School for Nobodies

by Susie Bower

  ‘Not much. We learnt through using our eyes and our ears and our hands. And in circus, everyone is your teacher. For instance, there were three clowns at Harlequin’s—Zippo, Hippo and Dippo. They were always playing tricks on us.’

  ‘What did they teach you?’

  ‘How to make people laugh—and cry.’ Mr Gold smiled his crooked smile, up at one corner, down at the other. ‘Then there was Zena Zeferilli, the tightrope walker. From her, we learnt balance, and bravery. The ringmaster, Mr Diogenes Dickens, was very stern, and a great character—he used to wax his moustache so it stuck out past his ears.’

  ‘Did he teach you stuff too?’

  ‘He did. He taught Fred and me how to beat the drum for the Grand Parade.’

  ‘What exactly is the Grand Parade?’

  ‘It’s when all the acts enter the Big Top at the beginning of the show and parade around the ring. The orchestra played “The Circus March”. Mr Diogenes Dickens would come out first, dressed in a top hat and tails, beating his drum and blowing his whistle, followed by the clowns and the acrobats, the trapeze artists, the stilt walkers, the jugglers, the horseback riders and all the rest…’

  As Mr Gold talked, it was as if I was there. I heard the roar of the crowd, the piercing whistle of Mr Diogenes Dickens and the beat of his drum; I smelt sawdust and sweat; tasted sweet candyfloss and popcorn and hot dogs; reached out to touch the soft mouths of the horses and run my fingers through their coarse manes; heard the heavy thump of their hooves and their whinnying.

  ‘Were there other animals?’ I asked.

  ‘There were dogs. And lions.’

  ‘Lions?’ I breathed in, thinking of the lion in the forest, and of the feral boy. ‘Weren’t they dangerous?’

  ‘All wild animals can be dangerous,’ said Mr Gold. ‘But humans can be dangerous too.’

  ‘Is that why Harlequin’s turned bad? Because of a dangerous person?’

  He paused. A bird flapped in the treetops above us. I waited, hoping Mr Gold wouldn’t stop. Then he nodded.

  ‘Merrick Murgatroyd,’ he said. ‘From the day he took over Harlequin’s, and changed its name to Murgatroyd’s, everything began to go wrong.’

  ‘Who was he? What happened?’

  ‘Murgatroyd was a fire-eater. A very clever one. But he was just about as bad as any human could be. All the circus folk avoided him, and not only because of his cruelty. He never washed. He wore the same clothes—a tattered black suit and dusty top hat—day in, day out. His teeth were broken and black, like old tombstones, and his breath made you want to be sick.’

  I shivered.

  ‘The first thing Murgatroyd did after taking over our circus was to cut everyone’s pay. Circus performers need good food, and we could no longer afford to eat properly. But that was only the beginning.’ Mr Gold’s face became very serious. ‘He forced the performers to do more and more dangerous tricks. And then he did away with the safety nets.’

  I gasped. ‘But they could have been killed!’

  ‘You must understand that Murgatroyd loved to frighten and torment. It was said that he had once been married to a beautiful woman and that she died, and from that day on, he swore to make others suffer, just the way he had suffered. And of course, word spread, and plenty of people paid to see the new, dangerous acts. Only they were the sort of people who, like him, took pleasure in the prospect of an accident or a death.

  ‘Then, when Fred and I were sixteen, Murgatroyd sent our dad away, to a circus in America. Dad was the greatest acrobat in Europe, and the American circus paid Murgatroyd a huge fee for him.’

  ‘Didn’t you and Fred go too?’

  ‘Dad begged us to go with him. But we refused.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of the animals.’ Mr Gold looked grave. ‘It wasn’t only humans that Murgatroyd tormented. He ordered the animals to be locked up, without exercise, and to be let out only to perform. He stopped the handlers from cleaning out the cages. The straw bedding was filthy and the animals were left to starve. Murgatroyd would cook himself a huge, juicy steak and deliberately eat it in front of the lions’ cage. He said animals performed better when they were hungry. We couldn’t go off to America and leave them to him.’

  ‘But what could you do?’

  ‘Fred and I used to sneak into the animal enclosure at night and smuggle in food and clean straw. There was an old lioness—Mabel—who had a cub called Kula. Kula was like a big kitten—huge soft paws and long whiskers, and her fur smelt warm and sweet. She loved Fred and me, and we’d let her out of her cage so that she could run and play in the ring.

