| SEE WITH YOUR HEART by Elly Chapter 1 The sun was sinking towards the horizon. The sky over Paris was painted with a golden, violet shimmer by the last rays of light and the full moon was still nothing more than a pale eye, looking down at the peaceful city. It was going to be a beautiful December night. Somewhere a lot of people gathered around a great bonfire and started chatting. They drank wine from bottles that went from hand to hand, they sang old Romanian songs and an old man played a mandolin painted in colours that glowed in the light of the dancing flames. As he played a young girl started to dance, cheered on by the others. Her dance was as beautiful as that of the fire and the silver plates that hang from her dress sparkled like stars. It was Esmeralda who danced for her gypsy family and friends in the Court of Miracles. When her dance was over she received cheers from the other gypsies and sat down on a little rug, patting her pet goat Djali. Next to her another gypsy girl smiled. "You are probably the best dancer in the Court, Esmeralda," she said. "Thank you, Samira," Esmeralda replied and smiled back. A little look of sadness came into Esmeralda's eyes as she started to chat with her friend. She knew Samira only complimented her dance because she was a nice person with a warm heart, because Samira couldn't see the dance. The young, pretty gypsy girl was born blind as a bat. She always covered her eyes with a black blindfold made out of velvet, so no-one would see how odd they were. She wore a white shirt that exposed her dark shoulders and lower arms, a deep blue skirt with stars and moons around the bottom in golden threads. A shining glass-diamond always hang around her neck and her hair was as black as the wings of a raven. "I know what you're thinking, Samira said, and I hope you're not sad. I may not see your dance, but I can sense it in the music and the sound of your feet on the ground." "I know you can, my dear," said Esmeralda, and her eyes sparkled with happiness once again. Would you read my palm tonight? "Anything special you have in mind," Samira asked and took her friend's hand. She held it gently by the wrist and stroked the palm with her fingertips. "Well, not exactly, I just want to know if you see something for me." Everyone in the Court of Miracles was convinced that Samira could see the future. They said that the gods took her eyes as a child and gave her another way of seeing. She had been one of the Court's best fortune-tellers since she was only eleven years old and the things she said were always correct. Her parents had died when she was ten and the other gypsies had taken good care of her since then. Esmeralda was like a sister to her and a very close friend. "I see something," Samira said. "It's a bright sun, shining for you. A man in an armour who thinks about you a lot. You never told me about him, Esmeralda. He's very handsome, and kind too." Esmeralda giggled. It was true, Phoebus had been on her mind for a long time now. She felt her heart beat a little faster at the thought of him and she smiled happily at the memory of the kiss they had shared in Notre Dame after the great battle that dark night a month ago, when Paris was burning like a torch. Judge Frollo almost killed her that night, and he imprisoned her people, but now he was dead and gone forever. She could forget everything about him and rejoice at her blooming romance with the former captain of the guards and the warm friendship she shared with Quasimodo, the misshapen bell ringer who had been living in the beautiful cathedral his whole life. "Yes, Samira," Esmeralda said, "you're right. He is shining like the sun..." "You have a crush," Samira teased and let go of her friend's hand. The girls continued chatting about "the sun god", as Samira called him after learning his name, and the sky grew darker above them. The moon was now shining strong, accompanied with the stars, and Paris seemed completely harmonic and calm. A few hours later the fire had been extinguished and the gypsies returned to their caravans to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day of dance, song and work for them, and a constant look-out for the men of the new judge. Since Frollo's death his brother had taken over his title. His name was Jehan Frollo, and he had sworn revenge on the gypsies, believing them to be the cause of his brother's horrible death. Esmeralda and Samira said good-night to each other and went to sleep. Esmeralda lived in a caravan and Samira had a little tent for a home. In it she kept her bed (a mattress on the ground) and a drawer where she kept all of her belongings. On top of the drawer laid a wooden cane for her to use so she wouldn't run into things as she walked, but since she was always with her friends who held her by the arm she never used it. She lay down on the mattress and fell to sleep as soon as she closed her eyes. The sound of the old man's mandolin was still playing in her dreams. At the same time a young man sat by his window, looking at the stars. The moonlight glowed in on him and he sighed