Page 11 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

Michel jumped the two or so feet down to the tracks, then helped Bertrand.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To find a train. Where else?’

They walked for an hour, in a straight line, until they came to a large junction with tracks shooting off in six different directions.

‘I need to sit,’ Bertrand said, and wiped his brow with a white cotton handkerchief.

Michel guided him towards the side of the tracks to a thicket of bushes and grass. ‘The conductor told you a train would come?’

‘Yes. He did.’

‘Why wouldn’t he tell anyone else?’

‘Because it isn’t really a train for people. And besides, I used to play pétanque with him. He knows me. It is a favour from a friend.’

Michel sat on the damp grass and Bertrand opened his case quickly, then closed it again. He handed Michel a small paper-wrapped bundle. The paper was greasy under Michel’s fingers. He unwrapped it to reveal a butter croissant and bit into it, remembering he had not eaten since the morning before.

‘It will be light soon,’ Bertrand said.

‘Where is your food?’

‘I am not hungry.’ Bertrand waved his hand in the air then took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the smoke curling upwards into the ever-lightening sky. ‘Will you miss Paris, Michel?’

He rubbed the crumbs from his lips and balled the paper in his hand. ‘I think so. The horses, most definitely. Your apartment. Odette’s café. But I think I’d quite like to see more of the countryside. Maman came from the country and she always told me how beautiful it was to walk through fields for hours, to see sunflowers growing wild, to play in the river with her friends.’

‘That’s good.’ Bertrand smiled then clapped Michel on his back. ‘Give me the paper, I’ll put it away.’

Michel handed Bertrand the ball of paper and Bertrand opened his case to put it inside. He tried to close the case quickly, yet was too slow. ‘Why is your case empty?’ Michel leaned over his friend and lifted the lid, revealing nothing more than the wrapper from his croissant and the silver flask.

‘Ah…’ Bertrand said.

‘Bertrand—’ As Michel spoke, he felt a rumble underneath him, and heard a clatter in the distance as a train approached.

‘It’s here!’ Bertrand exclaimed, jumping up and pulling Michel with him. ‘You must be quick, Michel. The train will reduce its speed at this junction and will be slow enough for you to run alongside and jump aboard one of the wagons. Do not hesitate. This is your one chance!’

‘Me? But you too?’

‘No. No, not me.’

Michel looked towards the junction and saw the dim lights of the train heading for them. ‘I don’t understand.’

Bertrand grabbed Michel by the shoulders and turned him to look at him. ‘I am old. I cannot leave – I had no intention to leave. But I had to get you away, to be safe. I promised your mother.’

‘But I don’t want to leave you alone.’

‘Michel, you must. This is your adventure. You are a man now. No longer a stuttering boy who has only horses and an old neighbour for friends. You can be whoever you want to be! Now go! Quick! The train is coming.’

Michel looked at his friend and then took him in his arms, smelling the spicy cologne and earthy tobacco smoke for the last time.

‘Write to me. Tell me of your adventures so I can pretend I am having one too!’ Bertrand quickly kissed Michel on both cheeks, then pushed him away.

The train slowed at the junction and Michel ran alongside. He could see a red cargo carriage, the door slightly ajar. The train was already beginning to pick up speed and Michel could hear Bertrand shouting at him. He ran, his legs feeling as though they would crumple beneath him, his bag slapping against his back. Soon he was there – almost, two more strides – then he reached out his arm and grabbed hold of the door and scrambled inside just as the train rounded the bend, its pace quickening. Michel sat down, his legs dangling outside the carriage, watching as Bertrand waved, growing smaller and smaller, his hat in his hand, his violin case at his side.

Michel did not cry, even though he wanted to. He felt exhausted and exhilarated all at the same time. He looked about the carriage to see what else was in there, but the compartment’s darkness prevented it. So, he leaned back against the cold wood of the door frame, and as the train rocked gently from side to side, he felt himself drifting to sleep, the familiar, yet unexpected, musty scent of horses on the air.

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