  ‘One night, we found Mabel sick, and lying in her own muck.’ Mr Gold’s face twisted in anger. ‘She was barely able to stand, and Kula was shivering between her paws. We were about to open the cage when we heard a sound behind us. It was Murgatroyd. He had a gun, and was pointing it at Mabel.’

  ‘What happened?’ I crossed my fingers on both hands.

  ‘Fred and I raced over and wrestled Murgatroyd to the ground, but it was too late. The gun went off. Mabel collapsed.’

  ‘Did she die?’

  Mr Gold nodded. He rubbed at his eyes, as if he was trying to rub away the memory. ‘People came running. And Murgatroyd told them that we—Fred and I—had shot Mabel.’

  I gasped. ‘Surely nobody believed him?’

  ‘They were too scared not to. Murgatroyd had them all under his thumb.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘That night, when the circus was asleep, Fred and I packed all our things. Then we crept to the animals’ cages. They had taken Mabel away, and little Kula was crouching, alone in the filthy straw, whimpering. We opened the cage and got her out. She licked our hands and faces with her rough tongue. Then we put her in the back of our rusty old truck and drove away before morning. And that’s how we ran away from the circus.’

  ‘Where did you go? What happened then?’

  Mr Gold suddenly seemed to remember where we were.

  ‘Child, you need your breakfast. Sometimes my memories are so strong that I get carried away.’ He stood up. ‘You have done well. Remember to practise every day.’

  ‘But we will have more lessons?’ I couldn’t breathe until he agreed.

  ‘Are you sure you want to be an acrobat after all I’ve told you?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Mr Gold gave his crooked smile. ‘Very well. Meet me here tomorrow at the same time.’

  I couldn’t help jumping up and down with joy.

  ‘And will you tell me what happened next, after you and Fred and Kula ran away?’

  A shadow passed over Mr Gold’s face. ‘Perhaps. Now, off you go to breakfast. Miss Cruet won’t be happy if you’re late.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of Miss Cruet!’ I laughed. ‘I’m not afraid of anything!’

  I cartwheeled across the grass circle and ran through the wood, just as the school bell rang for breakfast.

  THE SHOW

  The others were all tucking into breakfast when I arrived, panting, and slid into my chair. The feral boy stopped eating as soon as he saw me and stared at me, a large piece of toast (smeared with chocolate sauce) hanging from his mouth. Miss Cruet, her bun toppling, glared at me too.

  ‘Punctuality,’ she said, ‘is obviously an alien concept to you. One more late arrival, and you will be sent to the Room of Reflection.’

  ‘Where’ve you been anyway?’ said Rule Boy, slicing boiled egg into his porridge.

  Already we were getting used to the strange meals at Nobodies, and we’d even begun to compete to see who could eat the oddest combinations. I pretended I hadn’t heard Rule Boy’s question. Acrobatics with Mr Gold was my special secret.

  Miss Cruet banged a spoon on the table. ‘Pay attention!’

  Everyone except Saddo stopped eating.

  ‘I have an announcement.’

  Custard looked anxious, and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  ‘In seven weeks,’ said Miss Cruet,
‘Halloween will be here, and Mr Gold and I have been talking about creating an entertainment.’

  ‘Krusty can do some clowning,’ muttered Rule Boy, with a smirk.

  ‘Shut up,’ I said.

  ‘Silence!’ Miss Cruet barked, scattering hairpins into Saddo’s muesli.

  He picked them out and carried on eating. The feral boy grabbed one and threaded it in his matted hair.

  ‘You will each have the opportunity to perform,’ said Miss Cruet. ‘Mr Gold and I will arrange a special audience. We will expect to be entertained.’

  ‘What if we don’t want to?’ mumbled Saddo through a mouthful of muesli and ketchup.

  ‘I can’t p-perform,’ said Custard, going pale.

  ‘There will be no excuses,’ said Miss Cruet. ‘Lessons this morning are cancelled, and instead you will discuss the entertainment and come up with ideas.’

  When Miss Cruet had swept out, I said: ‘Let’s go down to the Amphitheatre and talk there.’

  ‘It’s cold outside,’ moaned Saddo, taking the feral boy’s last slice of toast and cramming it into his mouth.

  ‘Well, put your hoodie on,’ I said. ‘Come on!’

