“You didn’t kill Priya either. It wasn’t your fault. It was your mother, your mother and the circus. All you did wrong was care. You saw the truth behind the lies.”
It was even harder for him than me, I think. The way he saw Priya at the end, what they did to her, it was unthinkable, unimaginable.
And now her children are here, and they’re looking at me and they want to know why their mum hasn’t come home.
Ben’s spoken about them a lot, although he’s never met them. He made a promise to himself, when Priya died, that he’d find them. He told me what Priya used to say about them, how her face used to light up when she spoke about them. He said he wanted to tell them that. He feels responsible for them. He feels he owes them.
And now he’s not here, because he’s given himself up for me, but they are and they’re asking me to tell them where she is and I know that I have to tell them the truth.
Greta and Jack’s faces both look grave and pensive, like mine must be. It’s not their place to do this though. It’s mine: mine alone. I have to do it for Ben.
I take a deep breath. “I’ve heard so much about you,” I say, my voice shaking, just a little. “And there are some things I need to tell you. Let’s go for walk, shall we, just the three of us?”
And so we do.
I step out of the shack and we walk down the narrow path and sit on a grassy little mound on the outskirts of the slums and I tell them about their mother. Not the whole truth, not the awful, ghastly way they treated her afterwards but the truth they need to hear. The truth that makes their faces crumple, that makes them cling to each other, cling to me. The truth that makes us all weep. The truth that their mother’s never coming back. The truth that she’s dead.
BEN
Silvio remains seated at the table while the guards chaperone me, along with Leah and the others, out of the barn, driving us like cattle across the field, through the gate, past dozens of rides and strange buildings towards a huge clown’s face, perched on the top of one of the little hills.
As we get closer, I realize it’s a building. The red-and-white flashing domed roof I saw in the distance when I first arrived is the clown’s pointed hat. His huge face is the front facade, painted and moulded into a grinning painted face. There’s a shiny red nose jutting out, and masses of curly red hair, ruffled by the wind, billowing out of the sides. The doorway is cut into the huge white teeth.
As soon as we step on to the little red path that leads up to it, the hurdy-gurdy Cirque music starts up.
I look at the wide, smiling face.
I wish Hoshi was here.
I mean, I don’t. Of course, I don’t wish she was here. I hope she’s a million miles away by now. I hope she’s free.
But I wish she was here just for one second, that’s all. I think if I could see her right now, I could be brave again. She always made me braver. Being with her made me want to be a good person. She made me better. If I could just see her, hold her, just for a moment, I could draw some strength from her. It’s harder to be brave when I don’t know where she is, when I don’t know what she’s doing, don’t know if she’s safe.
What would she say if she knew I’d just eaten with Silvio Sabatini while her friends slurped food from a cattle trough? Would she understand why I did it? Would she understand that I couldn’t fight? That I had nothing to fight with? That he had hurt someone, that he was going to keep on hurting him unless I did what he wanted? Would she have done the same, in my shoes? Or would she have been stronger than me? Would she have resisted? If she could see me now, would she look at me like Sean did, with that same accusing glare?
After a moment or two, there’s a mechanical whirring sound that’s already becoming familiar, and Silvio appears on his golf buggy.
He switches it off before stepping down delicately. “Wait outside,” he orders the guards, pushing a button on his watch. The clown’s mouth opens wider, and he pushes us towards it, prodding at us with his cane.
We step into the grinning jaws, swallowed one by one. I wonder if we’ll all make it out, or if some of us will be eaten alive.
HOSHIKO
After a long time, we stop crying, the three of us, and just sit there silently for a while.
“I knew she was dead anyway,” Nihal says. “She’d never have left us. Whatever they did to her, she’d have found a way back to us.”
“I don’t know if this makes any difference to you,” I say. “But Ben loved her too.”
“She wasn’t his mum though, was she?” Nila answers, fiercely. “She was our mum and now she’s gone.”
“That’s not fair,” Nihal admonishes his sister. “Mum loved Ben too,” he tells me. “She told us all about him, about how he was always kind and respectful to her. She said he had a good soul. She said he gave her hope that one day things will change.”
“We wanted to meet him,” says Nila. “Mum always said that maybe one day we’d be able to.”
“You will. He wants to meet you, too.” I smile, but inside I feel cold and frightened. Where is Ben? What’s he doing now?
“Do you think Mummy’s in heaven?” Nila asks me.
What am I meant to say to that? Should I tell her what I really think: that heaven is just a story we use to try and convince ourselves that there’s some meaning in this crappy existence we call life? That even if God does exist, he’s doing a pretty damn awful job of things? Isn’t it about time he got off his sorry backside and did something to sort out this malfunctioning world he’s responsible for creating, instead of sitting up there living the high life on some cloud or whatever it is he’s doing?
“Yes,” I answer, emphatically. “I think she is. And I think she’s very proud of you both.”
Nila gives me a sad little smile.
“I hope I get to see her again one day.”
“Of course you will,” I say with a certainty I don’t feel. And then I add something true, something I do believe. “She’s not really gone away, you know. She’s there all the time: she’s a part of you. Close your eyes. Feel your heartbeat.”
