by Robin Banks
“Sort of. Not quite. Anyway, it means this is not a total disaster, but it’s going to drag things on a bit. Hopefully it won’t take long. If it all goes well, we’ll have our credit by the time things are dry enough for us to get out of here.”
“Great,” snaps Tom. “So we have to stay here in this mess?”
“Yeah.”
“And nobody else is going to be working?”
Alya looks really flustered. “There isn’t anything for most people to do, at the moment. But as soon as the ground is dry enough, the boys will be working flat out.”
“In the meanwhile, we’re working our asses off every damn day in the muck while everyone else is having a holiday.”
“I’m not sure I’d call it a holiday. I don’t think they’re really enjoying it. Look, I’m sorry. If there was anything I could do, I’d do it.”
The first day of the new week, the day that would have been our build-up day had we been able to move, Alya rushes into the stables. Her eyes are wet. If she’s been crying, something awful must have happened. Something more awful than normal.
“Have you seen Kolya?” she asks.
I point towards the back. “With the ponies. Are you alright?”
“Splendid. I just need to talk to him. You need to hear this too.”
She strides off to the ponies’ stall, splashing mud as she goes. Watching her move, I realize that she’s not upset: she’s fucking furious.
“This is how it is. I need to call a meeting and tell everybody that nobody’s gonna get paid until we can put on a show. Whether we do it here or manage to pull ourselves out of this quagmire is immaterial: no shows, no pay. Indefinitely. Oh, that doesn’t apply to you three. You get paid anyway. You best keep that to yourselves.”
“Jameson decides this?” growls Kolya.
“I sure as fuck didn’t.”
“You get paid?”
“No. I had to fight hard enough to make sure you got paid. Ava’s going to be on a quarter wages. Nobody else is getting shit. And he chose to wait until the end of the week to fucking tell people about it. They’re expecting to get paid today, and instead… This isn’t good. Not at all.”
“He makes you tell them? Not your job!”
“I volunteered. It’s either me telling them nicely, or him yelling it at them. I want as many people as possible to stay.”
“He does not?”
“You know what he’s like. He thinks everyone’s replaceable. In a way, he’s right. What he forgets is that one or two people can be replaced, but a whole team of boys? Not so likely. Even if we find local workers, if we’re left with nobody who knows how to do the work, we’ve had it. I sure as hell don’t know how to take down a portabubble. I don’t even know if he’s thinking that far. He’s just looking at our immediate situation. We’re not working, he’s not earning, so he shouldn’t be paying. I get it, in a way. It follows the letter of the contract. But it’s gonna fuck us up. I managed to convince him to keep the café open – for now, anyway. He was all for shutting it down, as it’s part of people’s wages. That would have made people scarper straight away. But even with free food, how many days before the boys start disappearing?”
Nicky rolls his eyes. “Tonight, some. The best ones go. The worst one stay. Harder for them to get jobs.”
“My credit’s on the artists scarpering too. The younger ones, anyway. Only thing that may keep them here is being scared of not earning their air. Hestia’s not that expensive, but it’s a fairly dour place. There aren’t that many opportunities for artists here. If Jameson shuts the café down, people are going to have to dig into their own pockets just to stay alive. The longer people stay, the poorer they’ll be. So if they have any sense they’ll leg it as soon as possible. With the café open, maybe we stand a chance. Maybe. I think we’re fucked. If this goes on long enough, we’re gonna end up in a position where we can’t get ourselves out because we have nobody to do the work.”
“But the people who stay, when that happen, they earn a lot.”
“They’ll be able to name their price. You think the boys may buy into that?”
“Some. If they are here many years, leaving is hard. Like for me.”
“Will you translate for me? That way, if I say something off you can fix it on the fly.”
“Yes. But I do not like this.”
“Nobody will think you do. Oh, fuck. This is bad. Kids, you might as well stay here. It’s not going to be a fun event. Please remember: don’t tell anyone that you’re getting paid.”
Tom nods. I can’t.
“What if they actually ask us? I don’t want to lie.”
“You don’t want to tell the truth, either, I promise you. It would start a shitstorm.”
I learn a new word: exodus. Alya says that it’s not quite the right word for what’s going on, that it’s overly dramatic, but it sounds about right. I think it’s the ‘x’ in it that does it. It sounds final.
People are leaving. Some leave in small groups and some on their own. Some make a huge production of it, screaming and shouting at Jameson on their way out. Some just drift off when nobody’s watching.
It’s all we talk about, when we talk. Tom and Nicky hardly talk at all. Tom is in too much of a mood and Nicky’s cough is getting too bad for him to speak needlessly. I can’t think of anything to say. When Alya comes over, she gives us the news. The news is always that someone’s left.
The dancers have gone. Raj didn’t come for them, as far as we know. They just disappeared. We think they went together, but we’re not sure. They didn’t even bother to say goodbye, not even Sonia. Tom and her haven’t been that close since the party on Semele, but it still seems poor form. Tom acts like he doesn’t care, but I’m not sure that’s true.
