The Gargoyle Overhead by Philippa Dowding Page A

belfry, we were inseparable. We were friends, brother and sister, sun and moon, black and white. She was as sweet as I was nasty. She was as kind as I was mean. She never doubted that we would be together always. Over the years, I began to forget what it was to be lonely.
    “Very soon we discovered that we both carried the mark of the stonemason Tallus, and that made us closer than friends. We were family. Philip came to visit us now and then, and as he grew to be a man, then the head of a family, then an old country gentleman, he never failed to visit us on special occasions, or the first days of spring. When he was a very old man, he brought a young boy to meet us, his grandson Marcus.
    “One day I saw a group of people dressed in black, gathered around a gravestone in the churchyard. Young Marcus was among them and found me secretly to tell me that his Grandfather Philip had died. I perched for many days and nights on Philip’s grave, only to discover a new pain which Ambergine called ‘sorrow’. I knew that no amount of faithful waiting would return my friend to me, though at times I see his happy face before me still…” Gargoth’s voice grew quiet. He shifted on his cushion, silent for a few moments, deep in thought.
    “But we were not alone, since Marcus came now and then to visit us, bringing news of the world. In turn, Marcus grew to old age and chose a grandson to befriend us. For generations it went on. Ambergine and I lived in Ensemble for more than a hundred years, together and happy, safely hidden in the church belfry.
    “And so we would still be today, if not for Ambergine’s desire to see the world.”
    Clearly he didn’t want to go on, but Katherine asked him gently, “What happened then?”
    With sadness in his voice, Gargoth said, “We left Ensemble. Philip’s great-grandson was a world traveller, and he told Ambergine wonderful stories of Europe and the composer Mozart. She wanted so badly to hear his music and to see the city of Paris that I finally agreed to be taken to that great place. We stowed away together in Philip’s great-grandson’s horse and cart one spring day, leaving our churchyard home. It was 1778, and Ambergine and I would never see Ensemble again.”
    Gargoth’s voice was full of longing and sadness, and his head was turned away from his listeners. Even Cassandra, who could not understand a word, caught the change in his tone and dropped her knitting into her lap to look at him.
    “Instead we lived at the great cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris.”
    “Oh, yes! I’ve heard of it! That’s where all the famous gargoyles are!” Katherine jumped in.
    Gargoth shot her a withering look. “Famous? Maybe. But dead. Not a single living gargoyle, just lifeless creatures of stone. I know because we lived among them for decades. We heard Mozart play his Paris Symphony, which was all the rage the summer of 1778. We heard the beautiful music lifting gently over the city to our home high atop the cathedral.
    “We watched Paris go through a bloody revolution and a terrible war. We survived more plague and famine and disease.
    “And then one night, disaster came to Notre Dame.” These last words Gargoth spat out bitterly.
    “What happened?” Katherine asked, shocked.
    “Thieves, Katherine. And my own failure…”
    Here Gargoth fell silent and would not speak again. It was the end of his story, and despite her best efforts, Katherine could not get him to say another word. She told Cassandra everything he had said, and although she didn’t want to leave, she finally had no choice. She would have an entire day of soccer the next day, and she needed to get to sleep. She stood, hugged Cassandra, then said softly, “Goodnight, Gargoth. See you in the morning.”
    But she may as well have saved her breath. Gargoth lay silent on his cushion, and except for the heaving of his little shoulders as he wept, he was still as stone. If he had been able to finish his story, this is what he