by L.H. Cosway
A little while later as I went to grab a glass of water, Nelly took me aside and asked, “See those two in there?”
I nodded.
“They’re from the circus, the one set up just outside of town. I think the woman is the owner. She’s a strange-looking character altogether.”
I absorbed this information with another nod. I was well aware of the circus. In fact, tonight was its last show before it moved on, and I’d been saving up a little cash to go see it. My mind was awash with possibilities. I wanted to see clowns, elephants, lions, and acrobats. I wanted to see it all. I’d asked my sometimes friend Delia if she wanted to come, but she’d given me the brush-off. I say “sometimes friend” because sometimes she ignores me, especially if her other friends are around. I think she really only tolerates me because my mum runs this big important tech company, and she wants to get in good with the local high-flying businesswoman. Really, I should be offended, but when you live in a small town in the southeast of Ireland, you kind of have to take what you can get in terms of friends.
As the evening wore on, most of the diners trickled out, and the odd couple, as I’d started to refer to them in my head, were the only ones left in the restaurant. I was passing through the kitchen when John the cook had to run to the bathroom and asked me to keep an eye on some eggs. I nodded, and he hurried off. It was my own fault that I wasn’t paying proper attention, because I went to grab the handle and instead burned my hand on the side of the pan.
“Ouch!” I screeched, loud enough to wake the dead. I held my hand to my chest, wincing at the pain. Half the inside of my palm was burned raw. A moment later, both Nelly and the odd couple came rushing into the kitchen to see what the racket was about.
“What happened?” Nelly asked breathlessly.
I bit my lip. “Burned my hand. Sorry about, uh, the screaming.”
“I thought an axe murderer had broken into the place,” Nelly said. “Come here and let me see.”
Taking a step toward her, I glanced at the dark-haired man. His deep, almost black eyes were fixed on my hand. His face was unreadable.
“It’s okay, I’ll take care of this,” Nelly said, waving them both back outside. Now the man was staring into my eyes, and I got a little shiver down my spine, though it wasn’t unpleasant. They both went back to their table, and Nelly put some burn cream on my hand and wrapped it up.
A few minutes later, the restaurant door opened, and a mother and daughter walked in. The little girl was eager to know if the face-painting lady was still around. I mustered a smile and went to ask her what she wanted to be. Since it wasn’t my dominant hand that had been burned, I could just about manage painting.
“I want to be a pirate,” she declared as she pulled herself up onto a seat in front of me.
“Oh, good choice!” I replied. Now I was thinking about Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. I had old Johnny on the brain today.
I drew a fake goatee onto the little girl, complete with an eye patch and a red bandana. Then I took things a step further when I did a skull and crossbones on her cheek. When her mother came to get her, she didn’t look too pleased that I’d transformed her child into a hairy-faced marauder, but I just shrugged. It was what she’d asked for.
“She looks like she wants to make you walk the plank,” a voice said just behind me. I turned to see the Coca-Cola-haired lady standing there. Her accent was London cockney at its finest, and when she smiled, she had a million wrinkles around her eyes. They weren’t ugly. In fact, they were beautiful, full of character and experience. I wanted to colour them in with every shade of the rainbow.
“Hmm, well, I am in the mood for a swim,” I replied humorously, and her smile widened. A shadow fell behind her as she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a flyer for the circus. The shadow belonged to Mr Tall, Dark, and Exotic. He stood there, unfathomable eyes on me, causing me to blush. All at once I felt sweaty, hot, and strangely self-conscious. It was like his eyes were taking the sum total of my parts, but I had no clue as to the result he’d settled on.
The woman continued, “You should come see the show tonight, girly. It’s our last one.”
“I’d already planned to. I can’t wait,” I exclaimed, picking up the flyer and folding it into a neat square.
“I’ll wait for you outside, Marina,” said the man gruffly, his eyes meeting mine once more before he moved by us and walked outside. I watched him as he stopped, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and lit up. His grey T-shirt showed the muscles in his arms and his tanned skin. Quite like Marina, I would have liked to paint him, too, but for very different reasons.
I’d been surprised to hear his deep Dublin accent. I was expecting something…I don’t know, foreign. I heard Marina laughing and brought my attention back to her.
“If I were from the American south, I’d say he was a mighty ornery bastard,” she chuckled. “Never did manage to learn any social niceties, that one.”
I swallowed and couldn’t help but ask, “Is he a part of the circus?”
“Oh, yes, Jack’s a fire-eater. He’s a big attraction with the ladies, as you might guess. A pity he never mastered the art of charming them.”
Her words made me imagine Jack sitting at a dinner table, knife and fork in hand, ready to dig into a plate of fire.
“Oh, well, I suppose when you look like that, you don’t really need charm.” The words were out of my mouth before I had the chance to censor them, and Marina let out a loud guffaw of a laugh.
“I like you. You say what you think. I hope your hand heals up fast,” she said, and patted me on the shoulder before following Jack out the door. I twisted in my seat and watched them say a few words to one another before walking down the hill away from the restaurant.
