Voices: Son of the Circus

by E. L. Norry

I was embarrassed to meet his eye. “No,” I admitted.

  “You’re too big to sit up front. Make sure you hold on to me though. We can’t have you slipping off, eh, Ted?”

  Had Mother told him to call me Ted?

  It felt strange – too intimate – to be clinging round Pablo’s waist, my cloth sack between us, as we sped through the streets. With my face pressed into his overcoat, all I could smell was hay and smoke. The wind sliced bitterly into my ears as our narrow quiet streets gave way to busier roads and we galloped past clopping carriages.

  We were leaving home, leaving Bradfield behind, and I had no idea where we were headed or what kind of life awaited me.

  Jostling about, I tried not to picture Mother and George settling down to supper. Questions thundered round my mind like the horse’s hooves: where would I sleep, what would I eat, who would I meet, and what would this man have me do? When would I see Mother and George again? What about Grandfather and Grandmother?

  The wind and cold air prickled at my eyes and I closed them tight against the soreness.

  The longer we rode, the heavier my eyelids became, but I didn’t dare doze for fear of falling. The tighter I held on, the warmer I became, and soon my numb fingers were forgotten.

  Eventually, after riding for over an hour, we stopped. I wobbled, holding on to my sack, as Pablo helped me down on to the squelchy ground. All around was the stench of horse manure and wood smoke. The sky held no stars and was blacker than the mud at my feet.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Raw Green, just outside Cawthorne,” Pablo replied.

  “A town?” I asked.

  “No. We’re a ways from Bradfield now, boy. We’ve set up in a good spot for a few days.” He tied his horse up to a fence. I couldn’t see much around me, but judging from the cold air, the sky free from factory smoke and the lack of noise, we were in a large open space.

  I followed him to a small tent; glimmers of lamplight shone out from the crack at the front. Pablo pushed aside the canvas flap and directed me inside.

  “Wait here. You must be hungry. I’ll fetch you something to eat.”

  I sat on a narrow wooden bench and looked around, shivering. A gas lamp flickered. I shuffled my feet in the sawdust, looking off to one side where there were several wooden chests half-open with costumes, hats and feathers spilling out.

  Pablo returned and handed me a cup of tea and a parcel wrapped in wax paper. Opening the parcel, I was thankful to see a hunk of bread, bacon and a piece of cheese. I took a bite of the cheese, which was rich and tangy.

  Pablo stood watching me.

  “Were your parents circus people?” I asked, between chews.

  “No. My father was a butler, then a gardener, but I was orphaned.”

  “Have you not got brothers and sisters?”

  He shook his head. “Not that I’m in contact with, though there were others. I’m the fifth son of John Darby. My father was from Africa.”

  “From Africa?”

  “There have been Africans here since Roman times, though in Norwich, where I was born, I never saw too many fellows like myself.”

  “How did you end up here?” I took a long gulp of sweet tea.

  “The family were in and out of St Andrew’s workhouse. My mother had a daughter but she died. I was born in the workhouse three years later. The French war brought poverty for us working folk. Although the war ended in ’15, there was much hardship. Parish officials could bind a child to a master—”

  “—so they let you out of the workhouse to join the circus?”

  “Oh, no. Apprenticeships needed to be respectable and the circus was considered anything but. I don’t recall how I came to be apprenticed exactly. Perhaps it was a private arrangement between my father and William Batty.”

  As I swallowed my bread, washed down with tea, I thought over everything he’d just told me. How sad, growing up without his parents. I might not have known Pablo until today, but at least I had Mother and George. For a while, I chewed silently, imagining being as alone in the world as Pablo must have been. Had it felt like this, how I was feeling now?

  It was very quiet, except for my chewing. “Where is everyone?”

  “Sleeping. Most have lodgings in town.”

  I finished up my tea. My growling stomach settled as the bread, bacon and salty cheese filled it. What did I want to know most?

  “What will you have me do?”

