Facing the Hunchback of Notre Dame (6 page)

This took quite awhile, and when she showed Quasi her copy of
The Hunchback of Notre-Dame
, he almost jumped off the floor. “This is … about me?”

“Yes.”

He flipped it over, examining its spine. “It’s so small. And this cover — “

“Paperback,” she said. “They’re everywhere these days.”

“Not just in churches and libraries?”

“No. And most people can read now. You can read, right?”

“Yes. Frollo taught me.” His eyes clouded.

“Do you want to talk about it, mate?” asked Walter, a jelly donut halfway to his mouth.

“No.”

Linus didn’t blame him.

“We’ll talk about Frollo later. His alchemy is intriguing, to say the least,” said Ophelia. “He’s not very nice, is he?”

“I’d rather not say,” said Quasi.

“Are you tired?” Ophelia asked. “That was quite a journey, I’m guessing.”

He nodded his heavy head, reminding Ophelia of a horse. “Too much for one day. I start out in prison and end up five hundred and
thirty years in the future with no idea about what comes next.” He paused. “Do they hang people here?”

“No. You’ll be all right,” said Ophelia.

“That’s a relief.”

“What did it feel like?” asked Walter. “The trip here?”

Good question
, thought Linus.

Quasimodo looked toward the ceiling, thinking. “Do you ever feel like you’re falling right before you go to sleep?”

“Yes!” Ophelia said.

“It felt like that — only you’re falling up, not down.”

“Awful?” asked Linus.

“Not terrible. But I am tired.”

“A good night’s sleep will help, to be sure,” Ophelia said as she patted his arm and stood up. “We’ll get you set up.”

As quietly as they could, the boys brought up an extra mattress from under Linus’s bed, while Ophelia found some sheets, a pillow, and her favorite quilt.

Fascinated, Quasimodo watched as they made up his bed. “Does everyone sleep like kings?”

“I guess so,” said Ophelia.

By now the boys had gone back to their own rooms, so once she’d tucked in Quasimodo and made sure he was sleeping, Ophelia settled herself onto the blue sofa and checked her watch.

Six a.m.

Fifty-three hours left. What on earth were they going to do with him until then?

I
f you ever end up with a medieval hunchback in your attic, my advice is to read this chapter very carefully and take note
.

“It wouldn’t be right not to show him around,” Walter said the next morning. “If what you say is true, and he’s basically been in captivity all of his life, then it’s up to us to show him a good time.”

It was 10 a.m., and the little group was now sitting in Paris Park while Quasimodo napped. They forsook the bandstand and the playground equipment, choosing to sit in the grass by the new skateboard park instead. Nobody was using it just then, but Linus could imagine them scooping out the bowl with their boards. People walked their dogs and cut across the green from one side of the square to the other. The Bard River flowed by on the north end, much as it always does. Not much to report really, other than Clarice Yardly-Poutsmouth was hitting a tennis ball against the backboard by the courts, while Linus thought about how cute she looked.

Ho hum. I would like to make this part extremely interesting, but it simply is not. I could add all variety of activity—a large birthday party with laughing children, a clown, and a pony; a work crew building a gazebo; an old woman pounding a would-be thief with a giant purple handbag; aliens landing among the trees; or even particularly uncoordinated people walking and chewing gum at the same time. However, that would be, simply put, false information.

“Quasi will be a little conspicuous out here, don’t you think?”
Ophelia asked, picking a stem of grass and splitting it down the middle.

“Of course,” said Walter. “We’ll just have to disguise him.”

“As what?” Ophelia said. “An oversized beggar woman? Not in this day and age. And besides, where would we take him?”

Linus pointed to the church across the way, All Souls Episcopal Church. “He might feel more at home there.”

Ophelia couldn’t help herself. She was so excited she kissed Linus on the cheek. “Linus, you’re a genius! It’s perfect.”

Linus wiped his cheek and glared at Walter when he smiled. “We still have to get him over there,” Linus said quickly, trying to turn the attention off himself.

“Maybe we can sneak him over there after dark.” Walter said, and crossed his legs in front of him.

