The Resilience of Youth

Persia leaned back against the doorway with a sigh, pressing against the chill wood with two dreadfully callused palms. Her hat hung low over both of her eyes, and swept most of her hair from her face, save for a few strands that had managed to escape. Her long arms were thin, and her legs were without muscle, gangly and trembling with cold. Her teeth chattered, and air escaped from the gaps where a few were missing. She sounded like a bagpipe that had been stabbed one to many times, and with every rise and fall of her shapeless chest, a short whistle escaped from between her teeth.

It was a particularly chilly night, and rain fell from the sky without restraint, threatening the little town with flood. The moon was luminous, almost mockingly beautiful against the heady darkness of the clouds, and the trees quivered fitfully in the wind. Persia peered out across the street with an odd look of contentment on her face, and a thoughtful smile tingeing the corners of her lips. "Bloody win's gonna blow me out'a my corner… but it's jus' as well, I suppose. It isn't gonna blow me far."

She cursed gaily, before picking herself up, folding her hands behind her back, and jumping into the rain. The water was cool on her face and hands, and the wind slapped against her, giving her a mild beating, as she trudged down the street.

The street lights had long since blown out, and the wind shrieked through the trees like a thousand ghouls in the night. The girl looked up for a moment, and smiled. The sound was familiar, comforting in it's own twisted refrain. Many years of sleeping in the ditches, had made her accustomed to their wicked calls, and now, she found that it was almost completely impossible to sleep without them.

Skipping from puddle to puddle, her bare feet treading nimbly on the cobblestone, Persia spun around in a wide circle, before coming to rest beneath the statue of a stern looking young man holding a musket. The girl stared up at him, before smiling and blushing despite herself. Even in the rain, with his face weather worn and chipped on one cheek, he was gloriously good looking. Moving up to him, with all of the confidence of youth, she made a bow, rags and all. Her hat fell from her head, displaying a mess of dirty blonde hair, and she ran a hand through it to keep it from her eyes. Long needles of straw had entwined themselves within her matted locks, and the same soot that blackened patches of her face, darkened the ends of her hair as well. The statue did not seem to mind this young stranger, and he continued to look past her with his grim face set in a cold frown.

"Why, what eve' was that?" Persia wondered innocently, cupping a hand to her ear, and peering impulsively up at the stone giant. "Well sir, you'll 'ave to bloody well speak louder th'n that if you want me to hear you."

The man made no indication that he was listening, but she straightened nonetheless and brought her chin to her shoulder, in a playful manner, "Why sir, I'm flatter'd, I am, but I mus' decline your offer. You see, I'm already in love….! I'm in love!"

And with one last bow, she picked up her hat, situated it over her head, and moved away from the statue. Her steps were alive, and she seemed to dance down the street, her heart beating wildly within her shallow chest. She coughed, but continued on, laughing with vigor, through the rain.

"Hey you crazy tramp! Shut the hell up!" Came a low voice from within one of the shuttered houses. Persia made a face, and moved up to the little dwelling, determined to see who it was who had insulted her. Light filtered through the gaps in the wood, and she pushed her finger up through one to give her a little room to see in. She merely winced when a bit of it splintered, and wedged itself into her finger. She put the wound in her mouth and sucked, before pressing her face up against the shutter.

A group of men sat around a large wooden table, sharing a pint of ale and betting away their money on a game of poker. Beside them sat a large dog, with sagging eyelids, and a drooping tail. He sniffed the air impulsively, but then lazily drooped his head back onto his paws. A woman stood in the back of the room, adjusting her collar with graceful hands. She was old and withered, and her eyes were heart wrenchingly similar to the dog's. Persia decided that they were not worth her time, and was about to push away from the window, when a voice startled her and caused her to freeze in her steps.

"What in the world are you doing out here? You must be freezing! And look at you, you're soaked to the bone!"

Persia turned, her heart pounding rapidly within her chest as she found herself looking up into his eyes. He was a tad taller then her, with broad shoulders and a long, sloping neck. Even in the rain, his hair was pushed behind his ears, shadowing his handsome face. A face that would make even the statue, turn green with envy. He wore a fine suit beneath a long undercoat, and a pair of woolen gloves over his large hands. His eyes were dressed in a mask of concern, and he shook his head slowly, before sighing and going on, "What is it about you? Hiding out on the streets in this weather. I've never heard of such a thing."

"Good evening' Monsieur," she said with the courteous nod of her head. She did not avert her eyes when he pinned them with his own.

"You'll become very ill if you don't find someplace warm to spend the night," he sighed. He made a little motion with his hand and beckoned for her to follow him. She wasted no time in matching his footsteps exactly, and she moved behind him with sparkling eyes, as though not believing her good fortune.

