by Robin Banks
“She’s good for me. She calls me on my bullshit.”
“You don’t mind that?”
“Why would I? I need someone to do that. Might as well be her.”
Alya has finished talking to the girls and smiles sadly at him from across the room. We walk up to join her and Evans as the girls file out.
“All done. They’ll see us at the gate in a couple of hours. I hope that’s ok. This has been so sudden, I wanted to give them a chance to give proper goodbyes, at least.”
Raj beams. “Of course it’s ok. It’s perfect. It gives me a chance to take you out for dinner.”
“You know you don’t have to.”
“Yes. But I want to, if it’s ok with you. Or we could walk around the markets. Or sit in a corner and stare at a wall.”
“Very funny. Food would be nice. I have not eaten since…” She blinks. “Yesterday? I think. Oh, the guys will need to get their groceries in. And I need to shop for Kolya and me. You know how he gets.”
Raj beams. “Yeah! If I bribe him with spices, he will cook for me! Thank you, Evans. We’ll get out of your way. Thank you for your help.”
“No, thank you! It’s a wonderful thing that you’re doing here.”
Alya cringes, but Raj rubs her shoulder and encourages her out.
“Come on, then. I have two hours of your time.” He turns to us. “You guys like hot food?”
“Say no if you want to survive,” laughs Alya. “Hot here means spicy, not as in temperature. And they compete with each other for who kills the most tourists.”
“I wouldn’t do that!”
“Unless you found it funny.”
“Ok, maybe a little bit. How is the food on Celaeno?”
Tom shrugs. “Mostly shit?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I wouldn’t mind trying new stuff.”
I’m not sure I can survive these streets, though. I have never been anywhere this busy. The whole place is crammed with people, and they don’t seem to mind getting up close. Tom is looking uncomfortable too. I hope he doesn’t try and pickpocket anyone. I bet he’s tempted. I am.
The noise is unbelievable. And the colors. Everything is just too intense. All I want to do is run back to the ATR, where there is space and quiet. I am just about to lose it when we get to a small door that looks like every other door, and Raj waves us in. Inside the place is blissfully quiet, the noise from the street filtered so it’s no more than a hum. I close my eyes for a moment, take a deep breath, and rest my senses.
"Do you want to find seats while I order? Unless you know what you want."
"You know I don't, and neither do they. But we don't have long and you mustn't go over the top. Please."
“Not even to show off the local cuisine?”
“Not even for that, I’m afraid.”
“Harsh.”
“Always.”
As the three of us are making our way to a corner table, I have to ask.
“Alya, do you want us to bugger off?”
“No. Why?”
“Aren’t we in the way? I mean, you two…” I tail off.
“Yeah,” chimes in Tom. “We can totally clear off and see the two of you back at the ATR. As long as we get our wages. I’m starving.”
Alya frowns. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“The two of you…”
“We’re friends. That’s it.”
“Yeah, right,” says Tom. “I wish I had loads of friends like that. Hell, I wish I had one.”
Alya is looking dangerously unimpressed, so I jump in. “If you haven’t seen each other for a year, maybe you’ll want to catch up, is all. And Raj doesn’t owe us a meal.”
“He doesn’t owe me a meal, either.” She sighs. “But no, you’re welcome. If you weren’t, I’d tell you. Thank you for asking. Now mind your own business!”
The meal goes way too fast. The food is unbelievable. There is so much of it we can barely finish it. Tom and I are busy stuffing our faces, so Raj carries the bulk of the conversation with Alya. He doesn’t seem to mind. By the time we have finished, it’s so late we have to practically run through the market. That wouldn’t be a problem if Tom and I knew what we were looking at and what we need, but we have absolutely no idea.
Raj spots us staring blankly at the chaos in front of us and comes over.
“Have you guys ever actually cooked?”
I shrug. “Not so much.”
“Ah. I see.” He tugs on Alya’s sleeve. “Boss, we need a little help here.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Foreign food, new cooks, no clue.”