  “You’re Pablo Fanque’s son! No need to sound so timid. I rope-walked at eleven. Though, in truth, my real passion was for the horses. I took to those animals as naturally as if they were people. Learnt to train them quick enough too. The circus runs through your blood! Dark and wild!” His eyes lit up.

  I wasn’t stirred by his enthusiasm. If he cared so much, why not come to fetch me and George years ago? Before we needed to work, and George had become half-blinded. A true gentleman would have put his family first.

  I was here now, and although I had no choice, surely I could be more useful than learning silly circus tricks. “I’ve been to evening classes, I can read.”

  “Your mother said as much.” Pablo plonked a muddy boot up on the bench, resting his elbow on his knee. “But it’s time for you to be schooled in the ways of the circus. Learn to entertain. Crowds will marvel at how you balance and dance on a horse’s back, just like they did for me. I’m not as young as I was, but the Fanque name can once again sing on everyone’s lips.”

  He looked away and dusted down his trousers, picking at imaginary fluff. “My other boy left, struck out on his own.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Your other boy?”

  “My oldest son, Lionel.” Pablo’s face grew serious and his mouth turned down. “His mother … died. A long while back. My circus has been missing that family connection ever since he decided to seek his fortune elsewhere.” He smoothed his moustache and rubbed his chin.

  I had another brother? “What happened to his mother?”

  He stared at the ground, eyes dulled and dark. “She had a terrible accident. I think it was her death that caused Lionel to leave, to want to strike out on his own. This is all years before you were even born, Ted. But … life often gives you what you don’t realize you need, and a few months after, I met Elizabeth, your mother.”

  He looked at me and that twinkle in his dark lively eyes was back. He was clearly a man who didn’t stay dejected for long.

  “How old is Lionel?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’d be about thirty now.” Pablo straightened his overcoat with a snap. “I don’t want my circus to be without a son of mine. A family connection is important. I am determined that good times will return. Now, rest a while. I have urgent financial matters I must attend to.”

  Swooping his overcoat around him, he left.

  I tightened my jacket around me, tired down to my bones. Only a few hours ago I’d been running, leaping over walls, with George. Now everything was different.

  Pablo the circus man had another wife and another son? What sort of man was he? And where was Lionel now? Pablo didn’t want me, he just wanted any slave to teach his tricks to. He didn’t really care! He’d been content to tear me away from Mother and George, who wasn’t only my brother but my closest friend.

  My throat closed up, as if it was being squeezed tight, and my eyes prickled with tears. I rubbed at them hard, blinking them away.

  3.

  The tent entrance flapped and a boy entered. He looked taller than me, though he was skinny. I’d never seen such long spindly arms and legs, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He stepped forward and, somewhat fiercely, peered at me; his small eyes blacker than coal, with heavy thick brows, stared into my face. His skin was darker than mine, his lips thick and unsmiling. Pockmarks and tiny scars littered his cheeks.

  In my twelve years, I’d not seen many people of colour, excepting my brother, but already today there had been Pablo and this boy!

  He hawked spit into the sawdust. “Yo
u the new one?” His voice was low, almost a snarl. “The replacement for Lionel?”

  I drew myself up and said indignantly, “I am the replacement for no one. I am Edward.” Bold as I dared. Bolder than my quaking knees revealed.

  I felt as if I’d been transported to another land. Maybe I wasn’t alone after all. Maybe something good could come from belonging to the circus. But this boy didn’t look like he wanted me to belong. He moved closer, loose and springy on his toes, almost readying for a fight. I shrank back.

  “There ain’t too many of us about, in case you ain’t noticed.” He indicated himself, sweeping his arm down from head to toe. “You’re another of Pablo’s sons then,” he muttered, before spitting again. This wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, I am.” I hadn’t decided if this was a good or bad thing yet. My voice trembled, as I added quietly, “I have a brother, George, too.”

  “Where is this brother then? Quivering behind some petticoats?” He scuffed the sawdust at his feet.

  My shoulders sank. “He isn’t here. The circus has no use for him. He’s at home with Mother.”

  “With Mother?!” he mocked, his voice high and strange.

