by Ever Dundas
He laughs and I laugh and I spill my tea I’m shaking so much.
‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ he says.
‘I’m old.’
‘We’re both old.’
‘We are.’
‘Did the rioters join you?’
‘They did,’ I say. ‘They danced too.’
‘Of course they did.’
‘What…’ I say, trailing off and looking down at my tea and back at him again, ‘What have you, I mean, all these years, what have you done with yourself?’
‘This and that,’ he says.
‘Me too. This and that.’
We both smile.
‘Is that your wife?’
I gesture to a photograph on the mantle.
‘We were never married.’
‘No?’
‘Together for forty-one years, though.’
I nod.
‘It’s strange being on your own after that,’ he says. ‘Almost ten years now and it’s still strange. What brings you here?’
‘The police. Dead animals.’
‘That right?’
‘You know me,’ I say, smiling.
‘Repeating patterns.’
‘It can’t go as badly as last time,’ I say. ‘The dead are already dead.’
I stare at his hand clasped around his mug and I look at the faded scales and half-smile before I notice what’s missing and I’m sure I’ll be sick. I put my mug down clumsily, spilling, shaking with grief. Grief for skin.
‘G? What is it?’
I find myself at his feet, kneeling, taking his mug away and holding his hands in mine, inspecting. I weep, his old scaled hands wet with my tears.
‘G, it’s okay. It was a long time ago, after the circus.’
Finally crying and it’s for missing skin. He wraps me in a blanket, like I’m some old lady, frail and pathetic. I wake up on the couch. I squint into the gloaming, unsure where I am. I open the curtains and I look round the room, taking in the strange objects illuminated by the orange light from the street. I find my way to his room and I climb in beside him. I put my arm around him and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing, the sound of his heart. In the morning I run my fingers over his scales and his wrinkles. We fuck away our loneliness; there is only us. The world disappears.
*
I tell him over breakfast that I don’t mind. ‘It was just a shock. I’d imagined all kinds of ways in which you’d changed but I never thought that.’
‘It was practical. After the circus I retrained in joinery and the webbing was an annoyance. It got in the way.’
‘It wasn’t even that,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t really about that.’
‘Tell me then, tell me why you’re here.’
‘I’m a witness. They’re dragging me all the way back to 1939. How am I supposed to remember that long ago? But I do. I’ve been holed up in my hotel, writing it all out.’
‘What do you remember?’
‘Cinema tickets. Devil. Scrumping with Mac and Stevie.’
‘You can stay here, you know. You can stay here as long as you need.’
‘I have a hotel.’
‘We’ll go today and pick up your things. You’re staying.’
‘It’s not just me. There’s Red Queen, a ginger cat I found. I shouldn’t have left her alone all night.’
‘You can stay. You and your strays. You can all stay.’
*
We go to the hotel to get my things, to get Red Queen, and there’s Ben, Sam and Mahler at reception. Mahler runs to me and I kneel, letting him slobber all over me as I breathe in his smell and ruffle his ears. Sam joins in and there I am, bowled over on the hotel floor.
‘Yer hard to pin down, old lady.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wis worried about ye,’ Ben says, eyeing Tim. ‘But maybe I didnae need to.’
‘It’s good to see you,’ I say, extricating myself from the dogs.
I hug Ben, holding him tight, then introduce him to Tim. Ben, Tim and the dogs sit together and I watch them from the reception desk, trying to hear what they’re discussing.
There’s a message for me from Detective Curtis asking me to call back. I go up to my room, feed Red Queen, and I call him. He tells me they’ve found human remains amongst the pet bones.
‘I want you to tell me your story, Goblin.’
‘Mac told you.’
‘I need to hear what you have to say.’
‘I don’t have anything to say,’ I say, petting Red Queen.
‘Goblin, I know it’s a shock. You take some time, okay? But I’ll be in touch. We’ll need to talk this through eventually.’
I give him Tim’s number and when I hang up, the phone rings.
‘Detective?’
‘You lied to me.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You said you had nothing to hide.’
‘Who is this?’
‘They found human remains in the pet pit. It was murder. Was it you? Did you kill someone?’
I say nothing.
‘I know your real name.’
I sigh, realising who it is.
‘It’s not real,’ I say to Linda. ‘I’m Goblin through and through.’
I hang up.
*
We all pile into the kitchen and I feed the dogs and Red Queen as Tim makes tea. Red Queen is first to finish her food and goes over to sniff Mahler and Sam. I watch her, ready to snatch her up if it looks like a fight will break out, but they just sniff her too before going back to their food.
‘I hope ye dinnae mind, old lady. I know ye said ye wanted Mahler to be safe, but the riots are over and he wis missing ye like crazy.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m glad you’re all here,’ I say. ‘I really am. No tea for me,’ I say to Tim before turning back to Ben. ‘I’m sorry, Ben, but I’m tired. We’ll catch up later, okay?’
‘That’s alright. Get some rest.’
