Hidden Colours, page 19
Zul relinquished the spotlight to Esme and Osman, who assisted her in this trick. The two performers worked in harmony, little and large. Esme with her doves, he with the rings looped around his arm. The rings had been coated in flammable liquid, and Osman hung them from a simple skeletal frame, suspended above their heads. The band struck up a thrilling beat, and he lit the rings one by one. The rings flared to life, and the audience, up close to the action, instinctively moved back.
Fire burned.
The flames danced and transported Yusuf back to the bombs.
To the woman who couldn’t bear the loss of her child in a chemical attack, who set herself alight, an enflamed ghoul.
To Selim, the explosion of light and fuel that left him as blood and gore on the street.
To his mother, burning incense at the graves he’d left behind.
Waiting in the wings, Yusuf didn’t see Esme’s act. His memories trapped him. He pressed his fists to the side of his head, but they wouldn’t stop. The fire roared. The sound of it swelled in his ears and became a primal scream. He dug his nails into his palms, whimpering as he drew blood. The applause sounded far away.
Zul’s face loomed near, ghastly white. “Aren’t you in the wrong place? You’re up next.”
Yusuf jerked away, disoriented. The lights seemed garish, like a technicolour alternate reality, not the circus he knew.
Zul cocked his head. “Are you okay?”
A clammy sheen coated Yusuf’s skin. “On my way,” he said.
He darted towards the rigging that served his trapeze. His hands burned where he had clawed them.
Emir announced his ascent and the speakers boomed, too loud for Yusuf’s ears. “Here comes our flying man, the extraordinary, über-talented, fiendishly handsome man himself, our resident acrobat, Herr Yusuf Alam! Let’s clap him, shall we?”
The clapping echoed like thunder through his head, corresponding to each step he climbed. Yusuf bit his lip and focused on the task at hand, willing the images that haunted him to stay away. The metal rigging cooled his palms. He exhaled as he reached the top, then stretched out his feet and ran across the tightrope before his thoughts could catch up with him.
At the end of the tightrope, he steadied himself, then leapt like he’d done a thousand times before. He aimed for the bar but instead of joy, fear pulsed through him. Somehow, he miscalculated the space, or his body did, and he dropped like a stone in a well. He closed his eyes, and Selim’s face seared the pink of his eyelids.
Far away, on the periphery of his consciousness, Emir’s voice rang out, a cry of terror.
The crowd gasped as he crashed against a pole.
Funny, he wasn’t scared anymore. He twisted, like a broken bird, ricocheting through the air, and falling too fast for it to end any other way.
Silk caressed his cheek–his mother’s touch, perhaps–then darkness enveloped him.
Chapter 25
Ellie’s scream died in her throat as she watched Yusuf fall. From the third row where she sat, heads obscured her view. She leapt to her feet, covering her mouth with her hand and prayed for a miracle, though she was atheist and always had been. Yusuf’s body, usually taut and precise, had become a floppy, discarded piece of flesh that slammed into apparatus as it descended.
He’d never worked with a safety net during his performances. He’d never make it.
“Don’t look,” said her mother.
The two of them clutched each other, heads bent together.
Wild cheers erupted.
Ellie tensed, listening intently. She gathered her courage and lowered the hand from across her face. The air had thinned, and her legs became jelly. She unravelled herself from her mother’s grasp and inched forward as the crowd whooped.
There stood the folk dancers Amena, Aya and Aischa, resplendent in dresses, holding a vast expanse of blue silk. The fabric shimmered like the ocean and spanned the centre of the ring. It had been stretched taut between them.
In the middle, lay a man curled like a foetus.
Ellie released her pent-up breath and bolted for the ring. She didn’t care if she interrupted the show. She needed to know Yusuf had survived, that he’d live and they could talk again. The straggly old maestro sprang into action and struck up a joyous tune, as if there could be no doubt that Yusuf was fine. But Ellie had grown accustomed to the smoke and mirrors of the circus. Projections wouldn’t fool her; she needed to see Yusuf up close, to prove he was intact. Flesh and bone.
