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Shy of a day from her nineteenth birthday, Esmeralda adjusted a veil around her ears. Dipping the tip of her finger into liquid, she patted on her forehead to draw a bindi between her brows like she used to do. Only this time, it wasn’t black, but red.
From head to toe she’d decked herself in beaded jewellery. To complement the vibrant colour of her gown, she wore gold bangles. Upon finishing her getup, she looked into the mirror and got reminded of that day years ago, when she’d paired the same gold with purple and hoped to overshadow everybody at the captain’s banquet. Oh, how little did she know what that night had in store for her!
But today was different. She didn’t feel the need to overshadow Fleur-Dy-Lys or anybody today. This was her time, her place, her home.
Quasimodo’s wooden sculptures were a huge hit in Rheims and served well as an addition to her people’s usual services of music and palmistry. He did go to church to perform his duties of course, but unlike at Notre-Dame, here he came back after ringing the bells. How could he not, when such a beautiful wife awaited him at home?
Both of Quasimodo’s professions gave them ample money to run the house. They had offered Mathias Spicali and the others to reside there, but they had declined. Esmeralda was offered to stay with them and be a street dancer like before, but (to Quasimodo’s surprise) she had declined as well. It was not out of ill-feelings for her people, but just a recognition that times had changed. She still wanted to sing and dance, but for joy now, not coin.
She found great delight in hosting her people during special events. Despite all that had happened, they adored her the same. Maybe even more so now, considering what she’d gone through. Older ladies gave her matrimonial advice, while younger girls listened to stories from her about how noblemen and women really lived in Paris. Certainly, she removed the parts of the stories that were unsuited for them.
Not that the unusual couple didn’t raise any questions. Some expressed their disapproval to Mathias- either at the physical condition of Esmeralda’s husband, or the right of Esmeralda herself to live with them after being, as word had spread…polluted by the former Minister of Justice.
‘We hear tales of demons abducting women and knights saving them,’ said a woman named Sabira one day to Mathias. ‘Not demons saving them.’
‘I know, sister. But she is happy, and that is all I wish to see,’ Mathias replied, looking at Esmeralda enjoying among a group of girls. They had assembled at her house for celebrating the spring festival. All ladies were wearing wreathes made of willow leaves, while the men painted eggs in varying colours.
He smiled. This was all he wanted to see. Clopin would’ve been proud.
When the celebration finished, Sabira gifted the couple an egg that’d been painted red. ‘May god bless you with a healthy baby,’ she said.
The intention was pure, and yet it left a sour taste in Esmeralda’s mouth. Sabira well knew that her blessing couldn’t come to fruition. Everyone in the tribe did. Hers was not a normal marriage, nor a normal life.
--
That night, she went to their chamber and saw Quasimodo watch the sky from the window. She sat beside him without warning. He startled, then relaxed at seeing that it was her.
‘Did you have a good time hunting the lamb?’
He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Honestly, I don’t like hunting lambs very much.’
‘I guessed that.’
‘Yes, they remind me too much of you,’ he teased. ‘Do you know that the name Agnes means a lamb?’
She grinned and leaned against him. He felt the softness of her hair, lacing his fingers in it. ‘I wanted to say thank you.’
‘Thank me? Why is that?’ she raised her eyebrows, still in a sportive mood.
‘Because none of this would have happened if there hadn’t been you,’ he said seriously.
Her face turned gentle. Appearing to be nonchalant, she shrugged. ‘Well, it wouldn’t have happened without you as well.’
She didn’t fully accept his complement. It was him whose kindness had made her believe that her life could still be worth living. She had only been dismissive of him until she hadn’t. If anyone deserved credit for this, it was him.
Gazing above at the stars, she said, ‘If only Mother was here with us. She would’ve been so happy.’
Whenever Esmeralda thought of Gudule, she always remembered the last conversation they had in the total of three months they had spent as mother and daughter. She had stormed out of the room after arguing, only to find out later that her mother had passed away. It filled her with regret and sadness that moment, as it did each time.
Quasimodo pressed a kiss on her head. ‘I know that wherever she is, she would be very happy seeing us. Seeing you.’
She wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sure your father wouldn’t have been so happy, though.’
It took a second for him to realise who she was referring to. Then he beamed. ‘Oh, I can picture the scowl on his face.’
As much as she could, she did not say the name of the man at the hands of whom they’d both suffered. She used to call him his ‘master’, his ‘father’, or just a vague ‘him’. Quasimodo understood why she did this. Earlier she was forced to live alongside him and had no choice but to face his existence every day. Now that was no longer the case, so she could avoid his name. Regardless, making fun of his former master was one of Quasimodo’s favourite pastimes.
Jacques Charmolue had invited them to the execution of Claude Frollo, but they’d humbly refused it. Neither of them wanted to see the face of that man again. Charmolue respected that decision, but both him and Marie had followed up with letters saying that the event had been even more spectacular than the one the judge had once planned for Esmeralda.
