by E. L. Norry
Then those thoughts and all that effort just … vanished and blue sky swarmed into my mind and filled it. I looked ahead to the other tree trunk and a stillness swallowed me up.
Calmly, I slid my foot forward, then my other foot; I slipped and hugged the rope with the arch of my foot, which curled round it as easily as if I grasped a pole in my hand. I held my arms out to the sides, as I had watched Larkin do, but that felt like I might topple, so I raised them above my head, loosely, as if I were waving.
And I walked.
I walked and I wobbled and I walked.
Me! Walking the tightrope!
I lost my balance after three steps. Jumped down before I fell. Climbed up on those crates and tried again. Fell. Jumped. Climbed. Got to halfway.
On the twelfth attempt, I pictured waltzing round my kitchen with Mother, for no other reason than we’d had a good day.
I walked out into the middle of the rope and it was no different than walking on the ground.
Everything inside me quietened and settled. I wasn’t wobbling, and I wasn’t scared. I walked slowly along.
This was it!
I suddenly knew, with absolute certainty, that I would be able to dash from one end to the other, if I chose to. I reached the other tree, barely aware I’d even moved, and I laid my hand against the damp moss, springy under my palm. A tiny green shoot tickled my fingertips.
I could do this all day.
I bounced a little and the rope swayed with me. I don’t know how I did it, because I wasn’t thinking too hard, but I turned and walked straight back to the other tree, the way I’d come. Once I’d reached it, I jumped down on to the grass, a grin almost splitting my face.
I wanted to sing and shout and laugh, but I squidged those feelings up into a ball instead where they roiled warm around my stomach. Satisfaction spread through my entire body, until it may as well have set my fingertips glowing.
I can do something. Me. Ted Fanque can really do something!
Suddenly, all the joy vanished and I shivered as reality settled over me. I’d better practise. Maybe this could be my chance. My chance to really make a difference. Larkin wouldn’t be able to perform with his injured ankle, and with no extra funds to hire a walker, Pablo couldn’t afford to cancel any shows.
I needed to do this for us all. I had to get this right.
“Hey, I been looking for you. What you doing?”
I turned round to see Alma.
“Don’t worry, it’s not too high.”
“I ain’t worried – you’re barely off the ground. Although we don’t need anyone else injured round here now, do we?”
There was nothing to say to that, except: “I shan’t fall!”
“How do you know?”
Alma was turning into a right little lady; Polly’s influence was rubbing off on her, and perhaps Larkin’s was rubbing off on me too, because I grinned impishly and said, “I just … do.”
All I thought about was placing one foot in front of the other; it was taxing to explain, unless she was up there with me. Every time I inched forward, I thought of how Pablo must have felt, up so high when he was my age, and how Mother felt too, balancing on her first horse.
Putting one foot cautiously in front of the other is all any of us can do, isn’t it? In life, in everything. There isn’t much point worrying about what went before, or what might come after, because none of us can control anything, except what we’re doing right now.
Try and do our best, and no more.
So, I walked for Alma to see. Slowly and carefully and respectfully across the rope without stopping once, jumping down when I reached the other end.
Alma’s mouth hung half open, a flash of green cabbage stuck between the gap in her front teeth.
This was it! I had found my talent. Here was something I could do. Who would have thought I’d feel as at home in the air as I was on the ground?
My heart had become a balloon and was floating up into the sky.
22.
Larkin placed a wooden pole along the ground, as thick as a broom handle and not much longer. He pointed to it. “Get your boots off.”
I sat on the bench and did as I was told.
“You want to try and walk rope? Even if you have natural ability, it won’t harm to learn how the rest of us do it. We might have some tips. You need to get the pole right between your first and second toes, all right? Try and spread them, to get a grip, see?” Larkin wiggled the toes of his uninjured foot. They spread apart as easily as if they were his fingers.
“The middle of your heel, balance that at the back of the pole. Then, slide your other foot along your ankle a bit before moving it forward. Keep your knees slightly bent and your arms overhead, wrists loose.”