He stirred by the time she reached him, and Ellie’s body sagged in relief. The girls lowered him to the floor, these slight things who had saved him with their strength and quiet grace. He blinked, eyes detached, as if his mind was still on a different plane. Ellie soaked in the angles of his face, the pale sheen of his skin as Emir helped him to his feet and he stumbled over the folds of the fabric.
“Bow, son. Lean on me, but bow,” said Emir.
They bowed and the crowd cheered again, buoyed by the drama that had ended well after all.
There, underneath the spotlight, side by side with the circus folk, Ellie had never felt so vulnerable or so human. Her chest ached for these people and herself. She squirmed as the audience applauded, and ran off stage first. Emir and Yusuf followed at an agonisingly slow pace, the younger man’s breath still uneven.
Ellie peeked into the ring, where the atmosphere became euphoric. The band changed gear, and an exquisite melody drifted out of the sousaphone, with the fiddle, tambourine and lute intertwined so that the audience couldn’t help but tap their feet. Amena, Aya and Aischa worked as a team to whip up the silk, and weaved a magic all of their own, creating mesmerising waves, skies of infinite blue. They clicked their tongues in unison three times, and a thunderclap reverberated across the tent, bringing forth a phoenix with spiked feathers that soared ever higher and disappeared in a cloud of ash above, only to reappear and dive back into the skies again.
Emir’s top hat cast shadows over his face, but his eyes found hers, and they flickered with disquiet. “We could have lost him. I’ve seen enough death,” he said.
Yusuf slumped heavily on Emir’s arm, and could hear every syllable.
Regret soaked Emir’s voice. “I have to go back on stage. Look after him, will you?” He dipped his head to chest, as if drawing on reserves of energy. “Silberling’s assistant is here tonight, you know.” He strode away, leaving her alone with Yusuf.
Ellie guided Yusuf through heavy velvet curtains to the performer area, to protect him from prying eyes. There, she helped him sit on a crate. Shivers racked his body.
“Let me take you to the hospital.”
He shook his head.
“Let me see, then.” She tried to peel his costume down.
He flicked her away. “Water, please. Over there.”
She followed his gaze to a fridge. A moment later, she’d retrieved a lukewarm bottle of water. He accepted it with a murmur of thanks, broke the seal and gulped down its contents. Then he collapsed into himself, a wretch of a man, his concave body a shell that curled around his heart. Ellie didn’t know how to make him feel whole again. She perched next to him and placed an awkward hand on his knee, letting the heat from her palm seep into his skin through the thin material of his costume. He sank into her, his hard chest against her soft one.
In the main tent, the acts continued and performers scurried past, giving them a wide berth, as if the area around them had been cordoned off, as if they were lovers and not something as yet undefined.
Ellie stroked Yusuf’s back and felt the tension evaporate from his neck and shoulders. Too much pressure on his left shoulder caused him to flinch, and she realised his body would be covered in unholy splotches by the morning. He was foolish for not seeing a doctor, but who was she to insist? She couldn’t even be sure they were friends, so she continued soothing him with her touch, offering comfort but not demanding anything in return.
After a while, he drew back. His colour had returned to normal and his voice no longer quivered when he spoke. “I can’t believe I fell.”
“What happened?”
He grimaced. “I lost focus.”
“You must have been so scared.”
He evaded her eyes. “I felt relief.”
She scrutinised his face, puzzled. He’d fallen over fifteen metres. His escape had been miraculous, bruises or not. “I don’t understand.”
His voice was an empty vessel, his energy spent. “I’ve feared that moment for so long. Falling. Now the worst has happened.”
Ellie shook her head. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I have the girls to thank for that.”
She looped her arms around his neck and leant her forehead on his. He didn’t resist her embrace and her heart leapt a notch. “I’m sorry we fought.”
