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

by Carly Schabowski

  ‘And now? Now he’ll send you away with the others, I bet. You’re no use to him anymore.’

  ‘I don’t understand…’ Michel said, even though he did.

  ‘Michel, we are not getting any papers to leave. Wolff was never even going to help, so this woman says. And to make it worse – to make it worse! – she told them that Werner is hiding Jewish people here. So now, instead of just performing then not receiving papers, Wolff has plans to round us all up at the end of the show. Isn’t that so?’

  ‘I came to warn you!’ Odélie sat up. ‘When I realised the mistake I made. I came to tell you what he is going to do! He would kill me if he knew, but I still did it. I did.’

  ‘How very noble.’ Henri’s voice cut through the air.

  ‘So, what do we do?’ Michel asked.

  ‘I am thinking,’ Henri said. ‘I am thinking.’

  Suddenly, the count stood and called for his driver. ‘I need to go to Paris now. I will be back. Watch her.’

  Michel waited until the sound of the car’s engine had disappeared before he turned to look at Odélie. ‘Get off the floor.’

  She nodded and stood, picked up the glass and sat across from him, her head bowed.

  ‘Why, Odélie?’

  ‘It was an accident, Michel, I swear it. I was a little drunk. He said that Wolff had told him he felt there was something going on. I don’t know how I said it, but I told him. He said he would tell Wolff, and then Wolff called for me and I told him, and then he said he would take care of me and I knew, Michel, I knew what I had done. I knew how horrible I have been. With you. With everyone.’

  ‘Odélie,’ Michel’s voice was quiet, ‘was this all because of me and Frieda?’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head. ‘It was truly a mistake. I just said that everyone hides things – something like that. I didn’t think he would go to Wolff – I truly didn’t.’

  ‘But he did.’

  She nodded.

  ‘What exactly did Wolff say?’ Michel asked.

  Odélie wiped her tears on her sleeve. ‘He asked me to tell the truth. He had three soldiers in the room. I didn’t say anything at first, not a thing.’ She stopped and looked at the door as if expecting someone to rescue her.

  Michel waited.

  ‘He made me sit down,’ she continued quietly. ‘He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me into a chair, and he didn’t take his hands away. My legs were shaking. He spoke above me – asked me what I meant when I said people were hiding things. I think I laughed, you know, so he would think it was a joke. I said it was nothing – just something silly that everyone says.’

  ‘And then?’ Michel asked.

  Odélie’s bottom lip quivered, her knuckles white as she grasped the glass, her legs trembling. She looked at him.

  ‘He said he’d arrest me and… and… let his soldiers have their way with me if I didn’t tell him. All the while he held me down, his hands on my shoulders. And then he kissed me, Michel. He kissed me and then ripped my dress open. He said that he would continue, then the other three soldiers would have a go. I—’ She broke down and sobbed, her shoulders heaving.

  Michel moved to her and despite his anger, despite his fear, he kneeled in front of her and held her close.

  ‘You shouldn’t comfort me, Michel.’ She pulled away. ‘I don’t deserve your kindness, not after the way I treated you.’

  Michel sat back on the couch. ‘Odélie, you were right to be upset with me – I did not treat you as I should have.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not that.’

  ‘You didn’t do anything else, Odélie. We’ll explain to the others what happened – you had no choice, you had to tell him.’

  ‘Not that,’ she said again.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Your head,’ she began. ‘I know who did it. I didn’t say anything.’

  ‘You?’ he asked.

  ‘No! Not me. But a solider I met in Vodable. I was angry. I heard Werner tell you about Frieda, about everything. He trusted you and I knew that he wanted you to be with her. I was jealous and angry. That night when we performed in the town, I told the solider how you had broken my heart. He – he took it badly and wanted to impress me. I didn’t think he would do anything about it – you know? I just thought it was all talk. I really did. But then, when I heard what had happened, I knew it was my fault.’

  Michel stood abruptly.

  ‘Where—?’

  ‘I need to go.’

