High-Five to the Hero
Page 6
So, when one day a baby appeared on the steps of the temple, the priest Frollo gladly took it in. He named the baby Quasimodo and brought the youngster up within the temple. As Quasimodo grew, it was clear that he was different. He became a great tall kid with bright eyes. Yet his body was hunched and bunched, and his legs were not quite matched. When Quasimodo was a young man, it became clear that this was how he would be forever.
Quasimodo didn’t like going out for fear of how people would react to his different body. So Frollo found a role for him as bell ringer which kept him out of the public eye. Each day, Quasimodo cleaned the bells and rang them to mark significant hours.
It was a simple life, and sometimes it left Quasimodo lonely. He’d cry in the belfry when he was feeling especially low. He’d talk to the carved faces on the exterior of the tower: a lion, an eagle, and a funny-looking monster. He’d even do voices for them. “Oh, hello Bellows, meet Wingding. What’s that? You are tired of looking west? Bellows, tell us what you see to the east.” Above all, Quasimodo longed to have friends that were real.
One of the hardest and loneliest days for Quasimodo was FoolsFest. This was an annual gathering of colorful entertainers and smart speakers. It drew a crowd of merriment to the town center that Quasimodo could glimpse from his belfry. He’d observe the fun with great interest but didn’t dare join in for fear of drawing attention to himself, or getting in the way.
One particular year, the town found itself on the verge of great change. A new civilization was growing nearby. Quasimodo’s town was small and many of the tradespeople had moved away, so it was thought to be unimportant by the new civilization. They planned to take it over, and this was to be the last FoolsFest.
A new speaker called Esmerelda took the stage. She told of the new civilization, how they had come to her hometown too.
“They tear down old buildings to make way for new,” Esmerelda warned the rapt crowd. “They’ll do away with the plaza and fill in the lake.”
Quasimodo was troubled. He loved the town. The buildings that surrounded him were, at times, his only friends. Where would people go who were in need? Where would he go? He couldn’t let the place get torn down.
After the speech was finished, Quasimodo agonized about what to do. He searched for Frollo to seek his help, but was disappointed when Frollo told him, “There is nothing I can do, son. People have been leaving this town for years. Sometimes you just have to make way for history.”
At first Quasimodo accepted Frollo’s stance. After all, he rarely even went out in public, so what could he do? Quasimodo retreated to his belfry. He looked out over the town square. But as he watched the townspeople enjoying a silly mask contest, he wondered if it was right to let this all disappear. Could there be other people who felt the same? He decided to get a little closer to the action to find out.
After dark, Quasimodo covered himself in a cape and snuck out! He crawled over his carved friends who guarded the belfry, down the side of the tower, and down the many stairs to the square. Everyone at the festival was awaiting the crowning of the King of Fools. Quasimodo spotted Esmeralda chatting with the townspeople and moved closer.
“We can’t let this happen,” one said.
“What can we do?” another asked.
“I’ll tell you what can be done,” Esmeralda said. “If we get enough different people to support preserving the town center and the temple we can negotiate.”
“Well there are plenty of us, but we need some powerful voices to join in,” a townsperson reflected. “That’s the only way we’ll be heard.”
Surprising himself, Quasimodo’s soft voice broke in. “Maybe someone from the temple?”
“Who said that?” Esmerelda asked. Everyone turned to look at the cloaked figure.
“A leader from the temple could help. That’s what they do—help,” Quasimodo explained.
“That’s exactly right!” Esmerelda said. “Do you know someone there?”
“I live there,” Quasimodo admitted.
“Are you a priest?” Esmerelda asked.
Quasimodo was nervous. Esmeralda was so outgoing, so clear in her convictions. And he felt so self-conscious. “Not exactly…” he admitted.
“No matter! It’s a brilliant idea. You’re our king of the festival!” Esmerelda cheered. Without hesitation, she grabbed Quasimodo’s hand and raced him to the pedestal where a crown awaited. The comedian introduced him as “King of FoolsFest” and a shower of candy was thrown from the crowd! Before Quasimodo knew it, his hood was flung off, and the crown placed upon his head.
The crowd gasped. “It’s the belfry boy!” someone cried.
Quasimodo was terrified. He had never been the center of a conversation, much less a crowd, and he fell to the ground. Seeing his distress, the crowd quietly dispersed.
“I should have stayed in the belfry,” Quasimodo gulped, seeing the townsfolk leave.
“No, no!” Esmeralda said, kneeling beside him. “They only left because they saw you were uncomfortable. They threw sweets to celebrate you, not to mock you!”
But Quasimodo didn’t believe her. He slunk back to the temple, where Frollo was waiting.
“Quasi, what happened?” Frollo asked. “What were you thinking, going out there? Are you OK?”
“It was scary,” Quasimodo admitted, wiping a tear from his face. “But I learned something. If you and the others in the temple joined in standing up for our town, we could save it!”
Frollo shook his head. “Oh, Quasi, you are new to the great wide world. I really don’t see a way to save our place,” he said. “The new civilization is just too big and too powerful.”