“That doesn’t matter now. The circus is done for. Silberling told us not to mess up, and after all the chaos, the protests and violence, now I’ve fallen. What have I done? What if I’m the last straw? I’ve handed Silberling the excuse he needs to shut us down.” He crumpled into himself.
Ellie averted her gaze. Her feelings for him compromised her ability to herald the truth. The secret she’d held about Silberling’s duplicity weighed on her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Yusuf deserved to know, but she didn’t want to crush him, not after the knocks he’d sustained.
She strained to hear his words above the din of Zul’s clown act. His breath fanned her face. “Have you been watching the news? All that talk of citizen’s rights. Don’t refugees have rights? We jump through loop after loop and still the ground shifts. All these cycling highs and lows. How do some people have it so easy, or does everyone end up in the dirt and have to claw their way out?”
Ellie didn’t have an answer; she remained silent.
“I used to daydream as a child. I’d see my life mapped out in front of me in beautiful symmetry: a smooth road with only small deviations for adventures. I didn’t doubt that I’d be happy. That I’d have my family around me. In my dreams, my father worked elsewhere, but my brother and my mother sat around a table. We lived in a big house altogether, and I had a beautiful wife and a Jaguar the neighbours envied. I was important.” He shuddered. “I remember the child I was, and recall my dreams, and wonder, is it my fault I didn’t get there? Is there still time? Can I force the life I want to live or is it my job just to wait out the cycles? Somewhere, maybe there’s a version of me living that life. I can almost taste it. It’s just beyond my reach.”
She hugged him. “You aren’t responsible for life’s knocks, Yusuf. Sometimes we just need to weather life’s storms and be kind to ourselves.” Her chest tightened, knowing that if she lied to Yusuf now, he wouldn’t forgive her. That the truth must always come first. She closed her eyes. “I have something to tell you.”
His body grew still. “Yes?”
“Silberling’s not the friend you think he is.”
Grey eyes narrowed into slits, deep shadows beneath them. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been doing some digging. The spike in attacks on the circus, my editor’s pushiness, turfing me out on my ear–none of it felt right. And I found something out. He wants the circus to fail.”
Yusuf’s brow furrowed. “He was the driving force behind this project. Why would he want us to fail?”
“He asked my editor to write a story that would fuel negative feelings. I have proof.” A thickness coated the insides of Ellie’s throat. How could her timing be so off? She didn’t want to hurt him, especially not now, but she couldn’t let him blame himself. “Can’t you see how tensions are escalating? How it doesn’t seem like a coincidence? He’s behind it. My gut says that he’s going to shut you down.”
Yusuf leaned on the crate as he heaved himself up. Wild hair framed his pale face and his clenched fists hung stiffly by his side. “Why would he do that?”
The ground trembled under their feet as the performers and their animals took to the stage for the finale. Emir beckoned Yusuf to join them. Yusuf held up a hand, signalling he’d be right there, and turned back to Ellie.
“Why, Ellie?”
He couldn’t use this new information tonight. They needed to concoct a plan. If he acted before they were ready, he risked blowing their advantage and ruining the story. She worried his emotions would overshadow his good sense, compel him to do something stupid. “Officials from the Interior Ministry are here tonight. Please, you can’t say anything. Not until we’re ready.”
Yusuf grew still, like the quiet before a storm. “Tell me why he’d do that, Ellie.”
“He thinks the public has given up on you. He wants to force it to a head so it’s buried before the election.”
Yusuf flinched. His eyes darted back and forth as he pieced his thoughts together. “You’re lying.”
“I have proof.” She closed the distance between them. “I want to help.”
A vein pulsed in his neck. “And how are you going to do that? You have no job. You’re as powerless as me.” He gritted his teeth, attempting to restrain his anger, choosing her as a target because Silberling lay out of reach.
“I can help, Yusuf.”
“I don’t need a white saviour. I don’t need your charity. Don’t you see? You’re all the same. I’m never sure if you want to keep me small or see me fly. Whether you want me to be your pet or your equal. The rules you play by are always changing. Just leave me be.”
