Pantomime

by Laura Lam

  "Cyril!" I said, shaking him awake.

  "Hnngh," he groaned, and turned over.

  "Cyril! Wake up!" I said, my voice girlishly high.

  "What is it?"

  "You… you have to help me run away." Tears were streaming down my face and dripping onto the covers. I had managed to keep myself together during the day – in the carriage returning from the ice cream parlor, during tea time, as Lia undressed me for the night – but my control had collapsed.

  "What?" he sat up and rubbed at his face, and when he saw me, he started. "Gene? What happened? What's the matter?"

  "I… I… I have to get away. Tonight. Now. Right now!" I sat on the bed and wrapped my arms around my legs, desperate to hold in the tears, but failing.

  "Gene," he said, gripping my shoulders. "Gene, look at me." I did, and the concern in his eyes undid me over again and I began to sob. He shook me. "Tell me what happened so I can help."

  I took a deep breath, focused, and tried to bring the tattered edges of myself together. "Last night, I woke up, and I was hungry, so I went downstairs to have something to eat. On the way back, I heard Mother and Father arguing. It was about me. Cyril, they're not my parents. Some doctor called Pozzi gave me to them when I was a baby. He gave them a lot of money. I'm not your sister, or your brother, or any sort of sibling." My voice cracked.

  "Oh, Gene," he said, stroking my head. "I'm so sorry." I did not think he knew, but he might have suspected.

  Looking at him, I wondered why I had never questioned my heritage before. Cyril has both fair hair and skin, and light blue eyes. He was bulky and strong. I had auburn hair and hazel eyes. I turned golden with the slightest bit of sun, and I was whippet-thin. Cyril's features echoed Father's, whereas I looked little like either parent.

  "You're still my sibling," he said, and folded me into his arms. I buried my head into his shoulder. "That's no reason to run away," he told me.

  "It gets worse," I whispered into his neck. "They were arguing about the doctor I went to see the other day. Evidently Doctor Ambrose thinks he knows how to… fix me."

  "Fix you?" Cyril echoed.

  "They're going to turn me into a girl. A complete girl."

  "But how can they do that?"

  "They want to… cut the male part off."

  Cyril winced and hugged me closer. He breathed a shaky sigh. "You don't have to do it, though. They wouldn't force you."

  "They would."

  "Can you think about this for a bit, first? They won't do this tomorrow."

  "No, they will."

  "What?"

  "Father took me to the ice cream parlor today."

  "He hasn't done that in ages!" His eyes widened.

  "I know. They've had an offer from… a family." I could not tell him that it was for his best friend. "Father said both he and Mother would bring me to the appointment with Doctor Ambrose tomorrow. He said it was a consultation. I think he was lying. No, I am sure that he was lying. The operation is tomorrow, and they do not plan on telling me before I go."

  Gently, he pushed me away and left the bed and began to rummage through the drawers of his desk. Mother had recently bought him a large, manly one of laurel wood.

  "What are you doing?"

  Cyril took out a small bag that clinked. "Pocket money from the past six months. I was saving up to get Elizabeth Rowan a locket as a courting gift. Here."

  "Cyril, you don't have to… I have a little money."

  "Gene, you have no concept of money in the outside world. Our pocket money combined will only last you a month or two at most, and we're lucky we have that."

  Dread grew within me. "Cyril, what am I going to do? Where am I going to go?" My voice wavered.

  His shoulders slumped. "I have no idea. Please, Gene. Are you sure you should go?"

  I shuddered. "I'd rather go and make my own way than have it decided for me."

  "It would be easier to stay." He did not want to let me go.

  "It would not be easier to go through my entire life as a girl. I do not feel like a girl. Or a boy."

  He gave me another hug. "I know. I like you how you are." Cyril rummaged in his wardrobe and brought out a box of old clothes. "These fit me last year. They should fit you well enough now." I pulled my nightgown over my head and pulled on a plain tunic, trousers, and a long woolen coat. As I changed, Cyril saw me naked. I did not turn away from him. He did not say a word and I did not know what he was thinking.

  We would soon be of a similar height, but the clothes were still too big in the shoulders and the waist. Cyril found me a belt.

  I dashed into my own room across the hall and put on my own stockings and leather boots. I started throwing things into a leather satchel – a plain dress in case I needed to be female, my own small bag of coins, some jewelry that might be worth something, my diary, and a small knife. Next, I went to the bathing room and gathered soap, a hairbrush, and a toothbrush.

  Cyril was gone when I returned to his room to pack a spare set of male clothing. He entered a moment later, his arms full of hastily-wrapped parcels of food. And, somehow, he managed to stuff them into my already-brimming satchel. I slipped his coin purse into my pocket, spied scissors on his desk and picked them up. I held them out to him.

  "My hair," I said. "No boy has hair to his waist. But leave it as long as you can. Just in case." I turned around.

  Hair fell around me, slithering in waves down my arms and hands.

