Circus Shoes (10 page)

Just as Peekaboo trotted out of the ring, Gus and Ted Kenet appeared. They wore fleshings and spangled trunks. Number eighteen came up on the indicator. Peter turned in great surprise to Alexsis.

“Is Gus ‘The Whirlwinds’ ?”

Alexsis had no time to answer, for Santa wriggled excitedly in her chair.

“Don’t you see, it’s what we saw them put up this morning.”

It was. Gus and Ted climbed up to their trapeze. Of course Santa and Peter knew nothing at all about trapeze work, so they did not realize what a technically beautiful display they were looking at. Santa in fact saw very little, for she was so afraid Gus would fall that she sat with her eyes shut half the time. Peter watched, but he felt the palms of his hands get all wet. Ted Kenet had said he needed sulphur sweets and sarsaparilla to keep his blood cool. They looked a poor protection against the terrifying way he and Gus were b having on the trapeze. They seemed to forget that here was nothing between them and the ground, and swung round and round holding on first by a knee and hen by an ankle. They seemed scarcely ever to hold by their hands.

“Is he down yet? Is he down yet?” Santa kept asking Alexsis. Alexsis understood just how she felt.

“No, not yet. I will tell you.” Just as Santa felt she could not bear it any longer, there was a roar of applause. Alexsis, clapping hard, whispered, “It is finish.”

Santa looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Was it possible that Alexsis, too, was glad when the trapeze act was over?

There was an interval after that. Then number seven. Maxim Petoff’s Liberty Horses.

Maxim treated his Liberties as he did his Shetland ponies. He whispered orders and the horses seemed to understand. The grays danced. They waltzed in pairs, reared up on their hind-legs. The chestnuts did some quite involved maneuvers. Individual horses reared up and walked straight across the ring. Another danced a two-step. There seemed to be nothing they could not do. They even knew their right order behind each other, for after each group every horse pushed himself back into his proper place. After each decapo, as Alexsis told them the individual performances were called, the horses acknowledged the applause by going down on their knees. The audience loved them. They loved Maxim too; he looked so strong, and was obviously such a gentle trainer.

Gus came on again. He was Follow or Leader this time. He and another of the Kenets did an amusing but terrifying act on ladders. They had pots of paste and a bundle of bills. They came into the ring looking for a place to stick their bills, and then the fun began. They pretended to quarrel. They climbed up their ladders and swaying to and fro had a fight from the top. How covered with paste they got! Peter and Santa laughed till the tears were pouring down their faces. But all the time they kept wondering how, if Gus did this twice a day, he was so clean.

Number nine. Santa thought it the prettiest act of the lot. Paula in a rose-colored ballet dress on one of the rosin-backs jumping through a paper hoop held by her father. She looked lovely with her flaming hair and frilly skirts. The audience seemed to adore her; they clapped till their hands were sore.

Of course, if you have seen sea-lions perform you know the sort of things they will do. Peter and Santa had not only never seen performing sea-lions, they had never seen any at all. In spite of what Hans and Fritzi had told them, and what Ben had said, they were quite unprepared for the brilliance of the performance. Sea-lions do not really have clever faces. They do not look like artistes. But how clever they can be! Schmidt’s sea-lions did all the things performing sea-lions do. They balanced balls on their noses. They juggled. They climbed up a pyramid of blocks and balanced on one flipper. They played instruments. They were enchanted at their own skill and rolled about at the first hint of applause, slapping their flippers together asking for more. They were as clever as Lucille’s poodles. Only the poodles were obviously skilled artistes reveling in their own gifts, whereas the sea-lions were like a lot of precocious children. They were rather like Gus with the lasso, desperately clever but apparently surprised and naïvely delighted to get anything right.

The Martini family came next. They were made up of a father, a son, and two daughters. The girls wore rompers of satin, and socks. Santa thought they were younger than she was. But Alexsis assured her they were quite grown up. Before they came into the ring he tried to explain a Risley act. He told them about the first Risley who had the idea of juggling with a real boy. Of how the idea caught on, and that kind of performance was always known as a “Risley act.”

“But didn’t the boy get hurt?” Peter asked.

Alexsis shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe. But if a clown he start as a Risley kid, always he is glad. It is the great training.”

Santa was just about to say that she would not be glad at being hurt however great the training might be, when the Martini family ran into the ring.

The Martinis were followed by the elephants. The six beasts marched into the ring holding each other by the tail. Kundra gave a signal and a great table and four chairs were trundled in. Four of the elephants sat down, the other two acted as waiters. It was a very funny act. Peter and Santa enjoyed every minute of it, but Peter felt a little uncomfortable at finding them so funny. They seemed such magnificent creatures, too grand somehow to be laughed at.

