The Lion Tamer Who Lost

by Louise Beech

  ‘I guess I’ve always done it,’ admitted Andrew.

  Ben pulled the duvet over his head. Within its folds, he smelt them, the deodorant Andrew wore, and fresh sweat.

  ‘Did you wish for me?’ he asked from inside the duvet.

  Andrew turned the cover back. ‘I wish you’d come to the circus with me next week.’

  ‘Like a proper wish?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you going to write it down?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘Put it in your box?’ Ben smiled.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘On a folded Post-it?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Andrew fell quiet. Ben watched him drift into the distant place he went when all his thoughts had assembled themselves. The white landscape of his chest was broken by a single freckle. Andrew scratched it.

  ‘Ever wish they’d find a cure for diabetes?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Didn’t I explain how it works?’ Andrew spoke gently, but Ben sensed agitation.

  Andrew had had Type 1 Diabetes since he was a child. Ben had begun carrying glucose tablets, even when they weren’t together, and had researched the condition for hours online. He’d studied Andrew’s face endlessly for signs of hypo, for white cheeks or clammy forehead, until he shooed him away, impatient.

  ‘Why the circus then?’ The word circus knotted Ben’s stomach, like ribbon just-too-tight around a gift.

  ‘I need to research lion tamers.’

  ‘Can’t you just read about them?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Research isn’t the same as seeing.’

  ‘Have you been to a circus before?’

  Andrew nodded. ‘A long time ago; I can’t remember.’

  Ben propped himself up on a pillow and imagined reaching out to stroke the soft curve of Andrew’s chest, but didn’t. He was still too shy, afraid Andrew would push him away and say he’d done it wrong. Though everything about this felt right, it was new, and at times scary.

  ‘Did you know that lion tamers remove the lions’ teeth so they can’t cause damage?’ Ben clenched his fist. ‘Isn’t it illegal having animals in shows?’

  ‘They’re trying to ban it but this one still has big cats.’

  Andrew looked at Ben while running his tongue over his own teeth. Was he imagining them gone?

  ‘Come to the circus with me,’ Andrew said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think you will.’

  Andrew leaned closer, held Ben’s gaze a moment, and then slid his tongue between Ben’s lips. Then he unwrapped a bar of chocolate, took a huge bite, and kissed Ben deeply, sharing the sugar. Around Andrew’s abdomen injection bruises and pinprick marks climbed like animal footprints.

  ‘Seducing me won’t work,’ Ben mumbled into Andrew’s mouth. ‘It’s cheating.’

  ‘How long until your dad comes home?’ Andrew asked.

  Ben’s stomach turned over. The thought of his dad returning out of the blue made his arousal feel wrong. His dad had already disowned a brother, Jerry, for being gay. It was the family tragedy no one talked about, at least never in front of Ben. Ten years ago, Jerry had hung himself. A neighbour found him in his garage. All Ben knew, from listening to snippets of hushed conversations as a kid, was that he never left a note. But he had often wondered if being ostracised by his family caused the suicide. Ben didn’t want to imagine his dad’s reaction if he walked in on him and Andrew.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Andrew touched Ben’s face tenderly.

  ‘You know what,’ said Ben.

  ‘Can I ask…?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t have a great relationship with your dad.’

  ‘No,’ said Ben.

  ‘So why the hell do you care? What the hell does it matter if he knows about us? I don’t get why it’s so hard for you.’

  Ben didn’t know how to explain it. His relationship with his dad wasn’t the best, but Ben still longed for his approval. He remembered when he was four and his dad showed him how to line up dominos so they would fall in a circular pattern. When Ben’s tiny fingers kept knocking them over too soon, Will had shaken his head, said he was useless and packed them away. He doubted his dad would even remember it now, but Ben did.

  ‘Don’t you ever think,’ said Andrew when Ben didn’t respond, ‘that we come here because you want to be caught…’

  ‘No,’ said Ben. ‘You’ve never invited me to yours. Where else can we go?’

  ‘Come back under the covers then.’

  ‘Damn,’ said Ben. ‘I think you just proved your theory.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I was wishing you’d say that.’