Ellie recoiled. She considered the two of them to be equals; why didn’t Yusuf? She opened her mouth to explain, but shut it again, and the moment for her to smooth things over passed.
“Acrobat! Acrobat!” came the call of the crowd.
“Your grief is so raw that you’re confusing your friends with enemies.”
“My grief makes me strong. Grief is love. Love for my country, for my people.”
The crowd clapped and stomped their feet.
Yusuf pushed through the curtains without a backward glance.
Chapter 26
Ellie pressed through the crowds to her mother, and they headed out arm in arm under the moonlit sky to find their bikes. Their shoes slapped the path as they walked: the thud of Ellie’s Dr. Martens and the squelch of her mother’s trainers.
“I really thought that was going to end badly. What a relief he’s okay,” said her mother.
“He’s fine,” said Ellie, lost in a jumble of thoughts.
“You made up then, after last time? I was sorely tempted to come after you when you ran into the ring.”
They located their bikes: her mother’s stately one in apple green with its wide handlebars and woven basket up front, and Ellie’s, neon amber with a high bar and extensive gears for the speeds she liked to ride.
Her mother secured her purse in the basket and mounted her bike. “It’s a pity I couldn’t say hello. I hope there aren’t any bad feelings.”
Ellie tied her hair into a bun. “He had other things on his mind, Mama,” she said, swinging her leg into place and pushing off.
She smarted from Yusuf’s rejection. It lay at odds with her own depth of feeling for him. She had no idea how to scale his walls, or if she should give him up altogether. How often had she shown him they were on the same side?
Let him wrap his sadness and anger about him if that’s what he wants.
One thing had become clear: the truth needed to come to light. She needed to write her version of the story, with or without his blessing.
She rode next to her mother at a comfortable pace along the edge of the park. Firs and oaks rustled as they passed, and the musky scent of the damp night lay on the leaves.
“You’re quiet, love. It was quite a shock, seeing Yusuf fall. The circus is so joyful, it’s easy to forget the risks the performers take. And then, with you knowing him, it makes it harder.”
Being with her mother left no room for morose thoughts. Every moment with Katharina Richter thrummed with curiosity. She couldn’t help but set the world to rights, to question and fill voids. It both exhausted and lifted Ellie.
“Still, all’s well that ends well.”
“Except it isn’t,” said Ellie, glancing over her shoulder as the big top receded into the distance. “Yusuf decided he didn’t need saving, not by me or anyone else.”
Her mother’s laboured breath punctuated her sentences. “Quite right too. I imagine him being pushed and pulled all over the place, poor lad. He must have been all up-ended after that tumble–a proud man like that. Give him some space to make his own decisions.”
Ellie cycled faster, suddenly craving space. Part of her wished to turn her back on the whole sorry affair. She could move. Barcelona beckoned. Or she could resurrect her school French and head to Paris. No, maybe not Paris. She preferred Berlin’s laissez-faire flair to Parisian chic. Besides, Paris had its own problems with multiculturalism and the march of the far right, and Ellie considered herself most at home in tolerant, hopeful places. Researching possible destinations would give her something to get her teeth into. A new start always brought opportunities. She kidded herself that her parents needed her, that her mother required support with her father’s drinking. They were grown adults. She’d never flown far from the nest: it could be the best decision she’d ever made.
Except Ellie never ran from problems. She ran into them, and she wrestled them until she won.
Her mind shuttered back to Yusuf, cowed but proud before her, stubborn and brave but determined to be alone. His siege mentality would get him nowhere but he needed to find that out for himself.
In some ways, they were alike. As adventurous as she was, she’d always needed her touch points, the places and people who anchored and understood her. There could be no thought of traversing the world alone, with her thoughts bouncing about her head with no one to listen. Even tonight, there could be no question of returning to her flat with its silence and stark walls. She’d boomerang back to her parental home like a migrating bird following its instinct for preservation.