I did exactly as he said and tried to grip the pole, although my toes wouldn’t open wide enough. The bones strained in my feet. “It hurts!” I cried. It felt unnatural – this was harder than the actual rope!
Larkin flipped through Varney and said, “Toughen up! Your feet have been too protected. The skin is soft and useless. You need heels as hard as rock. That means your feet will be strong, and you’ll be less likely to get injured once you’re jumping and landing, see?”
I swallowed the ball of fear, like cold porridge, and stepped on to the pole again. Already, my toes and heel flexed, feeling for the familiarity; it struck me that our bodies were much cleverer than our minds sometimes.
“Where do I look then, when I’m walking along?”
“At the crowd. Give them what they’ve come to see. Bow and wave and smile. Even if your stomach is flopping inside-out, never show it. Whether you’re learning on the pole up high, or down low, it’s the same act of balancing. Eventually you’ll be jumping. Got it?”
“Got it.” And I really did.
I knocked on the door of Pablo’s wagon. I was springy, on my tiptoes, wanting to show him what I could do, that finally I could do something, but also apprehensive in case I was deluding myself.
“Come in!” he said.
I stepped inside the small space. Pablo was hunched over his bunk, buttoning up his waistcoat. He looked up at me, started to speak and then stopped.
I waited. He obviously had something on his mind.
He said quietly, “Maybe I was wrong in taking you away from your mother and George in such a fashion. I wasn’t thinking.”
He gazed at the floor, shoulders slumped. “I was thinking, but perhaps wasn’t focused on what I should have been. I was selfish. I thought you were like me; that you’d be excited for this life, but I can see you’ve no affinity with the horses. And that’s all right, Ted. I certainly can’t … force you. Wouldn’t commit you to a life you derived no pleasure from.
“Some might say a child should do their father’s bidding, but growing up how I did, I believe choice is vital. If I can give you a little of that … choice … then I can still be proud.”
Although it was rude to interrupt, I was bursting to tell him he had no need to feel penitent for bringing me here.
“It’s me who ought to apologize, sir. From the moment I saw you in our living room, I’d already made up my mind to dislike the circus. I haven’t made much effort.” I cleared my throat, scarcely believing these words spilling from my lips, but it felt good speaking the truth.
“I didn’t want to leave my life behind, but I see now how different life can be. I came here to say … I’ll never be a rider like you, or Mother, that the horses aren’t for me, but I have found something, something which thrills me, and if you please, if you’ve time now, sir, Father, then I’d like to show you.”
He shook his head, not disagreeing, but as if his mind was elsewhere. “Pablo’s Family Circus isn’t in a good place, Ted.” His voice dropped low. “This time, I might – I might actually … be finished.”
Had I heard correctly?
His face clouded over. “No one’s been paid for weeks. The hired-in acts refuse to come back. I never set out to deliberately
deceive anyone, but I’m running out of goodwill. I just … I’m not too clever with money. I should have written everything down, kept better accounts, and realized sooner that not everyone in business is a gentleman, or honourable, no matter how silver their tongues may be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m in debt, Ted. I have no assets, nothing of value. My foolish actions! If only I hadn’t been so concerned with … proving myself. Perhaps I could have held on to things a little longer. But, without an auspicious start in life, sometimes I needed to do more than most.
“And I admit, I relished being at the top. Riding round these parts, people waved and cheered my name. They knew who I was. The colour of my skin or where I’d come from didn’t matter. But now I’ve been forced to sell my own circus and rent it back from Batty; I’m so ashamed that I’ve told no one. I hoped to build a legacy for you and your brothers. I just wish there was … more. More time. More shows.”
He put his head in his hands. His skin looked ashen. “I thought horses and the high wire would be majestic enough, but bigger circuses have lions and tigers and seal cubs and elephants! I cannot compete with all this … progress.”