  Grumbling and muttering, the others followed me. The feral boy stayed right at my heels, like he always did. If I’d stopped suddenly, he’d have knocked me over. Custard stayed as far away from him as possible.

  *

  We sat on the cold stone seats of the Amphitheatre. Saddo shivered.

  ‘This was a stupid idea,’ he said. ‘I’m freezing.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, misery guts,’ said Rule Boy. ‘If you exercised more, you’d stay warm.’ He stood up on one of the seats. ‘Now, let’s decide about this entertainment. I will be the organizer.’

  I felt cross. Why did Rule Boy always have to be boss? I picked up a stick from the ground.

  ‘No one should be in charge,’ I said. ‘We can all take it in turns with the Talking Stick and say our ideas.’

  Rule Boy jumped down from the seat and grabbed the stick.

  ‘Me first then. Because I have a great idea. We’ll do a musical show and I will perform on my violin. I shall play Tchaikovsky, Shostakovich and Mendelssohn.’

  ‘What’s he on about?’ said Saddo.

  ‘Shut up, whinger,’ said Rule Boy. ‘I have the stick, so you can’t talk. Now, you’ve each got to decide what you’re going to do in the show.’ He handed the stick to me.

  ‘I’m going to do acrobatics.’ Little shivers of excitement ran up and down my spine. If I had lots of lessons with Mr Gold in the next seven weeks, I’d be really good by Halloween and Mr Gold would be proud.

  Rule Boy grabbed the stick. ‘Acrobatics isn’t musical,’ he said.

  ‘Too bad,’ I said. ‘Because it’s what I’m going to do.’

  I leapt into the grass circle and performed some cartwheels. Then I did a backflip and ended with a deep bow.

  Rule Boy pointed. There was the feral boy, right behind me, bowing too.

  ‘Lion Boy copied everything you did!’ Rule Boy grinned.

  All the excitement drained out of me and I flopped down on a seat. Why did the feral boy have to hang around and copy me? What if he turned out to be a better acrobat than me?

  Rule Boy tossed the stick to Saddo.

  ‘I’m no good at anything,’ he said, his mouth turning down.

  ‘You can stand around looking miserable then,’ said Rule Boy. ‘You’ll be dead good at that.’

  Saddo looked as if he wanted to hit him. He grabbed the stick out of Rule Boy’s hands.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s do a Halloween show. It’s Halloween night—we can dress up as ghosts and… and vampires and stuff.’

  ‘No!’ whimpered Custard. ‘I hate Halloween. My m-mum says it’s when the veil between the w-worlds is thinnest, so bad things can happen.’

  ‘Wimp,’ muttered Rule Boy.

  Then I had an idea. I held out my hand for the stick.

  ‘Let’s do a circus show,’ I said.

  ‘That’s a crummy idea,’ said Rule Boy.

  ‘It’s not!’ I said. ‘And I’m holding the stick, so listen.’ I jumped down into the grass circle.

  ‘It’ll be the greatest show on earth,’ I said. ‘I’ll be the acrobat, and I’ll do juggling and handstands and cartwheels and somersaults. And you…’ I pointed at Rule Boy, ‘can be the orchestra, and you can play your Shostathingy—’

  ‘Shostakovich,’ said Rule Boy.

  ‘Yes, that. And Feral can be the lion.’

  The feral boy gave a huge roar, making us all jump. Custard stuck her fingers in her ears and squeaked.

  ‘See?’ I said. ‘He’ll be brilliant.’

  Then, to my surprise, the feral boy spoke. Until now he hadn’t said a word, apart from his roars and growls.

  ‘Lion,’ he said. ‘Mama.’

  We all stared at him.

  Then Rule Boy began to laugh. ‘A lion?’ he chortled. ‘Your mother is a lion? Liar, liar, pants on fire!’

  The feral boy suddenly pushed out his chest, threw back his mane of hair and gave a low growl, deep and menacing.

  ‘Mama lion,’ he said again.

  ‘A lion for a mother!’ Rule Boy was still laughing. ‘Where did you live? In Africa? Did you eat raw meat? You’re seriously weird…’

  The feral boy’s face crumpled as if he was about to cry.

  ‘Stop it!’ I shouted at Rule Boy. ‘Tell him you don’t mean it.’

  ‘Oh yes I do,’ muttered Rule Boy, smirking.