  ‘Please, Michel, I’m so sorry!’ She fell to her knees and placed her hands together as if in prayer. ‘Please! I am so sorry.’

  ‘I need to see Werner,’ he said, and turned his back on her as she crouched, weeping, on the floor.

  Michel opened the door slowly to find Werner sitting up in bed, reading.

  ‘Ah, Michel! How are the preparations? Nervous? Not poetry this time,’ Werner waved the book in front of him, ‘Hergé.’

  ‘Tintin.’ Michel smiled. ‘I know his stories well.’ He sat on the chair next to Werner’s bed.

  ‘What’s wrong? Don’t tell me the elephant has escaped? It has happened before!’

  Michel shook his head. He told Odélie’s tale.

  ‘Where is Henri?’

  ‘Gone to the city.’

  ‘Then we wait. Henri knows many people. Trust me, he will sort this out for us.’

  Michel looked at Werner; a crease had appeared on his forehead.

  ‘Trust him,’ Werner said again, and returned to his book.

  The pair sat in silence, the clock on the side table ticking away the hours. It got to three, then quarter past, when the sound of wheels on gravel came from outside.

  ‘See?’ Werner said. ‘He’s back.’ The crease was still deep on his forehead, and in all the time that had passed he had not turned a page.

  They listened as Henri’s quick footsteps climbed the stairs. Then he entered the room as breathless as if he had just run from Paris.

  ‘Michel, things will need to change with your show tonight. You must leave here by nine.’ Henri was panting, his collar unbuttoned.

  ‘The show doesn’t begin until eight, we won’t even be halfway through—’

  ‘That is why it must change.’

  Henri passed Michel an envelope. ‘Everything you need is in there. You are leaving France. Tonight. It is the only way.’

  Michel opened the envelope. Two tickets to England, then two more on to America. Then, at the back, identification cards: one for Michel Bonnet, the other for Frieda Bonnet.

  ‘Frieda?’ Michel held up her card.

  ‘I assumed you would want her to go with you. It will be safer for her,’ Henri said, his eyes not on Michel but on Werner.

  ‘She can’t leave,’ Michel said. ‘Werner—’

  Werner shook his head. ‘Bonnet, eh? It suits her.’ He looked at the book again.

  ‘But what about the others?’

  ‘Serge and Jean will leave at the end. They know how to disappear for a night. Then, I have made provisions for them to leave too. The triplets will stay with me, in my attic if need be. Bertrand will take Madame Rosie to his home in Paris. Kacper and Hugo will travel south tomorrow. I have a lady friend with a lot of money and a large villa. She will be glad of the company.’

  ‘There are more people in the show, Henri, the others we have hired…’

  ‘Don’t worry, Michel. Fireworks inside the tent will cause a distraction. Those we have hired know how to disappear back into the shadows of Paris.’

  ‘What of Giordano?’ Michel’s head was spinning. ‘Jean will not leave until he knows he can do something to help him.’

  ‘I will have news on him soon – very soon,’ Henri said.

  ‘And you? And Werner?’

  ‘We will be OK.’ Henri sat on the edge of Werner’s bed. ‘We have always been all right.’

  ‘Odélie?’ Werner said.

  Henri’s expression changed from relief to anger.

  ‘We
must, Henri. We must help her too,’ Werner implored. ‘I know what she has done – but it was not her fault. Talk to her again, Henri. She told Michel what they did to her – what they threatened to do.’

  ‘You are kinder than you look.’ Henri smiled weakly. ‘Fine. She leaves now. Our friend in town will take her somewhere in his cheese delivery truck. I will make a call.’

  Henri left and Michel waited a few minutes before he spoke.

  ‘I will take care of her,’ he said quietly. ‘I promise.’

  ‘I know you will.’

  ‘Will you really be OK?’

  Werner shrugged. ‘Henri will. Most definitely. He has too much money and is too clever to get caught. He will disappear if he needs to.’

  ‘And you?’ Michel said again.

  ‘If I need to.’ Werner groaned as he tried to swing his legs out of bed. As he did, Michel saw that the side where he had been stabbed was swollen to bursting and an angry crimson.

