by J. M. Walker
That would give the Ring Master time to drill his animals one last time, before the biggest performance in the circus’s thirty-three year history.
He set his best two boys to work on the balloon, laying its silk on the softest patch of grass they could find, feeling it for holes. As the day’s light faded, he got them to build a small fire next to the balloon. Its light and smoke illuminated the meadow, and meant the balloon’s brazier could be quickly sparked should Lord Morgan arrive early.
He then followed one of his many habits, demanding a visit from the clairvoyant woman before the evening’s show. She called herself Charity. She was mysterious, like all good circus clairvoyants, with dark eyes and curled hair that she flicked if she needed to distract a rich client.
She had become an early adopter of the Tarot de Marseille deck, its fifty-six cards and four standard suits allowing her to tell any tale she wished, by only remembering a fixed number of objects and trumps. She liked that the card denoting the Fool was unnumbered and easily marked in the deck.
The Ring Master asked the clairvoyant woman to visit him in his trailer and consult her spirits. He needed to know, as he did before every performance, whether things would go well and he would make money. He also asked her to look for any sign that a mysterious benefactor might enter their lives, bringing great wealth.
On any usual evening, Charity would select a basic reading for the Ring Master, a variation on the same theme. The Emperor card would appear, signifying a man of unyielding power who brought stability to many lives. She would reveal the Sun or the Moon, and relied heavily on the Wheel of Fortune. The Ring Master never seemed to notice how often these same cards appeared, and always seem comforted by them.
Today though, she thought she would have some fun. Spurred by the white smoke drifting in through the wagon window, she recalled how she had seen Edward the monkey practising his new trick. So she turned over the Juggler card, commanding the Ring Master to make his monkey juggle fire in the Big Top. At first the Ring Master seemed doubtful and surprised. Then he started to think it through, realising that a fire-juggling monkey might be just the thing to impress Lord Morgan. He looked at his watch, and wondered if there was time to rehearse this new addition to the show. There wasn’t, but there was time at least to get a sign made, and tied to the meadow gate. He would show this professor of animals just what he could train a monkey to do.
Excitedly, he stood and took Charity in his hands, cupping her face, kissing either cheek. She could smell the whisky on his breath, and was thankful he hadn’t noticed her refusal to turn the last marked card. The Ring Master left his own trailer.
Charity looked at the card, which took the joy from her heart, replacing it with a dread in her stomach. She slipped the numberless Fool into her brassiere, hoisted her long, frilled skirt and hurriedly followed the Ring Master down the trailer steps. She urgently sought Jim the Strongman. She had this feeling that something might go desperately wrong with the hot air balloon.
The first star punctured the dark blue sky. Jim the Strongman lit candles from the fire, marking the path from the road into the meadow and up to the Big Top. He listened to the clairvoyant woman, then took her by the arm and pushed her aside, tempted by her body more than her endless predictions. He ordered the clowns to dress, the balloon to be filled and applied vegetable oil to his muscles.
The high wire girls put on their soft shoes and started to stretch, split their legs and somersault on the grass. A scent of roasting chestnuts mingled with the smoke and a flag was hoisted to the summit of the Big Top, its silhouette luring undecided punters residing within a mile. A young circus boy swept the boards inside, while others drew buckets of water from the butt, ignoring the sneering leopard. They placed the pails in rows behind the Big Top, a standard precaution in case an ill wind should blow the hot air balloon sideways, tipping it or its burning brazier on to the flammable canvas below.
The Ring Master visited the animals, still gathered in their pre-show circle. He brought carrots for Doris and Edward, a slice of sheep’s liver for the old cat. He never knew what to offer the giant anteater as a treat, and had never asked what he was fed. But he saw no need, given that the anteater only ran in a circle. The whip would be motivation enough.
He then spoke directly to his charges, another of his pre-show routines.
“No farting tonight Doris,” he said, patting her trunk. “And no shitting on the floor.”
Doris didn’t understand him. She never did. She liked to repeat his words but she never really got their true meaning. She did enjoy hearing him speak through, and liked it when he touched her skin, without using an iron implement. As she felt his hand, she let out a deep rumble, which reverberated down her legs and through her feet into the soil. The Ring Master gave her a carrot.
“Plenty more in here,” he said, now patting a pocket stuffed full of them. “Do everything on cue, like a good girl. We need the money.”
He then noticed Edward upon her back. Unlike Doris, Edward did believe he could understand the human language, considering himself quite a connoisseur. Despite his poorly hearing, he had learned many an expression off his mother, who herself had learned to understand English while working as a tourists’ monkey in Porto. Edward even thought he could distinguish humans that came from London, and those from Leeds, just by the way they spoke. This ability enabled him to learn of his mother’s death, from old age supposedly, two years previously, just as Whyte and Wingate’s circus had struck out for the southwest.
The Ring Master beckoned Edward to him.
“Shoulder,” he commanded his monkey.
Edward skipped along Doris’s back and hopped on to the Ring Master.
“Now then. Let me look at you,” said the Ring Master, turning his head, pursing his lips as he tried to kiss Edward’s chest.
