Circus Solace

by Chris Castle

  “If our last box was meant for the eyes, this one is for the senses. This box is the lungs of the show, the mechanics that kept things working and pumping, the pistons and hammers.”

  “And a lot of hot air,” Marcus said, shaking his head at the theatricality of his friend and everyone giggled. Lucas took it in good humour, pointing his hands to his chest in a ‘who-me?’ gesture. Marcus responded by waving him on and Matt saw ruddiness in his cheeks that belied his grumpy words: he was enjoying himself.

  “In here, we have every prop known to man and a few that are not; bits and bobs and odds and sods that fill the ears, touch the nose and brush the skin.” As he snapped the latch off and flipped the lid, Matt felt another fizz of expectation in the air. As if on cue, Lucas hoisted a silver sword high above him that gleamed and sparked. Matt thought he could almost hear the air being cut, as it glided left to right.

  “Fully retractable,” he went on, pressing it down on his foot, while raising his leg, so in a moment, all that was left was the hilt and no sword.

  “Made from ground salmon bones; the most stretchy fibre outside elastic,” he said to Matt, his tone conversational. “All that flipping and wiggling up and down the streams makes them bendy as all hell.”

  Every item that came out of the box was out of this world but made perfect sense inside the world of a circus performance. Matt tried on a tiara made entirely of soft drink ring-pulls; he slipped it on carefully, weary of being scratched but was amazed at how soft it felt. Marcus leant over and explained how each ring pull had been scooped up off of Mexican side-streets and almost smelted by the intense sun. Pa stood holding a pair of shooting pistols fashioned out of bookmarks and lost earrings. Lucas made him pull the trigger and a cartoon flash of gunfire popped out. A flame appeared, with a BLAM written in the middle, made entirely from stale penny sweets; foam bananas for the flames and cola bottles for the smoke.

  On and on it went, Marcus slipping on handcuffs fashioned from tin foil and bus tickets, Lucas twirled a walking stick that doubled as a baton made from paper clips and honey. Matt could barely keep pace with what passed through his hands; ear muffs made of lily petals, flight goggles chiselled out of avocado skins and pine cones; the horse’s saddle made from discarded playing cards and air-mail envelopes. It seemed as if everything came from what other people threw away or didn’t care enough about. In a strange way, Matt began to understand the logic of how all the props could fit inside a small box-everything seemed to sway and bend and was pliable to the touch. Nothing was too brittle, precious or easily broken. Everything had its place and was made to feel useful.

  The four of them stopped well before halfway, as much out of exhaustion as anything else. Over food brought from Marcus’, Pa asked questions but nothing managed to cover what they had seen. Lucas and Marcus told them what they could but Matt had the idea that they knew only knew a part of the story, too. Matt supposed he could have felt disappointed but instead was happy to not know everything. It was okay, he thought, to sometimes only know a part of the story, as long as it was a part that mattered. Matt felt sure that the circus and the show mattered, perhaps a great deal.

  Matt watched Pa with the other men as they ate. Lucas was animated, his skin rippling and changing again with the last props he’d come into contact with, while Marcus sat quietly, monitoring and adjusting the stories that were being thrown out and shared. Matt watched Pa and saw how alive he looked then, listening and following, always looking out for a mention of Matt’s ma. His whole face lit when her name cropped up, no matter how briefly. He also noticed the atmosphere of the room had changed, buzzing and sparkling with the contents of the boxes and the stories that came attached with them. The colours, the photos and the noise, made Matt feel as if the house was alive, too, eavesdropping in on the conversation, or maybe even overlooking them, like a proud parent watching over children.

  By the time it came to the last box, Matt was surprised to see Lucas, the showman, stay in his seat and Marcus step up to the centre of the room. He crouched down to the box with little fanfare and gently prised open the catches and flipped the lid without any fuss. He set the deeds to one side and to Matt’s surprise he scooped up the scripts and put them aside, too. The last set of papers he drew up were a clutch of magenta trimmed letters. Beside him, Matt heard Lucas sigh and wondered what could be in them to make a showman lost for words. Marcus gently unfolded the first letter and all of them froze as something remarkable happened. Matt saw the letters in each word hum and pulse on the page.