When I arrived home after my shift, I wanted to run straight upstairs, take a shower, put on something nice, and head out to the circus. Unfortunately, Mum was waiting for me when I got there, her arms crossed over her chest, face stern and an opened letter in her hand.
I narrowed my gaze when I saw the letter had my name on it. “Did you open my mail?” I asked indignantly. I should have been more surprised, but I was used to her control-freak behaviour by this stage.
“Yes, and I’m glad I did. These are your end-of-year exam results, and I have to say they leave a lot to be desired.”
She walked towards me and shoved the letter into my hand, her designer heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I unfolded it and took a look. I’d gotten mostly Cs, a D, and a couple of Bs. They certainly weren’t the worst results in the world, but Mum expected perfection.
“Considering I never wanted to do this degree, I think these results are pretty good,” I said bravely. Abruptly she turned, walked back to me, and slapped me hard across the face. I gasped and clutched my cheek in my hand in shock. Mum wasn’t often physically violent — words were her weapon of choice — but every now and again she’d strike me. It usually meant something hadn’t gone right for her at work, so she was taking that frustration out on me.
“You’re an ungrateful little bitch!” she shouted. “After all the money I’ve spent on your education, you go and say something like that.”
I stood there, speechless, as she grabbed my hip, pinching her fingers into the fleshy part. “And look at this. You’re putting on weight. I’m going to have to start controlling your calorie intake again.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t give her that victory. And the fact of the matter was, there was nothing wrong with my weight. My mother simply possessed a talent for seeing flaws where there weren’t any. She was so miserable that she couldn’t see any of the beauty in the world. She wanted straight boring lines, and if anyone dared to veer away from them, she would make their lives hell.
All my life I felt like I’d been living in quiet desperation. Following my mother’s rules and biding my time, waiting for the moment when I could finally break free. The thing was, I was twenty-one no
w, and my time still hadn’t come. I had a disturbing image of me still living under my mother’s roof at thirty, still keeping to her straight lines, never walking on the cracks, and it made me feel like screaming.
But I didn’t. Instead, I turned calmly away from her and walked quietly up the stairs to my bedroom. I felt like my refusal to respond to her actions showed more strength than weakness. I would not sink to her petty level. Once there, I sat down at my dressing table, stared into the mirror, and took a calming breath. Then I opened a drawer and pulled out the folded piece of paper where I’d written my list, letting my eyes trail down the numbered items.
Dump Henry Jackson.
Get a tattoo.
Have sex with a stranger.
Do something dangerous.
Visit a place I’ve never been before.
Fall in love.
Make a new friend.
Quit my degree.
Become a real artist.
Move out of my mother’s house.
I felt a small stirring of pride that I’d already completed number one several weeks ago before college let out for the summer. Henry was the son of one of my mother’s business associates and had been enrolled in the same course as me. Mum set us up on a date during my second year of studying, and we’d been conducting a dull, chemistry-free relationship for the last two years. Quite like the subject we were studying, the sex was all business. So I’d decided it was finally time to put an end to it. Mum was furious when she found out, and I could tell she was already plotting a way in which to get Henry and me back together.
It wasn’t going to happen.
As I went to change out of my work clothes, the flyer for the circus slipped from my pocket. I picked it up and read the little section at the back that gave a snippet of its history. Apparently, the Circus Spektakulär was thirty years old and originally set up by a German named Konrad Eichel. When he died seven years ago, Marina Mitchell, who had previously been the circus’s fortune-teller, took over as ringmaster. The circus was held not in a traditional circus tent, but in a Spiegeltent, which was a large, colourful structure dating from the late 19th century made from canvas and wood. Apparently, there were only a small number of Spiegeltents left in the world, which made the Circus Spektakulär something of a rare experience.
Already I was imagining what it might look like so that I could paint it.
Hurriedly, I pulled on a light summer dress and some boots, grabbed my coat, and sneaked out of the house as quietly as I could manage. A little rush of excitement ran through me when I got around the corner and speed-walked toward the edge of town. I could see lights flashing up into the sky as I got closer, could hear distant music.
When I reached the usually vacant field where the circus was being held, I had to dodge some bits of mud where the grass had been trodden on too frequently. Old vaudevillian piano music played from speakers that had been set up all around, making you feel as though you were stepping through a portal back in time. I nodded hello to a few families I knew from town and stepped in line to buy a ticket. After I paid, I went to a stand that was selling popcorn and candyfloss. A girl with short brown hair wearing a T-shirt with a cat’s face on it smiled at me and asked what I’d like. I bought some popcorn in a paper cone and made my way inside the Spiegeltent.
On the outside, it was a circular structure with a dome-like roof and was painted in red, blue, and yellow. The primary colours. Mix red with yellow, and you get orange. Mix red and blue, and you get purple. Mix blue and yellow, and you get green. I had always been interested in the very simple science of it all.
When I was painting, sometimes I liked to mix random colours together to see what would happen. Often I’d discover a wonderful new shade of pink or purple, while at other times I’d discover that mixing too many colours just gave you an ugly brown or grey.
I thought maybe that was a good philosophy for life. Experiment with your colours, but don’t experiment too much, or you’ll destroy the natural beauty.
