Voices: Son of the Circus

by E. L. Norry

  “There was about to be a good deal more ’n talking,” Hugo butted in.

  “We got things to straighten out and it ain’t your place to interfere, right?” Larkin said, firmly. The brothers backed off, tacitly nodding their understanding.

  Larkin watched them leave the tent before turning to me. “Pablo don’t need you, you know.”

  “Pardon?”

  “He don’t need you. He just wants you here. I often wants things, but all I need is a dry place to sleep, food and water. Everything else is extra. Sooner or later, Pablo will realize that what he wants ain’t good for what his business needs. He’ll come to his senses, see that you add nothing of value and chuck you out on your ear.”

  I stood firm. “He won’t.”

  “He will. His pockets ain’t limitless. ’Specially when people are stealing from him.”

  “But … he can’t … I’m his son,” I faltered, realizing that I no longer wanted to be sent home.

  “So? He was happy enough without you all this time…”

  “Well, he was the one to fuss and bring me here!”

  “When he wanted to. You said yourself, he never bothered before now, did he? Ever stop to wonder why?”

  I swallowed hard against the rush of tears choking my throat. “I didn’t even want to come! It stinks! I hate it and you’re a bunch of show-offs. I want no part of it!”

  Larkin looked like he’d won a prize. “That’s just as well then, ’cos none of us want any part of you neither!”

  He grabbed my kaleidoscope from my bed and hurled it across the tent. Silence slapped me as it struck the tent pole in the centre. The side of it caved in and mirror fragments flew everywhere.

  I couldn’t move. I stared at the broken pieces of my most precious thing.

  Larkin’s cheeks were high with colour and his voice had lost its mocking air.

  “I weren’t thinking, Ted. I didn’t mean to … I didn’t mean to … break it.”

  If I’d been a boy who believed in using his fists, I would have struck Larkin, but instead I used my words, which I knew from fights with George often hurt deeper and held a longer lasting pain.

  I said, icily, “I wouldn’t have expected anything else from a thief. You’re the very definition of a savage, aren’t you?”

  I walked stiffly towards the buckled tube and, trying to conceal how much I trembled, crouched to gather it up. As I did so, I tried not to think of the day Mother had given it to me. Tried to forget her expression as I unwrapped the package and how, seeing me so happy, her eyes had misted over. I tried, I really did, with every fibre of my heart, to forget how, the second I’d held the tube up to look through it for the first time, my breath had been sucked out of me as, mesmerized, I watched the glass inside tumble and fall in beautiful broken shards, creating complicated, magical, inexplicable patterns.

  “I didn’t mean it! I mean—”

  I whirled round to face Larkin, my anger coalescing into a scorching coal of darkness.

  “My mother gave that to me!” As I shrieked, and my voice splintered on the word ‘mother’, I understood that Larkin had shattered much more than glass and crumpled much more than tin. The warped kaleidoscope was nothing more than a hollow tube with useless unconnected bits rattling round inside it – and now, I was the same.

  I tried to tell myself that this toy, this … trinket … wasn’t important. That I was looking at nothing but glass and mirrors and illusions, that I was, in fact, too old for such things, but I couldn’t do it.

  All I wanted was Mother, my brother and my bed. How had I nearly convinced myself that this place, noisy and busy, could ever become a place where I felt comfortable or accepted, or would wish to call home?

  I fell to my knees, fighting back sobs, and hoped against hope that when I turned around again Larkin would be gone.

  17.

  Halfway crossing the field, still riled up from my fight with Larkin and the night’s drama, I didn’t notice Polly emerge from the shadows of the big tent.

  “What are you doing awake?” She sounded surprised.

  “Same could be asked about you,” I retorted, peeved at finding someone else out here. Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep, I’d taken to visiting the ponies. Often, I’d see Pablo leaving the stables. I’d wait till he was gone because I didn’t always want to hear stories of him and his glory. Sometimes, I wanted to be alone. To see if I could get to know the horses’ personalities in my own time.

