by Zondervan
Bob handed Molly the picture and asked, “Have you ever seen this guy?”
She handed it right back to him. “Yeah, just a couple of hours ago. He was in Fischer’s Market down the street buying a jar of mayo and some cans of tuna. I was behind him in the checkout line.”
“Do you know where he lives?” Ophelia asked.
“Not exactly. But I think he might be on Crane Street. I’ve seen him round that corner a few times.”
“Thank you,” said Father Lou. “We appreciate the help.”
“Anytime,” Pastor Bob said with an easy wave as Molly shot him a look of disbelief. “Always here to lend a hand.”
Back out on the sidewalk, Father Lou turned to his three companions. “Man, that guy has a lot to learn about this neighborhood.”
“Molly will make sure he does,” said Walter.
Father Lou retucked his T-shirt into the waistband of his jeans. “Well? Shall we keep hoofing it?”
“Absolutely,” Walter said.
“Of course!” Ophelia was getting into the spirit of things now.
Great, thought Linus. Could we at least stop someplace so I can buy a candy bar?
nineteen
What Does It Take for a Guy to Get Some Lunch Around Here?
Apparently the candy bar would have to wait.
“That’s the place.” Ophelia pointed to a narrow, one-story shack, where the rooms appear to be lined up single file. In some places this type of home is called a “shotgun shack” due to the fact that you could shoot a gun inside the front door and the ammunition would go clear through the house and right out the back door—provided that door was standing open. If not, then I suppose a new back door would be in order, wouldn’t it?
“Cato seems to leave peeling paint behind him wherever he goes,” Walter commented as he reached out and picked off a large flake of pink paint with his fingernail. “How do we know this is it?”
“That.” Ophelia pointed toward a windowsill where a Roman dagger sat in plain sight. “It looks just like the one we found in the basement.”
Walter scratched an itch on the back of his head. “I don’t know why, but I figured you could bring something back with you from Book World just once. Or can you go in again with a different copy of the same book?”
Ophelia shrugged. “Maybe you get another chance with a different enchanted circle.”
“Or maybe it’s some other Roman’s dagger,” Linus snapped. “Can we get on with this?”
“Well, aren’t we testy?” said Ophelia.
“Have at it.” Father Lou motioned toward the front door.
Walter stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”
The hair on the back of Walter’s neck stood up like a porcupine’s quills. Approaching a strange house on Bovary was one thing, but here? He knew a rough part of town when he saw it. After all, he’d just moved away from the rough part of town back home.
Walter knocked on the mud-colored door (he didn’t like this house one bit) and waited. He knocked again. Still nothing. He shrugged in the direction of the others who were waiting on the sidewalk two doors down.
Right, then. I didn’t think I’d need this skill anymore, but apparently I was wrong. Walter reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his shorts, and pulled out a lock pick. He could just imagine the look of surprise on Father Lou’s face—not that the priest would be too surprised. Walter figured rightly that Father Lou had been much like him in his youth.
Sliding the pick into the keyhole, he felt around in the mechanism to release the pins. He’d picked locks far more complicated than this one. The door was opened in less than three seconds.
Father Lou was already behind him. “Nice work, Walter.”
“I’d rather not go into it.”
“Smart guy. Let’s see what we can find in here.” Father Lou turned to the twins and said, “Linus, stay by the door in case they come running out. Ophelia, you be the lookout up and down the street.”
This assignment was just fine with Ophelia. Let the guys handle the dirty work, she thought. Besides, her vision was definitely more keen than Linus’s because he refused to wear his glasses.
“If you find that jar of mayonnaise and a can of tuna, bring it to me,” Linus joked.
Walter stepped forward into the dark recesses of the house. Heavy gray curtains covered all the windows, dragging down rods that could barely support them. Had the drapes been open, one would have seen a wall of swirling dust in the sunbeams. Goodness. The squalor some people live in. The place needed more than just a good cleaning, that I know. One might consider calling in a hazmat (hazardous materials) team. And if that didn’t work, then a total gutting of the interior would have been in order.