"You're very kind, Monsieur," she said with unkempt enthusiasm. She ducked her head against the wind, before laughing happily, "You know, I was beginin' to wonde' how I was goin' to survive. A warm bed or a loft to sleep in 'ould be an urchin's paradise."

-

"If you'd be so kind as to step inside. I'll take your coat from you," the man said gently, waiting for her to discard the sorry excuse of a garment, before tossing it over a coat rack beside the door. The two of them were a sorry mess, their hair disgruntled and their faces slicked with rain. The gentleman looked down at himself, and after a moment of thought, he motioned for Persia to follow him. The girl stalked after him like a dog, intent on pleasing it's master, and as they moved down the hallway, they left a trail of water behind them.

"Such a big 'ouse Monsieur! 'T makes me a bit envious to tell the truth," Persia whispered. Truth be told, she did not care an ounce for the house. Her eyes were glued on the man's back, and she watched his shoulder blades stabbing again and again into the waterlogged fabric of his shirt. She could see the pale flesh of his skin through the transparent cloth, and she shivered despite herself. "You know, I used to live in a 'ouse this big once. 'twas when I was a lit'le thing, o' course. 'twas warm and white and my brother played the piano in the family room. Lovely playin'."

"Do you miss him?" the man asked knowingly, as he lead her through his kitchen and into a guest room. He opened a dresser in the corner of the room, and started to rifle through it. After a moment or so, he looked back over his shoulder, seemed to measure her mentally, and then began to lay out a fresh pair of clothing for her. A long white blouse and a pair of men's trousers. She beamed.

"Not at all. Lit'le boys aren't anything but trouble anyways. Always screaming and cryin' and such," she said, falling shamelessly onto the nearby bed. She stretched out to her fullest length, moving her body so that she tugged on each muscle accordingly. She grinned playfully up at the man. "Good riddance, I says. Good riddance to 'im for getting his head lopped off by that train. Serves 'im right for playin' hooky on the tracks."

The man stared wordlessly, before handing her a handkerchief to dab her face. She took it from him and wiped it vigorously. Her cheeks were beat red against her sun tanned skin, and her lips were pursed when she handed it back. "You know, it's my lit'le dog that I miss. T'was a cute lit'le thing, but the bitch whined like no tomorrow. I couldn't take it after a while, so I foun' a sturdy branch an' bludgeoned 'er. Course, after a while I got to missin' 'er, an' sometimes at night, I'd think that I'd heard 'er whining. I 'aven't 'ad another dog since."

The man's eyes were dark. "I'll give you time to change." And with that he stepped slowly from the room and closed the door softly behind him.

Persia laughed with an unquenchable joy, as she stared up at the ceiling. Her little chest heaved as she broke into a coughing spasm, and she pulled her hat from her head and clasped it against her, as though it were the only thing convincing her that she was not dreaming. Her long tendrils of wet hair pillowed her rough face, and her legs twisted of their own accord. "Dreams couldn't be sweeter."

-

"Monsieur! Monsieur, 'ave you anything to eat?" Persia wondered, pushing open the door and stepping out into the hall. Her voice echoed piteously down the dimly lit passage, and she gave a little look of annoyance as she pressed her hands into the dry caverns of her trouser pockets. Shrugging to herself, she shut the door behind her and moved down the hall. "Well, I neve'. Leavin' a guest all alone…"

And she began to sing gaily to herself. She sang with a voice beyond her years. It was dark and light all at once, deep yet powerful, soft yet strong. She climbed the scale with a strange certainty, with a familiarity similar to the way one would greet a neighbor. Every now and again she would have a bit of an issue with pitch, and she would wail like cat in heat, but it was an endearing sound, and would easily break anyone's heart. She paused to yawn.

"Mademoiselle, please, don't stop," came the gentleman's voice, from behind her. He stared at her from the opposite end of the hallway, his coat donned once again and a lantern within his hands. His hair was wet, and his face dripped rain.

"You shouldn' be out in the rain," Persia scolded happily. She waggled a finger in the air and spun around to look at him. "Wasn't getting soaked the firs' time good enough for you Monsieur? And you spun on me for bein' outside. Gentle folk like you shoul' be sittin' in front of your fires, reading' a book or writin' a fancy letter or something' of the sort. Not outside in bad weather."

"You sing beautifully," he said, his eyes unmoving. She had changed drastically. Her hair had dried itself and hung impishly about her face, her cheeks had a certain roundness to them that he had not noticed before, and her lips were red as sin. Her hands were long and meticulous, woven together and resting behind her back, and her starved features brought out a queer sort of luster beneath her skin. Her youth had made her as strangely beautiful as her song.