  ‘If I need to,’ Werner said again as he pulled his nightshirt down, avoiding Michel’s gaze. ‘You’ll send for Serge? I need him to help me dress. I want to see the show.’

  ‘You should rest.’

  ‘I want to see the show! It is still my circus; it still has my name on it.’

  ‘As you wish, Ringmaster.’

  Michel left Werner on the edge of his bed, his feet not touching the floor.

  The townsfolk arrived first, just as the lights were switched on, hooked to generators that whirred and grunted. Torches were lit with kerosene, lighting the way through the maze of tents.

  Serge’s voice boomed from a loudspeaker, announcing the delights to come, whilst Kacper played his accordion at the entrance, the children stopping to pat Gino on his furry little head.

  Michel watched the procession fill the field. After half an hour, a trail of black Mercedes pulled up, small flags waving above the headlights bearing the swastika, heralding danger.

  Brigadeführer Dietrich Wolff emerged from the first car, followed by his wife, her eyes wide. She clapped her hands at what she saw, and Serge announced the arrival of the birthday girl to the crowd. The band struck up a tune and she clapped her hands again with the glee of a small child. Wolff grinned.

  Michel made his way through the performers, their faces painted white, their eyes ringed with kohl, and red, yellow and green spotted designs marking their skin. The women wore peasant blouses and big skirts held up tightly with wire so they could can-can and show off their stockinged legs.

  The fire eater was dressed as a groom in black, his face white, his eyes dead. His bride – a contortionist – wore a bloodied bridal gown and bent herself into painful shapes.

  Skeletons danced and threw sweets at the feet of their guests and Madame Rosie sat outside her tent, decaying roses in her hair and her face painted white with black tattoo designs all over her forehead.

  Michel managed to find Frieda in the throng.

  ‘We need to talk, now,’ he whispered in her ear.

  They went to her caravan and sat together on the bed whilst Michel told her of the changed plans.

  ‘Does everyone know?’

  ‘Yes. Serge has seen to it.’

  ‘So, we leave tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Frieda’s eyes welled with tears.

  ‘No, no, don’t cry, my love. Please. It will be fine. I promise you.’

  ‘But Papa, the others—’

  ‘It will be fine. Please. Hush.’ He held her to him. ‘I need you to be strong, my darling. I need you to help me get through this. I can’t do it without you.’

  Frieda pulled away and wiped her eyes. ‘I should go and finish my make-up.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then I will perform.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then… and then we will leave.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Together.’

  ‘Together.’ Michel kissed her deeply, then kissed her cheeks where the tears had fallen, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. ‘You feel warm.’ He placed his hand on her forehead.

  ‘I’m OK. Just tired.’

  He looked at her face, pale and drawn. He placed his hand back on her forehead. ‘It’s hot, Frieda. You’re not well.’

  She took his hand in hers. ‘I’ll be fine, Michel. We need to get through this. A little cold cannot stop me from performing.’

  ‘Werner always said you were bossy.’

  ‘He’s right. I’m the real boss around here.’ She hugged him quickly.

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he said.

  ‘You will.’

  Frieda left Michel siting in the caravan, his legs numb beneath him, his hands shaking. He felt sick.

  Before the show began, Michel went to the stables to see the horses. The triplets sat inside, their eyes wide with fear, each of them now and again patting Beau’s nose.

  ‘You have spoken with Henri?’ Michel asked them.

  Edita looked at him. She pulled her shawl around her. ‘We have.’

  Michel knelt in front of them. ‘Don’t be afraid. It will be fine. Henri will keep you safe.’

  ‘We’re not scared,’ Edita said. ‘We will be OK.’ She turned to her brother and sister and held out her hands. Each of them took a hand and stood, walking back towards the circus, not turning to say goodbye to Michel.

  Claudette nodded her head over the stable door, happy to see her master. ‘Hello there, my girl.’ He stroked her nose, her mane. ‘Such a beautiful girl. Keep those triplets safe tonight, eh?’