  I turned my back on him. ‘Anyhow, we were talking about the circus show.’ I looked at Saddo and Custard. ‘What about you two—what can you do?’

  ‘I c-can’t do anything,’ said Custard.

  ‘Not doing it,’ mumbled Saddo.

  ‘Maybe… maybe you could be dogs, or jugglers, or something,’ I said.

  I could see it already—Rule Boy playing ‘The Circus March’ on his violin, Feral roaring and scaring the audience, and me in my golden leotard performing acts of daring. Maybe Mr Gold could even teach me how to use the swing as a trapeze.

  ‘All right then,’ said Rule Boy—and I could see that he liked the idea of being the whole orchestra and showing off.

  ‘Let’s all meet here on Saturday at twelve o’clock to rehearse,’ I said.

  And because I was so excited I cartwheeled round the grass circle until I was out of breath.

  That was the beginning of our circus.

  DODGING FERAL

  TAP… TAP… TAP…

  I woke next morning to a strange sound coming from the wall beside my bed. I put my ear to it and listened.

  TAP… TAP… TAP…

  The clock above the door showed it was just after seven. I was meeting Mr Gold in the Amphitheatre for our next lesson at seven thirty.

  Custard was still asleep, her blanket up around her ears. I pulled on my sweatshirt, trousers and trainers and tiptoed into the corridor. The door to the boys’ dormitory was ajar. I slipped inside.

  Saddo, a long hump in bed, was snoring.

  Rule Boy lay on his back, his eyes closed. As the tapping paused, he muttered in his sleep. ‘Let him out,’ he said. ‘Please, let him go.’

  TAP… TAP… TAP…

  Then I saw where the tapping was coming from.

  Feral sat cross-legged on his bed, tapping on the wall with his knuckles. He tapped three times and paused, listening. Then he tapped again.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I said loudly.

  ‘Whaaa?’ Rule Boy woke with a start and scrabbled for his glasses.

  Feral looked up and grinned. ‘Friend.’

  I stomped out of the dormitory and slammed the door hard. Why wouldn’t Feral leave me alone?

  I didn’t stop to brush my teeth. I ran down the stairs and unbolted the back door as quietly as I could. As I set off down the path, I glanced back at the school. The back door opened. It was Feral. I ducked behind the greenhouse. Feral sniffed the air li
ke a bloodhound and bounded down the steps.

  I began to run. As I got to the orchard, where the path split in two, I swung up into the branches of an apple tree and pressed myself against the trunk. Below me, Feral skidded to a halt and looked around. All I could see of him was his mass of hair and his dirty trainers. I held my breath. How could I distract him?

  An apple was hanging just above my head. As silently as I could, I reached up and broke it from its twig. Then I threw it as hard as I could down the right-hand path. It landed with a splat, out of sight. Feral gave a yelp, like a dog chasing a stick, and bounded off down the path. As his footsteps faded away, I slithered down the tree and set off along the left-hand path, through the wood towards the Amphitheatre.

  When I arrived, Mr Gold was sitting on a stone seat. In spite of the morning chill, he wore a canary-yellow T-shirt and his old green baggy trousers. Today’s braces were turquoise with gold stars on them.

  ‘Ready to begin?’ he said, smiling his crooked smile at me.

  I practised my handstands and my juggling. Then Mr Gold sent me over to the swing and showed me how to hang upside down from it, with my legs twisted around the ropes. It felt magical to see the world swinging upside down. After that, I did twenty cartwheels.

  ‘Excellent work,’ said Mr Gold, as I finished, panting. ‘Now, take a rest.’

  ‘I don’t need a rest!’ I said. ‘I could go on forever!’

  Mr Gold thought for a moment. ‘What you need now is someone to train with, just like Fred and me.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said quickly. ‘I like doing this on my own.’

  The last thing I wanted was Rule Boy bossing me about, or Custard being scared, or Saddo moaning. Or—worst of all—Feral hanging around me, copying everything I did.

  ‘In circus, we depend on other people,’ said Mr Gold quietly, peering at me in his odd, distant way. ‘We trust them. If you don’t find someone to trust, life will be pretty lonely.’

  The wood was very quiet. I kicked at a tuft of grass. There was something I wanted to say, but I was a bit scared of saying it. I looked up at Mr Gold.

  ‘I do have someone to trust,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘I trust you.’