merrily at the beauty of the world at night. His appearance was truly a sight to behold. A great hump sat between his shoulders, his legs were a little crooked, a large protuberance almost completely covered his left eye and his hair was flaming red. Although you seemed to discover new flaws in his body every second, he had an aura of strength, courage and warmth around him. He was Quasimodo, the bell ringer of Notre Dame. In his big hands he held a little figurine resembling to Esmeralda, dancing with her arms high above her head, holding a tambourine. He held it up and looked at it with love in his eyes, that shimmered at the thought of the beautiful gypsy. His heart was filled with love for her, yet he knew she would never be his. She loved Phoebus, he saw it in her dark eyes every time she was together with him. Still the bell ringer's heart wasn't broken, the smile he had given them when they kissed before him in the church had been real. He had come to look upon the gypsy dancer and the captain as some of his best friends and he could never feel jealous. He knew Phoebus would make Esmeralda happy, and that was the most important thing of all for Quasimodo. But still.... He put the figurine down at a table where a miniature model of Paris was situated, with the cathedral in the centre. Every detail in the creation had been carved out with such care and love that one had a hard time taking the eyes of it. It was an exact copy of the model that Frollo had crushed before, in anger over that Quasimodo had helped Esmeralda escape from Notre Dame, where she had been held a prisoner by the judge. "Could somebody ever.....love me....?" he asked himself. The only answer he got came from a wind that blew in on him and played in his hair. He couldn't help it. Although life had given him so much lately he still felt like something was missing. Someone he could love, a girl who could hold him tight and whisper soft words into his ears. He left his thoughts of romance and got off his chair. He went into the darker parts of his home where the moonlight couldn't reach. His home, the bell tower of Notre Dame, had always been his entire world until recently. The two towers of the cathedral had been the only mountains he had ever seen, the high pillars in the church had been the only trees he'd ever climbed, he had never seen other rivers than Seine and the water that ran down from the sprouts had been the only waterfalls in the world to him. And his bells... How he loved them. They would always be in his heart, and he knew that even now when he was a free man he wouldn't stop ringing them every day. He still lived in the tower, considered it his home, but every day he went out in the streets of Paris, to share its joys and beauty, and every day he felt as if he had been blessed by Heaven just to be alive. He approached his favourite bell in the darkness, without any trouble of finding it. He patted the cold metal gently, like a soldier patting his horse. "Good-night, Marie," he said with a soft voice. He went on to the next bell. "Good-night, Jean." He patted every bell in the tower and wished them all a good-night. It had been a daily ritual of his for many years. After this ceremony he went to sleep on a mattress on the floor. The night wind whispered a sweet lullaby into his ears as his eyelids came down. He slept without dreams that night. Samira woke up before anyone else the following morning and got out of her tent. The air was cold and crispy, and she felt how big snowflakes fell softly on her dark cheeks, like gentle caresses. She turned her face towards the sun and drank in its warmth with a smile. It was going to be a beautiful day. She headed for Esmeralda's caravan and knocked on its wooden door. On her way over there she didn't bump into anything, she knew her way around the Court well enough to walk around it in her sleep without hurting herself. Esmeralda opened the door while trying to put her golden earring on with one hand. "Good morning," said Samira. Would you like to join me for breakfast? " Breakfast sounds great," her friend answered with a sigh, "I haven't slept all night." She got out of the caravan and locked the door. Then she put the key in a little bag she wore tied to her right leg, took Samira's left hand and they were off to the streets. "Why the lack of sleep?" Samira asked. "I...have things on my mind." "Say no more." Samira smiled to herself. Her friend had probably been awake all night, thinking about her sun in shining armour. But enough of that, now food was the topic. They went to the bakery and bought a few buns to eat. Paris was just waking up and the bells had started to ring in the new day in Notre Dame. Samira listened to their pretty music and thought about the bell ringer of whom she had heard so much from Esmeralda. They said he still lived up there, although he was a free man and considered a hero by everyone in Paris. Samira wondered why he would like to be up there, all alone, when there were so many people down below who liked his company. "There she is! Get her!" A harsh voice interrupted