When Alya comes into the stable looking miserable, I’m assuming it’s nothing special. At this point, if I saw her looking happy I’d call a medic. She looks unhappier than normal, though. When I see her bracing herself to talk to us, I realize that we’re in for something bad.
“There a slight hitch.”
Tom jabs his shovel into the ground. “As in what?”
“Jameson was banking on the insurance credit. Hell, I think he was dragging this on because he thought he’d been better off cancelling shows.”
“What?”
“Putting up shows costs us credit. We make some, but we spend some, too. Running costs for power, wages, and so on. If we don’t have enough punters, we can end up losing out. I think he thought he was going to get the credit he would have made with full shows without having to pay out anything, and stick it in his pocket.”
“And that’s not happening?”
“Nope. He’d forgotten about his taxes. You know about taxes, right?”
Tom snorts. “Duh. It’s when the Fed steal working people’s credit.”
“Kinda. There’s a bit more than that to it, but that’s a story for another time. Jameson has been cheating the Fed for years. He’s been telling them that he was making hardly anything so he’d pay less taxes. His tax returns are the most creative works of fiction I’m ever likely to produce. I never thought it was a great idea, because this kind of thing has a way of turning around and biting you in the ass. Now the insurance people are asking him to provide his tax returns. The tax returns will show no profit. He should get the credit to repair the big top and replace all the damaged kit, but he’s not going to get anything else. And he can’t fight this. He can’t tell the insurers that he’s been cheating the Fed.”
“So we are finished?” croaks Tom.
“No. No, we’re not. He will just have to dig into his own pockets. He doesn’t have a choice. Not a real one, anyway. Everything he owns is riding on this. He has to get us out of here and touring again, or he won’t have an income. Worse than that, he won’t have a circus. This place is his life. He wants to have a circus. He wants it as badly as I do.”
“Why does he want a circus?” I ask. “I never could figure that
out. He’s always miserable and he’s not been in the show for how many years?”
“Ages. Longer than I’ve been here. I think his motivations changed as he went on. Mind you, I didn’t know him back then, but I know him all too well now. With him, everything is about him. About being the center of his universe. About being bigger and better than anyone else. When he was young he got that from pitting himself against apex predators in the ring. If he can tell a lion or a tiger what to do, he must be the biggest, baddest, malest man around. And by all accounts that worked. People, women in particular, actually bought into that.”
“Bought into that how?”
“He got a lot of respect. Or fear, which for him it’s the damn same. And a lot of sex. Makes no rational sense, but that’s people for you. We like to pretend that we’re above that kind of thing, that we’re not affected by dominance displays. The harder we convince ourselves, the easier it is for us to fall for it. We pretend it’s not there, so we can’t control it at all.”
“So women find big, bad guys sexy? Even when they’re assholes?”
She winces. “That’s awfully simplistic. Women are not a uniform herd. But some do. Enough to make him happy, anyway. He has thirteen children that I know of.”
“Thirteen?”
“That I know of. Ones he knows about and has acknowledged. He could have a lot more by-blows.”
“That’s not a nice way of putting it.”
“Find me a better word for it and I’ll use it gladly. And I dare you to use ‘love child’ without laughing.”
“Ok. Alright. Can we rewind? So if he’s not in the ring being big man on show, why does he still want a show?”
“Control. He’s still big man on show. Instead of controlling tigers, he controls people. He controls what they do, when they do it, where they live, what they eat, when and if they sleep, how much they earn. He holds our lives in the palm of his hands. He controls our air.”
“I don’t get it. I mean, I understand he’s in charge of all that, but that just sounds like a lot of work and headaches. Anyway, I’ve seen you work: you do most of that for him. He just runs around screaming at people.”
“You don’t get it. You don’t get it because you aren’t like him. That’s a good thing. I mean, seriously, never change. Please. But you need to understand that he doesn’t see it like that. He doesn’t feel responsible. He just enjoys the power. One of the reasons I’m good at my job – the only reason, probably – is that I can make him make the right decisions for people without him noticing. I can make him play nice. So people are happier and healthier, the place runs reasonably well, and he can take the credit for that. Those are the two most important things: that he doesn’t realize that anyone else has any say and that he gets the glory.”
“He sounds like an asshole.”
“Now you get it.”
“So why do you put up with him?”
She slumps. “Because I fell in love with circus. Because I needed somewhere to be. Because I’m good at this and I get a kick out of that. I’ve yet to find anything else I’m any good at. Because I haven’t found anything better.”
Tom snorts. “Maybe you didn’t try hard enough. Look around you. This isn’t hard to beat.
“Yeah, well. I didn’t get here by making good decisions, ok? But I like circus. I like it more than anything I’ve ever done, anywhere I’ve ever been. I like it more than I thought I’d ever like anything. The trick is not letting Jameson work that out. If he ever does, he’ll use that to crush me.”
I’m still trying to get my head around this. “So you think he loves circus so much that he won’t let us down?”
“No. Not at all. He’s already let us down. He’d sell the lot of us for spare organs if he could get away with it. He’s not going to let himself down, is what I’m hoping for. In a few days the insurers are going to send an assayer out.”
