Page 12 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

Le Clandestin

The brightening dawn woke Michel and as he stirred, he smelled the rich musk of coffee coming from Bertrand’s apartment. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the whitewashed ceiling of his bedroom streaked with spider cracks, but instead over him stood an exceedingly tall man in a purple suede suit with a cravat at his neck, and a short man no larger than a ten-year-old child, in brown chequered breeches and a waistcoat, his shirt matching the sunflower yellow of the tall man’s cravat.

Michel wondered if he was still dreaming and did not move, expecting the vision above him to disappear. Yet, as the seconds passed by, nothing changed. The tall man stood erect, a fixed smile on his face, a piece of wood in his large hand, resting against his long leg. The smaller man drank from a chipped mug, his lips puckering from the bitter coffee or at the sight of Michel.

‘Do you speak?’ the giant asked.

‘I do,’ Michel answered, stifling a laugh. This was certainly a dream.

‘So, who are you?’ the small man asked.

‘Michel, Michel Bonnet.’

The giant laughed and tapped the wood against his leg. There was something in the movement, the noise, which was so real to Michel, it wiped the sleep completely from his brain. He sat up and shuffled backwards until his spine rested against the wood of the carriage. The small man continued to sip at his coffee and gave the giant a long look, raising his eyebrow conspiratorially.

‘I’m just trying to get away,’ Michel explained, raising his palms in surrender.

‘And you chose us,’ the giant said.

‘I didn’t choose anyone, I just needed to get away.’

Again, there was a look between the two, and Michel glanced at the partially open carriage door with the trees and track rushing by.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ the small man said, following Michel’s line of sight. ‘You’ll be dragged underneath or break every bone in your body on the fall down. Either way, not a nice way to go.’

‘Who are you running from?’ the giant asked.

‘The same as everyone.’

Perhaps only a minute passed, but it felt to Michel like an age. The clack, clack of the wheels was all he could hear, and in his mind was the image of being dragged underneath, onto the tracks.

Finally, the giant held his hand out to Michel, ‘Jean-Jacques,’ he said.

Michel took his hand and gently shook it.

The small man grabbed Jean’s arm and turned him away. Michel could hear urgent whispers between them – ‘the boss… forbidden’, then ‘it will be fine… trust me.’

Jean turned back to Michel, a smile on his face, but the small man refused to look at him.

‘Ignore him,’ Jean said. He sat down next to Michel, folding his long legs underneath him, resting his enormous hands on his knees, and with his tapered fingers he tapped his bony kneecaps in a jaunty rhythm. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

‘A little…’ Michel answered.

‘Giordano, go and get us some breakfast. Come straight back.’

‘And what will I tell the others, eh? That we eat with the animals now?’ Giordano turned around so quickly, his coffee leapt out of the mug and fell with a slop onto the wooden boards of the carriage.

‘Tell them nothing. They won’t care what you are doing. If anyone does ask, you tell them we are working on our act in the stock car.’

‘As if they would believe I’d spend my time in here! My suit would get dusty and smeared with dirt.’

‘Hush now. They don’t pay as much attention to you as you think.’ Jean raised a hand to silence Giordano as his mouth opened, full of protestations. ‘Just a few pieces of bread, some cheese and some more coffee.’

The soft lilt of Jean-Jacques’ voice was at odds with his huge frame, and held some power over Giordano who nodded and quickly departed, stirring up a swarm of dust motes with his heavy tread, which danced and swirled in the early morning light.

‘Thank you,’ Michel said once they were alone.

Jean shrugged. ‘I have been where you are.’