  “Today was a fine day with the show. The small tricks and buffoonery was a splendid success and one more fine idea by that daughter of mine!” Marcus had remained silent but somehow a voice was somehow making itself be heard. Matt glanced over and saw Pa and Lucas both hypnotised. It wasn’t that the letters were speaking out loud, not quite, but they were somehow communicating, whispering and carrying in the air on a frequency level only they could make out.

  “Is that…” Pa couldn’t quite finish but Marcus was already nodding. He had folded the page slightly to hush down the words.

  “The Gent used to set this up in a separate booth for people who would want a bit of peace and quiet, away from all the razzamatazz of the show. It was popular with older folks, especially. He’d put the letters up on the walls and folks would just pick them up, it felt like the words were speaking out to them.” Marcus smiled.

  “He always called this box ‘the mind,’” he went on. “Away from everything you saw and experienced, that little booth gave people a voice of comfort or company for folks that were lonely. I sometimes think the booth kept the place going as much as all the other bells and whistles.” Matt looked over and saw Lucas nodding. It occurred to Matt that it must have been a long, long time since either of them had heard their old friend’s voice.

  “Let him speak on,” Lucas said in a quiet, rough voice. Marcus nodded and carefully unfolded the letter.

  “It is a small town we have here but I think Moon Dip Falls has a strength to it that is uncommon in most. There is a spirit to it that goes beyond the meetings and the shows. A stranger could place a hand on the shoulder of another and they would not flinch, I feel. It is no one thing but a generation of good, strong will.” Marcus tilted the letter and the voice slipped away. Matt realised it was too much for him to keep hearing it. Beside him, Lucas nodded and a quiet fell on the room. Pa opened his mouth to speak but Marcus nodded, as if he had already heard the question.

  “He talks of his daughter often in these letters. It’s all here for you to find,” Marcus said and looked from Pa to Matt. “For both of you.”

  “Then I thank you for bringing all this to us,” Pa managed to say, though Matt heard his voice was tight and close to choking.

  “Nothing to thank us for,” Lucas said in a quiet voice. Outside, it was dusk and shadows were beginning to stretch along the fields and trees. He glanced around the room, settling on Matt last of all.

  “We just have to make sure we use it,” he said, with an edge in his voice. “All of it.”

  *

  The next morning, Matt woke with his head still swimming from the contents of the four boxes. He heard Pa moving around downstairs and saw it was just past dawn. It didn’t matter, somehow; the adventure gave Matt a drive he had never known before. As he drew back the curtains, he saw Lucas wandering over from the fields, to the other side of the house and a tired old car rumble to a stop around the driveway. The feeling of things moving forward, of momentum, ran through Matt’s body like a spike of pure energy.

  “We’re getting the band back together,” Lucas said, as he poured milk into his coffee. For a second his palm turned pure white and then it subsided as he settled his fingers around the mug. “We’ve got someone who can track down the ones who left and we can speak to the sons and daughters of the others.”

  “A lot of it stays in the genes through the generations,” Marcus said, as way of explanation. “Things like balance and co
-ordination stays in the blood, you see?”

  “We can do all of this in a matter of days, with any luck,” Lucas said. “I think that those who left might have stayed close-by because they couldn’t bear to be too far away from the town. One or two, sure they would have headed for the hills, but a lot of them will have stayed.” Matt watched as Lucas’ eyes flared with excitement. For the first time, it dawned on him that Lucas must be old, maybe very old but there was nothing in him that suggested age. Sometimes, when he latched onto something, he looked more like someone Matt might know, a friend’s older, cooler cousin.

  “I kept a notebook of everyone involved,” Marcus cut in and Matt almost smiled at the way they were becoming almost a double act; the voice of reason in one and the bouncing ideas of the other. The plan was almost coming alive in-front of their eyes. Matt turned round to look for the same excitement in Pa. Instead, he wore a look of concern, even anger and in the moment before he spoke, Matt understood why.