I scoop up Red Queen in one hand, dragging my bag in the other, and retreat to Tim’s room. Mahler follows me through. I get into bed, pull the covers over me, trying to block out Detective Curtis, Linda Cartwright, the discovery of the ‘remains’. Red Queen pads around on me, turning in circles until she’s comfy and settles. Mahler jumps up, sniffs at Red Queen who ignores him, then settles down next to me, his head on the pillow. We sleep away the morning and when I get up I pull my typewriter out of my bag, setting it up on Tim’s desk.
Belgium, West Germany, Poland, 1966 – 1967
Despite the piss and shit, I enjoyed spending time with the animals. I hadn’t helped much with the camels before, so there were many times I ended up pushed, kicked and spat at before I got to know them. There were five of them, all named after Colin’s ex-girlfriends; Veronique, Julia, Mary, Betsy and Lou. Veronique was the most friendly, Julia had a habit of spitting at people. Mary, Betsy and Lou liked some attention but were mostly only interested in people for food. I loved the feel of them, the smell of them. I felt safe. When I returned to clowning and Freaks and Wonders I continued to visit the camels every evening when my work was done. I’d sit by candlelight and read them stories as they huffed and snored. One night I fell asleep with them, curled up next to Veronique and I got hell from Fish Boy who thought I was off sleeping with someone else. We’d been drifting apart for months and my absence from Freaks and Wonders made that drifting easier. The stupid argument over my night’s absence finished us, even though he believed me, even though I smelled of camel. I ended it and things were strained between us, but eventually we were back to meeting some evenings with Angelina and Matt when I wasn’t with the camels.
While I was mucking out the animals I’d take a break and watch Milly practice with the big cats. I was in awe of the care she took, the endless patience. She loved them, that was clear. During one of her training sessions one of them scratched her. I say scratched like it was a kitten, just a regular cat. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do, but I s
tood to intervene. She held her hand up: stop. Three handlers stood round her, but didn’t approach. They waited as she spoke to the tiger in whispers, stroking its head. It had its paws around her, holding her close. It licked her face. She whispered and it set her loose, padding off to its chair.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Don’t come near me during practice,’ she said. ‘Especially suddenly. They might think you’re trying to attack me.’
‘But it hurt you.’
‘It was play. This is nothing. I know them well and I know how to control them. Introduce an outlier and there could have been trouble. If you watch, you don’t move. You don’t come near us. I don’t want to lose you or one of the cats.’
‘But if one them attacks you? Really attacks?’
‘Then it’s my fault and I pay the price, and you don’t move.’
‘I don’t do anything? Are you serious?’
‘What do you think the handlers are for? And this gun?’
‘You’d shoot the cats?’
‘It’s just blanks to scare them. It shouldn’t happen, though, not if I’m doing my job properly. They know me, respect me. We have our own language.’
‘What happens if they really do attack someone? What happens to the cat?’
‘They’re euthanized.’
‘What do you mean “euthanized”? There’s nothing wrong with them.’
‘Put down, however you want to say it. They’re a danger.’
‘They can’t be rehomed?’
‘It’s too risky.’
‘What about a zoo? Surely—’
‘Is living out their days bored in a cage really any better than death?’
‘They already live in a cage.’
‘They have me, the ring and the performance. They’d rot in a zoo. I love these cats, Goblin. I’d do anything for them. What do you want? What are you after?’
‘I’m just not sure we should have animals performing.’
Milly rolled her eyes and turned away.
‘Are you kidding me? Jesus.’
‘I just think—’
She turned back to me and said, ‘Look, Goblin, they’ve only known the circus – they’re happy here.’
‘How do you know they’re happy?’
‘Because when they’re not happy they don’t play ball. I’ve known some rotten trainers who’ve beaten their animals to get them to perform and it always ends badly. They won’t do a thing if they don’t want to and I know when not to push it, I know when they’re sick or when they need a break.’
‘I just feel they should have more.’
‘More what?’
‘I don’t know… Freedom… Maybe their enclosures could be bigger.’
‘It’s not practical, not if we’re to be able to travel the way we do.’
‘I know.’
‘Look, Goblin, the animals here are well cared for. You know that. I agree, though, that the travelling can put too much stress on some of them. I don’t think we should have elephants but there’s no way James and Mad are going to lose their star attractions. It’d sink the circus.’
‘Don’t you think an all-human circus would work?’
‘No way, Goblin. We take away the animals and we take away the audience. It’s as simple as that. And I love my job. You want me to lose my job?’
‘No, I just… It’s just a thought.’
‘The animals would be put down or trapped in some zoo. You wouldn’t be doing them any favours. They’re better here with us.’
*
‘Time,’ I said to mum. ‘More time, for the animals to get out of their cages when we travel. More workers to look after them.’
‘No,’ said mum. ‘We can’t afford to. Things are tight, Goblin. We’re competing with TV and cinema. We can’t afford more time or workers, we’re stretched as it is. The animals are happy, G. It’s in our interest that they’re happy. Don’t worry, they’re well looked after.’
*
Read all about it – life in the circus. TV and cinema were taking over, but the circus still intrigued people. There’s always an audience who want to know more about the circus life. They want to know what’s behind the fantasy. They want to know about the people who perform such feats, who travel with elephants and tigers, who descend upon towns in a flurry of glitter and music, trumpeting and roars.
