo's head whenever he visited Phoebus's room on the second floor of the Paris boarding house. Everything in it was small. The bed was barely big enough for one person, and covered with five layers of blankets because the fireplace was too tiny to decently heat a room. A clothes press, a bookshelf, and a cupboard completely covered one wall. In the center of the room stood two well-worn armchairs, and next to a window with a limited view stood a table big enough to seat three-four if you crammed the chairs together.
   Quasimodo supposed this was all Phoebus could afford since he'd been dismissed of his rank. Since his dismissal he'd been working in the bakery for, as Quasimodo was always told, "a decent salary." Perhaps what he ment by a decent salary was just enough to pay for food and rent for this small room, but Quasimodo would never ask. He would just graciously hang up his cloak and take his seat at the table. Esmeralda did the same.
   While Phoebus prepared their meal, Quasimodo and Esmeralda chatted amiably about various things, but I won't bother you with irrelevant details. I will just tell you that whenever Quasimodo asked about that old woman, she would steer away from the subject, as if something really disturbed her.
   Phoebus soon arrived with three bowls of hot soup and a plate of rolls. He served everyone, and they all began eating heartily, especially Esmeralda, who had barly eaten anything that morning. For a long time, no one said anything, until Phoebus began gazing out the window, like he was trying to figure something out.
   "Should be melted enough tomorrow," he muttered.
   "What?" said Esmeralda, looking up from her soup.
   "Oh, I was just saying the snow should be melted enough for travel tomorrow," said Phoebus, a little uneasily.
   "Why would you worry about that?" asked Esmeralda, a hint of distress in her voice.
   Phoebus took a few moments to answer. "Okay, I would've had to tell you sooner or later," he finally replied with a sigh, "Esmeralda....I'm leaving Paris."
   Now there was very distinct distress in Esmeralda's voice. "What? Where are you going?? When will you be back??"
   "I'm spending Christmas with my mother."
   At this moment Quasimodo was chewing on a roll, so he couldn't respond, but his eyes sparked with interest. Quasimodo had known Phoebus for almost a year, but this was the first time he'd mentioned family of any kind. Quasimodo had never pondered Phoebus's origin, but if he had, he probably would've assumed Phoebus was an orphan, like Esmeralda and himself. The thought that he had a living mother came as an unlikly shock.
   Esmeralda apparantly felt the same surprise. "Your....mother?" she asked.
   "Yes," said Phoebus, "My mother. Madame Annette de Chateaupers'. She left Paris a few years ago in persuit of a quieter lifestyle and bought a house in the country."
   By now Quasimodo had swallowed, so he could finally speak. "And you decided to stay here?" he asked.
   "No," said Phoebus. "I wasn't even in France at the time. I was in the army."
   Quasimodo felt like slapping himself. Of course.
   "I've only seen her new home once," continued Phoebus, "Last year, when I was summoned back to Paris, I stopped at her house for an afternoon visit." He shook his head. "But two hours isn't enough to make up for twenty years of seperation, which is why this visit is so important. Besides, this time the whole family's coming." His voice grew noticably softer. "And Minerva will be there."
   "Minerva??" Esmeralda exclaimed, glaring at Phoebus, "Who is Minerva??"
   Phoebus couldn't help laughing. "Relax," he said, "Minerva's my sister."
   "Oh, I didn't know you had a sister," inquired Quasimodo.
Phoebus grinned. "Actually, I have four brothers and sisters, and they'll all be there!"
   "Then what's so special about Minerva?" asked Esmeralda.
   "Well you see, Minerva and I have an innate bond," explained Phoebus, "It's because we were brought up together from the very beginning. We shared our mother's womb."
   Quasimodo and Esmeralda's eyes simultaneously widened. In a hundred years neither of them would ever suspect this!
   "So, in other words....." Esmeralda finally managed to say, "you're a twin?"
   Phoebus nodded.
   "My word!" exclaimed Quasimodo, "Why didn't you ever tell us?"
