The Orphan's Tale(92)

“Shh,” I soothe. I take one last hopeful look over my shoulder in the direction from which Luc should have come. Seeing no one, I turn and start back to the circus.

I near the big top once more. Then remembering the anger on Astrid’s face as I left earlier, I slow. What can I possibly say to make her forgive me? As I reach the backyard, I hear the music of the final act trumpeting gaily, building to a fever pitch. The circus is assembling for the final bow. Through the tent flap I see the place where I usually stand at the top of the board, and I imagine the confused face of Gerda, who is normally beside me, wondering where I have gone. Longing fills me to go where I belong, amid the circus family one last time. And even though I am sad Luc did not come and we will be leaving again soon, part of me cannot help but feel glad to be home.

But as I draw close to the circus tent, my happiness fades. There is a strange smell in the air, like someone overcooked the caramel corn, only stronger. Something tickles at my nose then—a burning smell. There is a fire—and close. I think back to the air raid we’d heard during our act. No bombs had hit nearby, but perhaps there had been stray shrapnel or even a cigarette thrown carelessly on the midway. Is it the big top? We have always taken such great precautions against fire. Looking up, I see something flickering in the cloth by the hauptmast: a flame, growing larger even as I watch. Nobody, not anyone among the remaining crowds that linger in the tent nor the performers making their way to the backyard, seems to have noticed yet. No one except me.

I clutch Theo tighter and break into a dead run.





26

Astrid

I stand on the board above the circus ring. Alone, once more.

After Noa had gone, I climbed to the board. Good riddance, I wanted to say as I imagined her leaving. Instead I found myself aching with loss. Still it was not Noa whom I cursed in that moment, but me. How I hated myself for caring yet again! It was Erich abandoning me all over. I remembered the lesson I had learned the day I left Berlin, seared it into my brain now as I should have long ago: the only one I could rely on in this life was me.

It is just as well, I think now. With Noa leaving, I am free to use the pass to go to my brother. After the final bow, I will slip away before anyone notices. Pushing thoughts of Noa and Theo aside, I instead focus on Jules, who is waiting for me.

My cue comes in the music and I unfasten the ropes from their moorings. Emmet had told me at the last minute that he added the Spanish web routine back into the second act. It was only then that I noticed the new ropes, hastily installed where the clockmaker had hung just days earlier. I wanted to protest. It wasn’t that I was sentimental about Metz. Rather, I hadn’t rehearsed it in weeks and the trapeze alone would be exhausting enough. But I didn’t want to give Emmet cause to fight—after all, it was to be the last show before I slipped away forever.

I wrap the ropes around myself and step from the board. There is no bar to hold tight, just two thin slips of satin. I spin around them, extend my leg. If flying trapeze is like gymnastics as I once told Noa, then Spanish web is like swimming, seamless and graceful. Or at least they once were; now my arms are weak from weeks of not training and my movements are jerky. I struggle through the routine. But the audience does not seem to notice.

I make my way back to the board as applause thunders, my body bathed in sweat. I do not climb down. My act is just before the finale and I need to remain here for the final bow. As the elephants prance, interspersed with riders on horseback, there is a yell from below. “Fire!” someone calls. I see it then, a flicker of flames behind one of the bleachers, growing higher by the second. The flames are only on one side of the tent. If everyone evacuates to the far exit, it will be fine. We have done drills for fire before. Herr Neuhoff or Peter, if either was here, would have urged calm.

“Fire!” a woman screams again and everyone begins to run, crushing one another as they flee the stands, falling. Spectators in the first few rows flood into the ring, panicking the elephants and sending them charging.

I look frantically at the nightmare that is unfolding below. The entire top of the tent burns now. Once the workers would have grabbed the buckets of sand and water, always placed by each pole with such care, and fought to save the big top. But they are almost all gone now, dismissed by Emmet. A strongman tosses sand and then flings the bucket before running in the other direction. The trainers try to save the elephants, coaxing them from the tent. But the beasts fight rescue, planting their feet in panic, and the trainers flee, every creature for itself. The tiger lies motionless on its side, overcome by smoke. What would the circus be without it? Against the burning sky, I see the dark shadow of Emmet fleeing, a coward until the end.

I stand immobilized on the board, watching the scene below as if from a great distance or in a film. But the heat, growing uncomfortable against my skin, reminds me that it is real. I remember how earlier, before I received Jules’s letter, I wanted to die. If I do nothing it will all be over. Would that be so awful? I feel Jules and a life in America slipping away like a dream.

No, I shake my head, clearing it. My brother is waiting for me. I have to get out. I start for the ladder. But as I begin to climb down, one of the elephants spins, knocking against the ladder and loosening it from its moorings. It sways precariously. I cling to the rungs as the ladder starts to pull out. It lists to one side, threatening to fall at any second.

I look around desperately. The bar for the catch trap is a few feet above me, almost out of reach. I lunge out, clawing at it with one hand. My fingers wrap around the bar. What now? There are too many people below, scurrying under the net, for me to drop safely. I eye the far board, then kick my feet hard to try to swing up to it. But it is too far away, no use.