The Orphan's Tale

  A week later he returned the watch to me, refusing to accept money for the work. We have not spoken again since that day.

  We reach the edge of the fairgrounds. I carry Theo, whose eyelids have begun to droop, across the backyard. It is a warm spring day and those who can rehearse outside. The sword swallower practices an act where he seems to cut an assistant in two and farther afield one strongman attempts to run over another with a motorized bicycle. I cringe. The acts had grown grimmer since the end of the Great War, as though people needed to see near death in order to be thrilled—mere entertainment was not enough anymore.

  My heart lifts as I glimpse Peter behind the big tent, rehearsing. I have seen so little of him since our arrival in Thiers. We are too busy and too exhausted. Even on Sundays like today, our time together is not what it should be. Watching him now, my longing grows. With Erich it had always been straightforward, the way a man and a woman were supposed to be together. But Peter makes love with wild hands and lips where they have never been before and where I least expect them.

  Peter is rehearsing the act I know too well, the one that mocks the Nazis’ straight-legged goose-stepping—the very routine Herr Neuhoff ordered him not to perform. I had hoped after the other night’s show, when he had not done the routine, that he had given up on it. He is practicing those unmistakable moves right now, though, with more determination than ever. The circus has always had to tread lightly on politics. There was a story once about an Austrian circus that had met its demise by putting a pig in a pickelhaube, a Prussian military helmet and uniform. But Peter seems more and more reckless these days and his skit, while subtle, is pointed enough that no one would miss the fact it was ridiculing the Germans.

  Remembering, I shudder. I should have been more forceful, asked him to stop. This is not some game, poking at an animal with a stick. We have everything to lose. But watching him, my admiration grows: he is standing up to the Germans in his own way and fighting, not simply accepting what is happening and the restrictions that have been placed on us, leading to our own inevitable demise.

  Or is it just the liquor that is making him bold? His raised foot wobbles midair and he sets it down hurriedly, so as not to fall. Peter has been drinking—something I can no longer ignore now that Noa had confirmed it. I am no stranger to alcohol. I had seen it among the performers in our own circus, and even with my mother when things got to be too much. Once with Peter it had been benign, a few extra glasses of wine in the evenings. I had not minded; in fact, I welcomed the way it seemed to make him more open. In front of others he spoke little. “Astrid,” he would say when we were alone and I watched the drink take effect, dilating his pupils. He would really talk to me in those times, rambling tales of his boyhood in Russia before the Great War. For a moment I could see inside a bit and actually know him.

  But it is different now—his drinking is getting worse. I can smell it on him in the mornings and there is an unsteadiness about him in the arena. If Noa noticed, it is only a matter of time before Herr Neuhoff does, too. Dread seeps through my skin. Drinking before practice or a show could get even the greatest performer fired. The circus cannot afford accidents and there will be no safe quarter for a performer who is sloppy or careless. And he was drinking on the first day of the tour, when things should have been fresh and new. What will it be like a month from now, when life on the road really begins to wear thin?

  A commotion at the far end of the backyard pulls me from my thoughts. Herr Neuhoff storms across the grounds, face red, cigar clenched between his teeth. At first it seems he is going to berate Peter for his act again. But he is headed toward one of the Polish laborers. Milos, I think he is called, though I do not know him well. Milos is soldering a piece of tent pole, the gun shooting sparks in all directions—including toward a nearby bale of hay. Fire is a grave concern for the circus. Herr Neuhoff speaks to Milos in a low voice, trying to keep the matter quiet, but his voice rises belligerently.

  Herr Neuhoff grabs the soldering gun and points in the distance. “You’ll be sorry!” Milos swears. He tosses his hat to the ground, then picks it up and storms off again. Did Herr Neuhoff fire him? The circus is like a family, workers returning each year, and Herr Neuhoff is generous to them even in retirement. But carelessness cannot be tolerated.

