The Orphan's Tale(93)

I hang helplessly, smoke filling my lungs and causing my eyes to burn. My arms, already exhausted from the show, throb with pain. I must hold on. A few more minutes and there won’t be anyone below me to injure when I fall. But it will be too late—the net below burns now, making a safe landing impossible.

“Astrid!” a voice calls through the smoky haze. Noa. She stands at the entrance to the big top. Why had she come back? She starts toward me with wide, desperate eyes. “Astrid, hold on!” She looks down at Theo, who squirms in her arms, then up to me, uncertain what to do. I see her hold out Theo to one of the dancers, begging her to take him outside away from the smoke and searing heat. But the dancer panics and flees, leaving the child behind. Noa starts toward the far ladder, still holding Theo.

“Get out!” I cry. What is she thinking, risking the child and herself like that? But she continues climbing. At the top, she sets Theo down as far back as she possibly can so he will not roll off and secures the edge of his blanket to the board. Then she grabs the bar and leaps, looking out of place in her street clothes.

“Astrid, reach for me,” she calls as she swings close. I do not let go. She has never caught in her life. She cannot possibly manage it. “Astrid, we have to get out.” Noa saving me is the last thing I want right now. “Peter would want you to fight,” she adds. “Don’t give up like this.”

“Peter is gone,” I say numbly.

“I know. But we’re here. And if you don’t let go we will all die—even Theo. Astrid, you have to let go.” Her words, an echo of mine to her when she first came to the show, are true. Desperately I spin and wrap my legs around the bar, stretching my arms toward her. I give a swing and reach out to her. She misses and I try again.

Our hands lock and a look of triumph forms in her eyes. “I’ve got you,” she says, but I do not return the smile. This changes nothing.

“Just get us back,” I order. But how? She cannot possibly swing me back to the perch. “There,” I say, pointing to a corner of the net, close to the ladder, where there is no fire. “Throw me in that direction.”

“You want me to drop you?” Her eyes are wide with disbelief.

“There’s no other choice. Aim for the corner and fling hard.” She looks down uncertainly. “You have to do it now.” In another few minutes the rest of the net will be in flames, my one chance at escape gone. “You have to let go.” She takes a deep breath and kicks her legs to gain momentum and swing us closer in that direction. I hold my breath. Noa has never been a catcher or thrown anyone in her entire life. But she releases me then and her aim is good. I sail smoothly downward, body taut and knees soft, and land in the bit of the net that is intact, just by the edge.

I look back up at the trapeze where Noa still hangs, wishing I could tell her to jump, too. But Theo is still up on the perch. “Quickly!” I cry. She swings herself back higher, desperate to reach the board. She slips, nearly falling. But her fingers grasp the edge and she pulls herself up onto it.

Noa picks up Theo and starts down the ladder. But her movements are slow and awkward as she tries to climb while holding the child who, hysterical with terror, screams and flails in her arms.

“Here!” I cry, racing to the bottom of the ladder.

“Take him,” she shouts, dropping Theo to me, almost throwing him. He lands in my arms with a solid thump, bawling louder. I cover Theo’s nose and mouth. I have to get him out of here. A man trying to flee the tent slams into me, sending waves of pain through my shoulder. I cling harder to Theo so as not to drop him. I look at the open door where cool fresh air beckons against the fullness in my lungs.

Overhead there is a creaking sound, which grows to a groan. “Get out!” someone screams, pushing me toward the exit. Then I turn back. Noa is still struggling to get to the ground, but she is too high for me to reach her.

The entire ladder begins to sway, listing hard in one direction. There is a thunderous crashing and the trapeze apparatus begins to come down above me. The chapiteau has been weakened by the flames and the whole thing is starting to collapse.

I slip through the tent flap clutching Theo. With a deafening crash, the big top falls, raining fire down. And Noa disappears from sight.





27

Noa

Theo is missing.

I reach for him frantically in the darkness. But my arms close around nothing, as they had that night I tried to reach him on the roof of the rail station. He is gone.

“Theo!” I cry over and over. There is no response.

“Here he is.” Astrid. She sounds so far away. I try to open my eyes, but glass shards grind at my face and I can manage only a slit. Enough to see Theo, whom she has placed on top of me. He is here, but I cannot feel him through the searing pain, worse than a thousand bee stings.

I am lying on the ground, some fifteen feet from the big top. How had I gotten here? In the distance, what is left of the chapiteau smolders, reduced to a pile of charred canvas and broken poles. The fire brigade, too late, waters the wreckage so it does not spark and catch fire to the parched nearby forest.

I reach for Theo, but Astrid presses me back down gently. “No,” I manage hoarsely. “I must.” She moves him higher on my chest without letting go. “Is he all right?”

“Perfectly fine,” she assures me. I search the child to see if the smoke had harmed his tiny lungs. He gives one cough, a protest. His coloring is good, though, his eyes bright.