coRaphael ran his hand along the rim of his pants, finding the painting had somehow tucked itself behind him, hidden under his coat. He took the artwork out and unravelled it, checking to see its condition in the dim light before re-rolling it and standing. His heart hammered in his chest from the rush of fleeing police. He looked around the small room, its stale, dusty air bringing him to verge of sneezing, as he found the door to leave. He ran his hands down the edges of his coat, tying up any loose buttons on the way, as he passed piles of random objects obscured by an age-old sheet.
He froze at the doorway, turning, he pulled a sheet off what appeared to be a chest, which was marked; Natalie's Treasury of Toys. He unhooked the edges and pulled it open, noting the various forgotten toys of a child, he scavenged through it. He smiled when he found a small music box, it's base barely the size of his palm and hardly stretching to be more than a few inches tall. He struggled to open it on its fragile hinges and looked at what he assumed to be a ballerina, standing perfectly still, unable to spin.
It was dusted and rusted, but with some polish and care, he believed he could get it working again.
When Raphael went outside, the night air was cold, still a couple of hours before morning rays. The thief knew he still needed to be on edge, cautious since he didn't know where the police were.
He pocketed his hands, tilted down his hat and walked through the shadows of the street. He didn't encounter any police.
Is there any place one expects a thief to live?
Perhaps amongst other thieves? Or in an old, abandoned house among the slums? On the streets? A cardboard box?
Raphael called himself a thief, but he wasn't an animal. You could call his living arrangements quite ordinary. He lived in a small apartment, squashed between other apartments, it was nothing special but it was his home. As he walked down the quiet street he stood before his building, three stories high, eight windows, five steps that lead to the front door, a practical mirror image of neighbouring houses, with the only difference being a small black fence around the tiniest patch of grass and a black metal mailbox. Raphael never got mail. But he always checked.
He opened the mailbox and peered inside; nothing. As expected.
He walked up the small pathway and entered the apartment.
A small hallway dominated by a larger stairwell which led to the upper level, and to the left a living room, to the right the kitchen.
Raphael sighed, taking off his hat and placing it on the hat stand by the door, he took off his coat and did the same thing. Raphael took the painting out of his trousers as he walked into the living room. A roaring fireplace on the opposite wall, with two green couches, pushed to be in front of the flames. Either side of the brick hearth were dark wooden bookcases, filled and overflowing with hardbacks. Other than a tea table, there was also a metal chess set (in the middle of an unfinished game), and cushions and blankets scattered across the ground.
Raphael examined the room and smirked. Approaching the couches, he noticed the blonde head of a girl, slumped over reading. "Anita…?" Raphael touched her shoulder, she jumped, startled.
"You scared me, Raphael!" she exclaimed dropping the book to stand up.
Anita stood at an unintimidating height, barely taller than a kitchen counter, with a head of pale locks, and sparkling blue eyes. She wore her pale pink nightgown and no shoes.
"You are supposed to be asleep, young lady," Raphael said.
She folded her arms, "You weren't supposed to cause such an opera."
He smirked, tapping her on the nose with the rolled-up painting. "I didn't."
She pointed at the clock gently ticking on the wall. "It's past four, Raphael. Jobs like this don't take you that long unless you ran into some trouble."
The thief chuckled, placing the painting on the tea table and hopping over the back of the couch to sit down. Anita plonked herself next to him. "Met our lovely friend Inspector Riley," he informed, he started untying his shoes. "Tried to give me an ambush. They sent out almost all of the police officers."
"Well, that's special."
"Certainly is. They all had torches and batons."
Anita smiled as she looked to the rolled-up artwork on the tea table. "So, you actually got it?" she asked sliding off the lounge and unrolling Tea in the Countryside.
"I did." Raphael placed his shoes by the legs of the lounge.
"It's strange seeing this outside of the museum," she confessed.
Raphael nodded. "Never something I get used to either."
"How were my numbers?"
"Spot on for the most part."
"Most part?" Anita seemed offended.
Raphael described the dozens of police officers waiting for him, expecting him, after he had sliced out the painting from its frame. Anita pouted, "How do you expect me to predict something like that?"
Anita wasn't like Raphael. She was a thief in a completely different way: pickpocketing.
She was barely eight years old but served as his lookout and strategist. The number of instances Raphael had successfully finished a job because of Anita was astounding. No one ever suspected a little girl to be taking in so much information, or to be as intelligent as she was.
Anita picked up a magnifying glass from the ground and rested it against certain parts of the painting. "Is this the last one?" she asked examining it.
