being inside his hands, some sort of life-form not your own. He was half repulsed, half attracted. He could feel Felicity beside him now, felt her red hair brush his neck.
He looked at her. She leaned across and kissed him. Now she was not withdrawn from him, he was really angry with her – she had forced him to play the musico, to out-Vincent Vincent in his admiration of this tragedy.
The more he massaged, the more the child cooed, and kicked his malformed limbs, the more angry Bill became. The company began to press around, and it made him sour and cynical to see how they now wanted to massage too, and he gave up to them, gave up gladly, listening to everything they had to say. It was an orgy of denial. It disgusted him.
He looked from this to see Annie standing at the door alone. She raised an eyebrow at him and held up a bottle of case-latrine. He looked at Felicity. He turned, before he could stop himself, and followed Annie down the stairs.
*
In the Efican circus, voltige describes a broad series of acrobat acts performed from and around horses – voltige infernale, voltige Tcherkesse, voltige à la Richard etc. etc.
†
Invented by Spencer Q. Stokes to aid in training bare-back riders. A central post supports an arm like the jib of a crane from which the student is suspended.
12
Wally claimed to have been born ‘on the sawdust’, to have grown up in a circus family, to have been the ‘Human Ball’ from ages one till three.
When he first arrived at reform school he had still been able, so he said, to fit himself, together with twenty-four green soda bottles, inside a box measuring 24″ × 12″ × 12″. It was this which bent his back the way it was.
Furthermore, his father had been a contortionist so extraordinary that he had been able, whilst still alive, to sell his skeleton to medical science. He had travelled around Efica with a coffin already addressed James Hazzard, MD, Boulevard Raspail, Chemin Rouge, Efica. *
‘My old dab was a dreadful gambler,’ Wally said. ‘If it had not been for the need for money, he would never have done it – it was a shocking inconvenience to be always toting that coffin about.’
All his life Wally had been around the circus and the theatre. He had been a roustabout, a tent-staker, a stablehand, a farrier, a driver, a turnboy, † a carpenter, a production manager, but the truth was – this leap into the safety net was his first performance ever.
Now he wished he had never made it. He wished he had died instead.
He sat in Casualty and held his throbbing arm while the flesh swelled like yeast dough around the fracture.
He waited for the visitors he knew would arrive after curtain time at the Feu Follet. He waited with trepidation, embarrassment, imagining Bill Millefleur impersonating him to the people inthe tower, repeating his speech, mimicking his accent, revealing all his very private feelings about my mother.
On a different night it might have turned out as he feared (some cruel things sometimes went on in that little tower), but Bill had other matters on his mind and the whole question of Wally’s motivation was overshadowed by the
Zinebleu
, which had noted the leap (‘inverse levitation’) and had seen it as setting the tone of the production – ‘the Smith forte – the Efican vernacular’.
So the hospital visitors, all actors, came to celebrate the review as much as to commiserate about the injury.
‘I was just testing the rig,’ he said. ‘Jeez.’
He sat on the plastic bench with a forbidden cancerette cupped in his palm, his arm resting across his thigh, and listened while the review was, once again, read out to him. To have his performance admired by actors was worth anything to Wally.
‘Bill was a bit worried,’ he said. ‘I just tested it is all.’
His veined face flushed and his ears burned red with pleasure. He sat on the plastic bench, his cancerette hidden in his palm, and listened to repeated readings of the review. It
He looked at her. She leaned across and kissed him. Now she was not withdrawn from him, he was really angry with her – she had forced him to play the musico, to out-Vincent Vincent in his admiration of this tragedy.
The more he massaged, the more the child cooed, and kicked his malformed limbs, the more angry Bill became. The company began to press around, and it made him sour and cynical to see how they now wanted to massage too, and he gave up to them, gave up gladly, listening to everything they had to say. It was an orgy of denial. It disgusted him.
He looked from this to see Annie standing at the door alone. She raised an eyebrow at him and held up a bottle of case-latrine. He looked at Felicity. He turned, before he could stop himself, and followed Annie down the stairs.
*
In the Efican circus, voltige describes a broad series of acrobat acts performed from and around horses – voltige infernale, voltige Tcherkesse, voltige à la Richard etc. etc.
†
Invented by Spencer Q. Stokes to aid in training bare-back riders. A central post supports an arm like the jib of a crane from which the student is suspended.
12
Wally claimed to have been born ‘on the sawdust’, to have grown up in a circus family, to have been the ‘Human Ball’ from ages one till three.
When he first arrived at reform school he had still been able, so he said, to fit himself, together with twenty-four green soda bottles, inside a box measuring 24″ × 12″ × 12″. It was this which bent his back the way it was.
Furthermore, his father had been a contortionist so extraordinary that he had been able, whilst still alive, to sell his skeleton to medical science. He had travelled around Efica with a coffin already addressed James Hazzard, MD, Boulevard Raspail, Chemin Rouge, Efica. *
‘My old dab was a dreadful gambler,’ Wally said. ‘If it had not been for the need for money, he would never have done it – it was a shocking inconvenience to be always toting that coffin about.’
All his life Wally had been around the circus and the theatre. He had been a roustabout, a tent-staker, a stablehand, a farrier, a driver, a turnboy, † a carpenter, a production manager, but the truth was – this leap into the safety net was his first performance ever.
Now he wished he had never made it. He wished he had died instead.
He sat in Casualty and held his throbbing arm while the flesh swelled like yeast dough around the fracture.
He waited for the visitors he knew would arrive after curtain time at the Feu Follet. He waited with trepidation, embarrassment, imagining Bill Millefleur impersonating him to the people inthe tower, repeating his speech, mimicking his accent, revealing all his very private feelings about my mother.
On a different night it might have turned out as he feared (some cruel things sometimes went on in that little tower), but Bill had other matters on his mind and the whole question of Wally’s motivation was overshadowed by the
Zinebleu
, which had noted the leap (‘inverse levitation’) and had seen it as setting the tone of the production – ‘the Smith forte – the Efican vernacular’.
So the hospital visitors, all actors, came to celebrate the review as much as to commiserate about the injury.
‘I was just testing the rig,’ he said. ‘Jeez.’
He sat on the plastic bench with a forbidden cancerette cupped in his palm, his arm resting across his thigh, and listened while the review was, once again, read out to him. To have his performance admired by actors was worth anything to Wally.
‘Bill was a bit worried,’ he said. ‘I just tested it is all.’
His veined face flushed and his ears burned red with pleasure. He sat on the plastic bench, his cancerette hidden in his palm, and listened to repeated readings of the review. It
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