The Ringmaster's Daughter: A beautiful and heartbreaking World War 2 love story

by Carly Schabowski

Ringmaster Bonnet

  Beneath the darkened cloudy sky, everyone slept soundly. Michel had broken the news and they had retreated to their caravans, slowly, quietly.

  Jean slept stretched out on the sofa in Henri’s living room, his hand holding an empty bottle of wine. There was nothing left inside, but he had not wanted to let it go. Michel sat in a chair by the fireplace, leaning on his hand, feeling empty and exhausted.

  Bertrand slept on a chaise-longue. The events of the day had worn him out quickly and he snored loudly.

  ‘You cannot sleep?’ Frieda asked Michel. She sat across from Jean with Kacper next to her, the pair stroking Gino’s soft fur as he slept on Kacper’s lap.

  ‘Neither can you.’

  ‘This is not your fault, Michel.’

  ‘Then why do I feel so guilty?’

  Kacper patted Frieda on the arm and made a sign with his hands.

  ‘He says he wants you to hear his story. He says it will help you understand what is happening.’

  ‘Is he deaf?’ Michel asked suddenly.

  Kacper shook his head, then opened his mouth and pointed inside. Where there should have been a thick pink tongue was nothing more than a stump. Kacper made a chopping movement with his hand.

  ‘The Germans did this to you?’

  Kacper shook his head sadly, then pointed a finger to his own chest.

  ‘You did this to yourself? Why?’

  Kacper started to sign but Frieda was ahead of him – she knew his tale, she knew his words.

  ‘I was in Poland before the war. I am Polish, of course. I was an academic in Krakow, a mathematician. I was well respected in my field and had written much on ciphers and codes. When things started to change in Poland, I was asked to leave the university. Of course, we now know why.

  ‘I did not abandon my studies. If anything, now I had no job I read more, wrote more. One day, one of my ex-students came to see me. He said he had been asked by the British to look at some codes – some ciphers the Germans were using. They were building a machine to try and figure them out. I wanted to help – not just because I wanted to defend my country, but because trying to figure out the code was irresistible to me.

  ‘I went to Warsaw and helped with the codes. We worked day and night, barely eating, barely drinking. My wife and daughter came with me and stayed with an aunt of hers in the city, although I rarely saw them.

  ‘The day came when the codes were broken, and they had to get them to England. I could not go – would not leave my family – so I stayed behind, and we decided to stay a while in Warsaw. My daughter had made friends; my wife was happy to have the company of her aunt. It was the biggest mistake we ever made.

  ‘When the war began, the Luftwaffe dropped bombs on us so quickly it was like the whole world was going to end. We hid in an air raid shelter for three days and nights, and I did not think we would make it out alive.

  ‘The day we left the shelter, the city was dust and grey rubble. We picked our way back to the house, but it was gone.

  ‘As we stood there, another academic who had been working with us walked towards me.

  ‘“Kacper!” he said. “You’re alive!”

  ‘We embraced. Then he said: “They know about you – about you working with us. They don’t know what you did, or what you worked on, but they have your name. Your family’s names.”

  ‘I stood there and heard the words, and my daughter grabbed my hand and asked me what the man meant.

  ‘“It’s fine,” she told him. “It’s all right if they know my name.”

  ‘“What do I do?” I asked him. My legs were shaking.

  ‘“I’ll help you. I know some friends who can help you,” he said.

  ‘We were taken to an apartment where a skinny man with a heavy silver pocket watch spoke with my friend. Then he turned to me and said, “We can get the woman and girl out, but not you. Too much of a risk.”

  ‘My wife wailed and I held her. My daughter cried.

  ‘“It’s the only way,” the pocket watch man simply said.

  ‘“Where will they go?” I asked.

  ‘“Palestine,” he said.

  ‘My wife looked at me and shook her head. “Not without you,” she said.

  ‘I swallowed and looked at her, my darling wife, the only woman I had ever loved, had ever known. I said, “My love, I will find you again.”

  ‘I kissed her, then held my daughter tight. “When will they leave?”