It’s like that saying – too many cooks spoil the broth.
The inside of the tent was circular in shape. The stage was a sturdy round platform in the centre with the seating surrounding it. Red and blue stripes lined the ceiling and gathered up towards the dome of the roof. I’d never been anywhere like this before, and I was fascinated.
Sitting down on a seat three rows from the stage, I munched on my popcorn and waited for the place to fill up. Children’s excited laughter rang out over the chattering of adults and the vaudeville piano. I heard more mature giggling then, and turned my head to the side to see Delia and three of her friends looking in my direction. So much for her not wanting to go to the circus.
Obviously, they were mocking the fact that I was there alone. My mouth formed a straight line as my gut sank. I felt a momentary flicker of self-consciousness. Was it weird to go to stuff like this on your own? All around me people seemed to be in groups of family or friends. Perhaps it was weird. Still, my resolve hardened. Delia really wasn’t my friend at all, was she? I needed to add an eleventh item to my list.
Unfriend Delia.
I pretended I was unaware of their mocking and focused my attention straight ahead. After a few minutes, I was almost out of popcorn, and the lights started to dim. I immediately recognised Marina’s voice as she announced over the speakers that the show was about to begin. Then a drumroll started up as she walked out onto the stage, wearing a top hat, a red coat with tails, tight black trousers, boots, and her trademark assortment of necklaces. Her lipstick was bright pink, and her eyes were lined with silver and gold eye shadow. However, the most interesting thing about her was that there was a little capuchin monkey sitting on her shoulder.
A monkey!
He had cream-coloured fur on his head and brown fur on his body, and when he jumped off Marina’s shoulder and headed towards the audience, I heard a number of children squeal with delight.
“Welcome, everyone, to the Spiegeltent and the Circus Spektakulär! My name is Marina Mitchell, and I’ll be your master of ceremonies for the evening. The little guy currently running amok amid the audience is Pierre, my trusty capuchin sidekick. Please keep an eye on your belongings — he has habit of taking shiny things that don’t belong to him.” She paused to wink at a boy in the front row. “We are a small, independent circus and pride ourselves on giving audiences a unique and magical experience. We have been travelling around Europe, Ireland, and the UK for the past thirty years. Tonight you will see wonders to delight, astound, and thrill. You will see men tame beasts. You will see women dance in the sky. You will see bodies accomplish impossible feats. And yes, you will laugh until your bellies ache as our clowns act out the comical and ridiculous. But first, I give you our Elephant Men, Jan and Ricky.”
Applause rang out as Marina took a bow and clapped her hands, and Pierre came running to climb back onto her shoulder. A moment later, two short men with dark hair walked out onto the stage. They were bare-chested and wore matching silk trousers with intricate designs. When one of them made a small gesture, two elephants came trotting out. I smiled widely, my eyes going big as I stared at the magnificent creatures. Playful music came on, “Pink Elephants on Parade” from Dumbo. They marched around the stage in a circle, lifting their legs gracefully when prompted or throwing their trunks high into the air.
During the act, the men led the elephants to go up on their hind legs, and at one point, Jan, I think it was, climbed up onto one elephant and sat on its back. Once their act was over, Marina was back out, introducing the Ladies of the Sky, three red-haired acrobats who I thought must be sisters, they resembled one another so closely.
They hung from silky coloured ribbons, twisting, twirling, and diving. My hands itched for a paintbrush as the colours swirled above me. I could have sat there for hours detailing the orange glow of their hair and the lithe, graceful movements of their limbs. I was certain that my Gran, who had been the one who first taught me how to paint, would have love
d to be here right now. Unfortunately, she died when I was ten, but I always remembered her teachings, always tried to live by her philosophies, which were so opposite from my mother’s.
Make mistakes, Lille. Walk on the cracks. Break the rules that were made to be broken.
Somebody sat down in the empty seat beside me, and I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see the girl from the popcorn stand. She was holding a stick on which was spun a massive cloud of pink candy floss. When she saw me looking at her, she smiled wide, her bright blue eyes sparkling, and asked, “Want some?”
I nodded and eagerly plucked off a wisp before sticking it into my mouth. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’m Lola.”
“Lille.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lille. Are you enjoying the show?”
Again, I nodded, this time more fervently. “Absolutely.”
“I’m on my break. Thought I’d come in for the best part. Jack’s on next.”
Instantly, I recognised the name, and something both nervous and excited squeezed in my gut. Still, I feigned ignorance and asked, “Jack?”
“He’s the fire-breather. He also does knife throwing. I swear, every time he throws a knife at someone, I can’t be certain whether or not he means to hit or miss. There’s this air of danger about him, you know.”
I swallowed, more questions on the tip of my tongue, but the low, thrumming rock music that came on interrupted me. The bass hit me right in the pit of my stomach, and the crowd began to cheer. Marina made a passionate introduction for the Jack McCabe, fire-eater extraordinaire, and then he was walking out onto the stage, two long metal torches in his hands, the tips blazing with fire. My skin prickled with awareness, and somehow I just knew I was in for something truly amazing.
Two
They crossed a sea of water