  Once he was done, I looked into his small shaving mirror as Cyril tidied up the mass of hair on the floor. Cyril had made a horrific mess. My hair hung, lank and jagged. I took the scissors and evened it some, and then I pulled it into a tail at the nape of my neck. I put on a cap.

  I turned out to be a better boy than I thought I would. I looked like a very young sixteen year-old. I slid the satchel onto my shoulders and gave the clothing a last brush of stray hairs. Cyril turned me around and looked at me, his hands still resting on my shoulders.

  "Be careful, Gene."

  "Don't worry about me, Cyril. I'll find my way." I smiled and hoped that I looked brave. "I'll write as Elizabeth Rowan's cousin, Euan. He'd never actually write and they will think it's him passing on courting news. I'll disguise my handwriting."

  His eyes softened. "I'll be fine. This is better. Thank you, brother." I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tight, wondering when I would see him again.

  "I love you, Gene. Don't you ever forget that. If you need me to come for you, if you need help, or money, or anything – write to me."

  I nodded. "I will."

  Cyril ran his fingers through his hair. Both of our eyes were misty. "Won't the servants hear the front door?" he said, trying to smile. It fell a little short.

  "Remember the construction at the Elm residence below?"

  Cyril squinted and frowned. "The scaffolding?"

  I gave him an impish smile in return.

  "Gene!" Cyril said, his frown turning to a smile and he laughed in spite of himself.

  I went to the window and opened it. I turned and said, "Goodbye for now, Cyril. You will see me again. I promise."

  I climbed out the window and started down the scaffolding and into the cool morning mist. Cyril put his head out after me, gave me a little wave, and watched, but remained silent. When I was at the bottom, I looked up, but Cyril was lost in the fog. I waved back, unsure if he could see me, and I set off on my own.

  18

  SUMMER: THE NEWEST PERFORMER

  "I think, even at the tail end of my career, I still had that last, heady rush before I stepped out onto the stage. The quiet just before you begin a performance. Trusting your body to move exactly as it should. It's like the same rush as a dark cloud of Lerium smoke. It curls about you and works its way deep into your lungs. I still suffer withdrawals, and I think I will until I die."

  from THE MEMOIRS OF THE SPARROW,

  Aerialist Diane Albright

  We found Arik packing his bags when we return
ed to the cart.

  Aenea's face fell. She had been hoping that Arik would change his mind. My stomach sank as well. The trapeze act was easily the most impressive part of the circus, and while I could now do basic tricks and balancing, it would take years before I was anywhere near as talented as Arik, even with age slowing him down.

  "Have you told him, then?" Aenea asked.

  "Yes, I told him."

  He moved stiffly and I noticed a bandage around his knee. "You're hurt!"

  He smiled. "No more so than usual."

  Aenea and I exchanged glances.

  "I ended up being too afraid to tell Bil to stick his tyrannical ways right up his ever-expanding behind."

  We giggled. "So why the bandage?" I asked.

  "I've pled that I suffered an injury last night that has tragically cut short my dwindling career." He placed the back of his hand against his forehead in mock distress.

  "And Bil believed you?"

  Arik laughed, showing his yellowing teeth. "I enlisted some outside help. Dr Hollybranch agreed to affirm my condition for only a small parting of coin." Dr Hollybranch was the resident physician for the circus when we were in Sicion. He was the illegitimate half-brother of the current Lord Holly, but he did well enough for himself, though the family had probably paid for his medical training.

  I smiled back despite my sadness at him leaving.

  Aenea returned to her cart and I changed in mine – turning away from Arik and leaving my undershirt on – and walked toward the big top for practice. Arik stayed to "rest his leg" and finish packing, but he promised to say a final farewell before he made his way to his little room in Sicion.

  Boldly, I clasped Aenea's hand and we walked into the circus together. There were a couple of raised eyebrows in our direction at this – Drystan's among them – but no one said a word or looked particularly astonished.

  Bil was red in the face, which meant that he was drunk and angry, but not at anyone in particular. It was when his face went purple that someone was going to be in trouble.

  "As you all have probably heard by now, you useless bunch of gossips," he said, pointing his cane accusingly at his audience, "there's a major hiccup in tonight's plans. The last circus in a city is meant to be the best. But now half of our final act cannot perform."

  Eyes fell on Aenea and me. "I can perform just fine on my own," Aenea said. "I've done solo acts before."

  "The poster says that there are two performers! Two performers flying over my head in the illustration! There must, therefore, be two bloody performers!"

  He sounded like a child in a tantrum, but a very large, very hairy child. I half-expected him to stamp his foot and start wailing.

  "These things happen in circuses," Aenea said, keeping her voice even.

  "Not in my circus! I let you take on this whelp and train him up because I knew Arik was wearing at the seams."

  "Micah's only been with us two months," Aenea protested.

  "I saw you both the other day. He's learned quickly."

