Rebecca nodded. Ruda would begin a sentence and Rebecca would finish it.
Their voices took on a childish lilt, and their words were no longer spoken only in English but in a mixture of languages: German, Polish, Czech, even in their own private language. Every movement was mirrored by the other. When Rebecca put her hand to her cheek, Ruda automatically touched hers. They were in a world of their own.
But the outside world was closing in. The showground was a heaving mass of bodies. The parking lot was jammed to the bursting point. There were lines of people waiting to buy ice cream and circus souvenirs. More lines formed by the ladies' and men's toilets, and the mass of ticket-holders surging toward the big tent entrance was four to five abreast.
Luis pushed his way toward the stream of cars. He could still see, about half a mile ahead, the police car with its flashing blue light. He had made up his mind what he had to do and say. He ran toward Inspector Heinz's patrol car.
Torsen was red-faced. Twice he had turned off the flashing light, but Rieckert had shouted that unless they used it, they would not make it in time for the opening parade. Rieckert was as excited as a child, urging Torsen on, poking him in the shoulderblade. "Go on, put the siren on, make them pull over."
Torsen banged the steering wheel. "Look, there are hundreds ahead of us. They won't start the show, it's not due to begin for another three quarters of an hour. We just have to wait like everyone else!"
Freda turned to the backseat. "He's right — we'll get there. They won't start the show before everyone's seated. Look up ahead, you think they won't let everyone inside first? Just sit back and enjoy the fireworks!"
Their car inched forward. It was frustrating to see passersby go past on foot. Then the line came to a complete standstill. Up ahead a car had overheated, and there were roars of laughter and calls of abuse as four young boys tried to push the car over to the side.
Far back in the long line of cars was a taxi. Louis and Helen began to think they should turn back; after all, it was a long shot. Yet Vebekka was looking for her sister Ruda, and a Ruda Kellerman was starring in the circus. There was a good chance...
Helen suggested they get out and walk. Louis agreed, but the driver argued, since he could not turn back. Louis gave him a generous tip, and the well-dressed couple began to hurry alongside the cars.
The rain started, lightly at first, but after a while it began to come down steadily, so now umbrellas added to the crush. Torsen could see Luis Grimaldi coming toward him, and he lowered his window. Luis was soaked, his hair wringing wet, and he was out of breath as he called out:
"Inspector! Inspector!"
Torsen smiled, and turned to Freda. "This is my friend Freda, I think you know Sergeant Rieckert."
Rieckert leaned forward to shake Grimaldi's hand. "I keep telling him to put his siren on, just to get us through the crowds. Will they start on time?"
Grimaldi looked puzzled, but then Torsen waved his tickets. "We have complimentary seats, Mr. Grimaldi, front row. Will everyone get in, do you think?"
"Yes, yes. There are always enough seats or, if not, there's standing room. The show may be held ten, fifteen minutes — it's not usual. So... you are just here for the performance?"
Torsen nodded, slammed his foot on the brake as they almost ran into the back of the vehicle in front. "I am looking forward to seeing your wife's act."
Grimaldi walked away, relieved, and hurried back to the trailer. He churned over how narrowly he had avoided making a fatal mistake: The inspector wasn't coming for Ruda, he was there for the show. He gave a mirthless laugh. As he scraped the mud from his boots, he remembered again Torsen's query regarding Ruda's old boots. He sighed. Best, he told himself, just to ignore it.
Luis banged on the door and let himself in.
The women turned toward him. Ruda smiled. "This is my..."
"Sister," said Rebecca.
Ruda's cheeks were flushed, her eyes brilliant. Her mouth was tremulous, quivering.
They spoke as one: "We are sisters."
Luis found the way they moved together and spoke in the same high-pitched singsong voice disconcerting.
"We are twins."
"Twins," repeated Rebecca. They both lifted their right hand, touched each other's cheek, and laughed.
Luis looked from one to the other. "But — you're not identical."
They sat down at the same time. Crossed their left leg over the right. Ruda leaned forward, Rebecca leaned forward. "We were, but Rebecca..."
"I had my nose done."
Luis poured himself a brandy. When he offered them a drink, they shook their heads and said "No," in unison. For a moment he wondered if they were playing some kind of game.
"Just remember, Ruda, you've got a show to do!"
They talked together, heads very close. They made soft shushing sounds and words he could not make out. Then they both looked toward him.
"Rebecca wants to see..."
"The show."
Their eyes were identical in color. So were their lips, their cheeks.
Luis felt uneasy. "I see the likeness now. I see it."
They nodded, smiling as if very pleased.
Luis looked to Rebecca: "How did you find Ruda?"
Ruda answered. "She went to the church in the city."
"The lights..."
"Yes."
There followed a conversation that Luis could not make heads or tails of. He heard them say the name "Magda," then watched as they both put their hands over their faces and laughed.
Luis leaned forward. "Ruda, keep an eye on the time." She ignored him. Luis got up and looked out of the window. "The lines are thinning out."
Their eyes seemed to follow him around the trailer. He sat down again, then half rose. "Do you want to be alone?"
He saw the way they pressed closer and he sighed, looking at Rebecca.
"Ruda must get ready."
They stared back, with their identical wide eyes. He sipped his brandy. "Where are you from? I mean, do you live in Berlin?"
Ruda answered that Rebecca was staying in a hotel. "Her husband is called..."
They both said "Louis!" and then giggled, bending their heads.
They were beginning to irritate Luis. He drained his glass. "I'll go and check on the boys."
As he opened the door, he asked, almost as an afterthought: "Do you work in a circus, Rebecca?"
"No," said Ruda. "Mother," they both said.
"I'm sorry?" Luis didn't understand.
Ruda said her sister was a mother. Rebecca nodded, and shrugged her shoulders. "I am just a mother."
Luis had his hand on the door handle. He wanted to leave them, and yet there were so many questions he wanted to ask. "Does she know where your parents are? I mean, if they're alive?"
They both looked to him, turned to each other, then back to him.
"For God's sake, stop this! You're acting crazy, Ruda. I mean, can't she speak for herself?"
"Yes," they both said, and Luis yanked the door open.
Then Ruda answered solo.
"She was adopted after the war," said Ruda firmly.
"After the..." Rebecca's voice trailed off.
Luis sighed. It was too much for him. "Well, I'm glad you've found each other." He didn't mean it to sound so hollow, so lacking in warmth, as if they had been apart for only a few hours — not a lifetime. He forced a smile. "You have a whole life to catch up on, I'll leave you alone, but don't forget you have a big show to do, Ruda."
They stood up, hands still held tightly. "Nothing will ever separate us again." Then they turned and held each other.
Luis closed the trailer door behind him. A feeling of dread enveloped him. He knew he should have stayed, made sure Ruda got herself ready.
The rain was pouring down now and Luis had no raincoat. He muttered to himself. It was stupid, all he had to do was turn around, walk back, and get one. But he didn't want to see them again, not just now. He looked at his watch. Then he looked over toward the main tent. A few stragglers stood at the box office now, and the last cars were being directed toward the private parking lot, the attendant in his bright yellow cape making authoritative, sweeping gestures.