  I cleared my throat, trying to deepen my voice, which had not yet become a man’s, to match his even, steady tones, but it came out like a whisper. “Are you Pablo’s son too? Are we brothers?”

  “Am I …?” The boy smirked, raised his eyebrows, and then dipped just one. “No. No. But he undoubtedly has been good to me.” He glanced upward, thinking for a moment and sounded sincere as he added, “There are worse men to have as a father.”

  I wondered at this – what was worse than abandoning your wife and children?

  “What’s in there?” He lifted his chin towards the cloth sack at my feet.

  “My things.” I clutched the sack to my chest.

  “Let me see.” He didn’t sound friendly. With one hand he rubbed at his short curly hair, smoothing it back off his forehead, and with his other hand he twirled something shiny between his fingers, over and over.

  I held my sack tighter. What could I do if he came for it?

  “Show me,” he insisted, sitting next to me. Although he bumped me with a bony elbow, his voice was less demanding.

  Reaching inside, I pulled out my kaleidoscope. Mother had brought it home for me after she’d been away, leaving George and me staying with our grandparents. She’d said, ‘Be careful,’ handing it to me. That was my clearest memory about receiving it, her instruction to be careful. I understood I’d been given a precious delicate object. Taking the wooden tube, I’d asked, ‘What am I supposed to do?’ and she’d laughed. ‘Come over to the light and put your eye to it. Look through that hole, turn the tube around and tell me what you see.’

  Lifting it, I had heard sounds like tinkling tiny pieces of broken glass, and I’d gasped at the shapes and colours that blurred and spun, intertwining, and then the coloured glass inside melded into different patterns, yet again! Glorious bursts of shapes like stars, clouds, or ink blots spreading across a jotter.

  Now, this boy snatched it from my hand and held the bigger end up to his eye. He shook it. “This one of them picture tubes?”

  I took it off him, gently, and turned it the right way before giving it back.

  With his eye glued to it, he oohed and ahhed, and even though I was cold and grumpy, I let out my first laugh since arriving. “Haven’t you seen one before?”

  He rubbed at his nose. “Not for a long time,” he said, handing it back. “Can’t see much though. S’pose it’s better in daylight?” He sounded hopeful.

  “Yes. I’ll show you again tomorrow, if you’d like,” I said. He seemed a strange, complicated boy. Not quick to smile and please like George, or the others in our street. He was hot and cold. Was this what I was to expect from circus folk? It was unsettling, unpredictable.

  “Show me your tricks!” he suddenly demanded.

  “Tricks? I don’t have any tricks,” I replied, folding and unfolding my hands in my lap.

  Springing up, he reached for the pole holding the tent up, and swung himself lightly around it, curling round like a snake. “No tricks!” he scoffed. “You can ride though?”

  Unable to meet his bright blazing eyes, I shook my head, my cheeks flaming.

  “Tumble? Spin?” His voice tore through me.

  “No.”

  “Walk the rope? Juggle? Clown?”

  “I cannot.” Then I felt cross – as cross as I ever had. Just because I was forced to be here didn’t mean I had to endure humiliation. Who was this boy anyway? “I can’t do any of those things.”

  “Ha! You claim to be Pablo’s son and you can’t even flip?”

  “I don’t claim to be anyone!” I shouted.

  This boy looked and sounded more like Pablo’s son than me. I bunched my hands into fists. I didn’t care; I didn’t need either of them. They were welcome to each other! I felt a furious rush of heat, and my throat became thick and tight, and I couldn’t swallow. Tears itched my eyes. That was twice now – me, a boy who never cried – feeling the threat of tears again on the same day.

  I vowed to stay silent. If he wanted to carry on speaking, let him blather. I’d show him how dignified I was by my display of manners.

  “What do they call you?” he barked. “Edward, you say?”

  “Yes.” Sulking was challenging when one was asked a direct question.

  “Edward’s too fancy a name for round here.” He chewed my name over. “You need something shorter … snappier.” His face brightened; he looked pleased with himself. “Eddie … Ed!”