  "Not quickly enough that I would trust him to catch me sixty feet off the ground!"

  I felt a little hurt at this. I would not drop her.

  "This seems unwise," Drystan said, standing up from the gaggle of clowns. "Micah has made amazing progress in so few months, but it would be bad form if we ended our last circus with an… accident." He let the words hang in the air.

  Bil's face reddened, dangerously close to purple.

  Drystan endeavored to salvage the situation. "Why don't we have Aenea and Micah perform the final act this afternoon in practice, on the trapeze and with nets? If they perform without mishap, then they perform tonight. Without nets."

  Bil's face lightened a bit, and he brought a hand up to his chin. He liked a wager. Mentally, I applauded how well Drystan was able to manipulate Bil to his own desires. I smiled at him gratefully, and the white clown stuck his tongue out at me in response.

  "Aye, I like this bet," Bil said. "Do you both agree with the stakes?"

  "Yes," I said immediately. "Yes, yes, yes."

  Aenea hesitated, and I looked at her, pleadingly. "Aenea, I can do this."

  In her eyes, I saw a flicker of doubt. "Let's see how you do at practice," she said, and she gave me her hand. "Holding my hand here in the bleachers is one thing, but sixty feet above the circus floor is another."

  The platform at the top of the trapeze felt twice as high and the platform under my feet felt like it had shrunk in half. It had only been two months ago that I had been so foolish, to jump and catch a trapeze with no training.

  Aenea was tiny on her platform at the far side of the big tent, a small, pale face and a smudge of brown hair. The nets spread out below us like a web. I had practiced until my muscles ached and trembled and withstood the circus ignoring me, all for this. For another chance to fly.

  "Combination one," Aenea called across to me.

  "On three!" I called back, clutching the trapeze bar.

  "I'll count!"

  "If you wish!"

  "One… two… three!"

  We jumped.

  It was better than I had remembered. The warm, stale air of the circus tent whooshed past my face. My legs held rigid and my toes pointed down toward the tiny circus performers below. I swung.

  I kicked and pulled myself into a sitting position on the bar. I had grown much stronger over the past few months. I had not turned bulky, but my muscles were well-defined and the little bit of fat I had around my stomach and thighs was long gone.

  Aenea and I swept past each other, both of us balancing on one leg. I flipped backward so that I hung inverted by the crook of my knees. I reached the peak of my arc, held there weightless in the air for a glorious moment, and swung down, picking up speed with the wind whistling in my ears. Aenea swung down from the far side. I reached out–

  This was a test of trust. If Aenea hesitated, if she was not sure I could catch her, then our act would not work if there was ever a shred of doubt. We had practiced this routine plenty of times, ten to fifteen feet off of the floor on lowered trapezes. At this point, I could almost do it blindfolded. But she needed to trust me, not at ten feet, but at sixty feet.

  Aenea leapt, stretched, and reached. Her hands caught my wrists and mine hers. We flew through the air. I grinned down at her and she beamed just as widely. I could feel her pulse thumping in my palms.

  We performed a simple routine, child's play compared to Aenea and Arik's former acts. A catch, a few twirls on the trapeze bar, and hanging from the arms and the knees. Nothing fancy. No mid-air twirls and somersaults by me on my trapeze.

  It felt ten times better to be six times higher off the ground. We swung onto our respective platforms on either side of the tightrope and bowed. The performers applauded below. On a whim, I began to make my way across the tightrope, trying to walk as naturally as if I were on the ground.

  Aenea shifted to make room for me as I joined her on her platform. "You have a flair for the dramatic, don't you?" she whispered.

  I wasn't sure if she was angry at me or not. She relaxed and smiled at me. "Good job, Micah."

  "I had good teachers."

  She turned and began to climb down the ladder. I followed, my spirits as high as we had been as we flew together on the trapeze.

  Bil slapped us on the backs when we reached the ground again.

  "You've been busy, my little starlings!" he said. "Looks like we have a final act."

  I looked ridiculous in my costume.

  It was one of Arik's. We were of a similar height but his shoulders were wider than mine and his shirt hung on me like a cape. Frit helped take in the seams, but it still did not look quite right.

  "What are these?" she said, touching the bandages around my chest, though she knew. The bandages were not visible, but she could feel them. I pulled away from her touch.

  "Violet grazed me the other week," I said. "I didn't want anyone to think me clumsy, so I didn't tell anyone."

  "Is t
hat why you needed something for the pain?" she asked. Her eyes were as just as shrewd and calculating as they had been on that night when I caught her with her hand deep in the circus safe. She did not like that I knew her secret. I did not like that she knew mine, or a portion of it.

  "Partly yes," I said. My heart was hammering beneath the bandages. Over the past two months, my breasts had grown enough that I could never get away without strapping them down. I had to wake up before Arik every morning, hunching in the darkest corner of the cart and hoping he would not wake as I adjusted the strips of cloth. They were uncomfortable, the skin beneath chafed and red.