The clowns and augustes did a water act. There can be nobody who would not have liked at some time or other to have buckets and buckets of water and slosh it all over people. The next best thing to doing it yourself is to see somebody else do it. There never could be a better opportunity of seeing someone else do it than there was with Cob’s Circus. The only concession made to the ordinary laws about not getting wet was a waterproof sheet stretched across the ring before the act began. After that nobody cared at all. In spite of the fact that the augustes were fully dressed, they; poured entire buckets of water down each other’s necks, threw buckets of water all over each other, skidded in the water, sat down in it, and lay down in it. It was an orgy of getting wet and everybody in the audience adored it.

By the time the Kenets and Paula came on to show high-school riding Peter and Santa were dazed. They had had a tremendous day, and all this being thrilled and clapping and laughing had about finished them. That any horse could be trained to do what those horses did was unbelievable, but then everything was unbelievable. They were almost past marveling. Alexsis was disappointed in them.

“You do not like the
haute école?
This the most best work in riding.”

“You can’t say ‘most best,’ “ Santa reproved him, “And we did like it.”

Peter nodded.

“I believe it was the most interesting; only we’ve seen such a lot.”

Alexsis was satisfied.

“That is so. There is just Satan and that is the end.”

During the reprisal an immense iron cage was hooked together. From one side of it a cage tunnel led through the artistes’ entrance. Suddenly yellow forms streaked along it. Satan, dressed as the devil, pitchfork and all, entered from the other side. The doors clanged shut. He was alone with his lions.

Satan was a superb trainer of wild animals; he was also a great showman. He knew the public liked was to feel he was in danger. To get this atmosphere he taught his lions to roar, to claw at him as he passed, to look as if at the slightest excuse they would spring. No wild animal act is safe, but Satan loved his lions; he had known them since they were cubs. Some nights they were difficult to handle, bad-tempered, temperamental; but this was not one of them. But Peter and Santa did not know that. They were frankly terrified. They expected every second to see Satan eaten. They could only dig their fingers into the palms of their hands and wish it was over.

Then suddenly it was over. The band played
God Save the King.
They pushed their way out into the cold night. The audience hurried down the hill back to the town. Peter, Santa, and Alexsis went through the wicket gate in the fencing round the big top. They crossed the rough grass and fumbled their way to Gus’s caravan.

“Good night,” said Alexsis. “Sleep well.”

Gus had left a note on the table.

“Help yourselves to what you want for supper, and go to bed quick.”

Santa blinked.

“I don’t believe I want anything. Do you?”

Peter did not really want anything either, but he thought Santa looked as if some supper would be good for her.

“You go ahead and undress. I’ll make us some bread and milk.”

Santa had her bread and milk in bed. Peter sat on the end of it eating his. Suddenly they both looked up. Peter opened the door.

“It’s the band. They’re beginning again.” They listened.

They listened. The band blared. There were voices talking and laughing from the crowd waiting to get in. A horse whinnied. Someone called out something in German. A lion roared. Peter shut the door. He smiled at Santa as he took her empty bowl. It was too queer to be true. Were they really part of all this?

School

HANS and Fritzi called for Peter and Santa. It was a cold damp morning. Hans and Fritzi had on big raincoats and rubbers. Large scarves were wound round heir necks. Hans had no hat but Fritzi had on a queer little blue felt with a pom-pom on the top. They did not look smart but they seemed sensibly dressed.

Fritzi looked worried when she saw that Santa was wearing the same clothes in which she had arrived. “You have no other clothes arrive yet?”

“No.” Santa glanced down at herself. “I’ve got a raincoat coming.”

Hans nodded in the direction of their feet.

“And you have rubbers?”

“What, like those?” Peter shook his head. “No, we never wear them.”

Gus came to the caravan door. He was wearing a pullover and slippers. He was smoking. It was his time for reading the paper and he hated to be disturbed.

“Kedgeree and rum! You kids are making a fuss getting off! What’s the trouble?”

Fritzi pointed dramatically at Santa’s feet. “Such shoes for her to wear.”

Hans broke in.

“So it is with Peter, The wet will come through.”

Gus looked at Peter’s and Santa’s feet.

“Turn your soles up, both of you.” Peter and Santa turned them up. Gus nodded at Hans and Fritzi. “They’re no good. I’ll have a talk with your mother later. Maybe she’ll take them shopping.”