  Polly said, “It is a nice night to consider the stars. All that horrid business this evening, after such a wonderful performance – it fair riled me up.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Isn’t that right.” I wondered if she knew about Larkin’s prison history.

  She sidled alongside me, looking me steadily in the eyes. “Who do you think stole from us?”

  “I don’t know.” I felt strangely guilty, even though I knew nothing about the missing money. “What about you?”

  “I’m no thief!” She slapped a hand across her mouth, shocked.

  “N-no,” I stuttered. “I meant, who do you fancy for it?”

  She pursed her lips, thinking. “Oh, an audience member who chanced it – has to be. We’ve all known each other for months, some of us for years, and nothing like this has happened before. The only new faces are you and your pal. And, though it ain’t for me to say, I doubt it’s either of you. Else it’d make no sense you still hanging round, for one thing, unless you’re lacking in the brains department!” She laughed hard.

  “It’s not me,” I said, wearily. “Polly … can I ask you something?”

  “Course.”

  “Do you think Pablo wants me around, or am I just … cheap labour?”

  “What a question, Master Ted! Who has put such doubt into that young head of yours?”

  I shrugged. “Just something Larkin said.”

  She waved her hand, dismissively. “Oh, don’t mind him. Likes to wag his tongue, that one. His nose is out of joint ’cos once you’ve settled in and learnt our ways you might discover you can do all sorts. He’s probably worried you’ll put him to shame!”

  “Did you know Lionel?”

  “No. I’m not that old! Brown knew him. Your father is pleased you’re here, don’t doubt it. He’s a good man; one of the most respected circus owners around these parts.”

  I didn’t care about that right now. Maybe Larkin was correct, Pablo wasn’t interested in raising a son; probably only wanted one to carry on his name and tell stories to.

  Polly took my hand and gently led me to the steps of a wagon and indicated I should sit down. She pulled her shawl close around her shoulders. “Pablo’s not one of them men who only does things to be thought of as noble; he puts his money where his mouth is. He’s a member of the Ancient Shepherds.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “They help families down on their luck. He puts on benefits for circus folk who’ve been loyal and worked hard. Like, if their families ain’t got much money, or someone gets ill, or dies … their burial has to be paid for, don’t it? Pablo raises money for them. And that’s the real reason his circus is still going. Why we stick by him even though we ain’t seen any wages lately. He creates goodwill. His reputation is positive ’cos he works twice as hard as anyone else. You’re lucky to belong to Pablo’s circus.”

  “Is that why you’re here? He helped your family?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been his apprentice since I was eight.”

  “You’re very talented; if there are bigger, better circuses where you could earn more, why do you stay?”

  “Because Pablo treats me like a daughter, not an employee. And I stay for the courage I see displayed every day. Here, the impossible becomes … possible. At my first circus, I heard an acrobat say, ‘No matter what happens in my life – I have lived more than anyone else.’ What he said stirred something inside me, and I’ve been in love with the circus ever since. Now, it’s really very late. I’m heading
back to sleep and you should too.”

  I watched Polly cross the field and go into her own sleeping tent.

  When I entered the stables, a small figure with its back to me was untying one of the ponies.

  “Who’s there?” I said, squinting, puffing up my voice in case someone was stealing more than just the takings.

  I moved closer and my blood stopped cold in my veins. “Alma?” I whispered, narrowing my eyes, able to make out her balancing on an upturned crate, trying to climb on to one of the smaller ponies. “What are you doing?”

  She kept jumping, trying her damnedest to mount the thing. “What does it look like?” she sniffled. “I gots to go!”

  “It’s no time to be riding, that’s for sure,” I joked, even though there was no mistaking what was going on, no other conclusion to reach except she was stealing a pony.

  “Where are you going?”

  She finally got on to the pony. Her little face was blotchy and red from crying, but her chin jutted out. She looked directly at me.

  “I lied ’bout having no family.” She bit her lip. “Me, Ma and Pa and five – three – three sisters … is all in the spike.”

