Through Lost Eyes

I was a performer on the Parisian streets just before the revolutionary war. Vive la France. Ha! For France, it was more like a tantrum being thrown by the middle child who decided to get rid of the eldest child. All it really accomplished was an unwarranted tyranny of greedy "politicians" who thought they could run the country while lining their own pocket books. I scoff at the revolution for its pathetic attempt at freeing its people, when in fact it condemned more civilians to death, and if they were "fortunate" enough to not meet the executioner, they lived in fear and poverty as punishment. I had everything taken away from me. How can a performer perform without legs? I wish that were the worst part. Oh, how I pray to Mary that it was the worst part. Hugo made it out, but not without his share of nightmares I'm afraid. My life-long friend is tormented with the past. Pouvre, pouvre Hugo. He blames himself for my shortcomings, but he is the one who truly lost it all.

We were gypsies traveling the French countryside performing for farmers, peasants and other gypsy folk. Hugo and I were inseparable. He would always bring me along, and treated me with care. He would always to introduce me first, Laurent and Hugo, at all the shows. Hugo was so selfless. We were all each other had, and at the time it was all we needed.

Hugo's parents had died when he was twelve, and with no living relatives he was left to defend himself against this life. It was during this time that Hugo started wandering through France with no direction, money or anyone to turn to. It was three years later just outside of Rennes while traveling with a group of gypsies that we had met. Hugo was caught stealing food from a wagon, and instead of the intended punishment for stealing Jacque, an older man with withered hands and long black peppery hair stood up saying that he would take Hugo in. I was not particularly fond of this notion.

His frame was small, obviously half starved from missing several meals over the years, but he stood taller than Jacque easily towering over me. His dark matted hair looked no better than a wild animal; it was curly and was suited with dried mud and so much tree fallings that he could potentially grow a forest. It suited him. For he had this vicious hungry look in his eyes that just would not be satisfied with food alone. He was desperate for understanding and a home. Somewhere he could belong and be loved. Jacque gave him his home just like he had me some years before.

I felt unsettled, and I did not acknowledge Hugo during dinner. It had not occurred to me that I could become jealous of Hugo, but as he sat with Jacque by the fire telling his story I grew envious and angry. I just sat in my place on the wagon were Jacque and I slept listening to Hugo's woes and Jacques encouraging words. I would had been empathetic toward Hugo, but something inside of me grew hungry like the vicious wolf that consumed Hugo had now found its way inside of me. I turned my attention up toward the evening sky, how could something so dark be so beautiful?

The days after Hugo becoming a part of our family seemed to be a blur. We traveled to three more cities. Settling in mornings and slipping out as the evening spread its fingers across the land blanketing the world I found myself hating Hugo less and less. He was sincere and humble. His once matted hair had been cut off to his shoulders and lay in curls framing his face, and Eloise, a stout woman with blonde hair, insisted that he bathe at least once a week if he were to be traveling with us. He was handsome. I hated that he was handsome, but I couldn't even look away when he would grin a little and turn his chin into his shoulder before bursting out in a roaring laughter. On top of all of that, he treated me like I was made of gold. To him I was his petit frère. He was kind and we had fun. Jacque was pleased with this, and even though Hugo was as lost as I was, he took me under his wing and strung me along wherever he chose to go. After some time, I did not mind. Hugo gave me life again filled with joy and laughter, and in turn he gave that life meaning. I owed everything to him.