  Peter crosses the field to confer with Herr Neuhoff. I start toward them, still holding Theo. They stop talking as I near, as though they do not want me to hear. My annoyance flares. I am not some child to be sheltered. For everything I have achieved, though, I am still a woman, my status less. “What happened with the Pole?” I demand.

  “I had to let him go. I had no choice. I’ll find him and smooth things over, give him a good letter and a bit of severance.” Herr Neuhoff’s voice is uneasy.

  “Letting go of an angry worker could be dangerous,” Peter says. He is worried, I can tell, about protecting my identity. What if Milos tells someone, or goes to the police? As Peter watches me, I catch a flash of something deeper in his eyes. Concern, and perhaps something more. I recall what Noa had said about Peter’s feelings for me. Maybe she is right. I brush the notion aside once more.

  “There are all sorts of dangers,” Herr Neuhoff retorts, a veiled reference to Peter’s political act.

  Peter does not answer but stomps away. I wonder if Herr Neuhoff will go after him. Instead, he gestures in the direction of the train, beckoning me to follow. “I need to speak with you.” He stops at the door, uncomfortable in the women’s carriage, even though it is empty.

  Herr Neuhoff coughs, his face reddening. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and raises it to his mouth. When he pulls it away again, it is tinged with pink. “Are you ill?” I ask.

  “My heart condition,” he rasps.

  I am alarmed. For all of the years I have known him, I had no idea. “Is it serious?”

  “No, no,” he replies, waving his hand. “But I catch every cold that comes by. The damp weather doesn’t help either. As I was saying, the worker, Milos...if I offer him a severance, then word may get out and others could ask for money. But if he goes to the police...what do you think?”

  I falter. There are things I can tell him that I learned from Papa. I am still a guest here, though. This is not my circus, but another time and place. I proceed cautiously. “It is a difficult decision. Everything is so different now.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about something else,” he says, switching topics abruptly, and I realize that Milos isn’t the real reason he has asked me to speak. “Astrid,” he begins, using that gentle tone, the one that means he is bringing me bad news. I brace for some confirmation of what had happened to my family, the awful truth that deep down I already know. “You understand that the circus is in a very delicate position right now.”

  “I know,” I reply. “I’m not sure what I can do to help.”

  “For one thing, you need to speak to Peter about the act.”

  This again. My worry is replaced with annoyance. “We already discussed it. I told you—we can’t stop him from being who he is.”

  “Surely if you explained to him the jeopardy it is causing,” he presses, “if he had to choose between your well-being and the show...”

  “He would choose me,” I say firmly, forcing more confidence into my voice than I actually feel. After what had happened with Erich, I could never be certain of that again with anyone. “But I don’t want him to have to choose.”

  “You must,” he insists. “After the show the other night, the German seeing you...”

  He knows. My stomach leadens. “How did you know about that? Did Noa tell you?” Of course she had. I had confided in no one else.

  “Astrid, that doesn’t matter.” A flash of admission crosses his face, confirming my suspicion. “What’s important is that the circus has drawn more scrutiny than it can afford. I had a visit from an inspector earlier today.” A
rock forms in my stomach. An inspection—on a Sunday. Were they looking for me? “They are threatening to send us back,” he adds.

  “To Germany?” My whole body tenses.

  “Possibly. Or perhaps somewhere in Alsace-Lorraine.” The border region, which had gone back and forth between Germany and France for centuries, had been swiftly annexed by the Reich at the start of the war. Going to Alsace and returning to Germany were one and the same.

  “Would they really do that, so soon after we’ve set out?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  Herr Neuhoff coughs again and rubs at his temple. “They almost didn’t let us go on tour this year at all.”

  “Really? I had no idea.” There is so much he keeps to himself.

  “I know that going back is not ideal for your situation,” he adds. For a second, I wonder if he is threatening me. But his voice is neutral, simply stating the facts. “You see now why I need Peter to stop.”

  He continues, “I’ve asked them for an extension, explained that the tour dates are set and that canceling would be damaging to the business. But as you know, the Reich doesn’t care about business.”