They trod softly through the living room that held just a card table, two folding chairs, and lots of cardboard boxes. A layer of brown dust —at least a quarter inch thick — covered everything. Continuing on down the hall toward the back of the house, they discovered the kitchen was in even worse shape than the living room. I can barely bring myself to describe the scene to you without my gag reflex kicking in. But a writer always serves the story— even at great personal cost. If you aren’t willing to do that, then you might consider employment as a night watchman at a funeral home. The people you work with there should give you no trouble whatsoever.
At any rate, no dish had been washed in months. Once painted an eager yellow, the kitchen walls were now glazed with a greasy brown haze. Having apparently used up all of the good china, Cato had switched to paper plates and plastic cutlery. These items now littered every inch of horizontal space in the room, save for a narrow pathway on the floor.
I cannot talk about the bugs, however. I leave it up to you to use your imagination. Thank you.
Walter did what I would do, what you would do, what almost anyone without a terrible head cold or who works as a medical examiner or sewer employee would do—he held his hand up to his mouth, turned away, and tried not to regurgitate (throw up).
Lou clapped Walter on the back while holding his own nose, but he looked completely at home despite the odor. “If the circle is in here, he hasn’t used it in weeks. Let’s try the bedrooms.”
Walter nodded gratefully, now reticent (unsure) about searching the rest of the house at all. Who knew what the bathroom would be like?
I’d rather not think about that either.
The first bedroom, directly behind the kitchen, sat empty except for a couple of suitcases filled with Cato’s showy clothing, and a blanket and pillow tossed onto the stained carpet that may have once looked like a summer sky. The bathroom door was closed, thank goodness. But they didn’t need to see what was in there anyway, because when they opened the door to the second bedroom, there sat Quasimodo. He was gagged with a handkerchief and tied up like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. Still, he was trying his best to work loose the cords.
“Quasi!” Father Lou knelt beside Quasimodo and pulled the gag from his mouth.
“You all right, mate?” asked Walter as he took out a large penknife. This, of course, gave Father Lou no cause for surprise.
“Uh-huh,” said Quasi, puckering and unpuckering his lips.
Walter began cutting the ropes. He slipped the blade under a strand, and then with a quick, decisive one-two slide of the blade, the cord popped apart. One more cut farther down, and both Father Lou and Walter worked the ropes free.
“They knocked me over the head,” Quasi said. “Otherwise, they never would have taken me.”
All males have their pride, you know, even hunchbacks from the Middle Ages.
“I believe it,” said Walter. “Those two don’t equal one of you in strength.”
Despite his upbringing, Walter knew exactly what to say to encourage someone who was feeling less than his best.
Father Lou held out a hand and pulled Quasi to his feet. “Let’s get you out of this house, and then we’ll figure out how to get you back to Rickshaw Street. You might be a little conspi
cuous (easily noticed) in broad daylight.”
Linus and Ophelia hurried in once they got the all clear. Ophelia hugged Quasimodo close. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she whispered in his ear.
“Where did Cato and Frollo get off to?” Walter asked.
“They left a few minutes ago to get something to eat,” Quasimodo said while rubbing his sore wrists.
Figures, thought Linus.
twenty
No Sense in Sitting Around All Day, Trust Me
Father Lou treated them all to a hot dog from the lunch cart on Havisham and Rickshaw. Linus had given Quasimodo his ball cap, which made him a tad less noticeable. But if someone did happen to notice Quasi, the stares — some horrified, some mocking, some filled with pity—shot through them all. Except for Quasi.
He failed to notice anything as he took in his surroundings in wonder. Cars especially pleased him. “No horses? No oxen? No donkeys? Amazing!”
“Freak!” someone yelled out the window of a passing van.
“There’s that word again,” said Quasimodo. “What’s a ‘freak’?”
