The big man sneered as the applause reached his ears in the deep shadows outside the tent. “Rubes,” he muttered.
His partner, an even bigger man, nodded his assent. “Artsy wusses wouldn’t know a real camy if it jumped up and bit ’em in the butt.” “Maybe,” the first man said with a wicked grin, “but it didn’t look like it hurt the take.”
“Naw,” the bigger man agreed. “C’mon. Let’s go hit the box office.” “Whoa, whoa, stick to the plan,” said the first man. He laid a hand on his partner’s massive arm, his fingers sinking into folds of flesh. “It’d be too noisy now. Wait until the show’s over and the rubes clear out. That’s when we’ll make our move.”
The bigger man considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Guess we gotta be careful. Play this right, and we got us a chance to trash this farce and make a profit all at the same time.”
The two exchanged a conspiratorial glance.
“I’ll tell ya, Gunther,” said the bigger man, “it don’t get better’n this.” "
The applause died down as the synthesized music began to swell once again. A spotlight shone up into the darkness to illuminate the lone flg-ure of a young woman standing upright on a trapeze, forty feet above the ground. Her long, blonde hair was pulled tight into a ponytail. It struck a contrast to her pale skin and royal blue leotard.
The awe in Kurt’s eyes was slowly replaced by surprise. “Johanna?” he murmured.
The audience gasped as the attractive young acrobat suddenly fell backward, only to catch hold of the trapeze by her ankles at the last possible moment. The perfectly timed move not only gave the much-relieved audience a thrill, but also provided the momentum that she now used to guide the trapeze through an increasingly wider arc.
“It looks like her style, but,” Kurt said in a soft undertone, “it can’t be.”
“Did you say something?” asked Kitty, trying to hear over the music.
As the trapeze reached the apex of its arc, the aerialist suddenly released her feet from the trapeze bar. She soared upward, tumbling over and over until she fell to meet the trapeze on its return. The audience burst into cheers as she effortlessly grabbed onto the bar with both hands, then swung her legs up over it as well.
“It is!” Kurt shouted with glee. Before Kitty could react, her teammate disappeared with a BAMF! She recoiled from the cloud of sul-furous smoke that always followed in Nightcrawler’s wake when he teleported.
Before the cloud had the chance to clear, there was a second BAMF! as a demonic, blue figure in a red-and-white costume suddenly appeared above the ring. The audience oohed and ahhed, assuming it was part of the show. But as Kitty coughed the smoke out of her lungs and wiped the tears from her eyes, all she could manage to say was, “Oh, no . .
Nightcrawler grabbed one of the guy wires that held up the poles supporting the tent. He spun around the wire and hurtled through space toward his unsuspecting partner in the makeshift aerial act.
To say that she was startled would be an understatement. With only split seconds to react, she gaped at the grinning figure that soared headlong toward her. In shock, she mouthed a single word:
“Kurt. . . ?”
“Fancy meeting you here, liebchen,” he replied with a grin as he grabbed her outstretched hands.
Johanna recovered quickly. She swung Kurt up toward the trapeze, which he grabbed tightly with his tail. With liquid grace, Johanna released her legs and allowed the two of them to swing free, supported only by the grip of the mutant’s tail.
Kitty started paging madly through her program in search of the aerial-ist’s bio, hoping it might give a clue as to Kurt’s strange behavior. Or at least her next of kin, so I can call when Kurt kills them both, she added to herself.
Slowly, though, Kitty noticed the silence that enveloped her. She looked up from the program to find the crowd transfixed. Even the music had stopped.
When she turned her attention upward, she understood why. Kurt and Johanna had found their rhythm now, and the result was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was less an act than an aerial ballet, unfolding dozens of feet above the ground. The pair glided and leaped, tumbled and twirled in perfect harmony. The enthralled audience sat motionless and stared.
After what seemed like forever, the performers touched gracefully down on the ground. For a long moment, the silence continued. Then, all at once, it was replaced by a clamor of cheers and applause as the audience leaped to its feet. The triumphant duo bowed once, then a second time and a third before exiting hand-in-hand from the tent.
