Stuck
Her shoulders slumped with grief and sadness as Roguet leant against the crumbling brick wall of the old bell tower, marveling at how beautiful it looked in the silvered moonlight. In the daytime it looked like exactly what it was a derelict crumbling ancient tower. Ma had told her that once, when it had been first built; when the bell rang; pealing its deep chime with joy it called all the surrounding villages together: to celebrate the full moon and solstice of the seasons, to feast and dance. Weddings, parties and funerals, no matter the reason to celebrate or grieve the people came here, to the ivy Bell tower.
Today when you heard people talk about the bell tower, it was in fear; they said it had become haunted, not with ghosts, but with something more dangerous, the faerie folk. It was said if possessions even children went missing, it was the fairies.
Any mysterious boils, hair loss or illnesses in the villages, the people would point to the tower, you would hear the elders mutter ‘It’s those dammed fairies, life was good till they arrived’. The stories grew wilder; those that visited the village, once seated around the village fires, were also doused in fear, too scared to sleep in case a fairy or elf stole a child or a precious item.
Still, this rotting, crooked old tower that had weathered many years of storms, stood proudly on the hill, and because of the village’s gossip fear and fables, no one ever came this way, it had been a safe harbor for them both. Some said it was only the covering of ivy that kept it standing. Inside the broken walls it was cared for; Ma and her had swept the dirt floor leaving the ivy on the walls as the vines helped to hold the wind back. Ma had found bracken for their bedding it was here they had sheltered for many days and nights. But once her protector Ma had disappeared, Roguet’s consuming fear of the village’s hostility caused her to hide away. She knew she would never be one of them, Tears slid down the pale skin of her face, she had no one, not till Ma had appeared in her life.
Fond memories rushed back, yet it made her feel so alone and scared not knowing her future. Would she ever have a future? or would she always have to hide? The wind had become sharp and cold, in the darkest corner of the tower her bed of bracken and soft grasses welcomed her tired body, her head throbbed with the unanswered questions, to whom and where did she belong? Her supper tonight was what the forest dropped from its canopy of leaves, nuts and fruits. She fell softly to her bedding, her dreams teasing her, memories of a world she had once belonged to.
The policeman who had snared her in his net told the judge she was a child of the female sex, a known pickpocket and troublemaker, a street fighter and urchin. She had not been given a name at birth, a guttersnipe she was called, as that where she had been found, in the gutter, like many of her young friends who had roamed the streets with her. Fed by anyone, willing to share or begging scraps from rubbish of the wealthy. Others that knew of her, called her as they did all others begging or food, an arsewipe or toe rag, she had no status in this society of thieves and cut-throats. She was a nobody, with no name. So, when the judge pointed his grubby finger at her, his bulbous purple veined nose twitching as he stuffed snuff up his black stained nostrils, his sneeze a snot-filled sound like a gunshot over her head, she winced, her tiny shoulders shrugging up around her ears expecting the hard slap the jailer’s hand.
The judge pounded the large wooden hammer onto the podium sentencing her to many months in a women’s jail, he called out ‘you are a Rouge’ just as his wooden false teeth cracked together, pronouncing it 'Roguet' It felt like she had been given a crown, her shoulders now proud and squared as she left the jail docks, to live with other criminals for her allotted time in prison.
To this child’s mind it was a pure blessing, at last somewhere to lay her head, one meal a day and now she had been given a name. Roguet, she felt gratitude swell in her heart. She stood in line with other inmates; her prison number was painted on a large wooden disc, then hung around her neck, Roguet was delighted, she truly belonged now.
The old priest, who painted her numbers, took his time, his whiskery chin bobbing up and down as he is muttering 12th day of the 12th month of the 12th year. He pushed his dirty face close to hers, his rheumy yellowed eyes stared into hers, his breath rank with the smell of his rotten teeth, spittle settled on her pale cheeks as he whispered ‘them’s magic numbers young one, only fairies have magic’ his grimy hand settled on her small arm, cruelly pinching her soft flesh. She recognized malice, her new found confidence wilting.