“Someone who’s more special than most people,” said Father Lou.
“I hear what you’re saying, Father.” Quasi smiled. “But back in Paris, I’m called an animal, grotesque, and an abomination. ‘Freak’ sounds much better than those things.”
Talk about looking on the bright side, thought Linus.
Ophelia, aching for her new friend, took her hot dog from the vendor. “Thanks, Father Lou. But I have to eat and run. I’ve got to finish reading that book by tomorrow morning, and I’ve still got a ways to go.”
The four guys watched her take off down the street.
“I hope she reads fast,” Quasimodo said as he took a bite of his hot dog. “This is delicious! Food tastes so much better here.”
Walter gave him a friendly slap on the back, which was really a slap on the hump. “Too bad you can’t stay.”
“I know,” Quasi whispered, and then he sat down on a bench next to Father Lou.
Linus said nothing as he remained at the hot dog cart, piling as much sauerkraut, pickle relish, onions, and mustard onto his hot dog as he could.
Quasi was back. Lunch was finally served. Life was good.
But not for long.
As Linus finished the final bite of his hot dog, that same group of touch football players whom Quasi and Walter had encountered in the park the day before came striding through the park gates.
“Hey!” shouted Brian, their leader, “I thought I told you not to bring that loser around here anymore.”
Walter stood ready to fight. He’d gotten into fights after much less provocation (something that irritates or angers) than this fellow! “You said nothing of the sort. Of course, I don’t suppose someone with a brain like yours can remember back that far.”
Uh-oh, thought Linus, quickly remembering all the fights he’d been in—which was zero. Did you punch with the eye of your fist face up or with your knuckles?
The gang advanced on them rapidly. Brian swung a wild punch at Walter who simply grabbed his wrist and then pulled and pivoted, sending the lad facedown into a muddy puddle on the street.
“Nicely done!” shouted Father Lou.
Brian scrambled to his feet. “Well?” he shouted to his crew. “What are you all standing around for?”
Of course, Brian couldn’t see himself just then, what with his face all scraped and muddy, and his clothes a wreck.
The largest boy on their team shook his head. “You’re on your own, man. You’ve gone too far making fun of that guy.”
“Yeah,” said the next largest, wiping the sweat off his brow with the hem of his orange T-shirt. “This is bogus.”
“What does ‘bogus’ mean?” whispered Quasi.
The young men turned their backs on their former leader and headed off down the street. Now abandoned by his mates, Brian turned and slunk off in the opposite direction.
“Wow, Walter!” said Father Lou. “Great move. Very tai chi.”
“I just make sure I get out of the way,” Walter said with a laugh.
Linus breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he could get Walter to teach him a thing or two.
“I suppose we’ll have to wait out Quasi’s remaining hours in the attic,” said Walter. “Just to be sure.”
Linus wasn’t having any of it, as his loquacious (long-winded, chatty) speech attested, “Quasi can’t spend his last day in Real World cooped up in some attic.”
“Come on over to the manse,” Father Lou suggested.
“No. We need to show Quasi a good time,” Linus insisted.
“You’re right,” Walter nodded as they set off down the street. “Look what he has to go back to. And besides, if we stay on the move, then Cato and Frollo will be far less likely to find us.”
Father Lou had to admit that Walter had a good point. “Suit yourself. Where are you going now?”
“The park would be a good start,” said Walter.
Oh great, thought Linus.
“Let’s see how high the river is. Are you lads up for that?”
“Sure,” said Linus. Whatever will be, will be.
“I guess I’ll head home to write my sermon then,” Father Lou said. “You know where I am if you need me. Please come by the manse later and let me know how things are going.” Father Lou ambled down Rickshaw Street without them, rubbing the wooden cross on his necklace as he went.
Walter shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded his head toward the gates of Paris Park across the street. “Shall we?”
Linus stepped off the curb.