I used my initial ‘G’, and ‘Bradfield’, my new surname after Mad and James adopted me, and I pitched to UK newspapers. I had several rejections before a tabloid accepted my pitch, but they wanted sensational stories and more focus on the freaks. I talked to my Freaks and Wonders friends over a drink and they said, ‘Sure, G. If it gets more people in, write whatever you want.’ We sat for hours, laughing as we made up sensational stories of infidelity and freak fetishists. In the cold light of day I had to hold back on the outlandish tales as I didn’t want to get in trouble in my first journalist job for making up articles. I based the columns on real life experiences and framed them with rumour and hearsay: ‘It’s been said that the Lizard King killed the mob who murdered his wife…’
I gave the money from the weekly column to mum and dad for the animals. We hired more workers to help with the animals and we hired a full-time vet. As we travelled, we had an extra few minutes to check on them, to let some of them out of their cages. The circus started to make more money too – there was an increase in audience numbers as we toured, with fans clamouring for autographs from the freaks whose stories I’d told: ‘Is it true that—?’ ‘Did you really—?’
I wrote my columns, I sold my photographs; life in the circus – read all about it.
*
When my column came to an end I was approached by a broadsheet; they wanted a more serious one-off piece, so I wrote about the animals.
When it was published it was seen as a betrayal. I used a pseudonym and changed all the names of my circus colleagues, but they still saw it as a personal attack. I’d proposed that circuses only use domesticated animals, such as horses and dogs, and I called for stronger regulation on the trade of ‘exotic’ animals. I also wrote with admiration of trainers like Milly, and how they loved the animals and treated them well. I thought it was even-handed. I thought I’d argued my point about animals in the circus without demonising anyone, but mum and dad stopped speaking to me. When I tried to speak to them they’d pretend I wasn’t there until mum turned to me and said, ‘No more articles.’
Colin, Milly and the other animal trainers wouldn’t let me near the animals anymore. Some nights I’d sneak in to sleep with the camels but I slept in one morning and Colin discovered me. He changed the locks on their enclosure.
Angelina still talked to me, but wasn’t happy. ‘People don’t trust you anymore, G. Milly said you were asking awkward questions. There’s rumours you’re pressuring your mum and dad to get rid of the animals. No one wants to lose their job, G.’
Things were already difficult with the clown troupe; when I returned after the months spent with the animals they’d devised a whole new act that didn’t include me, and now they wouldn’t speak to me, except for Horatiu.
He came round to my caravan with a bottle of whisky one evening and we sat outside watching the sunset, drinking and talking like we were old friends.
‘The whole community treats me like a pariah, but not you,’ I said.
He shrugged and said, ‘Personally, I don’t give a shit about the animals. Travelling would be a lot easier without the dumb bastards. They draw all the attention. We’d make a fortune if we got rid of those spotlight whores.’
I laughed. ‘I like your perspective.’
I nursed my whisky for a moment then said, ‘But I wasn’t trying to get rid of them, I was just—’
‘Making a point?’
‘Starting a discussion.’
I drank my whisky and looked at him. He continued staring at the sunset.
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ I said. ‘After how I treated you?’
/> ‘Tim said what it was about, and I understand your feelings about the past.’ He looked at me and said, ‘You just took it out on me.’
I felt myself blush and looked away, down into my whisky glass.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, glancing at him, ‘I’m sorry, Horatiu.’
‘It’s all in the past,’ he said.
I looked up at him and smiled, shaking my head.
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘all in the past.’
‘I’ll drink to that. More?’
When he reached over for the whisky bottle his sleeve rolled up and I saw the small faded tattoo on his forearm. He glanced at me, pulled his sleeve down, and poured me another glass.
‘To the past,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘To leaving it behind.’
I met his glass with mine and we knocked back the whisky, sitting in silence. I recited the numbers on his arm over and over in my head until they became meaningless.
‘Did you travel much, Horatiu? Before the war?’
‘Not before the war.’
He didn’t elaborate and we sat in silence until I said, ‘You think it’s okay not having a home? Do you think we’re missing something?’
‘You carry your home with you, G. Modern living is an illness. Those people, settled, with their comforts – they’re never happy, never truly alive.’
*
Eventually things returned to normal. Mum and dad talked to me again after a month or so. They never brought it up, just got on with things as if it had never happened. A few of the other circus folk thawed too, but there was still an awkwardness with some of them and Milly wouldn’t speak to me at all. I stopped writing articles on circus life and put more time into fiction and photography, getting several short stories and photographs published. I didn’t go back into clowning or looking after the animals. I spent my time in Freaks and Wonders, taking photographs, and writing. Creating a different future for myself.
Then the dog was found hanging from one of the candy-striped circus poles, neck broken, tongue lolling. I couldn’t look at his eyes. I was a murderer and I was being arrested.
Chapter 11
London, 30 November 2011
Who’s responsible for this, Goblin? Don’t you want them brought to justice?