“But—”
“I’d like you to stay in the belfry,” Frollo instructed. “If there is going to be an uprising, it’ll be dangerous to be outside.”
Quasimodo, feeling powerless, consented to being locked in the belfry. He paced his room. He could feel the tension mounting outside. A notice was pasted in the square which showed the plans for the changes to come. Just as Esmerelda had foretold, it described filling in the lake and taking down the temple. It even announced a start date: that evening! Quasimodo could hear the townspeople talking anxiously.
“What if we need fresh water?”
“Where will we keep all our community supplies like tools, wagons, and books?”
“If a visitor comes in need of help where can they go?”
That was the last straw for Quasimodo. Even though he was uncomfortable in public, he was willing to work on it if it meant preserving his temple as a safe haven for others. He had to make his voice heard, but knew he’d never convince Frollo. He’d have to sneak out again. He reached for his cloak but stopped, thinking of what Esmerelda had said. Maybe people weren’t scared of him, after all. “No one even mentioned my shape,” he reminded himself aloud. Then Esmerelda’s voice rung in his head.
“If we get enough different people to support us, we can negotiate!” she’d said.
So with a deep breath, Quasimodo slid down the side of the tower.
As he ran to find Esmerelda, a great rumble could be heard nearby. It was the sound of the demolition crew advancing. The clamor propeled Quasimodo through alleys and corners. He found a staircase and heard another huge rumble. This time, it was the sound of lots of people talking. Cautiously, he went down the steps.
Quasimodo soon entered an immense hall hidden beneath the streets. All the townspeople who had gathered there turned to look at him. Quasimodo felt scared, but he knew he had to speak.
“The tear down crew is nearly here!” he said softly.
“Speak up!” a voice called from the back. It was Esmerelda’s and it lifted him.
“If we unite, we can show the newcomers what this town means to us,” he said, more loudly this time. “Together we have enough people to block the demolition. But we have to hurry. It’s nearly sunset!”
Esmerelda pushed past the crowd and up the stairs, then led the march to the town square
. The townspeople assembled in front of the temple. The demolition crew had arrived with wrecking balls and catapults to change the town forever.
As each person spoke, they linked arms and formed a chain across the square.
“We, the people of this town, ask you to reconsider the tear down of our beloved square and safe haven.” Quasimodo extended a hand of negotiation to the foreperson leading the demolition.
“You dare try and stop this project?” the foreperson shouted over the noise.
“Our new civilization has unprecedented power, what contribution could this small town offer?” another worker added.
“Yeah, what have you got worth saving?” the foreperson said.
Quasimodo stepped forward. “Me,” he said.
The foreperson looked taken aback.
“And me,” said Esmerelda.
“And me,” a familiar voice added. It was Frollo! Quasimodo looked at him in shock. Frollo was smiling and he had the rest of the temple leaders along with him. “And me,” each of them said.
“And me, and me, and me, and me.”
A trail of voices rang out from the townspeople. As each person spoke, they linked arms and formed a chain across the square.
“Well, if so many feel so strongly,” the foreperson said, “we’ll open negotiations.” They sighed and packed up their wagons.
“What swayed your mind?” Quasimodo asked Frollo, when they had gone.
“I realized; the temple has been your sanctuary—not because it provided protection, but because it is where you grew into someone wonderful.” Frollo put an arm around Quasimodo. “Real sanctuary is not bars, it’s an open door.”
In the next few months, Esmeralda, Frollo, and Quasimodo brought back tradespeople to restore the town and temple to its original glory. Quasimodo proposed that the temple be a shared venue for the townspeople and the new civilization. A spot to assemble art and books, where everyone could attend concerts and festivals. Most importantly it would be a welcoming centre for newcomers, complete with accommodations for those in need. The new civilization agreed and built a grand extension with seating and stages to suit the masses.
The town and its people flourished. Quasimodo was once again crowned king of the annual festival, although this time it was called: FriendFest.
The Snow Man
In the land of the midnight sun, where summer light lasts through the night and winter is a parade of darkness, there once sat a small cottage. It was home to a family who filled the place with love and affection. They enjoyed cozy suppers round a wood burning stove, busy breakfast over its top, and afternoons of drawing and telling stories while toasting their toes near it.
One day, a big snowfall laid a soft white blanket over everything the eye could see. It beckoned the family outside. They grabbed their snowshoes and donned their warmest woollens. The father wore goggles and the mother rubbed the little ones’ faces with oil to protect against the cold.
Out they bounded into the snow. It flew up around them like star dust. As the day wore on, the snow grew wet and clingy. It was perfect for building.
“Let’s build something!” the father suggested.
“Yes! Yes!” the children cheered.
They gathered snow from all around the yard, rolled it into big rounds and stacked them in a tower.
“It’s as tall as you, Mom,” the youngest child observed.
“It can be a snow man,” said the eldest child, placing their hat upon the top of the tower.
“Here is his bowtie,” said the father, pulling out two pieces of broken tile.
“It needs some eyes,” added the youngest child, who pressed acorns into the snowy surface. Beneath the eyes the mother laid a string of berries to form a smile.
