He finished fixing the door to Beau’s carriage and wished Frieda were there to help him once more, but she was not at breakfast nor at lunch – he wondered where she went when she disappeared.
‘You look busy.’ Odélie wandered over and sat on the edge of the carriage as Michel was finishing brushing Beau’s tail.
‘Almost done.’
‘You need a break. This heat is unbearable.’
Michel sat down next to her and took the water she offered him.
‘See, I’m thinking of you. Don’t you think I look nice?’
He looked at her, her sunshine-yellow dress and bare feet, the toenails painted red. ‘You look like summer.’
‘I try. You’ve been hiding today.’
‘It’s too hot to train them; better to gain their trust – talk to them, groom them.’
‘They like that?’
‘They do. It makes them feel safe, I think.’
‘You spend too much time with them.’
‘It’s what I’m paid to do, or rather, not paid, not yet.’
‘Did you see me at rehearsals? That flip off Claudette’s back was the best I’ve done for ages.’
‘I didn’t get to stay.’
‘No matter. You think you’ll be free this evening? Anton says he’s found some music, finally. Me and a few others are having a drink and going to listen to it this evening.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Good.’ Odélie pushed herself off the carriage ledge. ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’
Just as the sun sluggishly took itself to bed and the caw of crows and tweets of birds grew louder as supper-time approached, Michel took the sweating Beau, Bisou and Claudette to the nearby river, where they could stand knee-deep and allow the cool water to lap around their legs.
Michel sat on the riverbank and watched the horses, his own feet dangling in the murky water. Now and again they wandered a few paces to churn up the water and cool their flanks. Finally, hot and tired, Michel undressed and climbed in too.
He ducked his head under – once, then twice – resurfacing each time to the delight of Claudette who stamped her hoof, splashing him, then bent low to nuzzle his wet hair.
Beau let out a low whinny as Michel swam towards the opposite bank, but before he could turn to check on him, there was a loud splash, then short quick ripples that caught Michel on the back of the neck. Beau whinnied once more; then a voice, a female voice, calmed him. Odélie?
Michel turned to look, but she was gone, swimming towards him under the water, a hazy warped shadow followed by a trail of bubbles that popped on the gentle ripples.
He found the soft soil of the river’s bottom under his feet, the water up to his chin, and waited for her to resurface.
‘Odélie?’ he said.
Her slick hair was not auburn but jet black, her face smooth, her eyes kind. Frieda.
‘You were expecting someone else?’ she asked.
‘Frieda,’ he said.
‘You don’t mind, do you? I saw you leading Beau and the others away. I thought I’d follow.’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘He’s harmless, you know.’
‘Beau?’
‘Werner. I know he shouts and things, but just ignore it.’
‘It’s sometimes hard to ignore.’
Frieda ducked her head under the water, and when he saw her silhouette, he realised that she was naked as she swam away from him towards the bank. Then she turned and came back to him.
‘Beau likes the water,’ she commented as she trod water. ‘It’s good that you brought them here. Good for them to cool themselves in this heat.’
‘I fixed his door, his new one,’ Michel said.
‘I saw. And I thank you on his behalf. And mine.’
‘He kicks at it.’
‘He thinks he wants to run away again, but really he doesn’t know how good he has it.’
‘That’s very philosophical.’
Frieda’s head bobbed a little, so her lips were underwater for a moment before she resurfaced and spurted water at him, then laughed. ‘I’m not sure I am that deep, Michel – not a philosopher. I’m nothing but an act, a performer. We don’t think too much.’
‘I like the way you think,’ he offered, then watching her smile, he mirrored it.
Claudette snorted and pulled herself out of the water onto the bank. She drew herself along the trunk of a tree to scratch an itch. ‘It’s almost time for them to be fed. Claudette always knows the time,’ Michel said.
‘In that case, it is time for me to go too.’