“Damn. I hadn’t thought of that. For this week only, how about we cook for you? We can show you the basics. But then you’re on your own. Ok?”
We nod.
Raj grins. “If Uncle Kolya teaches you how to cook you’ll be lucky, lucky guys. And much in demand with the ladies. It’s really worth the time.”
“What if I taught them how to cook?” asks Alya.
“Well. I mean…”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Yes?”
“It would be a character-building exercise, and also worth the time.”
“I shall remember this moment. You are brave. You are not clever, but you are brave.”
It takes Alya no time at all to do the shopping, then we have to fight our way back to the gate loaded with groceries. When we get there, the girls are already waiting. They looked terrified now. Two of them have clearly been crying. I’m starting to understand what Alya’s problem was.
Raj strokes Alya's back as we get in and murmurs “It’s always hard leaving home, even when you want to. If they don’t settle before you’re due to leave, I’ll fetch them back. I’ll fetch them back anytime, from anywhere. You know this.”
“I know. And I know it won’t be needed, most likely. But I still feel like an asshole,” she whispers back.
I look at Tom, who is too interested in the girls to pay me any attention, and wonder about us. Leaving home for me was the easiest thing in the world. I wonder what we’re missing. I wonder if we’ll ever find it.
When we get back to Raj’s family bubble, Tom and I help the girls into the circus ATR while Raj and Alya say their goodbyes. They both look so miserable and wistful that I am expecting them to throw themselves into each other’s arms, but they don’t. Instead they shake hands, stiffly and formally. I don’t get it.
Between the four distraught girls, a miserable Alya, and me not being able to think of a single thing to say, the trip back would be hell if it wasn’t for Tom. The guy never lets anyone or anything get him down. He chats blithely all the way through, as if nothing was the matter.
When we get back to the show, Alya takes the girls off to get settled.
“You two take the groceries back to Kolya, ok?”
“Sure,” I say to her retreating back.
When we get to the bunks, I realize that I’m shattered. I guess it’s not surprising; we’ve been up for what, 18 hours? 20? And it’s been a busy day. Days.
Nicky takes a look at us and sighs.
“You boys eat already?”
We nod.
“You go sleep then. Tomorrow comes soon. Busy day. Have to train animals in the ring. Alya busy with Jameson.”
Even Tom is too tired to argue. We both turn in.
It’s the first time since I left home that I am sleeping on my own. Even at home I never had a room to myself, just a fold-out bed in the living room. It’s weird. I like the idea that this is my room, that I control it, but I also feel lonely, too lonely to relax and let myself drift off. For the last five years I have gone to sleep to the sound of someone’s breathing. Eventually my exhaustion takes me, but it’s a strange kind of sleep, a sleep with no comfort in it.
The morning seems to come way too soon. An almighty noise shakes me awake. Moments later I hear Nicky’s door open and steps down his ladder. I still feel half asleep but I’m desperate for a piss, so I get up
and out as quick as I can. Tom doesn’t take long to get out, either, and Alya strolls over from her ATR. Nicky has a table set out in front of the bunks, and breakfast ready. Tom and I eat our breakfasts without saying a word. Nicky’s unimpressed.
“What you do to these boys yesterday? They look dead.”
“Entertained them, fed them, and showed them the sights. Raj says hello, by the way.”
Nicky beams. “My boy! He looks good? Happy?”
“Always. He will come to see you soon.”
“I must cook for him! My boy!”
“Kolya, he’s nearly 30.”
“I know him since he is like this,” he puts a hand out level with the table. “Beautiful boy. Clever, too.”
“He’s a bit bigger now,” smiles Alya.
“But still beautiful, still clever!”
Alya rolls her eyes. “Yes. He’s wonderful all round. You don’t need me telling you that.”
“But maybe he does, yes?”
“He knows what I think of him.”
“Still nice to hear.”
“You always take his side.”
“No! I take my side.”