  “No,” I agree. They would not hesitate to punish us for stepping out of line.

  I have been recognized and Herr Neuhoff knows it. The audacity of it all dawns on me: How could I have thought I might remain hidden in something as big and public as the circus? “I should go,” I say slowly. Herr Neuhoff’s eyes widen. “Leave the circus. I’ve brought too much danger to the show already.” I have no idea where I would go. But I had left once; I could do it again.

  “No, that isn’t what I had in mind at all,” he protests hurriedly.

  “But if my presence is bringing danger, then I should leave,” I persist.

  “Don’t be silly. The circus cannot function without you. He cannot function without you.” Herr Neuhoff gestures with his head toward the field to the spot where Peter has returned to practicing. I wonder if what Herr Neuhoff says is true. Then I look down at Theo. He needs me, as does Noa. “You will stay. This is your home.” He coughs once, then again. “If we can just ride out the season here in France.”

  “I understand. I will talk to Peter,” I promise.

  “That’s a start,” he says; his face remains troubled. “But I’m afraid it isn’t all.”

  “I don’t understand. What more can I do?”

  “You see, the status quo is our friend and we must do whatever we can to preserve it. The circus must be kept going at all costs. So that’s why I’m doing it,” he says. I tilt my head, puzzled. “Since that German soldier saw you...” He takes a deep breath. “I have no choice but to remove you from the show.”

  12

  Noa

  I hurry toward the fairgrounds, not looking back toward Luc, even when I reach the cover of the trees. Halfway through the woods, I realize that I have been running. I slow to catch my breath. Meeting Luc was strange, and the way he watched me left me with a feeling of lingering discomfort. But it was exciting, too, a spark where I had not expected to feel one again. I imagine telling Astrid, confiding in her like the sister I never had.

  Twenty minutes later, I reach the fairgrounds. As I near the train, I see Astrid standing by the entrance to the sleeper car, glowering. For a minute, I think she is angry that I was gone so long. Or perhaps she saw me speaking with Luc. Her eyes burn with rage as I climb onto the train. Then Herr Neuhoff’s bulky silhouette appears in the doorway behind her and I realize that it is something much more serious than that.

  “How could you?” she demands. “How could you do it?”

  She has somehow learned my secret. About the German soldier. About the baby.

  “I know the truth,” Astrid snarls, coming at me. I freeze. “How could you?”

  Astrid nears, arms raised, as though she intends to strike me. I step back, tripping over the edge of a steamer trunk sticking out from beneath a berth.

  Astrid’s face is inches from mine and I can feel her hot breath and spittle. “He’s pulled me from the act.” I realize she is talking about the fact that I had told Herr Neuhoff someone had recognized her at the show. She does not know my secret.

  This is almost as bad, though. All of the trust I have worked to build with Astrid is gone. Her eyes glower like hot coals. “No!” I blurt. Despite his promise, Herr Neuhoff had revealed that it was me who told him after all. Now Astrid is out of the show.

  “You’re a liar,” she says, fists clenched.

  “There, there,” Peter murmurs to Astrid, putting a hand on her shoulder to calm her. But he does not step between us or hold her back.

  “Astrid.” Herr Neuhoff steps forward, trying to intervene. “It wasn’t Noa...”

  But she moves around him, still coming at me. “Are you trying to replace me, you little demon?”

  The idea is so far-fetched, I could almost laugh aloud—if Astrid was not so angry. “Not at all,” I protest quickly. Her distrust cuts through me like a dagger. “I would never do that. I was worried about you.” I had thought I was doing it for her own good, but I see now how it must look to her. A few of the other girls have gathered in the door of the carriage, and they whisper, eyeing me with unmasked hostility. Performers do not tell on one another. I had broken a cardinal rule—and risked the show. One of the girls is holding Theo and I take him from her, clutching him close to my chest like armor.

  Then I turn to Peter, who has been watching the fight. “She was in danger. You know that.”