Frieda swam away from him, this time a slow crawl that made her hair fan out over the water and glisten in the evening light. She reached the bank then stood, her naked back and then her behind and long legs. She quickly dressed in her baggy black trousers and a mustard-coloured shirt. As she tucked it into the waistband, she turned and grinned at Michel, then patted Claudette’s neck and disappeared into a thicket of trees.
Michel swam the same route back as her. As he reached the bank, he heard a rustle and the crackle of leaves. He looked to the bushes that edged the riverbank and was remined of Lucien’s cats from Vodable; how their eyes had watched him, their tails swishing in perfect unison – as if waiting to catch their prey.
Michel shook his head; he was tired, and his mind was full of Frieda. He climbed out of the water and dressed. Clicking his tongue, he motioned for Beau and Claudette to follow him.
Back at the camp, Werner was arguing with a local gendarme who was shouting at the ringmaster that he was not welcome in town.
Michel led the horses to their carriages and then doubled back towards the group encircling the two.
‘I beg to differ,’ Werner said. ‘The Captain himself said we were welcome! I spoke with him. We have permission to use this land, permission to put on the show.’
‘He never said this to me.’
‘And why would he?’
‘Things are a little different now, from before. You have to understand that.’
‘I see no Germans here.’
‘Not yet. Not quite.’
‘Are they coming?’ Madame Geneviève wailed.
‘No, Madame, no.’ The gendarme had beads of sweat on his brow. ‘But we are to exact certain rules now that Paris has fallen and the government is in the control of the Germans.’
A collective gasp was heard throughout the group.
‘You did not know?’ the gendarme asked.
‘No. So it is certain.’
‘Monsieur, yes. Certainment. France has fallen. We are to follow their rules now.’
‘Well… all I can tell you is I have permission.’ Werner produced some papers.
The gendarme looked perplexed for a moment, then said, ‘Let me see your identification.’
Werner handed it over.
‘Surname Neumann. German,’ he said.
‘And French,’ Werner replied.
‘But it is a German name, Neumann.’
‘Surely that does not matter now? In fact, I should think it would be a positive thing, now that we find ourselves in our new circumstances?’
The gendarme looked nervous and handed the papers back. ‘I’ll check with the Captain. If he says so, I’ll be back, and you will have to move on.’
Werner turned away from him.
Michel followed Jean to his tent as the crowd dispersed.
‘You think he’ll come back?’ Michel asked, as Giordano set up a small table and chairs and Jean began to shuffle a deck of cards.
‘Probably, but Werner will take care of it.’
‘It’s true, then. France is now German.’
‘For now.’ Jean dropped a card on the ground then picked it up. ‘Have you no hope? It won’t last. Nothing lasts. Sit down. We need to talk of brighter things.’
‘I don’t see how we can.’ Michel sat.
‘How can we not? What are we to do? Talk of war, of what is happening, of what could happen? All w
e can do is sit here, enjoy each other’s company and drink. What else can we do?’
‘I don’t know, but I feel we should be doing something.’
‘Well, we are playing mouche. You know it?’
‘I do.’
‘Then I’ll deal you a hand. Giordano, bring the drink.’
Next to them, the triplets practised their baton twirling, the lamplight catching on the silver-painted sticks of wood that they threw into the air, turned, then caught behind their backs. Kacper played on his accordion, Gino asleep on his lap. Others sat around drinking and talking, the workhands growing louder and louder as they drank too and played their own card games.
‘You like it here, Michel?’ Jean asked.
‘It’s different.’
‘Different in a good way?’
‘I’m not sure yet – just different, I suppose. Werner… is he German?’
‘Obviously,’ Jean said.
‘I mean, I knew his name was. But his French is flawless.’
‘His mother was French,’ Giordano said. ‘Well… I’m not sure whether I believe that, mind you. But that’s what he says.’
‘She was,’ Jean confirmed.
Giordano placed five coins on the table. ‘You in, Michel? You need to add your money.’
‘I’ll loan it to you for now.’ Jean placed his and Michel’s bets.
‘May I join?’ A man with red hair appeared, his grey-green eyes bloodshot.