He started whispering at his monkey, talking to him and nuzzling his fur. The Ring Master instructed Edward to pilfer many a coin, because each would go towards the circus boys’ wages. It was at this point, sixty minutes before curtain up, that he also told Edward he would be juggling three sticks of fire, not two. And that Lord Morgan would be scoring him.
Bessie, feeling a little jealous, took to the air. She joined a passing pigeon, mobbing it until she ran out of breath. She always forgot how fast pigeons can fly.
The giant anteater slept, as he liked to do for fifteen hours each day, while the Ring Master crossed the grass to take one last look at his leopard. The old boy slid up off his haunches and moved to the front of his cage. He pressed his nose up against the bars and stared at the Ring Master, his cold feline eyes watching the hairs on the human’s neck. The Ring Master stared back, examining the strength of the leopard’s back. He checked the claw stubs on the leopard’s paws, and whether his belly hung low and full. Satisfied, the Ring Master ducked his head, threw on his hat, and marched across the field.
Tonight, he would put on the greatest show on Earth.
The first punters to arrive wore simple caps made from cloth, and braces that kept their trousers hanging above their muddy workman’s boots. A few youths paid their dues, followed by their foreman, then a couple of older lads, all from the tobacco factory down the lane. Every one of them smoked a cigarette.
Standing at the entrance to the meadow, a line of candles snaking behind his back to the Big Top and its flapping flag, the Ring Master accepted their pennies, knowing they’d have none left to spend on chestnuts or candyfloss.
Three families arrived together, all related, though it was unclear which man had fathered which children, and whether any of the adults were married. One of the men refused to pay for two of the infants that ran past the Ring Master, ducking under his coat tails, claiming they weren’t his.
A couple of girls wandered up. For ten minutes they stood talking by the gate, arm in arm, whispering and gi
ggling, flinging looks at the smoking boys who were by now wrestling in the meadow, still some distance from the hot air balloon. Ignored, they paid up and purposely walked past the youths, tightening their stomachs and bottoms, pushing out their breasts.
Then came the kids from the orphanage, who the Ring Master nodded through, knowing he had no choice. Finally, just thirty minutes before the start of the show, the carriages started to arrive.
The Ring Master liked the carriages. He appreciated the horses that pulled the large wooden wheels, how they trotted in unison and obeyed the whip. He liked the ladies that stepped out, hitching their nice dresses, and he liked the pounds lining the gentlemen’s wallets. He also knew that if more than ten carriages pulled up, he would at least break even.
Tonight the Ring Master stood by the meadow gate, and began to lean on it, as carriage after carriage rolled up the lane, pausing at the entrance to his meadow. He took money from the squires and company directors as their ladies disembarked, twirling parasols as they laughed excitedly at the sign advertising a fire-juggling monkey. He stroked his beard at his good fortune, and for a moment forgot to look out for a professor’s carriage.
A thundering of hooves shook the Ring Master from his reverie. Two enormous piebald shire horses cantered up the lane, throwing stones into the nettles. Across their backs a beam of polished wood pulled at an exotic black carriage suspended on leaf springs. The Ring Master checked the rig, establishing it was not for hire. The horses drew level with the gate, and stopped on a sixpence, snorting their arrival. Seated above and behind, Lord Morgan grinned down upon his host.
“A boy to store the carriage,” he demanded.
Lord Morgan wore a black cape, which he threw over one shoulder as he fixed the reins and climbed down to pat the sweating horse nearest the Ring Master.
Lifting his body off the gate, the Ring Master beckoned help. As the horses and carriage were led away, Lord Morgan placed his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and whistled.
For a moment nothing happened. Lord Morgan watched his rig disappear up the lane. He frowned and whistled again. Suddenly a small white, black and tan dog jumped from the carriage and bounded down the lane, running to his own master at the edge of the meadow. As it reached Lord Morgan it leaped at him. Lord Morgan caught the terrier in one arm, and held it as the dog licked at his buttons.
“Animals, what clever creatures!” he declared. “Now then Sir. I have my notebook. Shall we?”
Lord Morgan looked exactly as Edward had described him. He dropped the dog to the ground and took off his tall hat, his waxed brown hair parted down its centre. The hair turned grey above his ears, joining a long, tight, kempt beard that pointed at his belly. He had straight eyebrows and clear blue eyes, and stood firmly for a man close to his sixth decade. He intimidated the Ring Master, who already felt he was being scrutinised.
“Well? Shall we?” said Lord Morgan.
The Ring Master handed the gate to his returning carriage boy and walked the professor up the lane.
“We’ve got a proper show for you tonight Sir,” the Ring Master explained.
He offered Lord Morgan snuff from his box, which the professor took.
“But first, a little ride in our balloon. It’s the highest in Bristol.”
“Nonsense,” said Lord Morgan, walking past the gypsy girl. “It’s the animals I’m here to see. As agreed.”
The two men kept walking, as the empty balloon basket skidded on the grass, tied to a stake next to Jim the Strongman, who stood holding a flaccid rope, bewildered.
“And I’d rather you didn’t keep those acrobats on for too long,” said Lord Morgan, gesticulating to the trapeze troupe and high wire girls warming up to the side of the Big Top.