Their family dog ran out from the house, a carrot in its jaws. They lodged it in the Snow Man’s face as a cheerful nose. The days were short in winter and as the sun sank, the family retired to the warmth of their home.
Only the dog remained outside and inspected the new yard resident. She sniffed and circled and settled on a spot to squat, when all of a sudden a voice cried out.
“Ah! What’s this? Are you going to paint me yellow?!”
The dog laughed. “I was going to relieve myself before I snuggle in the house with the family.” She nodded toward the house. “They don’t like it when I do it in there.”
“Can I come in with you?” asked the innocent Snow Man.
“Have you slush for brains?” barked the dog. “That is a roasty, toasty home. You can’t possibly go in there. You’ll become a puddle!”
The Snow Man looked sad.
“Cheer up!” said the dog. “You’ve plenty of creatures to hang with out here. Pleasant folk stroll this route often. They’ll surely stop and visit you.” And off the dog went, to curl up with the family by the fire.
The Snow Man watched mournfully through the window. He saw the father wrap the little ones in a blanket and nuzzle them with his scratchy beard as they wriggled and giggled. The mother playfully threw pillows and the Snow Man longed to share in the light-heartedness. When the family gathered to enjoy cocoa, the father tossed marshmallows and the mother caught them in her drink with a wink. The Snow Man wished he had someone to eat marshmallows with.
The next day, just as the dog predicted, many people passed by. They were all in tidy pairs. Two old friends shared a laugh over a scroll of red paper. A twosome came arm in arm, one listening intently to the other, each holding a pink envelope. A young man and woman burrowed in a carriage, resting their heads together under a blanket decorated with hearts.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” remarked the dog, seeing that the Snow Man was curious.
“What’s that?” the Snow Man asked eagerly.
“It’s an ancient festival celebrating the sweetness of love,” explained the dog.
“I saw people exchange paper tokens shaped like hearts,” observed the
Snow Man. “I should like to do that.”
“Well, you’ll need a sweetheart,” said the dog.
“Sweetheart?” asked the Snow Man. “What’s that?”
“Someone whom you are drawn to and long to embrace,” explained the dog.
“Oh, I know exactly who my sweetheart is!” said the Snow Man excitedly.
The dog was surprised. “You do?”
“Oh, I long to sit beside that wonderful Snow Man there in the neighboring yard. He is sensational. He has a blissful grin and top hat, I just can’t stop admiring him.”
“I dunno, a Snow Man paired with another Snow Man?” said the dog, sniffing. “Why don’t we find you a more suitable valentine? A lady, made of the same winter whimsy as you? I’ve just the match!” The dog bounded away, leaving the Snow Man alone with his thoughts.
Later, the dog returned with a small gnome. She had a fluffy plume of white hair and a tall red hat.
“Who are you?” asked the Snow Man.
“I go by many names: Haltijia, Nisse, Tomte, but you can call me Karly,” the little lady said.
The Snow Man was keen to be as happy as all the couples he’d seen, so he made an effort to get to know Karly. But while Karly was friendly, the Snow Man felt no warm glow. He didn’t long to sit beside her or yearn to lay his head on her shoulder. In fact, Karly’s shoulder was too far away to reach. The dog could tell the two weren’t exactly well-matched and scampered off to find a new valentine. The Snow Man bid Karly farewell.
The dog returned with a creature much taller.
“This is Iku Turso,” the dog said, “a water queen.”
Iku Turso was shaped like a great bell with long tentacles. She slid toward the Snow Man, looking uncomfortable.
“What’s the matter?” the Snow Man worried.
“I’m not used to being out of the water,” Iku Turso explained.
“I’m made of water if it helps?” offered the Snow Man with a chuckle. “We have that in common, and we are a comparable size. Could you be my valentine?”
“Oh. May I ask what makes you certain of them?” the Snow Man asked, disappointed.
“I am the most myself around them,” Iku Turso said, blushing.
“Oh, I see. So I should be myself with my valentine?” the Snow Man asked.
“Yeah!” brightened Iku Turso. “Don’t worry. You’re a great frozen fellow, you’ll meet a better match.” And she slid back toward the sea.
The dog sniffed and circled. “I’ve got it!” she said, and set off once again.
Soon a great crunching of snow was heard and from a line of trees a fantastic creature appeared.
“Allow me to present Miss Otso!” beamed the dog. “She is one of the most revered northern magical creatures.” She bowed and made way for a bear with a crown of trees upon her head.
“I’m Otso. It’s nice to meet you,” spoke the bear with a regal voice.
The Snow Man was impressed. They were nearly the same shape and Otso brought warmth and friendliness with her. Yet the Snow Man, in spite of their compatibility and easy rapport, didn’t feel for Otso what he felt for the Snow Man next door.
Otso could tell. “I sense you have someone else on your mind. Why don’t you tell me about them?” she said.
“Well, if I’m honest, and I know it sounds different,” the Snow Man slowly opened up, “I can’t stop thinking about the Snow Man just over the fence.”
“I see.” Otso raised her brows.
“When I look in the house, and see how happy the people make one another, I wonder, who makes the other Snow Man happy? Could I be that someone?”