a Circus of Emotions

Chapter 1

Gaudy in spectacle, awash in swirls of color, the small circus traveled from town to town, riding sometimes the steel tracks in gaily-painted boxes, other times plodding slowly along narrow roads, stopping at whim and setting up for show at some dust bowl burg. Often, though the destitute townsfolk were barely able to afford one ticket among five people, the circus stopped anyways, and the performers entertained for free. Silas Cratchett was the sole owner and proprietor at that time, having inherited the outfit from his late partner Edwin Falstaff, who had died of pneumonia in New York one winter evening a few weeks after old Rockefeller himself had purchased a seat in the audience on account of the troupe's fame. Nearly a decade had passed since then, and though hard times had fallen on the group, they managed, somehow, kept together by some strange bond not quite of family or even trusted friend (between some), but more than disinterested strangers who pass one another on the street.

While it varied in size as transient acts came and went, it rarely dwindled to fewer than two dozen persons, if you counted the manager and assorted helpers whose only contribution to the art was setting up the tents or caring for the animals. Each kept to their own—apart from vetting new acts, dismissing ones of which popularity had faded, and personally doling out weekly pay (financial matters not entrusted to any other soul since Falstaff's lean, doleful countenance was tallied amongst the living), the short, rotund form of old Silas was seldom seen. Now, he still got fancied up in his dark-green suit and felt bowler to attend the first night's show in places where there was promise of a larger turnout, but in the early days of the circus, it was none other than himself that worked the ticket booth with bluster and gaiety before the main show to draw as many as possible, then proceeded to the big top to serve as ringmaster. He would introduce the varied animal acts, acrobats, jugglers, clowns, and high-wire act, the last of which had been a notable source of fame after a family was brought on whose skill in the art had been passed down over, it was said, nearly ten generations. Though the performers of each act generally minded their own business and didn't trouble the others, as a group, the big top acts (which were officially on the payroll) shunned and sneered at the hucksters and other hangers-on that trailed along and set up shop around the tent, to glean what income they could from unwary curiousity-seekers. Food vendors, tricked games, strongmen, and any number of freak shows all provided a great variety that doubtlessly increased the income of the circus proper, but were seen by the legitimate acts as unfairly lending an air of disrepute.

One of the queerer exhibits flaunted as means to attract customers was, of all things, a real, living mermaid, kept in a small tank of moldy, tepid water. Now, this was not one of those stitched-together hoaxes put on display by the big circuses, but a winsome, bedraggled-looking young thing with slight curves, taken in after being found on some rocky strand of beach along the Maine coast. She was kept fed with sardines and occasionally such raw fish as the rude, younger helper-boys would see fit to keep for her after larking about at a pond on a hot afternoon. They cajoled and teased her greatly as price, speculating about the differences between her anatomy and theirs, prodding here and there with careless fingers, snickering if one found its mark. These impish lads, being such brutish numbskulls, never grasped the notion that she was as much a girl as any, though they would more often than not simply taunt her and tug at her reedy, greenish-blonde hair, tying the ends of the long locks into horrible knots, just as with any human girl they desired to torment.

As it happens, the daughter of the resident funambulists was dragged along to the sideshow wagons by her brother, who had heard of the other boys' secret post-fishing pastime but never had the nerve to come see for himself, being a bit of a coward for all his ten years. Now, this girl was fully three summers her brother's junior, but she was bright and quick-witted, her eyes sparkling with merriment as she rushed headlong into any such adventure a mere boy would endeavor, though they rarely let her in on their grand plans. When she brushed past the threadbare curtain hiding the dim interior and beheld the fish-girl, her bravado failed and her breath caught in her throat as she stared into those wide and solemn, mournful eyes. Tania, for that was the little girl's name, shook her head, the short chestnut curls bouncing wildly, and began to cry, fleeing to the safety of the dormitory tests on the other side of the grounds. When she told her mother, between blubbering sobs, what a poor, pitiful creature she had seen, the slender woman's features darkened and creased into a scowl, but she clutched the child to her breast and stroked her hair, soothing her, looking with fearful worry at her gangly husband. He shook his head angrily and, leaning back against the tent-pole, muttered a prayer against the heathen freaks and the unholy demons they kept as pets. Both children were forbidden to associate with any of the unsavory characters that hung on to the fringes of the real entertainers' work like leeches.

. . .

Chapter n1

Half a dozen winters had passed since Tania first laid eyes on the mermaid, and the child had grown into a charming young lady with long, slender limbs and such a beauty and wonderful sense of balance that she quickly earned top billing for her family's act. Also aiding her rise to fame were the elements of contortion and ballet she learned from a visiting guest troupe one spring and incorporated into her tightrope work, much to the delight of audiences and pride of her parents. She would dance and pirouette high above the crowd, the sequins on her leotard shimmering as she moved like some enchanting pixie, defying gravity. Bound again to Earth's embrace at the end of a show, she still seemed to float on air with each step, lightly darting to and fro, and the brilliant smile she offered kindly to all was infectious, a sparkling ray of light to all who saw it.

Chapter n2

Tania carefully picked her way down to the broad rocks that started a little ways above the beach, nearly hidden among the heather, and crouched down to get the attention of the mermaid reclining there beside her overturned little wheelbarrow. Each looked at the other a moment, then the mermaid resumed staring bleakly out to sea. Tania squinted against the brisk, chilly wind that swept the hair about in streamers and tore a faint, mournful cry from a seagull circling in the grey autumn sky. This, and the quiet crash of the impossibly vast ocean still far enough in the distance to bring only a hint of saltiness in the air to compete with the green-and-brown smell of the clumpy weeds that covered this scrub of meadow. Tania made the futile gesture of leaning over and pulling a lock of hair out of the mermaid's face, and the wind greedily snatched it right back, whipping it around.

"You. Are missink 'ome, da?" She had to raise her voice to be heard, and she wasn't entirely sure the fish-girl even understood, so just knelt beside her and shared that long stare. Time passed, and the wind died down. "Circus...ay. Tch. Is 'ome enough, get you bigger...kak skazaht, pool, mm? Old man, owner, says people come for you special-like. Not leaving behind, even though nekulturny of keeper is dead. Be better for you now, to be sure."