   "You never asked," Phoebus stated plainly, "One doesn't usually go around shouting to the world that he's a twin, especially when he hasn't seen his twin in twenty years!"
   No one could argue with that. "Well anyway," said Esmeralda, "what is she like?"
   Phoebus's smile grew wider. "She's a ball of fire. She doesn't walk: she flies. She doesn't laugh: she hollers. When we were young, we would play tricks on each other, and everyone else. A pair of rascals, we were!"
   "Really, I never would have guessed," Esmeralda replied with a sly grin. "What are your other siblings like?"
   "Well, I have two older sisters, Diana and Thalia. They were twelve and eight when Minerva and I were born, so...." He giggled. "..they were our main practical joke targets. Minerva was always thinking up new ways to tease those snoots. One night, she sewed Diana's blankets to her nightgown while she was sleeping. The next morning, she came downstairs dragging the blankets behind her!"
   Esmeralda laughed, while Quasimodo rolled his eyes around, but even he couldn't hold back a little snicker.
   "Another time," continued Phoebus, "we snuck into Thaila's room and cut holes in one of her dresses. We couldn't sit down for a long time afterward, but it was worth it to hear Thiala shriek."
   Now Quasimodo was the one exploding in giggles. "So," he said after he caught his breath, "what about your other sibling?"
   "He's younger," said Phoebus, "We didn't bother with him much. Ulysses was the baby of the family. To me he was a brat, and Diana and Thalia were snobs. But Minerva..." He sighed. "Minerva was my best friend. More than my best friend. She was.....I don't know how to explain it, other than that we were really, really close."
   "How close were you?" asked Esmeralda, "Did you do anything besides play practical jokes?"
   "Of course we did!" said Phoebus, "Like I said, we were inseperable. We shared everything: toys, our room, our birthday, the food we stole from our mother's parties, everything. We'd go swimming, sledding, tree-climbing (which really angered our mother), tell stories, make up games, get into trouble. We always vowed to stick with each other and take punishments together, even if only one of us was in trouble. As a joke, we'd call each other by our Greek names. You know, Apollo and Athena. They were our passcodes for when we didn't want anyone bothering us."
   It dawned on Quasimodo that Phoebus's voice had changed while he talked about these memories. It had become warmer and more delicate, like something deep inside him had been touched.
   "And before you accuse me of being picky," continued Phoebus, "let me tell you I'm looking foreward to seeing the whole family again."
   "What about your father?" asked Esmeralda, "Will he be there too?"
   Phoebus's smile faded. "No."
   "Why not?"
   Phoebus breathed in deeply. "My father is dead."
   Esmeralda lowered her head. "Oh, I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, "I didn't know."
   "It's all right," said Phoebus. "He died when Minerva and I were just two years old. I don't remember him at all, so I don't miss him. I don't need any sympathy."
   Now this was something Quasimodo could relate too! He'd often wondered about his own mother whom he'd never known, the mother he long thought had abandoned him, but actually died for him. How he wished he could have known her.
   Did he miss her?
   No, without recollection he couldn't miss her. Yet sometimes he felt a strange sort of emptiness, like a part of him was gone forever. He wondered if Phoebus felt the same way.
"What did he die of?" continued Esmeralda, "Illness?"
"No, nothing like that," answered Phoebus, "He was....he was murdered."
"Murdered??" exclaimed Esmeralda.
"Okay, I'll tell you the story," said Phoebus. "My father, Captain Pierre de Chateaupers', was a war hero. Actually, I come from a long line of war heroes; we're quite a millitary family. Well, back to my father, he served as Captain of the Guard for two years. I'm not very good at telling long detailed stories, especially when I don't know all the details, so I'll get straight to the point. He was beaten to death in a criminal riot."
Esmeralda and Quasimodo sharply drew in their breaths.
"My mother, as you can imagine, was devestated," continued Phoebus, "Indeed, from what I've heard, the only things that saved her from going mad were her two children, her two toddlers, and her expectant status.