  PART TWO

  ANDREW

  12

  Trophies of Bravado

  Ben fashioned a jacket from red velvet and sewed stolen buttons at the cuff. He told his grandma that in his magic coat he would be able to make lions lie down and purr. ‘Not by hurting them,’ he said, ‘not by wearing their teeth as trophies of bravery, but by lying with them.’

  Andrew Fitzgerald, The Lion Tamer Who Lost

  As Andrew entered the circus with Ben, he looked down at their feet and smiled at the fact that their shoes were completely different – Ben’s trainers were scuffed, his own boots were polished – but they walked exactly in time.

  The marquee was turquoise and had six yellow stars near its pinnacle and a zigzag line like bared teeth encircling the lower sections. Dangling in the still air, the banner revealed only the words Mr Jolly’s B–. When they passed the back seats, Andrew recalled his tenth birthday, and sitting there with his mother. She had bought the tickets as an apology for working every weekend. They were all she could afford, and she grumbled throughout the show that they could barely see anything from so far.

  Andrew had barely been able to see because his vision was blurred. His tummy had somersaulted and his throat ached with raw thirst. Days later, Andrew was taken to the hospital in a neighbour’s car, half conscious. After a blood test he was diagnosed with diabetes. Arriving from a double shift in a care home, Andrew’s mother cried and told the doctor she’d had no idea. Andrew didn’t tell her it had been easy to hide his symptoms from someone who was never there; then he assuaged his mother’s shame with kisses.

  This diagnosis led to daily injections and blood tests, a strict dietary routine and carrying snacks in pockets. Andrew accepted it with the resolve of a child accustomed to being alone for great lengths of time. What caused him far greater stress was never being able to grumble in case his mother again ran to the bathroom in tears and locked the door for two hours.

  Almost thirty years later, with Ben, Andrew paid extra for front-row circus seats.

  ‘Our twelfth date,’ said Ben.

  ‘I know.’

  Andrew – with a life dictated by blood sugar readings – looked for the coincidences in numbers. His blood that morning had been 12.2, so he looked for ones and twos all day. Today he would find two lions, one fire-eater, two children, and one ringmaster.

  ‘Where are we sitting?’ Ben scanned the arena.

  ‘Here.’ Andrew pointed left.

  Separated from the ring by bars, they were squashed close on benches. Andrew loved that each time Ben leaned forwards, their legs touched. He would happily have held Ben’s hand but knew Ben would resist such a public display of togetherness.

  Two boisterous children plonked down next to them and squabbled over who should sit where. The boy argued that she’d got the toy in the cereal box, so he should pick where he sat. Their father acquiesced.

  ‘I always got the toy,’ said Andrew, ‘because I was the only one.’

  ‘My brother Mike always got it. I remember this Spiderman webblaster I wanted so much I cried. He got it and I sulked for days. He gave me it in the end.’

  ‘You can have my web-blaster any time,’ smiled Andrew.

  ‘You were lucky having no siblings.’

  ‘Not really.’

  Andrew viewe
d the ring. Not fully lit it appeared plain, not yet magical. Shadows fell where lions would no doubt soon stride.

  ‘Don’t you don’t feel sorry for the lions?’ Ben said.

  ‘Of course. But I need to watch the lion tamer.’

  ‘I thought you’d been to the circus?’

  ‘A long time ago,’ said Andrew. ‘I vaguely remember the trapeze artist because she wore gold sequins and had feathers in her hair. And I remember one of the lions.’

  ‘What about him?’ asked Ben.

  ‘His fur was patchy. I waved but I knew he couldn’t see me.’ Andrew had wanted to say that he knew how it felt to be sick.

  Ben said, ‘I went the circus a lot with my—’

  But he got cut off by the drumroll and the swell of theatrical music. Collar erect and whip in hand, the ringmaster strode into the ring and announced that he was Mr Jolly and that the clowns were here for everyone’s delight: Tilly, Tommy and Toots.

  ‘I hate clowns,’ muttered Ben.

  Tommy rode a tricycle, a grotesque multicoloured wig and white mask his costume, followed by Tilly with green pom-poms and Toots honking a horn repeatedly. They told the nearby twins they weren’t sure who was who and could they swap seats so they’d be in the right place.

