The Orphan's Tale(22)

I am caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. “I don’t understand...” She hasn’t brought up Theo since the first day we practiced. Why is she asking now?

“The thing is, I don’t believe you.” She speaks through gritted teeth, her fury unmasked. “I think you are lying. Theo’s not your brother.”

“Of course he is,” I stammer. What would make her suspect this now?

“He looks nothing like you. We’ve given you a place here and you are taking advantage of us and lying to us.”

“That’s not true,” I start to protest.

She continues, unconvinced. “I think you got into trouble. He’s your bastard child.”

I reel back, as much from the stinging slap of the word as from her discovering the near truth. “But you just said he looks nothing like me.”

“Like the father, then,” she insists.

“Theo is not my child.” I say each word slowly and deliberately. How it hurts to disavow him.

She puts her hands on her hips. “How can I work with you if I cannot trust you?” She does not wait for me to respond. “There is no way that he is your brother.”

And then she pushes me hard from the platform.

Suddenly I am falling through the air, without any restraint or bar to cling to. I open my mouth to scream, but find no air. It is almost like a flying dream, except my path is straight downward. No trapeze, no training can help me now. I brace for impact, and the pain and darkness that will inevitably follow. Surely the net wasn’t made to catch a person at such great speed.

I cascade into the net, sending it dipping within inches of the floor, so close I can smell the hay that lines it, the stench of manure not quite scrubbed away. Then I am flung upward, airborne once more, saved just barely from impact. It isn’t until the third time I land in the still-bouncing net and it does not rise again, but bobbles like a cradle, that I realize I am going to make it.

I lie still for several seconds, catching my breath and waiting for one of the other performers to come to my aid. But they have all disappeared, sensing or even seeing trouble and not wanting to become involved. Only Astrid and I remain in the practice hall now.

I clamber from the net then start toward Astrid, who has climbed down the ladder. “How could you?” I demand. It is my turn to be angry. “You almost killed me.” I know she does not like me, but I had not actually thought she would want me dead.

She smiles smugly. “Even I would have been terrified. I won’t blame you for giving up.”

I square my shoulders defiantly. “I’m not quitting.” After what just happened, I would never give her the satisfaction.

Herr Neuhoff rushes in, having heard the clatter as I fell from outside. “My dear, are you okay? Such a calamity!” Seeing I am fine, he steps back and folds his arms. “What happened? We can’t afford an accident or the questions it might bring. You know that,” he says, aiming these last words at Astrid.

I hesitate. Astrid watches me uneasily from the side. I could tell him the awful truth about what she had done. He might not believe me without solid proof, though. And what would that solve? “My hands must have slipped,” I lie.

Herr Neuhoff coughs, then reaches in his pocket and takes a pill. It is the first time I have seen him do this. “Are you ill?” Astrid asks.

He waves his hand, the question irrelevant. “You must be more careful,” he admonishes me. “Double the training time this week. Don’t risk it by trying anything before you are ready.” Then he turns to Astrid. “And don’t push her before she is ready.”

“Yes, sir,” we say, almost in unison. Herr Neuhoff stomps from the practice hall.

Something passes between Astrid and me in that moment. I had not sold her out. I wait for Astrid to say something.

But she just walks away.

I charge after her into the dressing room, my anger rising. Who does she think she is to treat me this way? “How could you?” I demand, too mad to be polite.

“So go on and leave if things are so awful,” she taunts. I consider the option: maybe I should. There is nothing keeping me here. I’m well and the weather has calmed now, so why not take Theo and make my way to the nearest town in search of ordinary work? Even being on our own with nothing would be better than staying here unwanted. I had done it once; I could do it again.

But I cannot let this go. “Why?” I demand. “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” Astrid concedes with a sniff. “You had to see exactly what it is to fall.”

So she had planned this. To do what exactly? Not kill me; she knew that the nets would hold. No, she wanted to scare me so I would give up. I wonder again why Astrid hates me so. Is it just because she thinks I am terrible at the trapeze and will never be able to manage the act? I had done what she wanted and let go. No, it is something more than that. I remember how her eyes blazed with fury moments earlier as she accused me of lying about Theo and my past. Her words echo back at me: How can I work with you if I cannot trust you? If I tell her the truth about my past, she might accept me. Or it could be the final straw that causes her to want me gone once and for all.

I breathe deeply. “You were right: Theo...he isn’t my brother.” A knowing smile plays about her lips. “But it isn’t what you think,” I add quickly. “He’s Jewish.”