The Orphan's Tale(50)

“And you need to stop doing that act mocking the Germans,” Luc flares with surprising force.

Peter jerks back, stunned that Luc is standing up to him in a way that so few ever have. “How dare you!”

But Luc, not intimidated, squares his shoulders. “They’ll arrest you, you know.”

“Who will, your father?” Though they had met only minutes earlier, hatred seethes between the two men.

Herr Neuhoff reappears. “Enough!” he orders. “We can’t afford petty fights. There are officials in the audience. Gendarmes,” Herr Neuhoff adds. The fact that they are not German officers is hardly reassuring. The French police are little more than puppets of the Reich these days. Peter and Astrid exchange uneasy looks. It seems too much of a coincidence just days after the German officer who knew Astrid sat in the audience.

My throat tightens. “You don’t think they’ve come for you, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Astrid replies, her voice grim.

“You need to go,” Peter says to Astrid. “Now.” But where will she go? I wonder. When I turn to ask her, she is already gone.

The bell rings, calling the audience back to their seats from intermission. As the house lights dim, I peer into the tent. Two uniformed men stand at the back. These are not officers on leave looking for a distraction or some entertainment to relax. Their arms are folded, stance purposeful. They had not been there during the first half of the show.

I turn back to find that Peter and Astrid have disappeared from the backyard. “What should we do?” I ask Herr Neuhoff.

“Go on, just as we have. To do anything else would arouse suspicion.”

From the tent comes the music of the next act, the big cats. “You should go back to your seat,” I tell Luc, who is still standing beside me. “You’re missing the show.”

“Yes, of course.” But still he lingers, brow creased. “You’ll be all right? I mean, that woman, she seemed so angry at you.” It is not the police, but rather Astrid who worries Luc. I take him in uncertainly. He seems so sincere. But he hadn’t even told me he is the mayor’s son. Could Astrid possibly be right about him?

“Can I see you after the show?” Luc presses. His voice is hopeful as he tips his head toward the grove of trees beyond the backyard. “Over there in the clearing, yes? I will wait behind the knotted oak.”

“You have to go,” I say, ignoring his question. I point toward his seat before slipping away.

The tiger cage is being wheeled from the stage and the next act, the high wire, prepared. Two gendarmes start forward toward the ring. I glance over my shoulder. Astrid is nowhere to be found. Could they possibly be coming for me? It seems impossible that anyone here could know about my taking Theo, but still... I look toward the back exit, desperate to go find him.

But the police reach the second row of seats and stop before the man with the little girl who had cotton candy. They crouch low as they speak to him, trying not to interfere with the show. I slink closer along the edge of the big top until I am just a few meters away from the argument, close enough to hear. One of the policemen gestures toward the exit, instructing the man to go with them. “You need to come with us.” Luc twists around in his seat to see. I wait for him to say something, to intervene. He does not.

“But the show...” the father pleads, his voice rising. The orchestra halts midsong. All eyes are watching the altercation now. “Surely it can wait until the end.” He places his hand on his daughter, as if protecting her.

The policemen will hear none of it, though. “Now.” One reaches for the man’s shoulder, prepared to drag him from the tent. What could they want with him?

“Come, darling,” the father says as gently as he can to the little girl. “We will come back to the show another day.” His voice breaks at the end.

“I want to see the elephants.” The girl’s lip quivers.

“She can stay,” the policeman says coldly. “We only want you.”

The man stares at the police officer in disbelief. “Monsieur, she’s four. Surely you don’t mean for me to leave her alone.”

“Then bring her with you. Now,” the officer commands.

The father takes the girl’s wrist firmly, trying to leave before they are taken. But she resists, breaking into a wail and dropping to the ground, not noticing the mud that soils her dress. He is pleading with her now, desperate to cooperate before the officers intercede. There is a murmur around the ring. The townspeople have undoubtedly seen arrests before. But a father with an innocent child, taken from the show... One of the officers reaches for his truncheon.

Stop! I want to cry. I have to do something. Instinctively, I go toward the ladder at the right side of the ring and climb it. At the top, I catch the eye of the conductor and nod to him. His eyes widen with surprise. This is not in the program. Then he lifts his baton. The orchestra strikes up a lively tune and the spotlight focuses on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the police stop what they are doing to watch. Across the big top Astrid waves her arms, signaling me down.

It is too late. I leap from the board, swinging as high as I ever have. But now what? I have no catcher and simply swinging will not hold their attention for long. Desperately, I let go of the bar. I tuck myself into a ball and somersault once then twice through the air as I catapult downward. There is nothing to catch or stop me. Just before reaching the net I lie myself out flat, as Astrid taught me to do in case of a fall, slowing myself. I angle my rear end downward so that it, and not my limbs or neck, take the brunt.