Samira's thoughts and the sound of armor-clanking confirmed her fears. The judge's soldiers! And they were coming for Esmeralda and her. Esmeralda saw them too and started to run. Samira followed her, still with her hand in Esmeralda's grip. But all of a sudden the gypsy dancer had stopped, and she had released Samira's hand. The blind gypsy searched through the air with her hearing and hands, tried to find her friend, but it was as if though Esmeralda had disappeared into thin air. "Esmeralda!" she cried and felt how two pair of strong arms seized her from behind. She screamed, kicked and hit them, and eventually she got loose. She started to run, her breath hurting in her throat, and she could hear the soldiers behind her. She thought she knew where she was. She thought the Court of Miracles and safety were just a few steps away. But she had taken a wrong turn and now ran smack into a wall. She knew she was trapped. Only a few moments later the soldiers came. They didn't speak, but she heard their footsteps. She also heard something else. It was like a tiny wind that blew very fast. Then everything turned black. "You idiots! Can't you do anything right?!" Samira didn't knew if the shouting voice was a dream or reality. She started to wake up and found that she was lying on cold stone. She didn't feel no snow nor wind, so she assumed she was inside. But where? And whom did that voice belonged to? It was a man's voice, and it was not happy. "I told you to just bring her here, not hurt her! Get out, you useless morons, I've had enough of you." Two pair of feet walked away from the place. All of a sudden Samira was aware of the pain. It was as if though her lungs had been replaced with stone, she could hardly breathe. She tried to move, but her arms also seemed to be hurt. A sharp sting of pain ran through her body and she screamed. "So I see you have awakened, my dear..." The voice was the same she had heard before, but now it had changed. It was smooth and cold, she felt as if though someone had put an ice cube inside her dress and now it slid slowly down along her spine. "Who are you?" she asked. The man watched her from his place near the fireplace. Although she was hurt at least she was there. The guards had shot her with an arrow in the shoulder and she had barely survived. But she would be fine in two weeks or so, he figured. And then... "I," he said, "am your worst nightmare." "Jehan Frollo?" "Correct, my lovely. And you are the filthy gypsy witch the whole town speaks of. The one with the gift of seeing the future.... One of the worst whore of the Devil! My men were supposed to arrest you, but since you tried to ran away they saw no other way but to shoot you. Don't try to move, you barely made it through. I don't really wish to see you well, but I want your death to be... something that all of Paris can share." Samira tried to sit up and get a hold on the knife she always carried with her, just like Esmeralda and many other gypsies, but with a cry of pain she gave up and fell back to the floor. Esmeralda... What had happened to her? "Where is my friend?" "She also got shot, but somehow she disappeared. Don't worry, I will get her too, in time. She was the one who killed my brother... a crime I do not look nicely upon." Samira sighed with relief. Esmeralda must have used one of the oldest gypsy tricks in the book: vanishing in a red drape. She was probably at the Court of Miracles getting some help. "Where am I?" Samira asked. "You are in the sacred cathedral of Notre Dame. I figured I can't just let the greatest witch in the city be someplace far away from me, and I spend all my days in here, behind these walls of stone. You can't escape me." "Then why do you hate me so?" she exclaimed. What have I done to you? "You make the good citizens hands filthy by touching them, you see the future in their palms through the eyes of the Devil, you are his servant and as such you will burn and go back to Hell where you come from. That is what you have done to me, to Paris." He stopped, breathing heavily, as if though it had taken much of him to tell her this. "I am leaving now," he said eventually. "I will be back tomorrow." With that she heard his steps pass her by and how he shut a wooden door behind him. She was all alone in Notre Dame. It was so quiet she could hear the echoes of the curses she threw upon Jehan Frollo in her mind. She had never liked silence, her ears had always been her eyes and now they were blind too. She had to do something about this silence, it seemed to creep upon her, come closer to her like some sort of huge, dangerous animal. She started to sing. Samira was not alone in the cathedral. There was someone else there. Someone who had spent is entire life in the beautiful church and knew every dark corner in it. Someone who at the moment sat up in the bell tower, carving pretty patterns in a wooden balk that supported one of the bells. Quasimodo had heard nothing about the girl. It was almost night and no priests were in the church anymore. He thought himself all alone too, but then he heard a song. He