  ‘“Now,” the pocket watch man said. “We go now whilst there is this mess going on. Too much confusion for anyone to notice.”

  ‘Our goodbye was brief. Too brief. I told them I loved them. I told them I would find them soon. My friend took my arm, and led me out of the room and down the stairs to the street. I wanted to turn, go back to them, but he pulled me away. “We have to get you out of here now!” he warned.

  ‘“I don’t care what happens to me! Please, let me go!” I begged.

  ‘He did not listen to me, and had to drag me away to another apartment on the outskirts of the city.

  ‘That night was the longest of my life. I sat and smoked and drank but nothing worked; nothing numbed the pain and sent me into the oblivion I so craved.

  ‘My friend found me tickets and papers to get to France. The idea was that I would cross over to England. I did not want to leave; how could I go? He told me I had little choice in the matter.

  ‘So I did as he told me, and by some miracle found my way to Paris, with little money and nowhere to live. Thankfully, I had studied French, and German for that matter, and could communicate well. It was on my second day that I passed a music shop. Inside was a glorious accordion. I asked the shop owner if I could play it – he told me it was once his father’s and that I could. I had learned this instrument as a boy from my own grandfather, and when I sat that day in his shop and played the songs from my childhood, I felt safe.

  ‘“It’s yours,” the man said to me when I finished playing.

  ‘“I cannot pay you,” I said.

  ‘“I didn’t ask you to. It needs an owner who will care for it,” he replied.

  ‘It was only when I left the shop that I realised I had been crying. He had taken my tears for joy, not sorrow.

  ‘So it was that I began to play on the streets for change, to get me lodgings for the night and a hot meal.

  ‘I had been in France for perhaps a month when it became clear the Germans were coming here now. I called my friend in Warsaw to say I needed help to get to England. His wife answered the phone.

  ‘“He’s dead,” she wept. “They torture them one by one. Someone gave them his name. There are others still hiding.”

  ‘I do not think I said anything to her. All I could think about was my own tongue – about the things that were in my head: names, ciphers, codes. I could not let myself betray anyone, betray my country.

  ‘That night I drank enough vodka to kill a horse. It did not kill me. When I woke in the morning, I imagined what my wife would say if she could see me now. I knew what she would say. She would tell me to be brave, to endure until the war is done, to find them, and most of all to help those who were trying to save their country and their own families.

  ‘I took a knife and I cut at my tongue until I passed out on the bed, blood covering the sheets.

  ‘The proprietor heard my screams and came in immediately. I knew she would – she was nosy at the best of times. I awoke in a hospital with a doctor telling me I would not be able to talk again. When he said that, I smiled at him and I think he thought I was mad!

  ‘You may think me mad too, Michel. Perhaps I am. I did it to save others. I would do anything to protect my family, and my friends who risked their lives to save so many. I could not, would not tell the Germans what we did, what the English are continuing to do.

  ‘Do not cry for me, Michel. It does not hurt; I do not miss it.

  ‘Werner found me, playing on the streets. At first I did not want to work for a German, but
as I found out more, I trusted him and told him my story as best I could.

  ‘Gino was given to me when his mate died. We have been together now for a year. He is my best friend.

  ‘Please, Michel, wipe your tears. I will get through this. We must believe we will. And then I shall find my family.

  ‘I wanted you to hear this tale; I wanted you to understand how things are, and how they will become. I want you to be ready to do whatever you need to, to protect the ones you love. I trust you with this, Michel. Only you, Frieda and Werner know of this. Not even Henri knows. I trust you. I hope you realise it is important you know that people do. It will help you to be brave, if the time comes.’

  Frieda finished talking and Kacper held on to her hand.

  Michel did not know what to say. Then he found the only words he thought appropriate. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and Kacper stood, shook Michel’s hand and walked out of the room, Gino asleep like a baby in his arms.

  ‘I’m going to go and rest for a while.’ Frieda said, standing. Michel took her in his arms and held her close so he could feel her heart beating with his.

  ‘I’ll check on Werner. Make sure he is OK.’