Suddenly she was pulled up and away ‘come on ya bag of bones it’s work for you’, the voice that had called her bag of bones was soon corrected as Roguet wriggled in the harsh embrace till she was once more standing upright ‘my name is Roguet’. A silence fell over the room; the hands that had pulled her free from the priests’ claws lifted her high, eyes of brightest blue stared into hers. A smile twitched around a full red mouth, ”we ave a live one ere ladies, she finks she’s a bloody princess, you’ll do 12, you can call me Ma, Roguet replied my name is Rouget, Ma guffawed "not here 12 you are and 12 you be"
Roguet had never felt safer or happier, soon becoming Ma’s shadow. Ma was the one woman that the other cell mates took care not to anger, her wrath was fast and furious many heads had been cracked against the damp weeping walls of the cell. Roguet slept tucked across Ma’s lap, their share of any food carefully guarded. It was when Ma was taken to the guard’s room that Roguet felt fear; veiled threats against them both would slide over and around her, she would shrink into the darkest of corners, her eyes squeezed shut, hoping, wishing with all of her tiny body no one would come close or try to hurt her.
Roguet never questioned why Ma would disappear once or twice a week, once and only once bravely asking could she asked to go with her, it was the first time her Ma had slapped her and shouted ‘never, ever, wish for that’. For some reason Ma was favored amongst the guards, on her return she would carry a jug of grey greasy cold water. From the jug Roguet was allowed the first gulp, then Ma, then the other inmates. If there was food to share on her return Ma would make sure it was divided equally amongst the cell mates. Roguet always got the bigger share, Ma once commenting ‘why don’t you grow 12, you been stunted by street life?
One time Ma had returned to the cell, her face smeared in blood, a tooth was missing when she smiled, but she held up the prize, a jug of dirty grey water and small grubby sack. Ma had torn out were three holes, Roguet’s head popped through one of them now for the ‘skinniest arms in the world’ Ma had said, as the sack fell down to Roguet ankles, with Ma she was loved, fed, a roof over her head and now she had a new covering and there was her beloved savior, Ma.
The day came when Ma was set free; Rouget was so frightened, what she would do without her protector and friend? So, when Ma’s hand reached for hers as the heavy wooden cell door was pulled open, Rouget did not hesitate. Walking proudly beside this woman she adored. The doors clanked closed behind them, no one commented or questioned why there was a child with this woman. When it was yelled from a cell gate that prisoner 3 was free to go. Rouget wanted to run. Ma’s rough hand steadying her as she whispered, ‘quiet now 12, no one remembers who did what’.
Ma headed for the hill’s, steering clear of any villages, she knew they would be chased away, looking as they did, the lice vermin and stink of jail, she would not be welcome, let alone an ex-con with a child who was dressed in a sack , her legs and arms covered in pus filled scabs. Ma's mission was to find a cave for shelter overnight, then explore to see what they could find. The first night in the hills was in a small shallow cave the wind cruel and biting as they huddled together to try and sleep.
The next day they explored some more, looking for a shelter that they could live in for a wee while, till Ma got her bearings and found work. It was the sound of water that drew Rouget to the shallow stream, it tasted so good and clean, Ma decided it was bath time , the weather was just turning from Summer to Autumn, and “this is a good day to have a wash” ma announced. With this she pushed Roguet into the stream and followed her in, Rouget had never sat in so much water ,first it was with terror, she watched Ma grab soft sand from the banks and begin to rub her arms and legs thinking Ma had gone mad. Then her protector lunged for Rouget, pulling off the filthy sack, rubbing her little body with sand, this will keep you clean then a small miracle happened Ma said her name, for the first time ever she heard it spill from another’s lips ‘Rouget, I couldn’t call you that back in that hell hole, but here were the water and air is sweet and clean I can sing it out loud if I choose to.
The bath then her name being said set such emotions scrambling around in Rougets chest, surly everything was going to be alright from now on. Late in the day Ma discovered the old Bell tower, they both knew it was going to be home. They set about cleaning the floor, from what ever had used these walls as shelter before, Ma collecting bracken for their bed then to Rougets amazement started a fire. Two small twigs rubbed together over old dry leaves, suddenly a teeny puff of smoke then a lick of an orange flame. There had never been so much happiness in this little girl’s heart till today. Sleep did not take long to claim her with Ma’s voice promising food on the morrow. The snarling of dogs and screaming voices woke her, she curled up in a ball, her little hand searching for her Ma. Terror her friend of old, had sneaked into the tower in the dark of night. Rouget was now stuck, inside an old bell tower, no food and no water and Ma’s body limp and cold on the ground.