‘Michel, this is Hugo; Hugo, Michel. Hugo is our clown and makes the best génépy in France. What’s your bet?’
‘I have two bottles with me now. One to drink, one to bet.’ Hugo proffered two brown glass bottles of the herbal liqueur. Giordano took one and placed it under the table.
‘Fine. Jean is dealing.’
Jean dealt the cards, and each decided whether to stick or exchange.
‘You are looking after the horses?’ Hugo asked Michel as Jean deliberated over his cards.
‘Yes.’
‘About time we got another hand around here. I had to clean their hooves. Damn near had my head kicked in by Beau.’
‘He’s OK – just needs to calm down.’
‘Ha! Ask me, I say he needs to be put down!’
‘Are you going to play or not?’ Giordano asked Jean.
‘I’m thinking. Fine. Give me one.’
Michel stuck to his hand; Giordano excused himself to use the toilet.
‘Are you taking your cards with you?’ Jean asked.
‘I don’t trust you.’
‘I don’t trust people either,’ Hugo said, drinking a full tumbler of génépy and immediately pouring more. ‘You know… why would you? I have family, you know, who have run away from the Boche – gone into hiding. They don’t trust people.’
‘Hugo, you need to drink less.’
‘And you need to drink more!’
Just as Giordano reappeared, Michel caught a glimpse of Frieda, ducking into Werner’s carriage on the train. As she opened the door, warm orange light filtered out, then she closed it behind her. She was gone.
‘Don’t even look at that one,’ Hugo said. ‘Not worth your time. German, too.’
‘Ah, hush. Now look,’ Giordano stuck to his cards, ‘see – I win!’
The rest of them slapped their cards on the table.
‘One more round,’ Hugo said. ‘I’ll get another bottle.’
The following days, Michel worked hard with Beau. By the third day Michel had him cantering calmly around the sanded floor in the Big Top whilst workers finished erecting the tiered seats.
‘He’s coming along well.’ Odélie, who was practising nearby, applauded him once Beau was done.
‘He is. But not fast enough. Werner is anxious he won’t be ready for the show.’
‘Werner is always anxious about something.’
‘I should take Beau back. He needs a rest.’
‘I’ll walk with you,’ she said, and hooked her arm in his.
As they walked, Michel heard the muffled roar of Aramis. ‘I still haven’t seen the other animals yet.’
‘Not many to see. Aramis has no teeth now, so hardly a scary beast, but he roars and the children like seeing him. He is really just Werner’s pet. He sits with him at night and talks to him and strokes him.’
‘So, no elephant then? A bear?’
‘We had an elephant. Werner sold her a few months back. We had a llama – just one. We have Gino the monkey, of course, but he belongs to Kacper. Then, we still have two parrots and a snake that used to be Serge’s pet.’
They walked past Felix, who was telling two other workers that the opening to a smaller tent next to the Big Top needed pegging again. It would soon hold the Mysterious Madame Rosie and her fortune-telling powers.
‘She’ll be in the middle of telling some fool that danger will befall him unless he buys some useless charm, and then, boom, the tent falls down on top of them!’ Felix said.
‘Might make him buy more charms?’ one of the workers joked.
‘Any more of that and you’ll be gone – don’t think we can’t get someone to replace you.’
‘That threat might have more power if we weren’t owed a month’s wages,’ the other man argued.
‘We should go into town tonight.’ Odélie spoke over the men. ‘Have a drink before the craziness begins tomorrow.’
‘Sure,’ he said, not really listening. He had spotted Frieda walking arm in arm with Werner towards them, the ringmaster whispering something in her ear to make her laugh.
‘I’ll see you in a bit.’ Odélie kissed him on the cheek, just as Frieda looked over, her smile faltering.
Six
Le Grand Spectacle
The sound of the train’s engine woke Michel before the sun had yet risen properly in the sky. The horses stomped their hooves and whinnied, thinking that they were on the move again. Michel dressed quickly and went to Beau, whose new calm had been disturbed. The rumble of the engine stopped; then a clang and loud swearing.