  Frieda kissed Michel and left him sitting next to the fire, his head full of Giordano, German bombs, and the vision of the stump of Kacper’s tongue in his mouth.

  Michel suddenly woke, his neck bent to the side. Bertrand’s snoring had reached an impressive volume, and Michel sat and rubbed at his neck.

  ‘Are you awake?’ Jean asked, sitting upright.

  ‘I am. I don’t want to be.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘It’s cold.’

  Michel stirred the fire in the grate back to life, then added a couple of logs. He sat crouched next to it, warming his hands, watching the flames lick at the wood as it hissed and spat.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Jean said.

  ‘We should try and speak to Werner about where we go next.’

  ‘I don’t think there is anything he will say to help.’

  ‘So, we stay here?’

  ‘I think we have little choice.’

  Michel sat back in the chair and heard the sound of footsteps. Before he could open the curtain to check who it was, Henri and Serge barged through the door, their clothes soaked through as if they had swum from Paris.

  ‘It was raining! Our whole walk back it was raining,’ Henri said, and stripped off his coat. ‘My car broke down. Can you imagine? It was new too.’

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Jean was suddenly full of energy. ‘You know we thought you were dead? Giordano probably is! He went to Paris to find you and they took him away!’

  ‘Quiet!’ Henri’s voice was harsh. ‘Sit.’

  Jean sat and Bertrand woke but did not move.

  ‘Where are the others?’ Henri asked.

  ‘Asleep.’

  ‘Wake them. They all need to hear this.’

  Michel did as he was told and woke the troupe, who crammed themselves into Henri’s living room, bleary eyed and disbelieving at seeing Serge and Henri.

  ‘Where is Odélie?’ Eliáš asked, his face a picture of misery.

  ‘She is staying in Paris for now,’ Serge said. ‘She plans to join the Cirque d’Hiver.’

  ‘We are not good enough for her, never were,’ Madame Rosie said.

  ‘Listen. All of you. What Serge and I tried to accomplish was not as easy as we thought. My contact – a general who is partial to bribery – is also, it seems, partial to entertainment. It is his wife’s thirtieth birthday in a week, and it coincides with his promotion. The deal we have made is that we will perform for him, for his wife, a circus – right here. They have a house in town – used to belong to a musician friend of mine before he left. Now it is theirs – five storeys of beauty. I would swap my ramshackle pile with him! Anyway, I digress. He gave us a permit.’

  ‘So we dance and sing for him, and then what?’ Jean spat. ‘He arrests us all.’

  ‘We have agreed that he will then give us papers to leave the country – all of us. Without question. But first we must do the show.’

  ‘By we you mean us – this tiny troupe – perform a full circus? This is a joke, surely?’ Jean said.

  ‘If you agree, I will pay to bring in more performers, singers and stagehands. I will pay for it. If we do this, it is a chance for you to leave the country safely.’

  The room was quiet. Then Frieda spoke. ‘Werner is still too ill – we will need a ringmaster.’ She looked at Michel.

  Michel was not sure what to say. He looked at his friends, all of them tired, all of them fearful, all of them looking at him.

  ‘What do you say, Michel?’ Henri asked.

  Michel thought of Giordano, of the risks he had taken. He thought of Werner who had taken risks his whole life. He looked to Frieda.

  ‘Where will we go?’

  ‘America,’ Henri said.

  Michel stood and walked to the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Frieda called out.

  ‘To ask Werner’s permission.’

  Werner slept wrapped in a sheet, his blankets thrown on the floor. Henri’s servant dozed in a chair next to the bed but woke when Michel creaked open the door.

  ‘Henri is back,’ Michel said.

  The servant jumped as if scalded, and left to see what he could do for his master.

  ‘Werner,’ Michel whispered, and sat down in the vacated chair. ‘Werner?’

  Werner groaned. ‘Michel…’ he said, his voice splintered like dry wood.

  Michel held the glass of water from his bedside table next to Werner’s lips and gently poured in a few drops. Werner swallowed, then licked his cracked lips.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘Saturday.’

  ‘How long have we been here?’

  ‘Almost a week.’

  Werner groaned once more as he tried to roll onto his side. Once he had accomplished this, he opened his eyes, red and swollen, and looked to Michel. ‘I have failed you all,’ he whispered.

  Michel shook his head and smiled. ‘You have brought us somewhere safe. What more could you have done?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have thought I could hide everyone.’

  ‘Henri has a plan.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘He says if we do a show for a general, the man will give us all papers to leave.’

  ‘All of you?’

  ‘All of us.’

  ‘We will do the show.’ Werner’s voice was firm. ‘When is it?’

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘I am not sure I will be well by then. I will try…’ Werner attempted to sit up and fell back against his pillows, beads of sweat on his brow.

  ‘I have come to ask you something.’

  ‘You want to marry Frieda.’

  Michel was taken aback. ‘I do. But that was not what I was going to ask.’

  ‘You always ask the father’s permission, Michel.’

  ‘I have two things to ask you then.’

  ‘Go ahead. Wait – give me some more water first.’

  ‘We will do the show. We’ll hire more performers with Henri’s money and then we will all leave together. But… I need to know if you will allow me to be ringmaster for one night.’

  Werner smiled. ‘I am not sure which question is worse – marry my daughter and take her away, or take my circus.’

  ‘I am not taking it. It is yours. It will always be yours, and so will she.’

  ‘No, no, Michel. It is yours now. And so is Frieda. It is time. A ringmaster must always know when it is the right time – when the band should play, when the acts should dance… you’ll orchestrate this from now on. It is yours.’

  Michel watched Werner turn to stare at the ceiling.

  ‘Werner?’

  ‘Go and fetch me Frieda. Ask her to sit with me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Werner,’ Michel said, as he opened the door to leave.

/>   ‘So am I, Michel. So am I.’

  ‘Will you return to Paris?’ Michel asked Bertrand, as they sat together with Hugo and Madame Rosie in Werner’s caravan.

  Bertrand looked up. Madame Rosie was reading his palm. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Perhaps soon. I thought I could help?’

  ‘It’s not that I want you to leave – I just don’t want to put you in danger.’

  ‘Michel, I was in danger alone in Paris. I was wasting away with no sight of a future for myself. I cannot, will not leave you. My future may still be bleak – maybe I will have to return alone – but right now I can help. I can do something and stay with my friend.’

  ‘You can help by taking Jean and Serge into the city to find more performers,’ Michel said. ‘Whilst you have Odette’s car.’

  ‘Your wish is my command,’ he said, and Michel saw Madame Rosie smile softly at him.

  Michel sat at Werner’s small desk and began to scribble down the acts needed: magicians, dancers, more clowns.

  ‘More clowns?’ Hugo questioned, peering over his shoulder.

  ‘A few. Just a few. You will be their leader, show them what they need to do.’

  Hugo nodded, then chewed at a raggedy fingernail.

  Jugglers, plate spinners, contortionists, trapeze artists, unicyclists, tightrope walkers, a band.

  ‘Animals,’ Michel said. ‘Can we get them?’

  ‘I’ll ask Jean, one minute.’ Hugo scurried out.

  ‘You could get dogs and cats easily enough,’ Bertrand said, and Madame Rosie giggled.

  ‘Animals,’ Jean said, as he entered and sat down heavily on the sofa.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Henri said he will try and find Giordano,’ Michel said. ‘He will try.’

  ‘Animals,’ Jean said again.

  ‘Perhaps a tiger? An elephant?’

  ‘Shall I go to the zoo and steal them?’

  ‘Not a bad idea!’ Henri burst in. ‘I came to see if I could be of assistance.’

  ‘I thought you were looking for Giordano?’ Jean asked.

  ‘Already asked a few of my contacts, my friend. Give it a little time. If not, I will go and see our Nazi friend in town this evening. I believe he is back with his wife after his foray into the city and everything it can offer a fat middle-aged man.’ Henri tapped the side of his nose and winked.