For the first time, Quasi experienced what it felt like to be in a group of guys, just hanging out and having a good time. He grinned so widely that Walter thought his face might split. It was the most gruesomely beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
Man, thought Linus. That river looks like it’s rolling by at fifty miles an hour.
“I don’t know what this river normally looks like,” said Walter, “but it sure looks high to me.”
Quasimodo said, “I hope the dam doesn’t burst.”
They sat at a wooden picnic table underneath the pavilion near the Bard River. Three more inches and the river would have covered their feet.
Linus had run down to the corner grocery store and procured (gotten) all manner of snack food that Quasimodo would never get to eat again, but would probably remember with great relish. (In this case relish means “excitement,” not the pickle condiment that Linus recently shoveled onto his hot dog.) Potato chips, pretzels, tortilla chips and salsa, cheese dip, chocolate bars, soda, and all manner of food that will rot one’s body from the inside out.
Quasimodo enjoyed every bite, and mind you, he ate more bites than anybody else did. Linus could tell Quasi was trying hard not to bring down the mood; he forced a smile whenever Walter cracked a joke and even managed to laugh a time or two. But the fact sat with both boys that their new friend was headed back to a terrible life of social deprivation, boredom, and no central air. Not to mention the fact that he still loved Esmeralda.
Walter brought up the topic of the Gypsy girl after they’d opened the bag of party mix—”extra bold” flavor. “You’ve got to let her go, mate. She’ll be your undoing.”
“Love has a mind of its own,” Quasi said as he reached into the bag, pulled out a melba toast round (pumpernickel flavor), and examined both sides before popping it into his mouth.
“Maybe,” said Linus. “But it doesn’t have to.”
“He’s right.” Walter reached for the bag. “Sometimes a chap has to make a decision with his head, not his heart.”
“She’s just so beautiful,” said Quasi.
“Of course,” Linus said, thinking about Clarice Yardly-Poutsmouth’s great beauty. And her great appetite. “Be smart, that’s all we’re saying.”
All we can do is plant seeds, he thought. Hopefully, Quasi will figure it out on his end when he returns home.
&nb
sp; Just then Eric and a group of kids from the camp next door appeared on the paved path beside the river. Their laughter and chatter filled the gaps between the young men, and the guys couldn’t help but smile.
As they passed by the pavilion, the kids stopped. They were always ready to talk to anybody. Attending camp gave them that confidence—a lovely thing, to be sure.
A little boy with white-blond hair gave a little wave from his wheelchair. “Hi! You were at the lodge a little while ago!” he announced.
Walter got right up. “How are you doing, mate? The name’s Walter.”
“I’m Kyle.”
Walter turned to introduce the others. “That’s Quasi over there, the big guy. And the tall one is Linus.”
“Whoa!” said Kyle, his blue eyes growing rounder, “You look like a strong guy, Quasi!”
“He is.” Walter motioned Quasimodo forward, but he looked like he was about to be shown the gallows (a wooden frame from which a person is hanged). “Show him, Quasi.”
Quasimodo’s face registered panic for just a moment, but then his expression changed to one that Walter had yet to see in any context other than food.
It was sheer amazement.
Kyle had offered his hand for Quasimodo to shake.
“He’s not from around here, Kyle,” explained Walter. “This is what we do here, Quasi.”
Walter took Kyle’s bony hand in his and gave it a gentle shake. Then Kyle held his hand out toward Quasimodo again. Quasi slowly offered his own bony hand to the boy; but his hand wasn’t frail, it was large and quite able to crush Kyle’s tiny one. Quasi held the little boy’s hand with the utmost gentleness, and the boy beamed.
Linus had to bite back the emotions that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. This tiny gesture would do more to change Quasi’s future than anything Ophelia had ever said or done, and much more than anything he and Walter had tried to offer Quasi that afternoon. Or so Linus hoped.
Soon the other children gathered around Quasimodo as well. He picked them up and spun them around, holding them up over his head. Well, those whose physical states would allow it.