As Ophelia describes it (with a crimson blush), this is the point when she began to notice Walter’s good looks, and she could hardly believe he was their age. What did they feed people in England anyway?

“I know,” said Walter, “I’ll go over there today and talk to the rector.”

“No!” Ophelia and Linus said together.

He waved the word away. “I’m not going to tell him what we’re actually planning. Do you think I’m daft? As far as he’s concerned, we’re junior astronomers. And besides that, I’m English. We’re the original Episcopalians … Anglicans, actually. But anyhow, that should go a long way.”

“That’s brilliant!” cried Ophelia. Her imagination began spinning a mental image of a rather massive king named Henry the Eighth who created the Anglican Church (or Church of England) because he disagreed with the Roman Catholic Church. She sure wouldn’t want to bring him through the circle.

Linus nodded. “Let’s go check on Quasi.”

“I like Quasi a lot,” Ophelia said. “He’s nice.”

“And he looks like he could lift a cow.” Walter got to his feet. “I’d wager he would make mincemeat of all the lads at the gym.”

Great
, thought Linus, as he caught Ophelia surreptitiously (secretly) eyeing Walter’s muscles. Another weightlifter.

Ophelia was prone (inclined, tended) to develop crushes on the more athletic boys. Unfortunately for her, or perhaps fortunately, boys like that usually shunned bookworms like Ophelia. More “important” matters typically demanded their time, such as looking at themselves in the mirror, buying supplements at the mall, or just about anything else that would be considered self-consumed and shallow, the blighters (scoundrels, rascals)! Ophelia was destined to be disappointed if she failed to reconsider her preferences.

The three hurried home and entered the attic, only to find Quasimodo sitting on his mattress reading
The Hunchback of Notre-Dame
. When he saw them come into the room, he flung it down, eyes wide.

“It’s all right.” Ophelia sat down next to him. “You can read it.”

“It’s very bleak at the beginning. That poor playwright. You’d think people would be more polite.”

“You’d think,” agreed Linus who could remember his first role in a play. He’d been the Bethlehem Star. Not one line. And not one compliment afterward either. Didn’t the audience realize how hard it was to stand still for that long?

“Oh, people are generally rude all around,” Walter said as he picked up the little wooden carving of the dove that was still sitting where Ophelia had left it the night before.

“Any other observations about the book?” Ophelia asked Quasi.

“He describes my stepfather perfectly.”

“Oh him!” said Ophelia. “He needs to get a job.”

“Huh?” Quasi said.

“That’s just something we say when people keep asking their relatives for money.”

“Oh. Well, you’re right,” he sighed. “No matter what I do, Frollo never — “

“Don’t think about him.” Ophelia stood up. “He’s never going to fully approve of you. So don’t even try to make that happen. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

Quasimodo looked down, hiding his sadness. Of course, he wasn’t aware of the Drs. Easterday.

Walter, however, jumped on her words. “You’re never going to get approval from whom, exactly?”

“Our parents,” said Ophelia, and then she briefly explained the situation.

“Five years?” said Walter, knowing his mum wouldn’t leave him for that long. Not in a hundred million years.

Ophelia offered her hand to Quasi. “Now, we probably should sneak you downstairs to the bathroom. I’m sure you’ll want to clean up a bit.”

“Why?” He took her hand and let her believe she was pulling him to his feet.

“You’re not in medieval France anymore, Quasi. People take baths here. A lot.”

“Oh.” Worry creased his brow. “Medieval?” he asked.

“The historical time period from which you came. We name everything nowadays. You’ve entered the post-modern era.”

He shrugged. “All right.”

“Now, you’ll have to be quiet. Aunt Portia and Uncle Auggie can’t know you’re here, or they’ll never let us up here again. Not to mention the fact that they’re too old to handle anything this crazy.”

Fourteen-year-olds know everything, you know.

“I’m actually quite light on my feet.” He blushed.