  He shrugs, unwilling to side against Astrid to help me. “You shouldn’t have done it. The secret was hers to tell or not.” But his voice carries no force. Deep down, he knows I had done it to protect Astrid where he had not dared—and is silently thanking me for it.

  “I kept your secret,” Astrid growls in a low voice. I glance over my shoulder where Herr Neuhoff stands just behind me, praying he has not heard.

  “This is different,” I whisper. Can’t she see that? I told in order to protect her. I hold my breath, waiting for her to tell the others that Theo is not my brother. But she turns away, still shaking with anger.

  “We’ll need to fix the damage and take precautions,” Herr Neuhoff interjects, his voice more authoritative than I have heard. “Astrid will sit out the show for the remainder of our performances in Thiers.”

  “But Herr Neuhoff...” Astrid begins to plead her case anew. Then she stops, seeing that she has lost.

  “Can she rejoin us in the next town?” I ask hopefully.

  “We’ll see,” Herr Neuhoff replies, unwilling to promise even that much. “Meanwhile you need to prepare for the show without Astrid. Gerda will catch for you.”

  “But I can’t,” I protest. I’ve barely managed to fly with Astrid; there is no way I can trust anyone else. “I need Astrid.” I look from Herr Neuhoff to Astrid desperately, but she simply turns away.

  “Prepare them for the next show,” he instructs Astrid. She has been removed from the act, but not absolved from the responsibility of having me ready. Astrid does not answer him, but turns and stares daggers at me, still not speaking.

  “Come,” says Gerda firmly. “We must rehearse.”

  I duck away and follow her from the train, grateful to escape Astrid’s wrath.

  * * *

  The next night, I stand alone in the dressing car, apart from the other girls. Astrid is not there and, despite the warmth and noisy chatter, the carriage feels empty without her. She has not spoken to me since the previous day, even at practice. She did not sleep in our carriage, going instead, I imagine, to Peter’s. When I passed her in the train corridor, I’d wanted to say something to make it better. But I couldn’t find the words and she’d walked past silently, averting her eyes.

  I do everything myself now, the makeup and the chalk and the tape, my hands moving
where Astrid’s had before. When I am fully dressed and ready, I start away from the train car in the direction of the big top. I scan the program posted at the entrance. My act has been moved to the first half of the show in order to give Gerda more time to cover both Astrid’s role and her own. As I read the program with no mention of Astrid, the events of the previous day and her rage at my betrayal crash down upon me anew. She had been removed from the show—because of me. My stomach leadens, first with guilt, then dread. How can I possibly perform without her?

  As I start around the big top to the backyard, I see someone lingering by the edge of the fairgrounds. A man stands separate from the rest of the gathering spectators, kicking his foot against the dirt. Luc, I realize. I stop with surprise, jumping back around the corner. What is he doing here? He had mentioned possibly coming to the show but I never expected him to actually do it. And in my worry about Astrid being removed from the act, I had nearly forgotten.

  But now here he is, standing just feet away from me. My heart skips with more excitement than it should. I start toward him, then stop. He is a stranger, and one who makes me uncomfortable at that. I step into the shadow of the big top once more. Wearing a crisp dress shirt, dark hair damp and freshly combed, he looks even handsomer than when we met. He seems uncomfortable, though, keeping his head low and taking in the scene from the corner of his eye. Out of his element, not at all like the confident boy I’d met in town. I want to go to him. But there is not enough time and we cannot be seen together.

  The other performers are making their way to the backyard and as they assemble, Luc slips from sight. As he disappears into the crowd, I feel a slight pang, and I fight the urge to go after him. What if he realizes that coming was a mistake and decides not to stay after all?

  Looking back at the performers as they stretch and ready themselves, I notice that Astrid is not here, and though nearly the whole circus has gathered, there is a gaping hole without her. I’ve performed only a handful of times, guided by her strong hands. I can’t possibly go on by myself.