Page 93 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘No. He is dead. What family I have left are in Paris. Do you think Werner will live?’

Michel turned to Serge. ‘Yes, I do. He’s strong.’

Serge nodded.

‘Where I come from is a small town in Poland, near the border,’ Serge began. ‘Have you ever been? I don’t suppose you have – not somewhere to visit just now, regardless. Should I tell you more?’

Michel nodded and Serge continued, not pausing or really seeming to care whether Michel wanted to hear or not.

‘It once was Germany, but after the first war, Poland took it back. My father was Polish, my mother German. But it did not matter so much back then what country you were from. Serge isn’t what my parents called me; I was born with the first name Zygmunt. I was my father’s apprentice – an ironmonger. I was no one and I was happy with that. But early on, before this war began, things changed for us. Our town grew hostile – Germans against Poles, against Jews, against everyone. My father could see where things were heading so we moved to France, to my uncle’s home, and there, I grew up, from the age of twelve.

‘My father worked with my uncle, both ironmongers, and I was still their apprentice. In my uncle’s workshop hung two swords – swords he said were made by my great-grandfather for a battle. He had made hundreds of them, my uncle said, and these two he had kept for himself; to remember the war, those killed, and of course his skill.

‘The handles of the swords were gilded, and he had added gems, red and blue, that glinted every time the light caught them. I loved to look at them – just look. My uncle said I could not touch them.

‘I was perhaps fifteen years old when I went to see the circus with my family. When I say “circus”, it was little more than a bunch of travellers playing tricks and telling fortunes. There was one performer, though, who claimed to be the strongest man and who could swallow swords whole.

‘I wanted to watch him do this – I wanted to see a man who could defeat a mighty sword and walk away alive.

‘My uncle and father told me I was silly and childish. I was almost a man myself – I was to do away with children’s magic and illusion. Whilst they drank beer at a bar, I snuck away with my cousin, who you know.’

‘I do?’

‘Odélie – my cousin. She flirts a lot, makes people think we were, or are something, but it’s not like that. She just enjoys making men look at her, and back then she was the same. She wanted to see the performer too – not because he swallowed swords, but because he had winked at her earlier and she wanted to find out exactly what that wink meant.

‘We found the man in amongst a crowd three or four deep, and pushed to the front. Odélie stood ahead of me, smiling at the man who simply and expertly swallowed swords of different sizes, as if he were a frog who could stick out his tongue for an insect. It sounds disgusting – and it would horrify most – but to me it was so extraordinary that it had me riveted.

‘When he finished his act, Odélie made her way over to him and they spoke. I watched him afar. He placed his hand on her arm, and I knew they would soon depart together.

‘“Monsieur,” he said to me. “I wish to take you and your cousin for a nightcap. Will you join us?”

‘I looked at Odélie – her smile said it all, and I could not begrudge her what she wanted. I agreed.

‘He was a kind man who was flattered by my interest in his craft, and he taught me what he knew over the weeks and months that he and Odélie were together. It was a secret for her and me; my father would be angry that I was even thinking about joining the circus, and my uncle would disown Odélie if he suspected she was not a virgin.

‘When the man left to join another circus in the south, Odélie convinced me to try out at the Cirque Medrano. Like I told you, I was not good enough. I went to a local bar that evening to drown my sorrows. Odélie came too and tried to cheer me up, telling me stories of the things she had done as a child – you know, like stealing a tart meant for dinner, or how she would hide under the bed to scare her father. While I drunk an entire bottle of red until I could no longer think, Odélie had chatted up a small man, a man who called himself Werner Neumann. “I have a circus,” he said. “A travelling circus. Your beautiful cousin tells me you are a talented sword swallower?”

‘I nodded. The wine had deadened my tongue.

‘“Tomorrow, come and see me,” he said. He gave me his Paris address on a scrap of paper.

‘I went. Of course I did. So did Odélie. I got a job. I argued with my father. I left. And Odélie followed. Although she had no talent as such, she learned how to ride, how to do acrobatic tricks. She learned how to get men to like her, to rely on her. And now, here we are.’

An owl flew close and startled the horses, who stomped and chaffed at the bit. Michel soothed them until they walked on, their ears twitching for any new sound.

‘Do you think Werner will be OK?’ Serge asked once more.

‘I do.’

‘I hope you are right. I am not sure what we would do without him.’

‘I don’t think we have to worry about that for now.’

Serge nodded and flicked at the reins, spurring the horses on. ‘Can I have another cigarette?’

‘You can.’

Eleven