“Well, I’m going to take myself to the office and see if I can get the girls squared up. Let me know if you need anything. Training times the same?”
“If these boys wake up, yes.”
I thought we’d just about got ourselves sorted out work-wise, just about learnt what was what, but nothing’s quite the same here. We don’t know where anything is, the animals seem more difficult, and a larger space means more cleaning and longer distances to travel. I don’t know how much of it is real and how much is that I’m still exhausted from build-up yesterday, but this just feels like hellishly hard work. Tom is not impressed, either.
“You’d think the damn beasts would shit and piss in a corner, rather than doing it everygodsdamnwhere.”
“Dunno. Never thought about it.”
“I don’t see why they can’t just stay in their crates. They’re much easier to clean than this.”
“It can’t be much fun for them, though, to be cooped up like that.”
“Most of the time all they do is sleep. And anyway, who’s more important, them or us?”
“We get paid to look after them. So they are, I guess.”
“That’s precisely the wrong way to look at it!”
“Why?”
“Because… Because it’s making you come up with an answer that doesn’t suit me.”
“Sorry about that.”
The bit I dislike the most is taking the animals from the stables to the big top at the front of the compound. Moving animals around a ship is easy. There’s nothing to distract them or spook them, and they don’t really have anywhere they could go off to. Here, if we lost them they could rampage around our bubble. If the birds flew off, we’d never catch them unless they let us. I don’t like the idea of it at all. I understand that it has to be done, I understand that we have to do it, but I don’t see how we can do it safely. Just to prove me right, we’re getting the ponies back when an almighty screaming nearly makes the one I’m leading bolt off. Something’s going on at the front of the site. Whatever it is, it sounds serious. Nicky doesn’t seem to care.
“You carry on to the stables. This is normal. No problem.”
“Normal?” sputters Tom. “Sounds like someone’s about to kill somebody!”
“Is Jameson. He is upset about something. Maybe too much milk in his coffee, maybe the world is ending. Same screaming anyway.”
“But who’s he screaming at?”
He shrugs. “Anybody. Alya is there. Maybe her.”
“What? And you’re not worried?”
“Worried? Why?”
“Because the man is three times her size and clearly has lost his shit?”
“Yeah,” I cut in. “If someone screamed at me like that, I’d crap myself.”
Nicky shakes his head. “Jameson screams, everyone is so scared. Not Alya. What can he do?”
“Stomp her flat, for starters. She’s tiny!”
“If he touches her, she leaves. Then he has to do all her work. He thinks he is a big man for shouting. She thinks he shouts because he is so small. Like a child too upset to be nice. When he shouts at you, you will see.”
“If he ever shouts at me like that, I’m out of here,” says Tom.
“Then go now. Only way to stop him shouting is to stop life from happening. Anything is not how he likes, he shouts. Like little kid with bad parents.”
“What happens if people shout back?” I ask. “Not that I’m tempted, just wondering.”
“I don’t know. Never seen this. Most people are scared. Alya is calm and cold. She is good with children, very good. And dogs.”
“I still don’t like it. I don’t think she should have to put up with it.”
“She doesn’t have to. She can go. Any moment, she can go. He knows this. It’s good.”
“What do you mean, she can go?”
“You look around. Everyone live in bunks, or big wagons. Jameson moves them. They want to leave, is difficult. Maybe they leave things behind. Maybe they have no home to go. Alya has ATR. She wants to leave, she just goes. This is important to her. Nobody likes it.”
“They don’t like that she can leave?”
“They don’t like that she lives in ATR. Not normal for circus. Makes her like a gypsy.”
“I don’t know that word.”
“Ha. Is not a simple word. Is a good or bad thing, depends on who is saying. On circus, is a bad word. You ask Alya one day.”
We’ve finished work for now, so we head back to our bunks for lunch. Alya’s nowhere in sight, but the screaming has finally stopped. I’m still worried about it. I wish I knew that she’s ok. I can barely taste my food until I see her come up our steps. She’s looking well, if rather pissed off.