He stopped walking, his dog sitting at his heels.
“In fact, show me the animals now,” he said. “I want to see them before they take their instructions.”
He removed a penny from his watchpocket and flipped it to the Ring Master. For a moment the Ring Master didn’t know what to do. No paying customer had ever seen his animals in full costume before the show. And a penny wasn’t much. But he knew how important Lord Morgan was to the future of Whyte and Wingate’s circus. He led the professor around the back of the Big Top, past the buckets of water to the half moon of wagons, and an ornamented Doris.
The smell of Lord Morgan’s dog alerted the old leopard to the approaching party. He hissed as the two men walked to his cage and began to salivate as Lord Morgan ran a pencil along his bars.
“Does he strike?” asked the professor.
“Too old,” replied the Ring Master. “But he’ll impress you tonight. Mark my words.”
“How do you train him?”
“With the stick. He won’t perform for food.”
“Ah ha,” was all Lord Morgan said in reply.
The professor seemed mesmerised by the leopard’s sleek body, which was almost exactly the same size as that of a man. He wondered how tall the leopard would be standing on his hind legs.
“Do you have anything I can give him?” he asked the Ring Master, who opened a nearby tin and pulled out a slice of liver.
“Try this.”
Lord Morgan held the liver high above his head. The leopard watched as a drip of juice ran down the professor’s wrist. Lord Morgan walked forward and put his hand between the bars, above the leopard. Cunning as he was, the old cat just stared, panting.
“Not much there,” announced Lord Morgan as he dropped the liver, while his dog eyed the leopard intently. “The elephant, how about the elephant?”
Behind Lord Morgan’s back, the Ring Master spat into the leopard’s cage.
“That’s Doris,” he said, emphatically. “The best Indian elephant in all of England. I’ve cared for Doris since she was a calf,” he said, lying.
“And what does the elephant do?” asked Lord Morgan, as he boldly walked up to her and ran his hand down her back leg, as if feeling the health of a horse.
“More than those elephants in the Indian Army,” announced the Ring Master, proudly.
“I’m a well travelled man, Sir. But I haven’t seen a military elephant and I haven’t tested an animal this large before. Let me put it another way, have you ever seen her improvise?”
The Ring Master began to tire of the questions.
“Improvise? Like do the act all by herself? Don’t be silly, Sir,” he added, for emphasis. “This here is a well trained elephant. She’ll do all that I ask her and no more.”
Doris stood, dressed in her red hat and shawl with sequins on, and red ropes around her ankles, one of which remained tied to the ten metre chain, and listened to the men discuss her character. Failing to understand their exact meaning, she had no cause to be upset.
Edward, however, became agitated. He sat atop the anteater’s cage, above the men’s heads. He looked Lord Morgan up and down, noticing how his long greying beard obscured his pocket watch and coins. He also registered the dog, which unlike the men, looked directly at him. Edward had seen bigger dogs in his time. Some visited the show, and he’d ridden on the back of a great English Mastiff once, daring to pull at the dog’s slobbering jowls. This dog wasn’t much larger than Edward. It was out of reach. But it was off the leash, running free. And it kept staring at him. Edward was sure he heard the dog growl. For once, the young monkey felt safer to be in the company of the old leopard.
Lord Morgan peered into the anteater’s cage, but couldn’t see Bear sleeping in a dark corner. He didn’t spot Bessie fluttering among the bats. He took out a notebook from his inside pocket, jotted down some thoughts and demanded the Ring Master escort him and his dog to the best seat inside the Big Top.
Edward overhead the two men as they walked away. This is what he thought they said:
“This fire-jug
gling monkey you’ve advertised on the gate? Does he improvise?” enquired Lord Morgan.
The Ring Master noticed the theme, and decided to play to his gallery.
“Improvise? Oh yes, he can improvise. Does what he’s told mind, just as at dinner. But he’s a pin monkey. They like to do their own thing.”
“So he can solve problems, can he?”
The Ring Master paused.
“Problems? Oh yes. He makes up his own act sometimes,” he said, making a mental note.
He then embraced the moment.
“This big thing you’re working on?” inquired the Ring Master of his guest. “You call it a cannon?”
“A cannon! Yes, a cannon,” answered Lord Morgan, impressed. “It’s my big idea and it’ll help you with your animals and show. Tell you what, when it’s done, I’ll give it you. Put on a good performance as agreed, let me study your animals, and I’ll promote your circus. That’ll make you some money. Learn to exploit my cannon, however, and I’ll make you rich!”
The Greatest Show on Earth
The Ring Master waited. He stood in the centre of the circle of sawdust, his back to the pole, and surveyed his audience, as the adults became still and the children stopped giggling. A full house of two hundred and three paying guests, notwithstanding the orphans, fell silent.
Outside, the meadow was quiet. The circus boys were in position, the high wire girls ready to bound inside. The animals were lined up in their cages, all in order, as if ready to enter an Ark.
Jim the Strongman stood on the grass, by the curtains separating the hot, expectant crowd from the stars and burning candles that led through the field to the gate. He looked down the slope to the city, its window and street lights flickering in the night. He thought of the townsfolk and the show they wouldn’t see.