  “Who is going to replace my wife in all this?” he asked. His voice was low but there was a force to it. Like Matt, he hadn’t realised how much she had been involved and actually performed in the show. They had both wrongly guessed she had been behind the scenes, organising and cajoling but never centre stage in the way she clearly had been.

  “No-one will replace her,” Marcus said. His voice was gentle and he reached over and put his hand over Pa’s clenched fist.

  “It would be impossible,” Lucas went on, taking Matt’s hand in his own.

  “We will make a show for them both, a tribute,” Marcus went on.

  “Something that will make folks remember what they once had; remember but never better, never eclipse…” Lucas finished, squeezing Matt’s hand.

  “We might want you to say a few words to honour The Gent and his family,” Marcus said, still looking to Pa. “If you would like…it’s up to you.”

  “Do we have a date?” Pa asked. He was taking on the role of the organiser now, whether he wanted it or not.

  “If we do it on the last day of the month it would be the anniversary of the last show,” Marcus said and braced himself for Lucas’ reaction, which was immediate.

  “A month?” he said and almost laughed. “To get it set up in three weeks…”

  “A month,” Pa said and Lucas’ voice fell away. “If it’s an anniversary then it will mean more. It’ll be a good thing, doing it on that day.” He turned and looked over to Matt. “Right?”

  “Right,” Matt agreed and a flicker of a smile came onto Pa’s lips. Matt was glad of it but something else flickered into his mind. “What about the clown?”

  “Cirrus,” Marcus muttered. Matt felt bad but he was trying to be organised, like Pa and that meant pointing out the bad stuff as well as the good. Lucas shook his head, looking disgusted but nodded to Matt.

  “We have to think about him. There’s no point thinking he won’t be opposed to this, maybe even come after us because of it.” The four of them fell quiet for a moment until Pa spoke.

  “If he faces us then we’ll face him. I’m not scared,” he said and looked over to Matt.

  “We’re not scared,” Matt said and Lucas grinned along as he said it. Marcus, finally, nodded along reluctantly.

  “Some of us are less not scared than others,” he said, although there was a faint grin as he said it.

  “It’s an obstacle,” Lucas said. “Obstacles can be overcome.” He nodded to the table and Matt found himself nodding back, a part of this, a real part, not just a kid or a helper but a member of the team. To the side of Lucas, a photo of his ma in a sequined dress shimmered and Matt marvelled at how far they had come in such a short space of time.

  “How do we do this?” Pa asked, as Marcus pushed the notebook into the centre of the table.

  “We,” Lucas said, pointing to Marcus, “are going on a road trip that starts this afternoon.” He reached out and grabbed Marcus round the shoulders; they looked like siblings; the older, responsible brother and the brash, reckless kid.

  “We thought you could visit the men and women who are still local. Introduce yourself, see what folks say,” Marcus said and tapped the notebook. “However, the first order of the day is to make a trip to our local post office and pray for some goodwill.”

  *

  Emily Slurpslacker was busy putting away envelopes as they walked into the shop. Matt noticed how gracefully she moved around the aisles. Before any of them had the chance to say hello, she spun round, grinning to greet them. She remembered Matt and Pa by name like a kind, old teacher and smiled warmly to Marcus. Lucas had stayed in the car to avoid attention; three people in the shop were enough to make it seem crowded.

  “So, what can I do for you gentlemen?” She asked, gazing to each of them.

  “We were looking for some addresses,” Pa said and stepped forward to pass over the piece of paper. Matt watched as the woman’s face went from helpful expectancy to something like shock. A hand came up to her jaw and Matt saw her fingers were trembling.

  “Oh my,” she said at last. Her eyes closed and Matt wondered if she was going to faint; Pa must have thought the same as he edged closer, ready to catch her. Instead, she opened her eyes and colour came flooding back into her cheeks. After carefully folding the paper and slipping it into her shirt pocket, she looked directly at Matt.

  “I knew something as soon as I saw you, Matthew,” she said, her voice soft but strong. No-one called Matt by his full name except his ma and that was only ever when he was in trouble. Yet somehow, he didn’t mind this time.