"The family takes great pride in its millitary history. Well, they must, because they want to pass it down into each generation. Before he died, my father had the destiney of his oldest son written in stone: he would serve in the French army just like his father before him. And well, guess who his oldest son was?"
"You," said Quasimodo.
Phoebus nodded.
"So your mother fulfilled the tradition by sending you to the army?" asked Esmeralda.
Phoebus nodded again. "I was sent to the army as a page once I was old enough."
"How old were you?" asked Quasimodo.
Phoebus sighed. "Eight."
"You were only eight?" Quasimodo asked with amazment.
"Hey, I was one of the luckier ones," said Phoebus, "Some of the boys were seven. But let me tell you, being a year older doesn't make it any easier. Can you imagine being taken away from your family as a little kid?"
"Some of us don't have a family to be taken away from," Esmeralda grumbled.
Either Phoebus didn't hear her or he didn't know how to respond to that statement. Whatever the case, he continued as if she hadn't spoken.
"And then after being taken away from your family, imagine being forced to live in a world where you can never get away from hunger, pain, and death, and you're not a whole person, but belonging to the army! Can you imagine that??"
Quasimodo had never heard Phoebus talk so bitterly. It struck him for the first time what the former captain must have suffered. Years of pain, hunger, fear, loneliness. Fear. Loneliness. Quasimodo could understand completely.
"I haven't seen my siblings since then," Phoebus continued in a somewhat softer manner, "Minerva and I wrote to each other for a time, but.......as the years went by our priorities gradually changed. The letters stopped coming."
Esmeralda was deeply sympathetic. "It must have been awful."
Phoebus reached over and took her hand. "Like I said, I don't need sympathy. I'll see them again soon. Besides, in the end I'm glad for it."
"How can you possibly be glad??"
Phoebus lightly kissed her hand. "It's how I eventually met you."

Later that day, as Quasimodo rang the afternoon bells, his mind lingered at Phoebus's table and the conversations which had taken place there.
A whole new side of Phoebus had opened itself to Quasimodo today. It was odd, this notion that he had a family, and Quasimodo couldn't understand why. Phoebus was a human being, so of course he had to have been conceived by a man and born of a woman, like everyone else. Maybe it was just that the very notion of family in general was so alien to Quasimodo. Frollo was the closest thing he'd ever had to family. (And THAT should certainly be enough to explain everything!)
And yet, there was so much Quasimodo could identify with, such as living in fear, not being a whole person but belonging to someone, having a parent who was a total stranger; it was amazing how Phoebus had been through so much Quasimodo could personally understand.
There was even a dash of envy for him, mainly because of the talk about having a sister. A sister. Someone to bond with, to share everything with, someone who would stand by you in times of trouble: it sounded so heavenly. During his years of isolation Quasimodo would have given anything for a sister.
Over the last year Quasimodo had developed a strong bond with Esmeralda, much like being brother and sister, yet somehow he didn't think of her as his sister. Why? Perhaps because he initially had hoped for a much deeper relationship with her: the kind where you are two and yet only one.
It wasn't to be. Esmeralda was ment to be Quasimodo's sister and nothing more. (Readers, we don't need to keep you in suspense any longer. You already knew what Esmeralda felt for Phoebus, didn't you?) He had brought himself to accept that, but he often wondered if he was ment to have that stronger relationship with anyone.
But he wasn't wondering today. Today, he felt compassion for a friend, curiosity for what his family was like. And most of all, joy. Joy for his sister who had been welcomed into God's kingdom.

Esmeralda walked leisurly down the street, paying attention to nothing in particular, when the corner of her eye caught the figure of Clopin passing. She turned to find him bending over at the entrance to a narrow alley. A few steps toward him, and she spied what he was doing.
He was giving a large pile of food and blankets to a pair of beggars in the alley.
A warm smile spread across Esmeralda's face. She knew he would distribute her money well.

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