  “No.” I wasn’t going to have this circus boy name me. I sniffed haughtily, Mother’s face swimming into my mind. “Call me Ted, then, if Edward isn’t good enough for you.”

  He ignored my jibe. “Ted’ll do nicely. I’m Larkin.”

  “Larkin? What do you do here?”

  He laughed. The sound was rich and filled his body, reminding me of Pablo.

  “What don’t I do would be a better question! Used to sweep. Roads for a penny and then chimneys. They was a messy business; you’d get all scraped up from the insides. Pablo spied me carrying my brushes one day and he says, ‘The law has changed. You shouldn’t be sweeping now,’ and I tells him since the cholera took my folks, I had to find my own way. He asks if I wanted to come along with him.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “About two years ago. First, I wondered what he wanted with the likes of me, barely eleven. But now, thanks to him, there’s not a tumble I can’t turn, nor a horse I can’t ride neither.” His chest puffed out the tiniest bit.

  Larkin was very free with what he was telling me. Were all circus folk like this? I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. “I don’t like horses,” I whispered, the words out before I’d had a chance to think. Now he’d think me useless for certain.

  Larkin barked a laugh. “Ha! Don’t you worry about that. I know my horses, almost as well as Pablo, and I’m tasked with learning you.”

  “Teaching,” I corrected.

  He stuck his tongue out before grinning. “You’ll be riding, not talkin’.” He looked me up and down, taking me in. “We’ll do balancing and stretching an’ all, to build strength and flexibility.”

  “I only went to the circus once. A lady fell off the rope and … died,” I mumbled, my eyes fixed on the ground. “It was the worst thing I ever saw.”

  “Well, that’s what draws the crowds,” Larkin said, lightly. His black eyes glittered, the dim light from the gas lamp throwing smudgy shadows against the canvas. “Not dying, but … the fact that any one of us could die. People pay hard-earned pennies to watch us do things they’d never dare. It’s about …” He frowned, his eyebrows knitting together, and I could see his mind trying hard to grasp the correct words, the meaning of what the circus meant to him. “…possibility, you know? The thrill that a lion could bite! Might. No one wants actual death, course they don’t, but it’s about
feeling alive, in’t it? People want … more.”

  “More what?” I breathed, taken with his passion.

  He shrugged. “More than the dullness of their everyday lives.”

  As his words sank in, I bumped back to reality. Did people really want the possibility of death? I didn’t think so. The screams at Aston Park had echoed through my mind for weeks afterwards.

  I’d seen people taken ill before, and even men topple over drunk, but back then I was only seven, and in my short life I had never seen someone die.

  When she fell to her death, I couldn’t forget the sickening crunch as her body thudded to the ground, her eye bulging out, her skull no sturdier than a boiled cabbage. A hush rained upon us, before people rushed about screaming. We went outside with the rest of the crowd but I lost sight of George and Mother. Shoved to the ground, I ended up face down in a field, cold and crying for ten minutes, never knowing if I’d be found again.

  “It’s unnatural, standing on horses and walking on ropes up high.” I shuddered, remembering that evening and how terrified I’d been. “The circus is dangerous … and, and foolish!”

  “Foolish – it seems to me – is talking down your father’s livelihood.” Larkin picked at his fingernails. “It can be dangerous, that’s true, but Pablo makes sure we’re careful. Especially after…” He wiggled his eyebrows as if to indicate I couldn’t possibly say.

  “What?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

  Larkin glanced around, although it was only the two of us. “Twenty years ago, his son Lionel was on the tightrope when the gallery collapsed. Hundreds of people fell right into the pit! His wife was taking tickets in the box below. She got crushed to death.”

  So that’s what had happened! The accident Pablo had referred to.

  “People say Lionel blamed Pablo for his ma dying, that it was Pablo’s fault for reusing an old building. When Lionel ran off, it broke his father’s heart – from the way Brown tells it. Pablo put ads in papers trying to find him, even offering a reward.”

  Why did Lionel blame his father? Whose fault was it?

  “Anyway, with me instructing you, you’ve nothing to worry about. We begin training in the morning. By April, I’ll have you vaulting over horses!”