Page 48 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘Funny.’

‘My mother used to say, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. If you ask me an intelligent question, I shall oblige you with the same courtesy.’

Michel stood and rubbed at his lower back. ‘Why are you so angry all the time? Surely that’s a question that deserves an answer.’

‘You haven’t noticed? There’s hardly anyone here. Five workmen we’ve got now. That’s nothing – not enough.’

‘Where’d they go?’

‘You’re back on the stupid questions again – how am I meant to know?’

‘Fine. Why did they leave?’

‘Money. None of it.’

‘What, after last night? The show was packed.’

‘Was it? What I saw were half-empty seats. You know, it all used to happen in that tent – none of this business of having little stalls here and there. It’s more of a hassle now; takes longer to arrange. Want to get back to it, or are you going to stand rubbing your back like a pregnant woman all day?’

‘You could give me a break, you know. I’ve been working since dawn.’

‘Haven’t we all, Michel. No more questions now, not even intelligent ones – just work so we can get out of here.’

They laboured for another hour, dismantling the next tent, until Felix, wiping sweat from his brow, sat down on an upturned wooden crate and invited Michel to do the same.

‘Smoke?’ Felix offered.

Michel took a cigarette from him. They sat and smoked whilst others continued to pack the train wagons and Serge tried the engine, which rumbled and groaned.

‘It won’t last much longer. That engine’s older than I am.’ Felix laughed.

‘What will happen if the circus runs out of money?’

‘We’ve only two choices: either leave and go our own way, or sell the train if we can and make it on foot, like the Roma do – caravans and such.’

‘I’m not sure where I would go. Before, I had this idea that I would go to my grand-mère’s village… but now I’m not so sure.’

‘Michel, I’m not sure where you got the idea from that I want to hear the thoughts that run through that head of yours. Let me be perfectly clear – I don’t care. I have to think about me. Me,’ Felix pointed at his chest, ‘is the only thing that matters.’

Michel stood, ground the cigarette out under his boot and walked away.

‘Where are you going?’ Felix shouted after him.

‘The horses. Just me and the horses. That’s who I’ll think about.’

‘Good lad, Michel!’ Felix laughed. ‘You’re learning! Not so stupid after all.’

By early afternoon the field was cleared, the only trace of what had been in strange outlines on the ground – brown, pressed grass in squares, circles and rectangles. Michel wished he could see the sight from high above; a map of something that had left, soon to be covered with fresh grass over the ghostly shapes.

The train whistle screeched in the balmy afternoon air, ringing out a call to everyone that it was time to leave. Michel stood outside Beau’s carriage and watched everyone board. First Werner climbed on, strutting towards his own carriage, then Serge with Odélie on his arm, followed by the triplets, Geneviève, Hugo and the other performers.

Another whistle, then steam streaked from under the chassis and Michel swung himself up into Beau’s carriage, closing the door almost all the way, leaving enough room so that he could sit, his legs dangling as the train pulled away.

‘We not good enough company for you?’ Jean dragged the inter-carriage door aside and stepped over the empty air in between with one stride.

Michel turned and smiled. ‘I just like the air. The scenery.’

‘Werner tell you to stay here?’