  ‘I’m all muggled,’ said Tommy.

  ‘It’s muddled!’ called the red-haired boy nearby.

  ‘Even I know that,’ said Ben.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Andrew squeezed his leg to show he was only teasing.

  ‘I hope the lions are next,’ said Andrew.

  ‘My mum once said they look allusive.’

  ‘Allusive?’

  He felt Ben stiffen. ‘Don’t correct her. I know she meant elusive.’

  ‘You never talk about your mum,’ Andrew said.

  ‘I hate the circus. It reminds me of her.’

  Andrew knew Ben’s mum had died but didn’t know how or when.

  ‘I didn’t know that was why you hated it,’ he said gently.

  Tommy the clown made a creature out of a long purple balloon. The nearby kids yelled that it looked like a snake; he assured them it would soon be a frog.

  ‘We can go,’ said Andrew.

  ‘You need to be here.’

  ‘I can watch lion-taming footage,’ insisted Andrew.

  ‘We’ll stay.’

  Suddenly, Ben kissed his cheek; Andrew felt the warmth of it for a while. He thought about last night, about his hasty undressing of Ben. About how much he had to have him, how fast.

  Andrew had always gone for men he couldn’t fully have; had always needed distance. He briefly loved Craig but couldn’t have him because of an ex-wife, a woman he said he had left. But then she got addicted to painkillers and it turned out he hadn’t left her after all. He loved Leo for four years, mostly because he travelled, and the world was his other partner.

  Looking at Ben, Andrew thought there should be more words for love; the word love should mean total love. There should be another word for anything less – and that would have described what he felt with Leo and Craig.

  Mr Jolly returned to the ring to introduce a fire-eater who risked her life to thrill the world. A crimson-costumed woman cartwheeled into the ring, spinning fireballs between her feet and hands. The audience went wild; men stood and whistled between their fingers. She plunged a flaming torch into her mouth. The smell of dead flame lingered for the rest of the show.

  ‘How does she not get burnt?’ asked Ben.

  ‘She extinguishes the flame rather than eats it.’

  ‘Cheating,’ said Ben.

  ‘Maybe more of a mis-word,’ said Andrew. ‘They’re fire-killers rather than eaters. Watch how she lowers the torch to her lips, exhaling slowly to keep the heat from her face. Her tongue is stuck out wide and flat, see. She places the wick of the torch onto it and closes her lips and extinguishes the flame, quick.’

  ‘But how?’ asked Ben.

  ‘She cuts off the oxygen.’

  ‘It’s kind of sexy,’ said Ben.

  Andrew moved his hand higher up Ben’s thigh.

  ‘If you want to stay,’ said Ben, ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

  Andrew decided to ignore him and bit his ear. He felt Ben’s sharp intake of breath. The music and drumroll drowned out the sound of it.

  Then it was time for the lions.

  The lion tamer strode out, his twin-tailed jacket too snug, his belly distended over a shiny sash. The boy nearby stamped his feet. This was what the crowd wanted – the thrills, the spills, the man brave enough to take on the king of the beasts. People stood for a better view. Two straggly lions ambled from the side. A hush settled over the marquee like a tranquilliser. The tamer shouted Jump! Hey! Jump! and waved a chair until the creatures climbed onto star-bedecked stools in the centre.

  ‘Why the chair?’ said Ben.

  ‘It confuses them.’

  ‘Because it’s not a table?’

  Andrew had to smile. ‘The points of the chair’s legs distract them from wanting to claw the lion tamer’s face off.’

  Three cracks of the whip and the beasts rotated like pathetic ballerinas. Their manes were thinning, their amber eyes glazed with indifference. Andrew saw the rows of eyes in the audience glinting in the stage lights.

  Then the whip caught in one lion’s mane. Gasps from the audience. As the lion tamer tried to tug it free Andrew expected attack.

  Nothing.

  A man behind them booed. An empty coffee cup hit the cage, followed by a handful of popcorn. ‘It’s all bravado not bravery!’ cried the man.

  For a dizzy moment Andrew thought maybe he was heading for a hypo and fingered the cereal bar in his pocket; when his blood sugar fell to less than four he could collapse if he didn’t eat sugar.