  “Prison?”

  She frowned. “No! Not prison! The workhouse. I got out. But I got to get back, give the master this money. Then maybe he’ll help us get lodgings, or find work, if I offers him money while I figure out what to do.”

  “You stole from us?” I whispered, barely registering I’d said ‘us’, that I already considered myself part of this circus.

  She nodded, flushing. “My family … they’re sick,” she whimpered. “Everyone is so sick.”

  “A likely story!” I shouted. “Three sisters or five? Which of your lies can’t you keep straight?”

  I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for her sweet caring act, down by the river, when obviously this had been her plan all along! Perhaps she belonged to a child gang, like in the story of Oliver Twist that I’d heard about.

  She looked mortified. “I had five, but two died, one in me very arms, and nows I only got three left!” She wailed, loud enough to wake people sleeping the other side of town. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and sucked on them hard, hiccupping at the same time.

  One glance at her tears and I knew I’d gone too far. Of course she was telling the truth. I gathered my thoughts while she quietened, still slurping on her fingers.

  I stepped towards her. I put my hand on the pony’s head, and softly said, “But, Alma, that money isn’t yours. You know that. That’s people’s wages. You’ve seen how hard they work.”

  “I was hoping to be gone! B-b-but you, and now…” She started bawling again and then slumped over the pony, letting the reins slacken.

  I stroked the pony’s mane and put my other hand lightly on Alma’s back.

  “I’m very sorry about your sisters. I miss George and my mother every day. Part of me would like to run off with you, but I can’t disappoint my mother. I don’t think that you can go back to the workhouse now, either. You might get put in prison yourself if you turn up with thirty pounds. Please, stay here.”

  She sobbed in earnest then, wept and wept, her little body convulsing.

  “I can’t let you run away with Pablo’s takings, Alma. Come on down now. Let us go to him.”

  18.

  Alma rubbed frantically at her face, frowning. “You could just put it back! No one would need know.”

  “But Pablo might be able to help you. Polly says he helps people that need it, but only if we’re honest and explain.”

  “Can’t we wait till morning?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I replied, kindly. I helped her down off the pony and we led it back to its stall.

  We walked quietly across the field to Pablo’s living wagon. Alma was shivering and sniffling, and I was a little nervous at what Pablo’s reaction might be – would he have her arrested? Beat her? Blame me for bringing her here? – but I also suspected that we were doing the proper thing.

  We knocked on the tin side of the wagon. Eventually, Pablo poked his head out, bleary-eyed. His black fuzzy hair stood on end, giving him a slightly comical appearance, and I smiled, despite the grave situation.

  He rubbed at his face. “Is it the horses?” he asked, squinting.

  “No, sir. Nothing like that to worry about.”

  “What then?” He was annoyed. “I was in a deep slumber!”

  I spoke quickly, “Alma here … has something to say.” I put my hand on her shoulder and urged her forward.

  Pablo glared at us. “Well?”

  Alma twisted her thin scratched hands, staring at the ground. “It was me that took your money, sir.” She grimaced, swallowed and faced him square on.

  “WHAT?” Pablo gripped the side of the wagon. “You? Where is my thirty pounds?”

  She was visibly trembling. “Here.” She handed him a purse from deep in her apron. He snatched it off her and rifled through it, counting.

  Satisfied, he shoved the money in his pocket. He rubbed both hands wearily over his face, pulling at his whiskers.

  We waited, but he just stood there, staring at the empty purse in his hand. Eventually, he handed it back to Alma.

  “You see something of England, after thirty years of travelling every day from March to October. Every weather and type of road – and you get a measure of people too. Over the years, me and Brown have spent all night searching for horses who’ve escaped the field; we’ve tramped for miles in rain and darkness.”

  His voice cracked, despite its sharp edge. I had no idea what he was talking about, but Alma and I listened dutifully.