Raphael shook his head, stretching his legs down the lounge so he was lying down. "No. Two more after this, and then it's over."
"No more late-night heists?"
"Nope."
"No more thieving?"
"None."
"We're done?"
"We're done."
Anita slouched away from the painting and sighed heavily through her nose, obviously tired. "Hey." Anita looked at Raphael. "Come here."
Anita crawled onto the lounge and laid on Raphael, resting her head against his chest she felt the steady rise and fall of his chest and his heartbeat against her cheek. Raphael rested a hand on her back, and another softly stroking her hair. "After these last couple, we're done. We can finally get out of Paris, we can go anywhere we want."
"Where would you go?" Anita asked, mid-yawn.
Raphael hadn't put much thought into where he would instead go. He and his father had lived his entire life in Paris, he didn't know anywhere else. "I hear America is nice."
"I don't like boats…"
"Perhaps somewhere in the country then. We can sell everything and buy a castle. And we can be King and Queen." Raphael placed the rusted music box on the tea table, staring at the shadow it cast.
"Can I be a knight?" she asked.
"You can be anything you want to be, Anita."
Anita went silent. Raphael thought she had gone to sleep, but instead she had been thinking. "Raphael… are you good at anything else other than stealing?" she asked.
Raphael didn't answer immediately. He had been thieving for a long time now, long before Anita.
"Because… I don't know if-" She yawned, "I can do anything else."
Raphael smiled. "You can do much more than you think, Anita. You are strong, you are smart, and you are adaptable. And moreover, you have me. I'll make sure you're okay."
Anita rested her chin on his chest, barely managing to keep her eyes on him as they sunk lower and lower. "And I'll make sure you're okay."
Raphael smiled and nodded, "That's a deal." He lifted her delicately, managing to sit her on his lap as he reached for Tea in the Countryside. He held it up for both to see.
Anita raised her pinkie. "Pinkie swear?"
Raphael took her pinkie in his. "Double pinkie swear."
"Forever and ever?" Her words were laced with her drowsiness.
"And ever and ever." Raphael scrunched the artwork until it was a small ball in his hands and tossed it into the burning fire before them. As it burned, the paper unravelled slightly, and the pair could see the greens, the pinks, and the yellows disappear into the flames. Anita fell asleep watching the country be engulfed in flames.
*
Paris was always a busy place, buzzing and working steadily.
Early that morning, a steam engine arrived at the train station. Many exited the train, and many boarded. Crowds of people dressed in warm clothing, armed with suitcases for a day or luggage for a week, there were top hats, berets of all colours and even small umbrellas bopping up and down as people scurried around to get to their destination.
Among the crowd was a young girl, attached to her was some paper, given to minors who were unaccompanied on the train. She glanced down at the tag attached to her blue dress, checking for the tenth time out of boredom if they spelled her name correctly; M A R I A - E L L E - S T E P H A N Y.
Maria Elle Stephany dropped her tag and sighed through her nose. She was on the verge of adulthood, but little particularities had to be taken. Maria glanced at the clock presented above everyone's head. She had never been the Paris, having lived in a church since she was small in a little town populated with two hundred people.
For Maria, it was almost overwhelming to see so many people.
She couldn't take one step without clipping shoulders with a busy train-goer, overwhelmed with how rude everyone was, stumbling over and nearly losing her suitcase with how frantic everyone was to get on the train. She escaped the tight crowd and under the clock, finally with elbow room. She pulled at her long blue sleeves, suddenly conscious about her blue attire, and adjusted her straw hat, tucking locks of light brown hair under the rim. She glanced down at her luggage, a simple brown suitcase and a shiny, black violin case. The case had been a going-away present by the nuns at the church, Maria was terrified of scratching the black.
"Maria?"
The girl jumped at her name, looking to an older nun approaching her. This older lady was gowned in a black tunic and matching veil that framed her wrinkled face. Draped around her neck was a wooden cross and her hands clasped each other as if her fragile hands were cold. "Are you Maria Stephany?" Her voice was firm but delightfully old.
The girl couldn't summon a voice, so she nodded. "It's simply wonderful to meet you, darling. My name is Sister Wendy, we've been anticipating your arrival." She held out a hand to shake. Maria complied, the Sister's hand was soft against hers. "You must be exhausted my dear, let's get you to the church." The nun beckoned her, "Come, come now, sweetheart. We don't want to be late."
