Voices: Son of the Circus

by E. L. Norry

  Ever the showman, Pablo pounded a clenched fist into his other hand.

  “But! A circus is a machine of gruelling work, of long, hard hours that begin in the grey of dawn and do not cease until the last lamp has been extinguished. The circus fights constantly for its very life. The accidents I’ve seen over the years! Fire, and flood, and storm. Will you refuse to recognize defeat, even if you encounter it every day? Will you travel, without complaint, in the wind and the rain and the freezing bitter cold?”

  “Mister,” Alma said, spitting into the mud and wiping her dirty hands down her apron. “Anyone would think you’s tryin’ to put me off!”

  We walked out of the tent with Pablo’s booming laugh echoing behind us, to see younger kids running across the field. Brown was by the costume tent and as Alma and I walked towards him, the scamps yelled, “Where are the lions, mister?”

  “What do they eat?”

  “You, if you’re not careful!” he said. He said the same thing at every stop but his answer always seemed fresh and funny. He turned round, thrusting his hands out and roared. Alma squealed with delight and the little ones ran off screaming.

  Alma asked, “Have you ever seen a lion, Ted?”

  “No. Only pictures. Brown, have you seen lions up close?”

  Brown was stirring the pot over the fire. “Oh yes! Many times. When I was with Banister and West’s, one of his lions was slung in chains over the audience, and one time the chain broke and the beast got free! A girl dashed up and grabbed it by the mane – just like that!”

  “Was she ripped to shreds?” I asked, my hand over my mouth.

  “That’s what we thought would happen … He was a particularly savage animal who’d nipped his trainer more than once, but the ringmaster said to the girl gently, ‘That’s right, dear, stand as you are, perfectly still.’”

  “Why didn’t he tell her to run?”

  “He knew the slightest movement would be a calamity. They cleared the house and enticed the lion away, but had difficulty in netting the creature.”

  Alma was wide-eyed. “No one was hurt?”

  “Wouldn’t be much of a clown if I filled your heads with stories of maulings and deaths, eh? When it was over, the ringmaster asked her, ‘Dear, whatever gave you the courage?’ and she said, ‘Oh, that was nothing, it was just like a big dog.’” Brown laughed. “Imagine that! ‘A big dog’!”

  A loud deep bell rang.

  “The start of the show!” Brown announced. “Better get ready!” He hurried towards the large tent.

  15.

  Alma and I followed behind him. Pablo had said we could both watch the show, but we should squeeze close together and not take up too much room.

  The atmosphere was bustling. The hired band played, while the audience filed in and took their seats, chattering. The ring, full of sawdust, was cordoned off by rope and the glare of gas lamps, hanging from tent poles, created a hazy gentle glow all around.

  “What’s that nice smell?” Alma asked, crinkling her nose, as we shuffled along one of the benches at the back. “It’s stinging my nostrils!”

  “Oranges. People buy them during the show,” I replied, pointing to Clara dressed up, selling them from a tray, moving through the audience.

  Alma’s eyes widened seeing children tearing off the peel and slurping the juice. “I’ve never had one!”

  Brown, now dressed in red-and-white-striped trousers and a baggy, floppy coat, stood in the centre of the ring. He stretched his arms out, much like that first morning I’d met him, and addressed the crowd in a voice brimming with laughter.

  He twirled his hat and danced a little jig. “We have … dishes to please old and young, father and son, daughter and mother, sister and brother! Whether you are fat or lean, dirty or clean, short and small or big and tall. You might be wise and witty, or ugly or pretty. We don’t care if you’re good or bad, simple or sad, once you’re in our tent, then you’ll see no precedent!”

  “I have never seen the circus.” Alma’s face was lit up with wonder. Despite my memories of Aston Park, tingles were in my tummy too. I’d seen everyone rehearsing but somehow, even after all this time, I’d not watched an entire show. Sometimes I pretended to, but then crept out, and at other times I was on box office, taking the money. Most times I was kept busy helping behind the curtain.