I show them how. I can feel Amina there, deep inside me where she always is. I can feel her love, feel her goodness. I can’t feel Ben. That’s good. That means he’s alive.
“When we were in the Cirque we used to light candles to remember people,” I tell them, my voice wobbling. “We used to celebrate all the goodness they brought into the world. Maybe we could do that for your mum.”
“Where will we find a candle?”
“I don’t know. I’ll try and get one, if you like.”
“We’ll have to have a funeral,” Nihal says, gravely. “Uncle said we should have had one before. He and Auntie have been arguing about it. We could hear them at night, when they thought we were asleep. Uncle said we needed to say a proper goodbye. Auntie said it wasn’t right, because Mummy might still be alive somewhere, and having a funeral was like giving up hope.” She begins to sob again. “We have to tell her. Our auntie. What will we say?”
“I’ll come with you,” I say. “We’ll tell your aunt together.”
“Will you come to the funeral too? And light a candle, like you said?”
My first instinct is panic. I didn’t even know Priya. I don’t belong at her funeral. How can I grieve for her when I never even met her? It would be false.
Looking down at their little upturned faces though, I know I don’t have a choice. Of course I can grieve for her. The tears I’ve just shed weren’t for me, for my life: they were for her, for Priya and her beautiful children. I didn’t know her, but they loved her, and Ben loved her. She helped to make Ben good, sweet and kind and brave. She showed him the truth. I need to honour her, to remember who she was; for him, for them, for her.
“Yes. If the rest of your family are OK with it,” I say. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
BEN
The clown auditorium is big. Not as vast as the Arcadian one, but still larger than the main arena from the old Cirque
. Just like everything in this new version: more dramatic, more extravagant, more lavish. They must be expecting big crowds.
It’s not lit, but the colours stand out solid and bright, even in such poor light. It’s decorated in bold blocks of red, green, blue and yellow, like we’ve stepped inside a nursery school classroom.
“Go and get changed into your costumes, and tell Minnie I want full make-up!” Sabatini barks at the others, and they all head off up on to the stage and through the wings.
“I shall now explain your new role to you, Benedict. You ought to thank me, you know – there are so many other uses I could have made of you. I could have had you mucking out the animals, dealing with piles of stinking manure all day, or I could have got you involved in manual labour: chopping, building, sweeping. But I am a kind man and I wanted you to feel valued, to feel you that you were making a really important contribution. Even if you cannot be onstage, I have ensured that you will still play a key part in this, one of our biggest and newest acts!”
He leads me to the back of the room, into a little square booth with glass walls overlooking the whole theatre. It’s lined with plastic panels, full of levers and buttons and, in the middle, there’s a large black object. It looks a bit like a piano; it’s a similar size to one, and there’s a stool there for someone to sit at. It doesn’t have keys though; instead, the top of it is plastic, inlaid with large blue buttons, labelled alphabetically: A, B, C, all the way up to N. I reach a tentative hand forward to the nearest one.
Silvio pushes himself between me and the machine. “Now, now, Benedict, all in good time! Once your co-workers return, all will become clear. All you have to do is sit back, enjoy the show and press one of the buttons every now and again.” He hands me a booklet. “There is even a script here for you to use until you get the hang of things. Just follow the prompts: press button A at the appropriate time in the script, follow along again, press button B when instructed to, and so on and so forth.”
I look down at the script in my hand, then look at the machine.
A knot of fear twists inside my stomach.
“What do the buttons do?” I ask, nervously.
“You will see, Benedict, you will see.”
One by one, the others appear: dark figures on the stage. Silvio presses a button on one of the side panels and they are instantly illuminated. Staring up at us nervously is a group of colourful clowns.
I look down at them, taking in the changes.
There’s a court jester, complete with his funny hat and juggling balls.
There’s Pierrot, looking a little like Silvio himself with his white costume and painted white face, except for the black skullcap on his head, the little black tears painted on his cheeks and a sad mouth sloping downward.
There’s Harlequin in his bright patterned suit.
In the middle is the circus clown from all the posters, the one whose face is painted on the gates, the one we all see when we think of clowns. His face is white, with thick eyebrows painted on and a big artificial red nose and a crazy curled red wig. His shiny shoes are huge, like boats, and he’s dressed in bright yellow pantaloons of puffed-out silk, with a red jacket and blue waistcoat and a tie full of different brightly coloured spots. Despite the costume, I can see that it’s Sean. His scowl gives it away, evident even beneath that huge red painted-on smile.
He’s up and about. Relief floods through me and, for the first time today, my jaw unclenches a little.
Leah is wearing a floral dress, pulled in tightly at the waist, its skirt stretched wide over a hoop beneath so that she looks like a character from the top of a cake. She’s got a wig on: blonde plaits, looping up and then straight out at the sides of her head. The make-up she wears, the huge extravagant painted-on eyelashes and round pink spots on her cheeks, makes her look permanently shocked.
The artificial smiles don’t do their jobs very well. The last thing this group of people look is jolly. Even from way up here, I can see the fear on their faces.