"Only twiddlings," she said with the cock of her head. She moved up beside him and gave him an odd look. "I do it all the time when I'm alone, to sort of… Keep myself company. Why, I believe that I was twiddling the day I firs' met you. Out on the street when our elbows bumped. You remember tha' don't you?"

"Please, would you sing for me again?" he whispered. He moved up beside her and the look that he gave her melted her heart. "I'm a bit distraught and your voice relaxed me a great deal, just now."

"I'd be 'appy to!" she cried, taking hold of his hand within her bony ones. Leading him down his hallway, as though it were her own, she brought him into the living room. It was already alight with the remnants of a once roaring fire, and the room pulsated with a warmth that made every muscle in Persia's body, relax itself. She lead the man to a chair, and seated him before the fire, flitting about him with the ceaseless energy of a little bird. After making sure that he was comfortable before the flames, the girl pranced in front of him and took a quick bow. "Now, for my firs' act of the evening', I'm goin' to sing a lit'le something I learned from listenin' in at the opera 'ouse. Now, no telling', or I'll be in trouble."

And with that she opened her mouth wide, took a yawning breath, and began. All at once, the room's atmosphere began to change. She sang each measure with a rapt sort of emotion, paying attention to every note, every attack and release, every crescendo. Like a sparrow, her voice soared and chirped, and dropped down into a low rumble within her chest. She sang with a sincerity that was simply unfathomable, and the gentleman found himself leaning up and out of his seat, his eyes wide and his heart clenching within his chest, taken aback by her incredible passion. For a moment, it seemed as though he too was flying with her.

"You know Monsieur," she whispered, ending the song with a look that seemed out of character for her bony face. "When I was all alone, I think that I used to dream about you…. I had the stranges' sort of thoughts, you know? I dreamt that you kissed me on my lips, and that you 'eld me tende'ly the way I use' to 'old my dog, 'cept nicer. When I was alone, I'd think of you and the day we firs' met. You though that I was strange, didn't you? Hmm, no need to lie."

Her eyes grew darker, "But you know Monsieur, I never thought that you were strange. A gentleman like you, was something that I didn't 'appen upon every day. Mos' 'ould just turn me away after a while, but not you. You gave me that wedge of bread, an' you let me 'elp you find the park. You let me, little unimportant me, 'elp you. It made me very 'appy."

"Persia…"

"But I says to myself, 'No this man isn' for me. I'll never see 'im again, so no use thinkin' about him any longer.' And yet, the more I tried to stop myself, the more I thought of you…. It's a strange feeling Monsieur, caring about someone. I neve' thought that it'd be a gentleman that I'd care about, but I suppose that I surprised myself. You see Monsieur, I think that I'm in…."

"Victor…?" There was the muffled sound of a struggle, before a woman dragged herself into the living room. Her long blonde hair was plastered to her forehead in a stringy mess, and her lips and cheeks were pale and sunken in. She gave a little shiver, before looking at her husband expectantly, "The books are outside. We set up a little shelter for them beneath the hurdy-gurdies. I'll need your help bringing them in."

"You said that you'd be back by sun set," the man said, extending a hand in a gesture of concern. "I went out looking for you twice. What kept you? I swear, you scared me half out of my wits."

"The tradesmen didn't get to town until late. Then when we finally got what we were waiting for, we had a bit of trouble with the wagon. We were stranded out in the rain for nearly an hour," she said, laughing despite herself. She shivered again.

"Persia, my wife Carlotta," Victor said, smiling fondly at the woman before standing and offering her his overcoat. Seeing as it was already soaked, it did not do much to help, but it was the thought that counted.

"Company?" the woman wondered, as though seeing Persia for the very first time. She gave a polite nod in the girl's direction, "I'm sorry that I didn't say hello straight away. I'm in an awful bit of trouble, you see, these books that we ordered from…."

"No, it's alright," Persia whispered with a gentle clarity. Her lips turned up slightly at their corners, though her eyes did not smile. "It's alright. I should be leaving now anyways."

"Please, stay for a cup of tea," the gentleman entreated warmly. His spirits had seemed to rise, with the safe return of his beloved.

"No, I should leave." And with that, she swept past the two of them, down the hallway, and out the door.

It was a particularly chilly night, and rain fell from the sky without restraint, threatening the little town with flood. The moon was luminous, almost mockingly beautiful against the heady darkness of the clouds, and the trees quivered fitfully in the wind. Persia peered out across the street with an odd look on her face, and a sad smile tingeing the corners of her lips. "Bloody win's gonna blow me out'a this corner… but it's jus' as well, I suppose. It isn't gonna blow me far."

Fin.

By: Lauren Hatch 2006

This is copyrighted material.