  Pablo, as the ringmaster, tramped into the ring. His white gloves shone and he held two whips in either hand, a long one with a tapering lash, and a slender, thinner switch. Cracking them, he twirled both above his head.

  Thudding unseen hooves gave us a start and burst into view. Cymbals crashed, bells jangled and a troupe of eight horses cantered out, their coats shiny like satin. Colourful feathers were stuck on to their harnesses.

  Pablo’s whips never touched the horses, but as his lips moved, the horses stood with their forelegs up on brightly painted tubs. Then they bent low on bended knees, bowing to their king!

  Powerful and massive, they towered over Pablo, reminding us of who was in charge here. How brave he was, doing this for over thirty years, twice a day, every day. Is this what the world would expect from me, because I was his son? Is this what Lionel had done before running off?

  The horses cantered round, following Pablo’s every lash whip, harnesses jangling. Then they moved sideways into the shape of a star, and were so obedient it was as if they were under a spell.

  Clara whirled past on one of the horses, crouched next to its flowing black mane. The other horses stood still in formation.

  A man dressed as an army general gave a war-cry, clear above the band. He held up a hoop covered over with tissue paper. Clara raced round the ring, towards the hoop, and then crashed through, leaping through it, tearing the tissue in two. The horse raced beneath it and Clara landed perfectly upon her horse again. Thunderous applause and the audience rose to their feet.

  Brayed in by trumpets, Polly swung into the arena next. With a bound, she stood astride two horses, one foot upon each, and with their necks arched, snorting nostrils and heads shaking, they thundered around the ring like gods. She jumped on to one and turned a pirouette on the horse’s back.

  My soul sped round with Polly. I was spellbound but terrified. Seeing Polly in rehearsals felt very different to being here with the music and roaring crowd. What if Polly or Clara fell? Surely they would be trampled to death under those powerful hooves and iron shoes. They were travelling faster than locomotives!

  Ostrich feathers were atop Polly’s head and the colours caught the glow of the lamps and sparkled. The audience hushed, and all we heard were intakes of breath.

  They seemed so happy and free in the ring. I suddenly understood the appeal and why Pablo hadn’t wanted to leave this behind. If someone experienced this glamour every day, why would they want to be cooped up in a place so dull as a house, or to work day after day in a mill, or a factory, or a mine? How tired, cold and boring everything but the circus seemed now!

  Alma elbowed me. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I sighed. “I know.”

  Alma sputtered, laughing. “I’m talking about the horse, are you?”

  Colour rushed into my cheeks.

  Next, Brown tripped up and fell flat and we laughed and laughed. Brown certainly knew how to crack a wheeze; jokes and puns tumbled easily from his lips. Then he climbed a ladder, stood on his head on the top rung, and in that position drank a glass of wine! When he was safely on the ground again, he performed silly dances and my heart ached, thinking of George and Mother and the instances when George and I made each other laugh, often at those moments when we weren’t supposed to. I wished they could both see this.

  The tumbling Bellinis came on next. They juggled and tumbled with balls, oranges and knives. I scrunched up my face and twisted away, my stomach clenching tight, fearing one of them might fall. But they didn’t. As they took their bows, Alma jumped up.

  “I needs the privy!” She shuffled past me, out of the t
ent.

  A group of ponies trotted out into the middle of the ring. One pony gave us a wave with his right foot and bowed his head, then they did a three-legged gallop by sticking their legs out in a straight line.

  Such clever animals! No wonder Pablo adored them.

  They fought, they leapt over poles and through hoops, they sat down and stood up on command, all whilst wearing cloaks and lace caps. They sat at a table, as if being served a meal, and they fetched and carried. I almost died laughing when they played leapfrog.

  “Next, a daring act of horsemanship. Master Larkin on his bare-backed steed!”

  Larkin came out wearing a peacock’s tail feather stuck in a headband, perched jauntily on his head. He clung with his arms and legs to the horse’s neck. He seemed to me nothing less than a length of elastic, he moved and stretched so easily. He stood and leapt backwards and forwards, turning and twisting, weaving like a giant snake.