Pablo couldn’t look me in the eye. I’m not sure if I had grown, or he had shrunk, but I found myself putting my hand on his shoulder.
“I think what you’ve built is wonderful, Father. The Stockport show is in a week. Will you help me make my act something to remember?”
He met my gaze and smiled, his eyes cheerful once again. “Larkin finally get you up on a horse?”
I shook my head. “Come and see. We’ll make the Stockport show a success, I promise. But then, afterwards, perhaps … it’s time to consider something else.”
“I’m not sure I know how to do anything else.”
“You’ll find something. And whatever it is, you’ll do your best. Because … that’s what us Darby men do, isn’t it?”
Pablo’s smile was small, but it was there. “Us Fanque men, you mean.”
23.
Brown had fashioned a piece of wood that Alma had found into a makeshift crutch for Larkin to hobble around on. It had been three days since his fall. His ankle wasn’t too painful, now he’d taken to supping beer to help him sleep, he reminded us. The way Polly waited on him, he was almost enjoying himself.
And maybe it was the fact that I’d offered to step up, or the fact that Pablo had told Larkin what a valued member of the troupe he was, I’m not sure – maybe he was just grateful I’d introduced him to Varney the Vampire – but Larkin was as mellow and agreeable as I’d ever known him.
We had four days before the big Stockport show. Pablo said that newspapermen were coming to review it. Larkin lay on a heap of straw, fashioned into a bed, yelling instructions up to me. We were in the big tent, practising using the real rope, though not as high as it would be on the actual night.
“As long as you focus, you’ll be able to do this.”
“A little rope between two trees is one thing, but this is quite another! How do I actually stay up?”
“Shift most of your weight over the part of your body that’s holding you up. If you feel unbalanced, grasp the rope between your big toe and the second one. But the crowd will be watching, and no one’s impressed if you grip the rope between your toes, so try not to. Want to try using a balance bar?”
I crossed the rope slowly and back again. “Why?”
“A balance bar can make it easier to cross the rope, though many of us think using one is a cheat. Keep your centre directly over the rope though because you don’t want to rock.”
Pablo called up. “Keep yourself centred! Think. You’re like an inverted pyramid … a bar would help you. It would take more to knock you off balance.”
“But it’s easier with my hands above my head!” I cried down to them. I stepped forward and sent a vibration along the rope and then back.
“Keep moving! A misstep or slip will mean you need to readjust, that’s all.”
This is how we spent two days: Pablo and Larkin yelling tips and me going further on the big rope in the tent with each practice session.
Back on the road, we headed for Stockport – our biggest show yet. As our wagons paraded through the streets, I sat up front for the first time, smiling and waving, along with Larkin. Alma and Polly were behind us and I felt the buzz that Larkin often spoke of, of all eyes upon us, longing to be a part of what we were offering. I hadn’t noticed before – I’d been too busy wondering what Mother and George were doing. If only Mother and George could be here to see me now though!
Children ran alongside us until the roads grew too narrow and the hedges too thick and then it was only our wagons banging by, until we arrived at more rows of houses with new sets of eager faces peering out of doorways.
Then it became busier. I had forgotten what a usual day in a market town was like. We paraded through town, wagon wheels rattling over the stones; top-hatted gentlemen and bell-skirted ladies weaved in and out of the gigs and two-wheeled hansoms roared by. Such din!
It was nearly impossible to imagine that in only a few hours I’d be up on the rope with an audience watching every move I made. Me, Ted Darby, Ted Fanque – showing an audience that I was my father’s son!
I breathed in deeply as we passed an open window: mutton pie. Contented, I watched street sellers offering fruit and a girl selling lavender and herbs. A man with poles strung with rabbits, hanging off his shoulders, walked by. A ringing bell announced a man with a tray on his head bearing muffins.
We were in the heart of town and the community. Next to the Rose and Crown, we turned in and settled on the land belonging to an old friend of Pablo’s. Often the fields we arrived at were away from streets and houses, on the outskirts of town, but here, everyone could see us. Already a crowd of children, excited and curious, hung around the fences, admiring the horses.