She throws herself into her chair and sighs. “That went well. Not.”
“What is problem now?”
“The girls.”
“They do not dance well?”
“They don’t look right.”
Tom snorts. “They look right enough to me.”
“Jameson doesn’t really appreciate non-Aryan people.”
“Non what?” Yet another word I don’t know. I’m starting to feel bad about having to ask all the time.
“Aryan is another word for white-skinned. Not a very good one, either.”
“Like an insult?”
“Not quite. Mostly an insult to the intelligence of the person using it.” She rubs her forehead. “I don’t know how ethnically diverse Celaeno is.”
“I don’t either. What the hell does that mean?”
“Are there people of different races? Different colors?”
Tom and I look at each other. “Not really. Not like here.”
“Jameson doesn't like anyone who’s not pure white. Like you. I don’t know where he’d sit with Tom. He might not think much of him because of his coloring.”
“Coloring?”
“Dark eyes, dark hair, darker skin.”
I frown. “So he thinks I’m better than Tom because I’m pale? Is it like a mental disorder he has?”
Alya stares at me for a few seconds, then starts laughing so hard she nearly falls over.
“Ok, so I don’t know stuff. That’s no reason to make fun of me.”
She stops laughing immediately. “No. No! That’s not why I was laughing! That was just such a brilliant, brilliant thing you said. You’re an absolute star. But no, it’s not recognized as a mental illness. And those who think that way think that they’re the ones in the right. But I like your way of looking at it. Gods bless you, kid. You’re alright.”
I don’t really know what it is that I’ve done, but I’ll take the compliment.
Alya carries on. “You see, Jameson thinks everyone unlike him is inferior. Well, no: he thinks everyone is inferior to him, in general. But he thinks that people who are a differe
nt color or come from different cultures are inferior. He doesn’t like Nikolai because he’s not Anglo.”
“Anglo?”
“From an English-speaking background.”
“But Nicky speaks English!”
“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t start out speaking English as a child. Different culture. Lesser culture, in Jameson’s eyes. He likes darker-skinned people even less. And he likes young girls. Now that I brought in a bunch of young, dark-skinned girls, he’s a bit unhappy with me.”
“What, because he can’t bang them?” I try to say it in a normal tone, but it comes out as a squeal.
“He won’t even try to. Which is why our girls tend to leave so often, by the way. But this lot aren’t suited to his purpose, basically, so he’s upset.”
“But he could be their dad!”
“Grandfather, actually. He could be my dad.”
“So what the hell is he doing?”
“Trying to get laid. He find women over the age of 25 or so completely repulsive, and at the same time he thinks he’s better than anyone else, so his age shouldn’t matter. And that, by the way, is a genuine mental health condition – not the bit about his age, his superiority complex. But as it makes him good at his job and only hurts those around him, he’s never going to seek any help with it. It makes him fun to work with.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, really. At least you know exactly where you stand with him. Far away, if you’re lucky. Seriously, your best bet for a quiet life here is to not get noticed. Avoid the man, do your work, if you have any problems come to me or Kolya, and you’ll be fine.”
I’ve just had a horrible thought. “If Jameson likes younger women, doesn’t that mean that… With you…”
She snorts. “Not bloody likely. He’s made it very clear that he’s not interested. I’m not white enough for him.”
Nicky laughs. “Is because if he tries you cut his balls off!”
She shrugs. “Maybe that, too. Anyway, no, I'm safe in that respect. And the girls will be too, which is grand. One less concern for me. But now I’m going to have a lie down. Watching him explode is always a good show, but I have a killer headache now.”
We’re all tired as hell, so we go to our bunks. It takes me a while to go to sleep, though. I’m too worried thinking what the hell I got us into. We were trying to get away from raging assholes trying to beat us or fuck us. Looks like the only thing we managed was to find assholes just as raging, but for whom we’re not good targets. Maybe that’s just how it goes, all the time and everywhere, and this is the best we can hope for.
