The Ringing of The Bells

 

From Uncle Vellanoff's Journal 

Speaking of people with a problem - - I had a cousin by the name of Demitri who had two friends, who were sort of acquaintances of mine also, by the name of Valeri and Smirnoff. None of these three were the one with the problem, well except for Smirnoff who always smelled of rotting potatoes and kept trying to get everyone to taste his home brew, - - but getting back to the real problem.

 One time when cousin Demitri, Valeri, and Smirnoff were in Paris, (they were members of this auto racing team so traveled around Europe some), they witnessed a display of the passion to persevere that has gone unexcelled in the annals of history to this very day. It happened when they were standing in the square, admiring that famous Cathedral of Notre Dame, where the ringing of the bells by the original hunchback had been one of the attractions. It seems it was as much his grotesque appearance as the ringing of the bells that created the attraction.

After the original bill-ringer's death the Monsignor noticed a marked drop in attendance and especially in the take from the poor box. In a panic he sent messengers throughout the land for an equally grotesque person to ring the bells as well as had the legendary Quasimodo. (For that was his name, later appropriated by Walt Disney.) There had been many government budget cuts in those years, like aid to the handicapped, etc, so on the appointed day the square was packed with cripples, misfits, drunkards, and a variety of assorted goons. This is the day that Demitri, Valeri, and Smirnoff happened along. As the Monsignor came out onto the steps of the cathedral, a person who was the spitting image of Quasimodo, but without arms, pushed his way through the crowd and came to a stop in front of the Monsignor.

The Monsignor asked, “My brother, why art thou here?”

“To ring the bells.”

“Thou hast great spirit, but thou hast no arms.”

“That is no impediment, I may be handicapped but I’m not crippled. I’ll show you.”

And with that the man ran into the cathedral, dashed up the circuitous stairs to the belfry, and threw himself, smashing the bells with his head. The reverberations of the bells could be heard for miles around while he tumbled from roof top, to roof top, to roof top, finally landing in the cathedral square.

The Monsignor ran over to him and said, “Art thou okay?”

“Yes, Father. Can I have the job now?”

“No-man, thou must ring the bells like that every fifteen minutes!”

“But I can do it, I’ll show you!”

“No, my brother, don’t do it again!”

The man ignored the pleading of the Monsignor, ran into the cathedral, dashed up the circuitous stairs to the belfry, and again threw himself, smashing the bells with his head. The reverberations of the bells could be heard for miles around while he tumbled from roof top to roof top, to roof top, finally landing in the cathedral square.

It was obvious that the grotesque little man was in a bad way. A priest went over to give him the last rites. The crowd pressed around and there was not a dry eye among them.

The Monsignor asked, “Hey guys, does anyone know this poor soul?” For some strange reason the Monsignor had stopped talking funny. Why? Our three witnesses didn’t know.

A man stepped forward and said, “His face rings a bell.”

Another man removed his cap and said between sobs, “Too bad, he was a dead ringer for Quasimodo.”

The Monsignor added, “I had a hunch you were going to say that.”

Valeri, Demitri, and Smirnoff told me that it was the most moving thing they had ever witnessed.