The Orphan's Tale(43)

At the corner, a man sells fruit on the back of an upturned crate. I see strawberries for the first time since the war, mottled and too green to be ripe, but strawberries nonetheless. Desire floods my mouth. I imagine Theo’s face as he tastes the unfamiliar sweetness for the first time. I fish in my coat pocket for a coin as I walk toward the crate. After I’ve paid the seller, I put the two strawberries I could afford into my pocket, fighting the urge to eat one now.

Behind me I hear a snicker. For a second, I wonder if it is the dark-haired man I’d just seen. Instead I turn to find two boys, twelve or thirteen years old, pointing in my direction. I glance around to see what they might be laughing at and then realize that it’s me. I look down at my sheer red skirt with patterned stockings and my low V-necked blouse. I no longer fit in with ordinary people. I raise my hands to cover my chest, my shame rising. On the trapeze I’ve learned how to hide behind the lights and pretend it isn’t me. But here, I feel naked and exposed.

A woman walks up to the boys, their mother perhaps, and I wait for her to scold them for their rudeness. Instead, she shoos them back, putting them behind her as if to shield them from me. “Keep your distance,” she warns them in French, not bothering to lower her voice. She stares at me as though I might bite. Seeing us in the ring is one thing, an encounter on the street something different entirely.

“Pardon, that’s quite enough,” a voice says behind me. I turn to find the man who had been watching me a minute earlier. He looks at me oddly and I wait for him to take her side. “The circus performers are our guests in the village,” he says instead. I wonder how he knows I’m from the circus, and then I realize it must be how I am dressed. I take a step back.

“But look at her,” the woman protests, gesturing in my direction with disgust.

I flush. Outsiders think of the circus as dark and sexual, Astrid had warned me once. In reality it is the furthest thing from the truth. If anything, life on the road is more strictly run—there is a chaperone in the girls’ tent and a curfew earlier than the one the Germans had set. We are too tired to get up to trouble. Still nosy fans stick their heads in the backyard, trying to get a glimpse of something exotic or untoward. In fact our lives are boringly simple—wake, eat, dress, practice, repeat.

The woman opens her mouth to speak, but the young man interrupts before she can say a word. “Au revoir, Madam Verrier,” he says dismissively and she turns and walks down the street with a huff.

“Bonjour,” he says to me when the woman has gone.

Remembering Astrid’s admonition about not mingling with the townsfolk, I turn to go. “Wait,” he calls. I look back over my shoulder. “I’m sorry that woman was so rude. I’m Lucienne,” he continues, extending his hand. He does not give his last name as people did back home when introducing themselves and I wonder if that is the custom here. “They call me Luc for short.” Closer now, he is taller than I realized. I barely come up to his shoulder.

I hesitate, then shake his hand lightly. “Enchanté,” he says. Is he mocking me? There is no guile in his face, none of the leering of the other townsfolk.

“Noa,” I say haltingly.

“Like the ark,” he remarks. I cock my head. “In the Bible.”

“Oh yes, of course,” I reply. From across the street, the boys snicker again, their mother having disappeared into one of the shops and out of earshot. Luc starts toward them, face thunderous. “Don’t,” I say. “You’ll just make it worse. I’m leaving anyway.”

“That’s too bad,” he says. “Can I walk you?” Without waiting for a response, he takes my arm.

I jerk away. “Excuse me,” I say. Is it because I’m with the circus that he has the nerve to presume he can do that?

“I’m sorry. I only meant to help you.” His tone is apologetic. “I should have asked.” He holds out his hand once more. “May I?”

Why is he being so nice? He is friendly—too friendly. No one is nice just for the sake of it these days, not unless he wants something. The German soldier appears in my mind. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say.

“A boy walking a girl, what is so wrong with that?” he asks. His eyes meet mine, a challenge.

“Fine,” I relent, letting him take my arm. He starts walking once more, leading me toward the edge of town. His fingers are warm through my sleeve. He moves quickly with self-assurance, the kind of boy whom I never would have dared speak to back home.

We cross the footbridge, near the edge of the forest. I stop and pull away, more firmly this time. “I can manage myself.” Letting him walk me out of town is one thing. If he comes any farther with me, though, someone from the circus might see me mingling, as Astrid said I should not. I can almost feel her eyes on me. I turn in the direction of the woods, wondering if she is watching. But I see no one. Still I am not supposed to be here. It has been well more than an hour and she will be waiting for me to practice, perhaps even worrying. “I have to go,” I say firmly.

He brushes a lock of hair from his forehead, his face a mix of hurt and puzzlement. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he says and begins to walk away.

“Wait!” I call out. “Lucienne...”

“Luc,” he corrects, starting back toward me.