“What’s that?”
“Some guy to work out what we’re owed. He’s going to offer us a deal and Jameson will have to take it or leave it.”
“What if he leaves it?”
She shakes her head. “I guess then we do, too. I don’t know anymore. But if shit hits the fan, I want us to be ready for it.”
“Us?” Tom is looking blankly at her.
“Yes, us. The four of us. We’re a team, right?” She blinks. “Aren’t we?”
“Yeah. I just never thought about it like that.”
“Well, you can think about it now. Or not.
Tom nods at her. There’s something about his expression I don’t quite like, but this isn’t the time to work that out. I’m tired. Everything sucks. I’ve had enough. I sit myself down on a crate wheel. It’s not as if any work is getting done, anyway. Tom throws his shovel into the distance. It lands with a splash into the murky soup sloshing all around us. He’s going to regret that when it comes to picking it up.
“Have you told Nicky?” asks Tom.
“Yeah.”
“What does he make of this?”
“He’s got two priorities: his welfare and that of his animals. The show, Jameson, and everything else are incidental.”
“That’s bullshit,” I mumble. “He cares about you, too.”
She sags even more. “Oh, shit. He does. You’re right. And he cares about you two, too. That just makes things more complicated. But his first obligations are towards the animals, because they depend on him, and towards himself, because without looking after himself he couldn’t help anyone else. He always thinks strategically. He will do whatever he thinks is the right thing. So will I. I just don’t know what that will be, because for the first time in ages I have no idea what the hell is coming. I don’t like that. Not one bit.”
Tom nods. “I don’t like it either. So what are we going to do about it?”
“Keep our eyes open, so we don’t get caught out. Keep our options open, too. Not that we have many. Keep the place going. Prepare for the worst – physically prepare, so it doesn’t catch us with our trousers down.”
“What is the worst?”
“He fucks off on his ship taking all the credit and valuables and leaves us all behind.”
“Well, that’s a cheery prospect,” says Tom, but there’s none of his usual snark in it.
“Yup. And the local magistrates decide that because we’re here, we’re responsible for any damage we caused and the cost of clearing the site.”
“Would they do that?”
“They’ve gotta blame somebody and nobody here cares about us.”
“Ok, so what do we do? Pack our bags and get ready to bolt?”
“If you can think of a way to also pack a horse, five ponies, four tigers, a camel, and I don’t even know how many small animals, that’d be handy.”
“That’s not bloody likely.” Tom sits himself on a wheel next to me.
I look up at Alya. She’s starting to shiver. I don’t know if it’s because of the damp seeping into her bones or because everything sucks so much.
There’s something I’ve been wanting to know for ages. I just couldn’t think of a good way to ask her. I guess there’s no good way, but I need to know. “Alya? Would Nicky leave the animals, if it came to it. Would you?”
“Gods. If we had to. If the choice was them dying with or without us. I’m not brave enough to die with them. Or watch them die.”
“Not even Laika?” I’ve seen Alya struggle to carry her to dry ground so she can do her business without getting wet.
“Laika is a whole different story. She’s my dog.”
“I thought she belonged to the show.”
“She does, but she’s my dog.” She’s getting agitated now.
“Ok. So we need a plan for us four and Laika, worst case scenario. A whole damn zoo, ideally.”
“Ideally this fucking place will drain, everything will dry up, we’ll get the insurance credit, and we’ll be able to get the fuck out of here and go back to normal.”
“Is that still on the c
ards?”
“Only reason I’m still here.”
“Ok then. So we carry on as normal?”
“Yeah,” she nods. “But we remain braced for impact.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I’d worry about you if you did.” She turns and trudges out of the stables, hugging herself and shivering.
I’m starting to get really cold, so I get up to move around a bit. I look at Tom slumped on the wheel, looking bereft. I feel so bad about all of this. I don’t think words are enough to express it, but I try anyway.
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Getting you into this.”
“If you’d know how it was going to go, neither of us would be here.”
“True. But we are, and it was my idea.”
“Yeah, well. So you fucked up, and I fucked up listening to you. Not much point in going over that again. We do need a new plan, though.”
“Are we not gonna stick with Alya and Nicky?”
“To get out of here, yes. But afterwards? To go where, to do what? They don’t seem to have a plan either.”
“Yeah. We’ve all gotta talk about that, figure something out.”
“But us two, we need a plan of our own. Just in case.”
“Alya and Nicky wouldn’t dump us.”
“Unless they had to.”
“They’re not like that!”
“Everyone is like that when they need to be! Everyone! You’ve got to get that into your head! You don’t know shit about life and people. You don’t have a fucking clue!”
He’s standing in front of me, fists clenched, shaking with fury when Nicky runs over.
“What is happening? You fight?”
Nicky looks so upset that Tom backs down immediately. “No, it’s ok. We weren’t fighting. Just a disagreement.”
I nod. “Yeah. No fighting. We’re just worried, is all.”
Nicky wipes his face with his hands, smearing the mud more uniformly across it. “Yes. It is worrying.”
I have to ask him. “What are you going to do if you have to leave here?”