*
A fancy town car pulled up before the gates of a large church. Sister Wendy hopped out of the car, thanking the driver with some coins and a compliment, she approached the gate, turned to Maria and beckoned her.
The car door clicked open, Maria Elle Stephany emerged from the vehicle, lugging her suitcase and violin case behind her, and marvelled at the size of the church grounds. Back in her small town, the church sat in the centre of a large patch of land with no fences, some farm animals and little houses for those who seek shelter to lodge in for the night. The main marvel was the church, however, recalling one large room with several wooden benches and an altar for the Priest and the alter helpers, the showiest aspects of the humble church were the stain glass windows put in the previous year. The Paris Church, however, was surrounded by tall metal-tipped gates, encasing everything within it. It almost seemed uninviting, despite being able to see the garden through the bars.
The church's front stretched proudly in height, Maria could only guess how big the prayer rooms would be. But what caught her eye was the immediate garden that greeted those who entered. Luscious green grass with flowering trees and bushes arranged stone pathways that led around the church grounds and tall, elegant lamps by benches. The world behind those gates contrasted heavily to the bustling streets of Paris, mere meters away from it.
Maria gulped at the intimidating size, however.
Sister Wendy unhooked the gates and gently slid them inwards. "You never lock them?" Maria asked approaching to assist in opening the gates.
"Oh, heavens no, dearie." The Sister pushed open the other while ushering Maria on the grounds. "The thing about Paris is, there are many people who need a place of worship. And there aren't a whole lot of reasons to seek sanctuary, but as a church, we offer an extended hand to those in need, so the gates are never locked, only closed in the evening." The nun tied a small rope to the open gate to keep the wind from closing it again.
Maria's eyes drifted around the garden, overwhelmed by the greenery. The nun beckoned her forwards, walking down the cobbled path towards the church door. Inside was a high ceiling church filled with several rows of wooden benches all facing an extravagant alter. There were twelve windows, each evenly spaced on the surrounding walls, with images of Christ during his final days. By the door, Maria examined a detailed depiction of Jesus being presented with His crown of thorns. The room was scented by melting wax candles which flickered from the presence of the breeze from an open door. The grounds were carpeted by a dark green while the walls and furniture were silky dark wood. As Maria walked down one of the aisles the high ceiling caught her eye again with a giant symbol of a white dove holding a twig. The room was mostly bare of people, save for three people scattered amongst the benches and a confession proceeding within a confession booth, who's navy blue curtains were closed off for privacy.
"This is the main church dear, where many Christians often come to pray." The Sister starting walking around the edge of the room, Maria, still distracted by the folly of the church, followed.
"Main? There's more?" Maria glanced at a woman dressed in a Sunday best gown kneeling before her bench, eyes closed, hands tightly clasped together with a blue set of rosaries dripping from her fingertips. She was deep in prayer, and only twitched a finger as movement between airy mumbles.
The Sister led her to a side door which led to the side of the church.
The main church sat at the front of the plot of land to appeal to what Sister Wendy referred to as 'casual Christians' who needed to confess their sins and be on their way. However, everything behind it housed a much simpler lifestyle in comparison to the showy nature of the church.
A courtyard, mainly consisting of short trimmed grass, was just beyond the doors. Surrounding it were stone pillars armed with a roof to protect idle walkers from rain. Similar to the front garden, Maria found the greenery very lovely, with a few trees and some rose bushes being tended to by an older gentleman in brown trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, however, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
"Good morning, Mr Vickers." Sister Wendy greeted with a wave.
The man turned and flashed a smile, wiping his brow with the back of his hand whilst also taking off his hat. "Very much so, Sister. Who's the young lady?"
Maria suddenly felt very bashful.
"Maria Stephany. The child who's staying with us for a while."
Mr Vickers nodded, recalling a conversation about this earlier. "Come find me when you've settled in, I've got stories to tell you."
Maria smiled and nodded, proceeding to follow Sister Wendy through the corridor. "He's told everyone around here his stories, dearie. Just wants someone new to tell them to, but he truly is such a good-humoured man."
Maria nodded again, "I imagine so."
As the pair walked past a larger back garden, she explained how Paris housed a variety of tourists, people on business and locals. "We're also a school for poorer children, as you can see there." She gestured to a small stone building in the centre of the garden, on the grass Maria saw squares of stone with old chalk drawings on them, and through the windows, Maria could see a younger nun gesturing to a chalkboard as she spoke. "Not too many students now, but we provide for those who need it." She also gestured further down the garden to several smaller buildings side by side, "And that is where we provide lodgings."