Fritzi moved off.

“That will my mother do.”

Hans beckoned to Peter and Santa.

“Come. We go for Fifi.”

Fifi was sitting on the steps of the Moulin caravan. She was small, olive-skinned, with black, straight hair cut in a fringe. She, too, was dressed for the weather. But she looked quite different. Worn right over her left eye was a blue beret. She had on a smart blue reefer coat, and over it a dark blue raincoat cape. She too had rubbers, but hers were well-fitting, not big and clumsy like Hans’ and Fritzi’s. She got up as she saw the four of them arriving.

“Good morning, Hans. Good morning, Fritzi.”

She came down the steps and politely held out her hand to Santa. “Good morning.”

Santa was about to shake hands when the black haired woman they had seen making the wreath of roses looked out of the caravan door.

“Are the little nephew and niece of Gus there?” Fifi with a gesture presented Peter and Santa.

“Yes,
maman.
See!” She turned to Peter and Santa and made another gesture toward her mother. “This is my mother, Madame Moulin.”

Madame Moulin smiled.

“Fifi is very excited that you have come. It is more for games.”

Santa was so puzzled about the hair she forgot her manners.

“But when you were with the poodles in the circus your hair was fair.”

Peter turned red. He kicked Santa on the ankle.

“Shut up, you fool!”

But Madame Moulin was not a bit angry. She laughed.

“That is a wig. In the ring it is better for hair to be gold.”

Fifi caught at Santa’s hand.

“Quickly, quickly. We shall be late.”

“But what about Olga and Sasha?” Santa asked. “Aren’t they coming?”

Fifi gave a magnificent shrug and gestured with her hands, thereby expressing the complete inability of herself or any bod y else to say what Olga and Sasha might do. She seemed to consider this unspoken comment quite enough, for she said nothing.

Fritzi was evidently quite used to Fifi’s ways, for she answered exactly as if she had spoken, “That is so. They have no sense of time. Come. We shall be late.” She caught hold of Peter’s arm and hustled him along.

Hans hurried after them. He came up on Peter’s other side.

“They are Russian. Russians keep not the time.” They walked past the line of caravans and through the wicket gate in the fence round the big top. Just as Hans was shutting the gate they heard a shout behind them. Olga and Sasha were dashing after them. They waited. Olga and Sasha came panting up.

“Good morning, Olga. Good morning, Sasha,” said Fifi.

Fritzi looked at them reprovingly. “Such children always to be late!” Olga skipped along the path.

“It’s not late, and if we are it’s because Alexsis and my father have a terrible argument and the breakfast not cooked.”

Santa was interested.

“Doesn’t your mother cook the breakfast?”

They were on the pavement by now, and the surface, though wet, was not muddy. Sasha turned a cartwheel.

“But of course. But not when Alexsis and my father have an argument.”

Peter took the opportunity, while speaking to Sasha, to get his arm free of Fritzi’s. He hated being hurried along as if he were a naughty small child who would run home if he were not held.

“Why not? Did she argue too?”

Olga shot forward onto her hands, spun over, and came back on her feet.

“How can she cook if there is an argument?”

Fritzi pursed up her mouth.

“Such a show to make, Olga. You should not make the flip-flap in the street when your trousers have not your dress match.”

Olga turned a cartwheel.

“Why should they match?” Fritzi gave Santa a despairing glance, which Santa returned. They knew, if nobody else did, that when a person is wearing fawn knickers under a navy-blue skirt, it is better to remain with the feet on the ground.

Fifi caught hold of Sasha.

“Tell me, Sasha, did your father agree about Alexsis?”

Hans and Fritz looked serious. All of them hung on Sasha’s answer.

“No. My father says we have always been with horses and Alexsis must do the same.”

“But there is Paula?” said Fifi.

Olga put her arm round Fifi’s shoulder. “But she is a girl. She may marry.”

“But there is Sasha.”

They all looked at Sasha consideringly. Hans shook his head.

“Mine father say how Mr. Petoff right is. Alexsis is the eldest son. To him must the horses go.”

Fifi threw up her hands and eyebrows.

“But why? Alexsis is an artiste. But his talent is not with horses. My papa says it is wrong to force him to that which he does not wish.”

Sasha hopped along on one leg.

“But I have talent with riding. Ben says so as well as my father. I am eight. In six years I can go into the act.”

Hans made a face.

“Six years! Your father wish it now.”

“What does Alexsis want to do if he doesn’t do the horses?” Santa asked.

The other children looked surprised. Obviously Alexsis and his future was such a common subject for discussion in Cob’s Circus that they had not supposed anybody did not know about it.