  Ben said, ‘You’re bleeding.’

  Liquid streamed from his fingertip into his palm. The boy next to Ben told his dad the lion must have got the poor mister.

  ‘My lunchtime test,’ said Andrew. ‘I cut too deep.’

  ‘You’re pale.’

  Andrew turned to see Ben studying him in the endearing way he did when he thought he was about to pass out. During those moments Andrew enjoyed the nearness of his face, seeing the orange flecks in his eyes, his tongue when his lower lip drooped.

  ‘I’m okay,’ he insisted. ‘I wasn’t low.’

  ‘Sure?’

  He nodded.

  The lion tamer now had the largest cat on the floor. He roughly rubbed its belly with his black boot. Andrew felt Ben snake a hand under his shirt. Andrew tried to focus on the show. The lion tamer punctuated each instruction with the whip. Sit! Paws! Beg! The audience hissed. Ben scratched Andrew’s back. Gently at first, then harder. Andrew was excited by the sharp pain but repulsed by what he saw in the ring.

  When Ben stopped, Andrew took hold of his hand.

  Kept it tenderly held inside his.

  ‘Disgusting,’ he heard.

  The father of the two children nearby was glaring at them.

  ‘Beg your pardon?’ said Andrew.

  ‘My kids shouldn’t have to see that in a circus,’ said the father, motioning to their entwined hands.

  ‘See what?’ asked Andrew, but he knew.

  ‘This is a family show!’

  ‘Come on, let’s go,’ said Ben, clearly embarrassed.

  ‘No,’ refused Andrew. ‘He thinks it’s fine for his kids to watch those lions being tortured, but a couple of people holding hands is gonna scar them?’

  ‘You’re not people,’ said the dad.

  ‘Because we’re men?’

  Ben stood. ‘Andrew,’ he hissed. ‘You’re scaring the kids.’ He started up the stairs to leave. The boy and girl looked intrigued rather than afraid. Their father shook his head and resumed watching the show, chiding them to do the same.

  Andrew stayed for a moment, then followed Ben. He looked back as he stepped from the tent into dusk. The last thing he saw was lion blood seeping into the sawdust.

 
‘He had no right to talk to us like that,’ said Andrew, allowing his anger free reign as they walked to the bus stop. ‘This is two-thousand-and-fucking-five.’

  ‘We don’t have to flaunt it,’ sighed Ben. ‘It’s easy for you. No one knows about me.’

  ‘Maybe. But if you think I’m gonna tolerate that kind of bigotry…’

  They caught the bus into town and sat upstairs. Perhaps due to its emptiness, Ben put his head on Andrew’s shoulder. When a gang of boisterous teenagers climbed the bus stairs Ben lifted his head and moved away. Andrew didn’t care who saw, but he knew how nervous Ben was about their relationship. Maybe he should have just ignored the father earlier.

  Ben dozed off.

  Andrew thought about the first time they met in the library. How earnest and cute Ben had been. How he had smiled seeing so many nines when Ben wrote his number down – his recent blood test had been 9.9. He’d been disappointed when he dialled and got a dead line.

  It had also been nine days later that Andrew saw Ben again.

  Andrew had been in a café, sipping Coke, writing Ben’s grandfather appeared barefoot and saved him from the carnage in the pad that always accompanied him. As the word carnage touched paper, real-life Ben had walked into the cafe with a girl and blood on his T-shirt. Andrew had put his head down, occasionally spying on them. His jealousy of the girl had been acute, a surprise. He viewed Ben with the sort of longing he put down to not being able to have him. Ben’s distance – that it would seem he preferred women – intrigued him.

  He decided to leave so he closed his notepad and started to open the door.

  But he never managed to escape.

  Now – on their twelfth date, after knowing Ben for thirty-five days – Andrew put a hand over Ben’s as the bus took a sharp corner. Ben stirred, sleepily opened his eyes, and kissed Andrew deeply.

  ‘I think you should come to my flat tonight,’ said Andrew.

  Ben smiled. Kissed him again.

  ‘Fuckin’ benders!’ yelled one of the teenagers.

  Ben pulled sharply away from Andrew, cursing under his breath.