Silvio’s face, on the other hand, is full of malicious excitement. His eyes keep flicking between me, them and the machine with its large blue buttons.
A dozen memories flash into my mind.
Hoshiko, balancing way up high with no safety net. The lions. The twins in the shark tank. Poor Anatol, blasted from a cannon and left to die. Priya.
Panic wells up in my chest.
“I’d like to clean the animals out instead,” I blurt out. “Or I could help with the labour, like you said. I’ll work really hard. I’ll dig, I’ll build. I’ll do whatever you want. I’m strong; you won’t be disappointed.”
Sabatini laughs. “Dear Benedict, you really are too kind! No, this will be the perfect role for someone with your background.” When he turns to face me, the smile drops from his face and the cold hatred in his eyes makes me shiver. “Until I get the chance to finish you off properly, I’ll make the most of having you here,” he whispers. “You are my pawn, Benedict. I will use you to inflict as much suffering on these Dreg buffoons as I can.”
He claps his hands together. “Music!” A boy I hadn’t noticed before is sitting down at an organ in the corner of the theatre and he begins to play the trademark Cirque tune, its notes filling the air.
“Right.” Silvio’s sadistic smile is fixed back on his face. “Let the rehearsal begin!”
HOSHIKO
Nila and Nihal lead me through the winding pathways of the slums to their little shack. A woman outside breaks into a run when she sees us.
“Where have you been?” she cries, grabbing hold of them both tightly. “I’ve been worried sick!”
“Mum’s dead,” says Nila bluntly. “She told us.”
The woman slumps down to the ground.
“My sister!” she cries. “My baby sister!”
I don’t know what to do.
A man comes out of the shack and leans over her.
“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get you inside.”
She looks up at me. “How?” she asks. “How?”
“They punished her,” I say. “For consorting with a Pure.”
She nods, as if I’m confirming what she already thought. “Is it definite? Did he see it?”
I can’t say what Ben really saw.
“He saw her afterwards,” I say. “He said she looked peaceful.”
The woman wails, a terrible, heart-wrenching sound. She grabs hold of Nila and Nihal and they clutch on to her and begin to cry again. The man puts his arms around all of them. He looks at me over their heads and smiles. It’s a sad smile, but there’s no blame there.
“Thank you,” he says. “It’s been torture not knowing.”
I nod my head and then I turn and walk slowly away.
“Hoshiko, where are you going?” Nila calls, panic in her voice.
“I’ll come back,” I say. “I promise.”
And I give them a tiny wave, leaving them there in their huddle of pain. I need to leave this shattered family to mourn.
BEN
“Assume your positions!” Silvio barks, and the clowns all disperse to the sides of the stage. He pushes me on to the little stool, holding me down, his hands pinching into my shoulders. I shrug his hands off, but I can still feel his touch – like I’ll never get rid of it, even if I get the chance to have a proper wash again one day.
“Go on then!” he says to me, impatiently. “I told you: it’s easy, just follow the script.”
I look down at the leaves of white paper in my hand.
It is a beautiful sunny day, the first page reads, and then, in brackets, there’s the letter A.
Silvio nudges me hard in the back with his cane.
I look around at him. His thumb is hovering over the torturous little button on top. I take a deep breath, lean forward and tentatively push button A.
A backdrop of patchwork fields descends, seemingly stretching off into the distance. On the floor of the stage, yellow ears of corn spring up from nowhere, swaying
softly in a gentle breeze. The hum of electricity has been replaced by the sound of birds singing in the distant trees and, if you concentrate really hard, you can hear the distant engines of farm machinery at work. The air itself seems to have changed: when I breathe in, the gentle air of spring fills my lungs and I inhale the sweet smell of flowers and freshly mown grass. Above, little fluffy clouds slowly drift across a cornflower-blue sky and the golden hue of sunlight gently drapes over everything.
My senses are beguiled. The effect is so real that, for a moment or two, I forget why we’re here. It’s like a spell has been cast on me.
It’s broken by a sudden movement from the side of the field. Sean, the jolly clown boy, the one who hates me, appears, pedalling on to the stage and trundling down a little winding path in an open-top yellow-and-red bumper car – like an old-fashioned toy car a child might have, but bigger. It’s still way too small for him, though, and he’s hunched up inside it, his legs looking ridiculous and his oversized shoes hanging over the edge as he pedals furiously.
Leah appears next, skipping merrily across the field, gathering the flowers which have suddenly sprouted out of nowhere. When the clown sees her, he squeezes his nose and there’s a loud noise: a honk-honk sound. He’s so busy staring at her that he pedals his car straight into a tree which has sprung up in his path.
Bang! Crash! The sound of drums signifies the car crashing and it recoils inwardly, springing into a zig-zag shape.
I feel Silvio’s cane jabbing me on my shoulder again. “Look at your script!” he hisses.
I glance down. Augustine sees Columbina, it reads, and is so overcome by her beauty that he crashes into a tree: (B.)
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Sabatini snarls and reaches over me to press the button. Billowing smoke immediately wafts up from the car, which starts flashing and making loud alarm sounds.
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