  As Larkin left the ring, he leaned, smiling, over the horse, and careered past Polly, who jumped on to his horse along with him, her hair flowing down her back like waves. They threw a kiss to the audience amidst cheers and gasps.

  Alma squeezed her way past me, wiping orange pips from her face. “What did I miss?”

  “The ponies.”

  I didn’t remember anything as grand as this from my circus visit before. Perhaps seeing the woman fall, with all that panic, had crowded out everything else.

  The show didn’t end there. Larkin and Polly had been only a warm-up. The real star of the show charged in – my father! He rode round the ring, twice the speed of the others, galloping so fast he was a blur.

  Alma said, “Why’s he not face down, snorting sawdust?”

  With his foot on Bessie’s head and the other foot up on her shoulder, they leant together. He and that horse were part of each other. I couldn’t see where he ended and Bessie began. How was he still upright and not being trampled to death? What held him up? It had to be a force of nature greater than any known before.

  Pablo was transformed in front of my very eyes! Watching him, my stomach swelled with pride, as if a flock of birds beat their wings inside my chest. He looked so elegant and … natural with those horses. I was witnessing a man at the top of his profession, an expert.

  Maybe those bullies had done me a favour. Although I didn’t know if I’d ever be as talented as Pablo, as he made every move look effortless and easy, I wanted to try. Maybe his circus spirit had been passed down to me. Perhaps there was still time to discover what I was good at?

  Of course I wanted to see Mother and George, and be back home, but I also wanted this man – Pablo – to be proud of me. The way he’d cared for me, and spoken out with such pride and passion, I wanted to see his face light up with the same bright grin he flashed so often at Larkin.

  I longed for Pablo to say, ‘Well done, Ted!’

  Pablo had hired a woman temporarily to walk the tightrope. Larkin explained the tightrope was always a big draw but that she could only stay for a few performances. The rope was raised off the ground – so high that I needed to squint – and from this position, it didn’t look very thick; certainly not thick enough to hold a person. My hands started to feel clammy so I wiped them along my trousers. This brought it all back – when I’d seen that woman fall. I stared upwards and from this distance, the two women even looked the same with their long dark tresses and white costume.

  Part of me wanted to leave, but deep down, I suspected if I didn’t watch this now then I would always be afraid of the tightrope. I needed to face my fears, little by little.

  She held her arms out to the side with wicker baskets on her hands and alternated between walking and then running across the rope.

  “She’s copying Blondin,” I said to Alma, keen to show my knowledge of famous performers Larkin had told me about.

  “Who?”

  “In America, a man called Blondin crossed Niagara Falls on the rope. It was in the Illustrated London News.”

  “What in heavens for?” She creased her face up, looking scornful.

  “Not just that – he did other things too: cooked an omelette, went across blindfolded and on stilts, and even carried his manager across the falls on his back!”

  “Who would want to do that?”

  “Whoever wants to be famous, I guess. Those who want to … be remembered.”

  “Pfft. There is better ways to be ’membered than being dead, it seems to me.”

  I glanced back up at the walker – she’d stopped moving and was wobbling. My heart lurched into my throat. Was she going to fall? Was I about to witness another death?

  16.

  The sky was black, except for the shimmering pinpricks of stars. It was past ten ’o clock but the night was fresh and bright. The last of the audience left the field, babbling amongst themselves.

  I was the happiest I’d been since Pablo had brought me here. I inhaled a cool spring breath, gazing at the vast starry sky. The breath filled my lungs and then I let all the air out of my nostrils in a whoosh. I had stayed to watch the tightrope walker. I had stayed to watch, with my eyes open, and she’d not fallen. No one had died tonight. Things were changing, I could feel it.

  Next to a wagon, Alma and I stood listening to Larkin, Polly, Edwin and Clara discussing their performances; what had gone well and what they’d do differently next time.

  But then an anguished roar, man not beast, came from inside the smaller tent.