The audience continued the ovation long after Kurt and Johanna had left—all but one member of the audience, that is. When she saw Kurt leaving the tent without her, Kitty set her jaw determinedly. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said under her breath.
Kitty glanced around to make sure no one was watching her. No one was; in fact, everyone was cheering so hard that she could have set off a bomb without being noticed. The teenage mutant phased her body to intangibility and sank down through the grandstand. Walking through the network of metal supports, she made her way toward the performers’ exit, slipped through the fabric of the tent wall, and found herself outdoors in the backstage area, surrounded by colorful tents and trailers. She squinted into the darkness for signs of Kurt and Johanna, and let out an exasperated breath.
“Now where did they go . . . ?” she mused.
* * *
“I’m bored,” said the bigger man as he and his partner sat on the ground, hidden by a large trailer.
“Patience, Fred,” his partner replied. He looked up past the circus lights at the starry sky above them. ‘‘It’s nice out. Besides, the show can’t last more than another half hour or so. Why don’t you go get something to eat?”
“Around her el Ya can’t even get a decent box of popcorn at this two-bit dump.”
“What, you’re not in the mood for a nice cappuccino?”
“Funny guy.” With a grunt, the bigger man raised his massive bulk from the ground, stood up, and stretched. “Listen, you can play in the dirt if you want. Me, I’m tired o’ waitin’. I’m hittin’ that box office now.”
“But the plan . .
“Forget the plan. Who cares if the rubes are here? I mean, look at us! Who’s gonna stop us?”
His partner frowned. But he didn’t argue.
The bigger man cracked his knuckles loudly. “I’m doin’ it. You with me?”
His partner sighed and shook his head resignedly.
“Sure,” he said with a shrug.
Johanna’s trailer was small, but nice by the standards of the Cirque. She sat on the bed with legs crossed, leaning forward with an eager smile. Kurt sat—or more precisely, perched—in the chair opposite her. He sat in a comfortable crouch, his feet resting on the seat of the chair, as the two of them caught up.
“Ja, ja, und wie geht’s mit Jemaine und Stefan?”
“Du weisst Jemaine—wie immer. Sie wohnt jetzt in New York. Aber Stefan, ach—”
Before Kurt could finish the thought, the door burst open. “You!” shouted a slender young man in a stylish, tailored suit and high-collared shirt.
Kurt started to straighten in his chair. “Mein herr, I must apologize—” he began.
It was already too late, however. “Claude, no!” shouted Johanna.
Claude lunged at Nightcrawler, but the young man was no match
for the mutant. With lightning-fast reflexes honed by long hours of practice, Nightcrawler simply flipped up and out of the way, allowing Claude to crash headlong into the chair. Kurt’s feet adhered to the ceiling, even as Claude landed in a heap on the floor.
“Diable! ” Claude hissed through clenched teeth. He jerked to his feet, ready for a second try. Johanna jumped in front of him and pointed a finger sternly.
“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.
“Me?!” he shouted incredulously. “No one disrupts my show— my art!”
“Will you sto
p acting like a child, and start thinking like a creative director?” she replied. “Did you see the audience? They loved Kurt’s performance!”
“But he—”
“You are behaving irrationally. Do you even realize what you are doing? You are trying to fight a man who is standing on the ceiling!” “The . . . ceiling?” Claude’s eyes cleared as he began to cool down. For the first time, he took a good look at his quarry. Nightcrawler remained in his upside-down crouch, making no move to attack, but with his tail swaying back and forth cautiously as he watched his opponent.
“Yeah, the ceiling ” came a new voice. “And he’ll stay there if he knows what’s good for him.” In all the confusion, no one had noticed the teenager who stood at the door of the trailer. Yet, there she was. If her icy tone wasn’t enough, the hands on her hips and daggers in her eyes showed beyond a doubt that this young woman was not happy. “What’s the big idea of ditching me?”