  “Setting up the tents in cold weather, we’ve nearly frozen to death, and almost suffocated in the summer, when the air is stifling. I’ve been so hard up I’ve walked twenty miles to save a fare. Been so tired I’ve fallen asleep standing up.”

  Alma moved to speak, but Pablo held up his hand and glared. I’d never seen him look this angry.

  His voice was commanding. “I have faced many many people who hate the circus. Fools who think my horses are trained by cruelty. Men have called me names on account of my skin. It took me longer than most to rise to the top – that much is true. I was forty before I could branch out on my own, half my life already behind me. Left Batty’s circus with only two horses! Two. I have worked harder than any man alive in order to create this life for myself. What wickedness to steal from me!”

  “I’m so sorry!” Alma cried. She threw herself forward on to her knees, arms thrust out pleading. “It was – it’s my family, sir! Please – don’t beat me!”

  “You said you had no family!” Pablo roared, still annoyed.

  I reached for Alma’s hand and squeezed it, helping her up. “Alma, tell him. Please.”

  She explained about her family being in the workhouse. Pablo listened to her sobbing for a full ten minutes and didn’t interrupt, but he didn’t offer any comfort or reassurance either. I couldn’t believe how mistreated she’d been.

  “Alma,” he said, sternly. “Theft is unacceptable. If I cannot trust my circus members, we’re doomed. You will obviously need to stay with us now in order to work off your debt, and we will be watching you carefully.”

  She snorted back snot and snuffled, becoming quiet. Did she know that he was making sure she’d have somewhere safe to stay? That he’d made it sound like he was punishing her, but actually wasn’t at all!

  Pablo’s expression softened. “I understand about the workhouse. More than you know.” He sounded drained. “I myself have unpleasant memories of my days in that terrible place.” His eyes clouded over suddenly, as if a candle had been snuffed out.

  He coughed. “You both need a good night’s sleep, but I promise, come morning light I’ll ride to Ripon and visit your family. Now, rest. You’re lucky tomorrow isn’t a pull-down day.”

  And with that he banged the door to his wagon shut.

  19.

  The next morning, Pablo was as g
ood as his word. After we’d eaten breakfast, he rode off to see Alma’s family. She begged to ride with him, but he said Ripon would be a day’s journey, and it’d be faster if he went alone. Besides, he added, if the master or matron caught sight of her, they might insist she return. After all, she had the uniform they’d issued, so technically it belonged to them; who knew how they’d respond to that theft?

  Pablo had explained to the troupe that the takings had been found, but had said nothing more about it, even when pressed.

  A few of us stood around the cooking pot, which was the warmest place to be first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

  “I wasn’t born in no workhouse,” Alma said, after Pablo had told everyone where he was going. “Ma and me used to sell flowers and Pa was a wheelwright, but his hand got mangled up somethin’ dreadful.” She screwed up her face.

  “How long were you in the workhouse?” I asked, supping my tea.

  She counted on her fingers. “Since I were about seven. So, four years.”

  “The workhouse must have been horrible!” Polly exclaimed.

  Alma sighed. “It was, but there were no point cryin’ over it. The porridge was slop – more water than oatmeal, with black bits in it; we saw ’em squirmin’!”

  Polly handed me a bowl of broth and a hunk of bread, and said quietly in my ear, as she took my empty cup, “Got some apologizing to do then, have you, Master Ted?”

  Gulp. Larkin must have told her that I had accused him. Why had I jumped to such conclusions? I’d hardly treated him fairly.

  “This is delicious!” Alma said, gobbling up her broth.

  Polly beamed. “It ain’t nothing but some soup thickened with barley, but I’m glad you like it. Back to rehearsing as usual then,” she said, wiping her mouth. “Alma, it’s time Clara and I taught you how to earn your keep – that’s if you’re staying, which I take it you are?”

  “Course!” Alma lifted the bowl and slurped the rest into her mouth. “I can’t do no tricks though.”

  Polly tutted. “There’s more ways to be of use other than performing. Takes an army to run things properly around here. Come on, we’ll start with fixing up the horses.”