  “You must be her husband,” she said and shifted her gaze to Pa. Her eyes were gentle with condolence and kindness. Pa nodded and she reached over to pat his hand.

  “I think I’ve been waiting a very long time for this,” she said and looked to Marcus. “Those shows were some of the happiest moments of my life. I think about them a lot, you know and wonder if it wasn’t just everyone being together, a community, pulling in the same direction that made me happy. Not like this...”she waved her hand out towards the street, “…this horror.”

  “Em was the girl who kept all the wheels running,” Marcus said and Matt smiled as she blushed. “She kept everyone in their place and on their toes. The Gent always said that if she missed just one day, the whole show, the whole town, would collapse like a deck of cards.”

  “I always dreamed of being on the stage but I never had the nerve for it,” she said, her cheeks blooming. “I always had trouble with the attention. I was understudy to your ma and my goodness…she was like grace itself.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say,” Pa said and Matt noticed he was blushing a little too. Each time anyone said a kind word about her, he turned red, as if her private shyness-which she always kept hidden from everyone but the two of them-was running through him.

  “Will you get in trouble?” He went on. “If there’s any chance-”

  “Consequences be damned,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ll bring them to you in an hour. Marcus, I’ll come in for a coffee.” She offered Matt a wink that came straight from his ma’s eyes and like that, the deal was done.

  Sure enough, Mrs. Slurpslacker arrived exactly one hour after they spoke, ordering a coffee and handing over the note with her money. She spoke to Marcus about nothing in particular and played her role to perfection, briefly nodding to Matt and Pa but nothing else. It was only the sight of Lucas that threw her and even then she recovered in a moment to offer up a short ‘good morning’ before stepping out of the shop. Even though Matt did not see the clown or his henchmen, there was something in the air of the town, a sense of invasion, of being watched, that hung in the air. As Matt and Pa sat, Marcus ran his eyes over the list carefully ticking and crossing off the names. After that, he brought over their bill.

  “There are three for you, all out of town but less than an hour’s drive. The other ones will be for Lucas and me. We’ll set off after lunch and meet back here tomorrow, around the same time, oka
y?” Marcus glanced up from the booth to the street and for a moment, Matt fought the urge not to follow his nervous glance.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow then,” Pa said and both of them slipped out of the booth, Matt scooping the list up along with the receipt as they stood.

  *

  As they drove, Matt wondered if the other people on the list were better suited to being visited by old friends and not strangers, like him and Pa. The three people on their list, a Mr. Stopper, a Ms. Solstice and Mr. and Ms. Packer, all lived within an hour of each other, almost in a circle. As Marcus jotted down the names and passed them over, Matt had expected their skills in the circus to be listed by the side of their names. They weren’t and again, somehow that made sense, to not know about the people but instead find out about them, face to face.

  Mr. Stopper lived in a remote house a fair few miles from the town limits, stuck in the no-man’s land between Moon Dip Falls and the next town. Pa parked at a respectful distance and walked the last little way. As they got closer, Matt could see the old man on his porch, sipping a drink and looking directly at them. Pa raised a hand and the old man raised it back, like a mirror, which Matt took to be a good sign.

  “What can I do for you folks?” He asked, rising up from his chair. “If you’re selling something, I’m afraid you’ve stopped by the wrong property. There’s nothing in here but me and the dust.” Matt grinned and the old man nodded back.

  “Are you Mr. Stopper?” Pa asked. “We’re not here to try and sell you anything, I promise you that.” They drew up at the threshold and then waited for what the man did next. The half-smile died and he folded his arms as he walked over to the top of the steps.

  “That may be, sir, but I don’t let anyone in my home without knowing their business. Too many strangers in the world and not enough friends for an old man like me.” He nodded to Pa and his grey eyes were as hard as granite. Matt got the idea that not too many people got invited into Mr. Stopper’s house. Even though he was as old as Marcus, everything about him looked coiled and ready to move; the only thing that betrayed him was slowness to his movements.