Felix’s oil-stained face and clothes appeared from the engine room. He jumped down and walked towards Michel.
‘You’ll have to get the horses out of here for now,’ he said, wiping his brow but smearing more grease into his skin than off it.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You deaf, or just stupid? Engine’s broken. Not sure what’s wrong. I need to fix it today and it isn’t going to be quiet work.’
‘What is that godforsaken racket?’ Werner clambered out of his private carriage, wrapped in a purple dressing gown with matching slippers. ‘You know it’s opening night, right? And I need my sleep.’
‘Sorry boss, it’s the engine again. I thought that after last time – you know, when we broke down – it would be sensible to take a look at it before we move on tomorrow. I didn’t mean to wake anyone.’
‘I’m not bothered that you woke him at least.’ Werner quickly looked at Michel. ‘Lazy gadabout, that’s what he is. Drinking with the performers. Think I don’t know what goes on here? He’s lucky if he lasts until tonight.’
‘Shall I keep going?’ Felix raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes, yes. I’m up now. You told him to move the horses? Don’t want them spooked for tonight.’
‘I did.’
‘I am right here; you can talk to me,’ Michel said.
‘I’m quite aware you are here.’ Werner turned to him. ‘Quite aware, too aware. I’m actually wondering why you are, and not getting these damned horses off the train!’
Werner stomped back to his carriage, his waddle almost comical as he parted the rising mist that hung over the tracks.
‘Going to be a hot one, no doubt about that,’ Felix said. ‘You see mist like that in a morning, and it only means one thing.’
‘Where am I going to shelter the horses?’ Michel asked as he led Beau down the ramp.
‘See those trees and the river beyond? Best sit there with them today. Stay in the shade. Good for you to be out
of the way, anyway, seeing as the boss has taken against you so strongly.’
Michel did as Felix suggested, and tied the horses with loose ropes under the thick shade of the trees near the riverbank.
He sat with them, his feet dangling in the water, watching as the sun burned away the dewy fog, and realised that tonight would be his last with the circus. Beau nuzzled into his neck and he rubbed at his nose.
‘It’s all right for you,’ he said to Beau. ‘Look at you! He’d never get rid of a beauty like you.’
Bisou the pony noted the attention Beau was getting and tried to push Michel’s hand off Beau. ‘You jealous, eh? I don’t blame you. You get forgotten because you are so small. But then again, sometimes it’s better not to be noticed.’
‘You talking to yourself?’
Jean stepped into view, his large feet snapping twigs underfoot. ‘I brought you this – didn’t see you at breakfast and Felix told me about your new camp for the day.’
Michel took the coffee and warm roll from Jean. ‘Thank you. I wanted to come by, but I couldn’t leave this lot.’
‘The workhorses are coming down in a bit too – four of them. Felix said he’ll bring them. You OK, Michel? It’s opening night and you look as though you didn’t get a ticket!’
Michel sipped his coffee. ‘I don’t fit in here, Jean. It’s not for me.’
‘You’re leaving?’
‘Tomorrow morning. I’ll see if I can find some work in the town.’
‘But why? You were getting on so well.’
‘Like I said, Jean, I just don’t fit in – Werner has made that pretty clear.’
For a minute or two, neither spoke, and the only sounds were those coming from the birds singing their morning song to each other and the slap, slap of river water that gently lapped against the brown dirt of the bank.
‘Michel, have you noticed anything about us – anything strange?’ Jean broke the silence and Claudette lifted her head, her strong teeth crunching grass.
‘Am I supposed to have noticed something?’
‘You mentioned, when you were on the train, that you know of the Cirque d’Hiver, in Paris. It’s an amazing masterpiece. They have everything, you know – the best costumes, the best acts, elephants, birds of prey: everything. Have you been?’
The Ringmaster's Daughter: A beautiful and heartbreaking World War 2 love story Page 9