“Kitty!” Kurt exclaimed, as he flipped over to land on the floor. He looked back and forth between Kitty and Claude. “I am afraid that I owe both of you an apology. I was so excited when I saw Johanna that I fear I could not contain myself.. .”
Kitty eyed Kurt skeptically, but Claude looked thoughtful as be ran a hand through his carefully moussed hair. “The audience did react well, didn’t they?” he mused. “Still, a few lighting cues could have enhanced the sense of drama ..
Suddenly, Claude looked as though he’d been struck by a thunderbolt. “The audience!” he exclaimed. “I must get back to the show!” He quickly straightened his clothes and hurried past Kitty to the door.
Almost as an afterthought, he turned back toward Kurt before making his exit. “Perhaps later, you and I can speak about a more permanent position.” Then he was gone.
Johanna threw her arms around Kurt in an excited hug. “Kurt! Did you hear? ‘A more permanent position!’ ”
“Shyeah, right,” Kitty snorted with a smirk, “Like you’d really give up . .. um, everything to join up with a circus again. Right, Kurt?”
It took a minute for Kitty to realize that he hadn’t answered. Her expression softened and she looked less confident. “Uh, Kurt. .. ?” she ventured.
The blue-furred hero looked away.
Paolo sat in the small, red trailer, a look of intense concentration on his face. The child of industrious immigrant parents, Paolo had come to the United States when he was six years old. His mami and papi had worked long hours to make sure that he was the first member of his family to finish high school and go to college. When he graduated with a degree in accounting, he thought they would burst with pride.
Of course, his folks were so wrapped up in their own dreams that they hadn’t ever stopped to consider his own. Two months at a major accounting firm in New York merely confirmed what he had always known: the button-down world of accounting wasn’t for him. When he came home one night and announced that he was quitting the firm to join the circus, Paolo’s family didn’t know whether to faint or burst out laughing. After all, Paolo was small, bookish, and slight of build—not exactly the type they could picture taming lions or defying death night after night.
What Paolo’s parents hadn’t considered, though, was the fact that circuses need accountants, too. As chief bookkeeper for the Cirque, Paolo was the one who made sure that everyone got paid on time and the show stayed in the black. Even better, as manager of the box office, his face was the first one that customers saw as they arrived. The job didn’t pay as well as the one he’d left behind, but all in all, he was a whole lot happier.
Paolo was in the midst of reconciling the evening’s receipts when he was startled by a pounding on the box office door. It figured. No matter how many times he made it clear that he was not to be disturbed when he was working, there was invariably some performer or roustabout who’d blown a paycheck on booze or cards and wanted “just one little advance” on the next one. Didn’t they realize that every night’s receipts represented literally thousands of dollars? He was doing important work. With an annoyed grunt, Paolo ignored the door and went back to work.
Still, Paolo’s visitor was not so easily discouraged. The pounding started again, louder this time. “No advances! Go away!” Paolo snapped.
That should be the end of it, he thought.
But he was wrong.
Paolo jumped at the sound of screeching metal and crunching fiberglass as the heavy box office door was suddenly ripped off its hinges. Through the doorway, he caught a glimpse of the largest man he had ever seen in his life. The man staggered backwards, then regained his balance, as though he had tom off the reinforced door simply by pulling on it with all his weight. As the huge man casually tossed the door away, the one thought that flashed through Paolo’s panicked mind was that, at least, the man looked too large to fit through the entrance.
That was when his partner entered instead.
Dressed in red tights and orange trunks and boots, the partner was smaller than the man outside. Still, “smaller” was only a relative term. More than six feet tall, the ruggedly handsome man entered the trailer with a knowing smile. “Sorry, we can’t just go away,” he said. “Not without the money.”
Frantically, Paolo groped beneath the ticket counter and pulled out the shotgun that the tellers kept there for protection. Fumbling, he managed to cock the gun and pointed it at the intruder with trembling hands.
The thief seemed undisturbed by the weapon. “That would be a mistake,” he said.