“He wishes to be an acrobat,” Olga explained. “He has always said so.”

“He’s very good,” Sasha added.

Fifi nodded. She spoke with authority. She evidently knew what she was talking about.

“But superb!”

They were nearing the school. Sasha lowered his voice.

“He works every day with the Elgins.”

Olga held up a finger.

“But it’s a secret. My father doesn’t know. And Gus mustn’t know or he might tell our father.”

“So,” Hans agreed. “Come, Peter. Here is the school.”

Naturally children who lived in a circus were objects of interest in the schools. The whole place buzzed with excitement when they arrived. Not only were they circus children, but they were foreign. They had, too, other charms besides being foreign. They could do the most astounding things in the playgrounds. Their hand-stands and flip-flaps, which were as common as daisies in the circus world, were considered brilliantly clever by the local children in the towns they visited.

If the teachers felt a sinking of their hearts when two Russians, two Germans, and one French child arrived suddenly, expecting to be taught for three days, they showed no sign of it. The children had cards to show what stage their education had reached, and one glance at them proved that their nationalities were no hindrance to them. They were all ahead of the average English child of their own age.

Peter and Santa had, of course, no cards. As a start, they were put to work with children of their own ages. Peter’s first lesson was arithmetic, Santa’s geography. It took neither of them five minutes to realize how appallingly backward they were. It was a terrific jolt, for if there was one thing that they took for granted it was that they were far better educated than ordinary school children. All the morning, as the subjects for the lessons changed, they said to themselves, “Well, anyway I’ll shine at this.” But they did not. After all, Mrs. Ford was not a teacher herself, and the fact that her husband was had not made her able to teach. Even before the recreation period Peter and Santa had sunk to depths of humiliation, taking the exaggerate view they knew nothing at all. Peter was at least humiliated by himself but Santa had Fritzi in her class, and Fritzi had eyes which very easily looked
as if they were marveled at the lack of qualities in people who were not German.

In the recreation ground further shame was waiting for them. The boys, having seen what Hans and Sasha could do, supposed that every boy who lived in a circus was as happy one way up as another. They could not believe Peter could not stand on his hands.

“Then what can tha’ do?” one of the boys asked.

He was a boy in Peter’s class, so he already knew that there were a good many things Peter could not do.

Peter felt desperate. After all, he had been brought up as nearly as possible in imitation of Lord Bronedin. Up till now he had thought Lord Bronedin a bore, but a sense of inferiority turned him into a snob.

“I don’t belong to the circus. I’ve had a tutor at home.”

There was a roar of laughter from the boys in his class.

“A tutor!”

“Must ‘a’ been a fine teacher.”

“What did he teach tha’?”

“Latin.”

There was a slight pause, then the boys rolled about with laughing.

“He’s had a tutor.”

“And he taught him nowt but Latin.”

They fell against each other. Then Hans created a diversion. He leaped in the air, caught his ankles, turned over, and came down again on his feet. Admiringly the boys drew round.

“Did tha’ see that?”

“Do it again, Hans.”

Peter leaned against the wall loathing himself. Why had he made such a silly answer? He might have known they would laugh. Why had he and Santa been brought up like that? It had been all wrong. They knew nothing, and nobody wanted them. Lolling there against the wall he indulged in an orgy of self-pity. The bell rang for school to start again. Hans came up. He felt in his pocket and brought out a piece of candy. He held it out to Peter.

Peter was not in the mood for sweets. What he wanted was somebody to say, “Don’t mind them. It’s just jealousy.” He moved away.

“For you.”

“No, thank you.”

Hans looked after him with a puzzled face. Then he gave a philosophic shrug of his shoulders and ate the candy himself.

Santa had the same troubles in a minor degree. “Stand on tha’ hands, Santa,” somebody said the moment she came out.

Santa looked shy.

“I can’t.”

Olga, Fifi, and Fritzi came to her rescue.

“She can’t,” Olga explained. “They have been brought up by an aunt who taught them nothing at all.”

Fifi picked up one leg and held it over her head.

“But nothing. Their uncle says they are like two babies just born.”

Fritzi nodded.

“My mother says to bring up to such ignorance is cruel.”

Santa stood by looking like a fool while all this went on? She would have liked to have said that at least she knew French. But with Fifi there she could not. It was obvious that one sentence from Fifi would show how little she knew. She fell back on something she had never expected to brag about.

“I play the violin.”

Olga, Fifi, and Fritzi were impressed. “Have you got your violin with you?”