  “Where is it?” Pablo flew out of the tent, his clothes rumpled and his hat askew. “Who dares to steal from me?” His eyes were wild with fury. “Thirty pounds – gone!”

  Everyone rushed over. All I heard were raised voices.

  Brown twisted his hands in front of him and said to me, in low tones, “This has happened before. The night his first wife, Susannah, died. The evening’s takings, more than fifty pounds, stolen amid the pandemonium.”

  And tonight, thirty pounds? With twenty shillings to the pound and me earning two shillings a week from the steel factory – that was the equivalent of nearly six years’ wages!

  Alma started sucking her fingers, watching Pablo, Larkin, Clara and Polly all disappear into the small tent.

  I asked, “What shall we do?”

  “There’s not much you can do, m’boy,” Brown said. “Get yourself to bed and I’ll see what’s happening. Clara was on box office; perhaps she didn’t lock the takings box. If so there’ll be hell to pay. Best stay out of the way. We might have to ride into town for the police, I don’t know yet.”

  “Mister?”

  We both looked down at Alma, who was looking very small and cold.

  “Yes, m’dear?” Brown said kindly.

  “I’m tired. Pablo said he would take me to town but … would ya mind if I stayed here tonight?”

  “That will be fine. I’ll fetch Polly and she’ll take you to the sleeping tent.”

  The atmosphere of joy had changed to one of consternation. There was nothing to do but try to sleep too.

  It was difficult to settle; not only was I bruised, but dismayed too, knowing that there might be a thief amongst us. I tossed and turned, unable to make myself comfortable on the piles of straw and blankets, due to my injuries as well as my mind churning over the evening’s events. The thief had to be an audience member, didn’t it? Someone who’d come late and seen the flap of the tent open?

  I flicked through Varney, but my eyes were too sore to read. I picked up my kaleidoscope and cradled it to me, thinking of home and Mother and George. Wishing I was with them.

  I woke with a start. Heard rustling. I blearily opened my eyes to see Larkin’s face lit up by the lamp he held. No one else was in bed yet. I expected the Bellini brothers and Brown were with Pablo, searching for the culprit.

  I don’t know if it was the rustling, or the fact I’d woken so suddenly, but I spoke before I had a chance to consider my words.

  “Was it you?” I whispered.

  Larkin gave a start, se
eing me sat upright. “Me?”

  “Be a gentleman. Did you take the money?”

  He turned his back on me. “You bleedin’ mad?”

  “It strikes me that someone like you could do very well on thirty pounds, if you were of a mind to know where to hide it.”

  Larkin span round, his eyes narrowed. “Someone … ‘like me’?” His jaw was set hard, the muscles in his cheekbones twitching and flexing.

  “You’ve been in prison before … for stealing.” His look was so furious that I recoiled slightly. “By your own admission,” I added, defensively. “Not to mention seeing you steal food with my own eyes!”

  “You always jump to the worst conclusions about me. I don’t know why. Are you jealous? Open your eyes, Ted. I have no need to steal money. I have everything I want here. I think of this as my family – unlike some.”

  My tone was emotionless. “You ought to confess to Pablo, before the police arrive.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d have Pablo all to yourself. That what you want? Maybe you took it and are setting me up!” His tone was the stoniest I’d ever heard. Cold, with layers of hurt threaded through, like frost.

  By now, both of us were stood facing each other. Our voices were raised enough to draw the attention of the Bellini brothers, smoking outside, because they came in and put themselves between us.

  “Don’t argue!” Hugo implored.

  Edwin put his palms on each of our chests. “Friends! Friends!” he said. “What is this?”

  “The circus. We stick together,” Sid cried, passionately. “We are as one.”

  Larkin and I were so het up that we both dashed Edwin’s hands away. I didn’t wish to be calmed; didn’t want to forget how my blood throbbed, boiling in my veins. If it was indeed Larkin who had stolen, then he shouldn’t be permitted to get away with this.

  “Away, boys.” Larkin stepped back from Edwin and spat on to the ground. “Let us talk.”