Paolo would never be sure whether he had meant to shoot. Either way, the trailer filled with sound as the gun went off—aimed point-blank at the intruder’s chest.
To Paolo’s surprise, however, the intruder was not even fazed by the blast. And to his even greater surprise, Paolo was knocked off his feet in a burst of searing pain ... as some of the buckshot ricocheted and burrowed deep into his own shoulder!
“Toldja,” the man said with a wicked smirk.
As Paolo writhed on the floor, he watched the tall man gather up the money and pass it to the bigger man outside before heading out himself. The last thing Paolo heard before he passed out was the words of the bigger man as the pair walked away:
“Now for the fun part.”
“You’re . .. you’re really thinking about this, aren’t you?” The comers of Kitty’s mouth turned down, and she looked sadly over at her friend. Kurt hadn’t said much as they wandered alongside the river through the darkened backlot. Then again, Kitty hadn’t asked too many questions, either. But she had a good reason: She was afraid to hear the answer.
Kurt looked down at his cloven feet and breathed heavily. “I do not know,” he said softly.
“Who is this Johanna, anyway? Old girlfriend?”
Kurt stopped in midstep. He turned toward Kitty and nearly smiled despite himself as he shook his head. “Girlfriend? No, no, no. Johanna and I were a team, but only professionally. Remember, even in my years with der Jahrmakt, I was still very much in love with Amanda— or Jemaine, as she called herself back then.”
His yellowish eyes grew wistful with memory. “Johanna was always wonderfully gifted,” he continued. “She came from the city, from a very proper Bavarian family”—he puffed himself up to illustrate his point—“one that would never even consider tolerating the shame of a child in the circus. So one day, Johanna ran away. She joined our little show, and suddenly, my solo act became a duo. We were—and I say this with no fear of modesty—quite wonderful.”
“How long were you together?” Kitty asked.
“A year, perhaps two,” Kurt replied. “One night, a man in an expensive suit came to one of our performances. He offered Johanna a featured slot in the big circus in Munich.”
“Just her? Not you, too?”
Kurt smiled bitterly. “It wasn’t a freak show.”
“Oh.”
The two grew silent at that, and they slowly resumed their stroll. It was a nice night, clear and warm. The stars overhead competed for dominance with the
brighter lights from across the river.
Kitty gazed across at the distant riverbank and considered Kurt’s words. Sometimes, it was hard for Kitty to remember that, much as her mutant powers set her apart from most people, she was still relatively lucky. Her powers did not come with the price of any physical abnormalities. She did not have to hide herself behind ruby quartz glasses or an image inducer. Kurt liked to put up a charming front, but Kitty couldn’t even imagine the loneliness that lurked beneath it.
She didn’t want to ask the question, but she had to. “You’d leave the X-Men?”
Kurt looked at her with a troubled expression. “I do not know,” he said again. “The X-Men do such important work, and you all have become so important to me. You are more than my friends. You are my family.”
He stooped down to pick up a stone and skipped it across the river. It bounced once, twice, three times, then sank into the dark water. “Yet, I had another family before the X-Men. Equally colorful, equally . . . strange,” Kurt continued. “This is my chance to rejoin that family. How often does such an opportunity arise? How do I choose between my families?”
Kitty said nothing. She stared at the flowing water and thought about the sight of her friend soaring high above the crowds. She’d witnessed his prowess dozens of times in training and in the heat of battle, but it had never been like this. There was something transcendent in his style tonight, something glorious. Something—public.
Maybe that was it. For someone like Kurt, forced to hide for so much of his life, the joy of taking center stage must be beyond words. In the circus, Kurt could show off his God-given talents without fear, because the audience would simply assume he was wearing a costume.
As long as the world feared mutants, though, the X-Men would always be forced to stage their own “performances” in secret. The bulk of their work took place away from eyes of the public. Even when the X-Men saved the world, the world rarely saw them do it. And no one was applauding.
Kitty recalled the rapture on Kurt’s face as he had sat beside her and watched the show. She remembered his sheer delight as he joined the show himself.
Legends Page 11