Esmeralda felt a little guilt that even though three years were to pass, she could not find it in her heart to forgive him. In a way, it were his actions that had indirectly led her to live the life she now did. But it wasn’t enough a silver lining for all he had taken. And he had taken a lot. If it wasn’t for what he had done, Sabira’s blessing might’ve had a chance of coming true.
When they first arrived at Rheims, she frequently woke up from nightmares and struggled to fall asleep. It took some time for her to find comfort in singing, dancing, or anything again. Today, the situation was much better. But the thought still hit her occasionally- if she hadn’t met Quasimodo that week when Frollo was away, what would the world have been like?
The bell-ringer noticed when she fell into these thoughts. He held her shoulder. ‘Are you alright?’
She was quiet for a second, then whispered, ‘I…I didn’t shudder.’
‘Yes?’ he asked gently, brushing strands of hair off her face.
‘When you touched my shoulder,’ she uttered, as if explaining it to herself as much as him. ‘I did not shudder like I used to.’
‘That is magnificent, Esmeralda,’ said Quasimodo, not knowing what she was getting at. Her large dark eyes, ever so beautiful under the starlight, held his. He looked at her with an open, warm smile. It was like they were competing over who would break the eye contact first.
It felt strange. Three years back, the thought of coming close to a man was an inconceivable notion. She had her fears about it, but when Quasimodo clarified that he did not mind in the slightest, she stopped giving thought to, except to languish in her head that their marriage couldn’t be ‘completed’. But now…she did feel nervous excitement, but not fear. Not that. Could she...well, could they at least try?
Carefully, she shifted close to him. ‘I love you,’ she said as her knee brushed his own. His arms helped her get into his lap, his body trembling from the proximity.
‘I love you too. But are you…are you certain?’ he asked. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you know.’
‘I know,’ she answered. ‘But it’s not about that.’
He slowly lifted his hand and used it to hold her waist. ‘I am just as happy with our marriage either way,’ he reassured.
‘Yes, and I am too. It’s just that…right now, I kind of want to.’
His good eye widened. ‘You do?’
She nodded, a bit shy. ‘I want to know what it feels like, properly. Not like it was with him. Like it’s supposed to.’
While he didn’t have the same memories of Frollo, it felt odd to him as well. He had never thought of himself even worthy of such intimacy. And truth be told, part of him was almost afraid of touching her, as he feared that it’ll hurt her, even unwittingly.
‘Are you alright with it?’ she broke his reverie.
He sighed, then a slight chuckle left him. ‘No, I am. It’s just that I don’t exactly know how to.’
She didn’t answer, just leaned forward, brushing his neck with her locks. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll do it. All couples do. We’ll figure it out.’
Her pink lips hovered near his. He pressed his mouth close. ‘So…can I?’
The sweetest smile came on her face as she nodded.
At that, he kissed her. Not like they hadn’t kissed one another before, but it wasn’t like this. Earlier, they did it as a small, loving gesture of affection. This was that too, but it had something else entwined too- passion. It didn’t feel better or worse, just different to what they were used to.
--
They lay in bed into the afterhours. He rolled over to her side. ‘I hope it was alright for you.’
She took his hand, still lying down, and kissed it. ‘It feels strange, honestly.’
‘Was it unpleasant?’
‘No. That’s what the strange part is. I…I feel like a different person. But I know that I’m not. And still, it feels so different.’ She pressed her cheek on his arm. ‘How was it for you?’
‘I don’t have anything to compare it to. So it was…nice.’
‘Your master wouldn’t have liked that for sure. How dare did Quasimodo experience something ‘nice’?
“I thought you were incapable of touching her without giving her some disease.” He mocked, repeating the words he’d listened to years back. ‘No, master, because you aren’t here for me to give.’
‘The flames of hell just turned from red to green tonight,’ she said thoughtfully.
Suddenly, she got up from the bed. He sat up too, watching her take a lamp kept in the corner of the room and come back. She waved off some smoke toward him. He coughed. ‘What is that?’
‘Casting a spell so I can temp you,’ she said dryly. For a moment he suspected she was telling the truth, but then she grinned. ‘I’m just ensuring no evil spirits come here, just in case he’s turned into one.’
He grinned back, then welcomed her into his arms. She played with the beads of his shirt, wondering aloud, ‘Do you think we’ll ever have a family? With children and all?’
At first, both of them fell silent at this grave question. Then he spoke, ‘I don’t know. But whatever it is, we’ll handle it together. All couples do.’
‘That’s true.’
‘I just believe that one condition is fair.’
She turned to look at him.
‘We’ll get them an education and let them have a good profession. I cannot bear sharing my bells with anyone.’
‘That is fair; I cannot share my tambourine either.’
‘So that is agreed upon,’ he said satisfactorily. He blew off the lamp and turned to her, giving her cheek a kiss before lying down again. She yawned, taking a last look at the stars before falling asleep on his chest.
And if you speculate upon the fate of Phoebus, it can be said that his end was even more tragic than the minister’s- he married.