  Claudette stamped her hoof.

  Michel moved on to Bisou and had to open the stable door in order to see him properly. ‘You OK, my little friend?’ Michel kneeled in front of him and allowed Bisou to lower his head, resting it on his shoulder. ‘You giving me a hug? You always were a sweet one. Don’t you worry now, Bisou. Don’t you worry. Henri will keep you warm and safe here. How does that sound? No more travelling, no more getting wet and cold. He’ll keep you safe.’

  Beau snorted above them and Michel stood, closed Bisou’s stable door and went to the fine stallion.

  ‘Now, you and I have a show to do first.’ Michel readjusted his bridle. ‘Not time to say goodbye just yet.’

  Finally, he visited the workhorses, all of them delighted to receive a carrot. ‘You have worked hard, my friends. All of you. Now it is time for you to retire. Happy days wandering the fields and eating carrots by the bucket load!’ He stroked each of them. Then, just before he left, he went back one more time and hugged them, feeling a lump form in his throat.

  By seven thirty the crowd had edged their way into the Big Top. First the birthday girl and Brigadeführer Wolff, followed by his entourage, which was larger than Michel had realised it would be. More than half of the audience wore a uniform; the other half were the townsfolk who, despite their obvious joy at being at a circus, kept sneaking glances at the uniforms as though they might attack at any moment.

  Michel watched as the crowd filled the seats. Behind him, in a small covered area, the performers waited nervously.

  Hugo bit his nails until Kacper handed him some white gloves; the little boy from rehearsals – now dressed as a clown – was still loudly complaining about his pay; and the triplets twirled their batons, every now and then betraying their fear when they dropped them.

  Bertrand milled amongst them, telling them they would do fine, telling them not to look at the crowd.

  ‘Imagine they are just normal people. Forget they are wearing uniforms.’

  ‘So, you’re saying to imagine them naked?’ the boy asked.

  ‘I’m saying do whatever you need to do to perform.’

  ‘I’m not imagining no Germans naked. Maman says they have no genitals – she says they have come straight from hell and instead they have spikes down there.’

  ‘Would you hush? Please. Enough,’ Edita scolded.

  The lad looked at her expression and acquiesced.

  The orchestra began. A melanch
oly tune by a violin pierced the air, sending shivers down spines. Soon, another violin joined, darker, the musician quicker on the bow, as if playing an altogether different instrument. There was a rumble of thunder behind them, or perhaps the drums – either way, the volume grew, but the pace stayed the same: a slow, sombre march that would soon find its end.

  Then the pianist began to play. A few notes, high then low, creating waves in the narrative – no longer simply a march, but now deviating over high and low ground, searching for its end and resting place.

  The lights suddenly went out, plunging the tent into a complete darkness that made the audience gasp and cry out. Then, a spotlight appeared on the ground. It was tiny – at first no bigger than a coin – but with each note, each beat of the drum, the light grew, then found its prey. There, wrapped in silks like a chrysalis, was Frieda. She hung still from the beams above, the silver silk flashing and catching the light. Suddenly another light appeared. This time it hit the faces of skeletons that had suddenly appeared around the edge of the stage. Some of the audience gasped, others laughed nervously – Were they there all along? These people dressed in black, white bones painted on them – where have they come from? Is that really paint? Or are they real bones?

  The music stopped.

  The crowd’s silence deafened Michel’s ears – It will not be long now…

  Before the audience realised what was happening, the music changed tempo, causing the skeletons to dance and somersault in tandem. It was still an eerie song – one that warranted caution, yet one that could turn and surprise quicker than a flash of light.

  Michel rode Beau out into the middle of the ring and felt the heat of the spotlight on him.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to this night of the dead, this night of magic, of scenes you have never seen before!’

  A loud bang echoed around the tent and then smoke appeared in front of Michel. The audience were silent. When the smoke dispersed, instead of Michel they were greeted with Camille the elephant, on top of whom stood Stephanie, her costume of gold sequins catching the light.