A thrill ran up my legs and tingled in my tummy as I proudly helped unload.
I was a part of things now. I knew what we were doing, and where things went. Enthusiastic faces watched the troupe: Larkin and Alma, Polly, Clara, the Bellini brothers and Brown all working as a team. It felt good. No, more than that, it felt great.
Alma crept in behind the curtain before I was due to go on for my performance. Grinning ear to ear, she asked, her eyes sparkling, “You all right?”
I nodded. “I think so,” I whispered.
“All the practice you done now, I ain’t never seen you fall.”
“It is much higher.”
“Pablo’s made it safe. He’s put down mattresses. Loads of ’em. While you was kipping, he was out all afternoon: him, Brown and the Bellinis, knocking on doors. They know folks round here. They’ve covered them up, so they can’t be seen, but mattresses are there and will cushion your fall if you … slip. Go and do your very best.” She clapped her hands together excitedly. “I can’t wait to have another orange!”
24.
As I dragged the curtain back, it felt heavier than a sack of flour. I walked across the sawdust ring, just behind Brown, who was rolling around, singing a Shakespearean song.
I climbed up the ladder attached to the masts that held up the circus tent. The audience were now quiet. I looked across the abyss, to where I had to reach the other wooden platform. The rope stretched between – my road in the sky.
Even though Larkin’s training and Pablo’s reassurance echoed round my head, my body had its own ideas. I was tight with fear, every muscle twitching and tense.
Pablo’s voice came to me, distant, as if from a dream, and I heard flute music too, like the tune I’d dreamt of when I first arrived.
Pablo gazed up at me, and straightened his grey coat, braided with black, ornamented with a gold chain hanging from the breast pocket to one of the buttonholes. He doffed his low-crowned hat and gave a flourish with his arm, as he announced:
“And now, ladies and gentleman, boys and girls … please, welcome my son … the Wondrous Walker Ted Fanq
ue!”
I hadn’t thought it would be silent, up so high, but I heard nothing. I waited for the pounding rush of blood in my ears to settle, and it did, eventually, like always.
I could do this. I was born for it.
The world dropped away. I glanced down, comforted by the lumpy sawdust beneath me. I was at least three giraffes high off the ground. I wanted a moment to fix this scene in my mind, but then, below me, on the front benches, I squinted, recognizing two faces.
My heart beat faster, not with fear, but with excitement. I steadied my breath. Mother and George! They clutched each other’s arms, looking more nervous than I felt. Mother gave a huge smile. I blinked away happy tears.
And…
… I stepped out. Hush. The rope felt like a friend cradling me. I walked out into the centre, slowly, carefully, with my head held high, trying to make my arms flow gracefully. I stopped and balanced on one leg and then the other. When I reached the end, I crossed again. I stood in the middle and bowed, waving at the crowd. They cheered so loud.
All those shocked and smiling faces. Each collective sharp intake of breath reminded me of how candlewicks lick to life once lit.
Afterwards, behind the curtain, I trembled, buzzing with adrenaline. The back tent flapped, and I turned around: Mother and George. I rushed into Mother’s outstretched arms. I’d been with the circus six weeks, but in many ways it had felt like a lifetime.
Mother squeezed me tight. I pressed my cheek against her shawl, feeling the soft wool. After a while, she held me away from her, at arm’s length.
“I never had any idea you could do that!” she said, almost breathless, looking at me in wonder.
“Nor did I!” I laughed, tears of joy swimming into my eyes.
“You’ve grown.” George stepped forward and patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll be as tall as me one of these days, eh?” His cough had all but gone and he had a good colour in his cheeks.
I puffed myself up and said, “I am already!”
Together, the three of us walked across the circus ground, weaving in between crowds. The evening’s performance was still happening, but Mother, George and I were content being together, exchanging our news, in our own little bubble.