"Is that where I'm staying, Sister?" Maria asked.
"No dearie. You'll be lodging in the West Wing." Maria hadn't looked up since she entered the grounds, but surrounding the courtyards were four towers, each with a bell guarded by gargoyles. Sister Wendy gestured to the West most tower, seeing Maria's expression she chuckled and elaborated, "Those towers are the highest points of the wings, dearie. There are regular rooms below them, you'll be housing with the other nuns."
As they walked, the pair passed other nuns, who greeted them with kind voices. "Is this our Maria?" one asked.
"Indeed. Little Maria's not so little anymore," Sister Wendy informed.
"I remember when you were much smaller, it's so lovely to see you all grown up." The other nun pinched Maria's cheek softly. The two nuns continued to talk about Maria, recalling the times when she was younger, singing at the top of her lungs through the old church corridors. Maria remained silent, nodding every now and then to these stories she couldn't remember, so as not to appear rude. They noticed her violin case. "You play?"
Maria nodded, "I'm still learning. But I like classical music."
"You must play for us. Some live music would be such a nice change."
Sister Wendy dismissed herself and Maria. "Let's allow her to settle in first, ladies. Then I'm sure she'll be more than happy to play for us." Sister Wendy hustled her past the other nuns and towards the rooms, their echoing farewells following them as they entered the hallway with seven doors on each side and a stairwell at the end of the hall.
Each door they passed was made of thick wood with bronze coloured door handles. Maria wondered which door would lead to her own room. However, Wendy merely continued walking, greeting her colleagues who exited or walked through the hallway and started up the stairs. The young girl gripped her suitcase and held it higher off the ground as she quickly shuffled upstairs. The next floor had a similar layout as the previous hallway; seven doorways down the corridor with a stairwell, this one appeared to lead up the tower, at the end of the hallway.
Sister Wendy waited by a door as Maria approached, taking heavy breaths through her nose to level her breathing. "This is your room, Maria," she informed turning the knob and pulling the door open.
Maria stepped into the room. It was larger than her old room but was still small. It was a rectangular room decorated with the essentials of a room; a bed in the corner, a small wardrobe, a plain wooden chest, an empty bookcase and a desk. The flooring was made of nice wood with a new green and blue rug.
"We added a couple of furniture pieces for your stay," Sister Wendy informed as Maria placed her suitcase on the ground and her violin case on the bed, a cloud of dust rose upon impact. "Feel free to decorate or rearrange as you see fit."
Maria nodded, smiling brightly. "It's perfect, ma'am. Thank you for your hospitality."
Sister Wendy dismissed the thanks. "Don't think anything of it, my dear. It's the least we could do." Maria twirled on the spot, examining every small feature of the room, unable to suppress her smile. The nun dismissed herself, adding, "Morning Tea is within the next hour. We'd love for you to attend, we're celebrating your arrival with sweets."
Maria nodded, "Thank you."
The door closed and Maria Stephany stood alone in her new room. Her smile dropped and a shaky sigh escaped, the posture she had maintained since the train station curled over and her hands hugged her arms tightly to hide her shaking. She felt her breathing begin to hitch, prompting her to lean forwards, heavily on her knees, and take long breaths.
"You can do this, Maria… You can do this."
She made a final sigh and straightened, composed enough to take in the room again and nodded. "My own space… my own room." She began unpacking her things. In her suitcase, she took out her clothes, hanging up her dresses and blouses, folding her trousers and putting away her undergarments and shoes. Everything fit into the wardrobe almost too perfectly. She found it strange that this upset her.
She rummaged through her suitcase, pulling out a raggedy old cloth rabbit. It was missing one black button eye and had one fatter arm then the other due to a sewing incident when she was eight. She placed it on the chest and continued. She pulled out a book full of sheet music, and other reading books which she arranged in her bookcase.
After a while, Maria's things were throughout the room. She felt a tad better, however, it was dark.
Rather than turning on the light, she approached the window and parted the curtains. She was greeted with a Paris pathway and street, seeing a Ferris Wheel slowly turning from us and the Eiffel Tower even further away. Across the road, she could see smaller houses, one which she noticed had a garden gnome guarding the front door. But what caught her eye was the majestic tree, which grew on the other side of the fence, but reached up and out over the gate towards her. It had lovely, silky looking leaves that were just beyond her reach.
She rested her arms on the window sill and sighed, taking in the view from her window. "This is your home now," she muttered, "Whether this works out or not, this is your home."