jumped to his feet, listening hard. It was a song in Spanish, trying to seem cheerful although the voice was heavy with sorrow. He put down his knife and climbed down the ladder that led to his home. He followed the sound of the voice, it was that of a young woman, through the dark shadows in Notre Dame, like a sailor that follows a certain star in the sky to find his way home. He stopped outside a wooden door. The voice came from inside the room. He opened the unlocked door and stopped. He couldn't say anything, he could hardly think. On the floor, right in front of him, lay the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He felt his knees shake and had to grasp the handle on the door to keep himself standing. Samira heard a noise and stopped singing. She listened carefully, almost sure that she had heard someone sigh. "Who is there?" she asked the dark silence that surrounded her. Quasimodo entered the room. He walked up to the beautiful gypsy and kneeled by her side on the floor. "Who is it?" she asked again, and now she was a little frightened too. There was definitely someone in the room with her and he or she was sitting right next to her. "Please," Quasimodo began. "Don't stop singing. It was so lovely." Samira smiled. The voice was so beautiful... It was so gentle, it caressed her heart and mind with the lightness of an angel's wings. It almost made her forget the pain. She wanted to hear the voice again, and again. "Who are you?" "The bell ringer. I... live here." "Quasimodo?" She finally met the famous hunchback whom everyone in the Court loved so much. She didn't wanted to make him sad, so she continued to sing. Contigo yo me siento como el sol en el cielo Contigo el universo me parece peque�o Contigo los minutos se separan el tiempo Contigo todo malo se convierten lo bueno When she had stopped she sensed a sort of warm wind in the air. She could hear Quasimodo smile. "I am Samira," she said. "Your voice is so... lovely," he said. "Yours too, she replied. I love to listen to people's voices. That's the true mirror of the soul." It was at this moment Quasimodo first took any real notice of her black blindfold. He realised she was blind and a new sort of feeling came to him. For the first time a person was talking to him without seeing his deformed, ugly body and face. He felt happy, yet somehow sad. He wanted more than anything for this beautiful angel to see him and smile with her eyes to him. "Why are you here?" he asked. "Because of Frollo and his men." At this she removed the blanket she had been laying under and disposed to the bell ringer bandages that had been put around her breasts and back. "I've been shot. He says he wants me dead as soon as possible, but first he likes to keep me in misery." "Why?" Quasimodo couldn't think of anything that would make this girl deserve to be killed. She seemed so pure, so fragile, yet strong. "He says I'm a witch. I read the future to people by looking at their palms, I've had a gift for that since I was a child." Quasimodo's memory wondered back to a certain incident in the past. How Esmeralda had looked into his palm, saying that she could not see any monster-lines at all. He had loved the feeling of her touch. Could this girl make him feel the same way? He felt like he had butterflies in his heart as they talked on and on about everything. He and Samira talked for almost two hours and Quasimodo fell deeper and deeper in love with her as he found out how nice, lovely and intelligent she was. She couldn't get enough of his wonderful voice, she let it rain down on her, feasted on it like a cat does on a bowl of cream. She felt something completely new inside, as if though she wanted nothing more than to listen to him and be with this wonderful man forever. He was so gentle, so charming and sweet. Eventually they both felt sleepy. Quasimodo looked out of the window and saw the moon over Paris. The snow in the streets glittered like diamond dust. "You will be cold here, Samira," he said. " I guess so," she replied, feeling that the temperature had fallen a little during their talk. Quasimodo's cheeks turned deep red as a thought came to his mind. The bell tower was always warm in the nights. Maybe he could carry her up there... He tried to pull himself together a little. " Ehh... well, you see... It seems to be a cold night and... I j-just wondered if you.. would like to come up to the tower... with me. I understand if you don't like to..." "That would be great," she gently interrupted and smiled. He carefully put his strong arms underneath her, lifted her up as if though she was made out of thin glass. He could hardly believe it, she was so light and beautiful. It felt as if though her body was made to be in his arms. He carried her up to the bell tower, put her to sleep in his own bed and then he placed himself in a corner that was sheltered from the cold December night. She slept already and he listened to her breath with a shimmer of dreams in his eyes. "Samira..." With the taste of the name on his lips he too fell asleep. To Be Continued Back to Fanfic Back to Index |