Page 49 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘Not in so many words. But I figured he didn’t want me in the seating car.’

Jean sat down next to Michel and offered him a cigarette. Michel blew the smoke away from him and watched as it was dragged back by the speed of the train.

‘You shouldn’t stay here – go and sit in a comfortable seat,’ Michel said.

‘Are you bored of me?’

Michel shook his head. ‘Felix and the others are in the stock car; they don’t sit with performers.’

‘So? They used to when we had more space – we had two seating carriages and bunks. In fact, the night you clambered aboard they were in the stock car to start with, where I found you, but Werner made us all squash into the seating car – said it wasn’t safe for them in the stock car.’

‘He’s a caring man,’ Michel said.

‘Sarcasm, Michel? It does not suit you.’

‘I’m thinking that maybe I’ll leave soon. Felix says the train won’t last much longer.’

‘Ah, now you want to leave again. Well, that’s true enough about the train. But I can bet all Hugo’s génépy that Werner will die before he lets his circus fall apart. What’s got into you? I thought you would be happy now – I spoke with Werner.’

‘He told me.’

‘So?’

‘So, thank you for speaking up for me, but he’s just so frustrating, so patronising. I think if I stay much longer we will come to blows.’

Jean slapped him on the back. ‘You’re overreacting! He’s tough on everyone at the beginning. He just wants to see how much you want it, that’s all – you know, to prove yourself.’

‘If I’m going to do that, I can’t talk to you anymore. Workers and performers don’t mix – he said so this morning. And I can’t mix with the workers either – Felix has made it clear that I am not welcome there. I’m on my own. I don’t fit anywhere here.’

Jean shook his head. ‘He doesn’t mean it,’ he said quietly. ‘Felix, or Werner.’

‘He called you a long-legged idiot, you know. Yet you still defend him. What’s he got on you anyway?’ Michel looked at Jean, who would not meet his gaze.

‘He’s just joking,’ Jean replied with a weak smile.

Neither spoke after that, and Michel concentrated on the fields of green, then tilled brown soil, vines and thickets of trees rushing by. Jean shifted a little and coughed.

‘I have only been on a train a handful of times before,’ Michel said eventually.

Jean looked at him, his face eager for the conversation. ‘Really?’

‘When we visited Grand-mère. Other than that, I’m used to my legs.’

‘Giordano is unhappy about the train.’

‘Why?’

‘He is convinced that if the train goes, he will go – his legs are too short to ride or walk for long. I told him it will be fine, but you know what he is like.’

The train rounded a bend, the silvery new heads of corn visible amongst the green stalks.

‘I fell in love once,’ Jean-Jacques continued, gazing out over the fields. ‘Just the once. With a girl with long legs. Just like those legs of corn. Long. Thin. Her head seemed to be sitting atop them.’

‘She’d have to have long legs with a man like you.’

‘Indeed! Yes. I suppose so. I never really thought of myself as tall until I met her, and she was tall – her head was at my shoulder. For a woman that is tall, I suppose.’

‘Where is she now?’