Pride did not motivate his statement. In fact, it was quite the understatement when you consider the fact that Quasimodo could climb all around the Notre-Dame Cathedral, swinging from beams and gargoyles and windowsills. Rock climbers could learn a thing or two from this young man. Gymnasts as well. Despite Quasi’s deformities, a monkey would have nothing on him up there. So he most certainly could sneak down a set of stairs and into the bathroom. People have been trying to get to the bathroom quietly since there’s been indoor plumbing. Why would Quasimodo be any different?

Well, you can imagine what someone from medieval times thought about a flushing toilet — about going into the toilet in general. Oh, the things we take for granted, my dears! But he soon caught on to the whole “running water” arrangement we have now (and thank goodness, I say!). In fact, he had a grand time turning the faucets on and off. With each on and off, he’d suck in his breath with glee. He almost shouted too, but then he remembered he was supposed
to be a secret to the rest of the world. Quasimodo normally tried to be accommodating (go along with someone else’s plan).

While the boys helped him into the tub—the shower was just too disconcerting (mildly disturbing) for someone who took a bath probably once a year—Ophelia went to the costume room to find something suitable for Quasimodo to wear. If you assumed his clothing was a wreck, smelly and greasy and raggedy, then you assumed correctly. Ophelia could no more imagine putting those dirty rags back on a clean body than she could putting a freshly grilled steak into that morning’s cereal bowl. (I must add that I’m very glad I did not witness this infested garb [clothing] myself! Some things one never gets over.)

Hearing some thumps, bumps, and a loud “Shhhh!” or two, she imagined Quasi’s displeasure at the idea of a bath — a person does have limits. Sliding the hangers across the pole, the array of costumes took her swiftly through the ages from caveman to Sumerian, through Greeks and Romans, the Dark Ages, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, and oh bother! Uncle Augustus should have opened a costume shop!

Finally, she settled upon a pirate costume with brown breeches (knee pants), a leather vest, and a white shirt with a wide collar. Even better, the outfit would feel more familiar to him than cargo shorts and a band T-shirt.

Perfect.

She grabbed the costume, hanger and all, and slipped it through to the boys in the bathroom. As she did so, she heard Walter say, “You have to wash your hair, Quasi. It looks like porcupine quills there’s so much dirt in there.”

“What’s a ‘porcupine’?”

Ophelia stifled a giggle as she turned away.

She hurried back to the attic to make the bed and tidy the place a bit, and there on the worktable sat an empty milk glass and her plate of now nonexistent cookies. Nothing surprised her anymore. She gathered up the empty dishes just as Cato Grubbs’ instruction book began to rumble and the pages began to flip. They stopped at page thirty-three, and the words in bold print caught Ophelia’s attention:

Ophelia sucked in her breath. “Oh no! Part of this is up to me?”

She deposited the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, washed them as quickly as she could (while still meeting Uncle Auggie’s high standards), and rushed back up to her room.

She laid down on her bed, scooped up the copy of
The Hunchback of Notre-Dame
, and settled back in for the read. It was now 2 p.m.; that meant there were forty-five hours left, and she still had hundreds of pages left to read.

After Quasimodo asked for a carving knife and a block of wood, Linus walked two blocks down Rickshaw Street to Broderick’s Hobby Shop and purchased the required materials. Meanwhile, Walter was visiting the rector of All Souls, no doubt charming Father Wellborne with a story about his love for astronomy and the opportunity to look at Jupiter from the vantage point of the church’s bell tower later that night—all while having a lovely pot of tea.

“Finally! Someone who knows how to make a decent cup!” Walter reported later when they reconvened (gathered together again) in the attic. “At 10 p.m. we can head to the top of the tower.”

Quasimodo’s eyes gleamed. “What about the bells? Will I get to ring them?”

“The church bells are automated now,” Linus said.

When Ophelia explained to Quasi that this basically meant the bells rang themselves, he looked as if he was going to cry.

“But it will be good to at least be up there with them, right?” she said, placing that calming hand on his arm once again.

He nodded and continued carving what looked like a dancing woman.

Oh great
, thought Ophelia,
that nitwit Esmeralda
.

Just then a raindrop hit the trefoil window.

And another. And then another.

None of them knew it at the time, but the real trouble was about to begin. And soon enough, trying to contain and entertain the hunchback of Notre-Dame would be the least of their worries.