I stared into his huge painted face and plucked one of the leaflets from his hand, holding it like it might go poof! up in flames. He blew a raspberry at me and back-flipped over to the other clowns.
Another train was arriving and they were statues again, not moving an inch. Pigeon ushered me on to the stairs and we went up into the glare of London above.
‘Can we go?’
She looked stern, then winked and grinned, a wonderful grin of brown teeth, gaping holes, and cracked lips.
‘Of course we can,’ she said.
I clutched the leaflet so hard it was crushed when I came to stick it on my wall next to Jesus and Mary and the saints.
We followed the buzzing crowd and the first thing I saw was the great tent, swooping up into the sky, the light of the gloaming making it pop – bright colours, bright lights. The pigeons in Pigeon’s hair were alert and chirping and she was swarmed with kids thinking she was one of the acts. She was kind and patient and let them feed the birds. I disappeared into the crowd, wandering from one ride to another, clutching at my pennies, deciding which one to spend them on. I finally chose and climbed into the seat and wheeeeeeee! I spun round and round and it felt like flying, really like flying. I was a Martian, a plane, an eagle swooping in for the kill. I came off, dizzy and happy. I looked for Pigeon but saw a painted man and followed him through the crowd.
‘Oi, Mister,’ I said. ‘Oi, Mister, how come you’re painted all over? How come the paint doesn’t just come off?’
His eyes were a pale blue so light they were almost white. He knelt down in front of me, the ships and anchors and sea rippling and shifting as he moved. He leant his elbow on his knee and I was face to face with a mermaid with faded red hair.
‘It’s magic paint, boy.’
‘I’m not a boy,’ I said, ‘I’m a goblin.’
‘You don’t look like a goblin.’
‘Well, I am. I’d like to be painted like you, ’cept I’d have a Jesus.’
‘Right here, little goblin.’
He turned and showed me Jesus on his back.
‘Just like that,’ I said. ‘Yeah, just like that.’
‘You come for the show?’
I nodded vigorously.
‘You got your ticket?’
‘Pigeon has it.’
‘Pigeon?’
‘Yeah, she has it. I’ll need to find her.’
‘Pigeons and goblins. You belong here, boy.’
He stood and yelled across the crowd, ‘Roll up! Roll up! The circus is about to begin!’
I bobbed through the streams of people, searching for Pigeon. I found her amongst a gabble of kids and we clasped hands, keeping close as we were swept along with the crowd, swept into the magical realm of a glittering aerialist, purple sequins catching the light as she flew through the air. The platform statue-clowns bumbled and tumbled into the ring and I said, Pigeon, there they are! We’ve seen those clowns. There they are! And some old man behind me hissed ssssh! through his squint teeth and some woman said keep quiet, will you? But I always talked and talked and I forgot to keep quiet and they weren’t even listening to much of anything anyway, it was all to look at so what did it matter if I said, Pigeon, that elephant, that big as a house elephant looks stupid in that tiny hat on its huge house-head. The clowns clambered and fell on its back, knocking each other like skittles. The elephant sprayed them all sodden with water and they drip drip dripped and I jumped up and laughed and cheered. Down in front! said that stupid old man but I was down anyway by then, glued to my seat mouth hanging open as a lady on a horse, balanced on one arm, went round and round the ring. Then me and Pigeon laughed and clapped like mad as the dogs all jumped through hoops and last of all out came the painted man holding a sword above his head and I squeezed Pigeon’s hand and said, I know him. I know that man! He has Jesus! Holy, Holy, Holy, I said as he walked around the ring, all great strides and flexing muscles before gripping the sword with both hands, his head back. There was a gasp from the crowd as he lowered it into his mouth and I said nothing but held Pigeon’s hand tight, waiting for the blood and the death and the panic. He swallowed it whole. There were cheers and claps and stamping of feet. Out it came, slowly, slowly, and cheers erupted into a roar as he swept it through the air. I stamped and yelled with the rest of them. All the performers came running in, swarming around him, dancing and cart-wheeling round the ring, the aerialist lady dangling from the trapeze. Everyone stood, clapping and whistling. The performers turned to us and bowed and bowed again and again. Flowers were thrown into the ring as the performers filed out, a swish of the curtain, they were gone.
On the journey back all I could do was talk about the acts but I was tired and half-asleep, leaning on Pigeon, her arm around me. I tried to keep my eyes open, looking up at her, telling her how I wanted to be a clown, be painted and do acrobatics, but my head would droop and I’d drift. I remember hearing her say, ‘I know you, you’re mad as a bag of cats, so don’t you go trying any swallowing of swords.’ I drifted, floating on glitter and lights.
I didn’t tell Mac and Stevie I’d been to the circus. I didn’t want them to be jealous, I didn’t want them to know about Pigeon. Instead, I made up stories about a painted man who ate swords for dinner, a troop of jesters with painted faces who entertained Queen Isabella, and a flying glittering spirit who cast mischievous spells far and wide across the city of London.
‘What you doing, boy?’
‘I’m not a boy,’ I said. ‘I’m a goblin.’
‘You don’t look like a goblin.’
‘Well, I am.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Looking for Pigeon.’
‘What?’
‘The old lady. I’m looking for the old lady.’
The neighbour leaned over, looking down at me, his eyes narrowing.
‘What do you want with her?’
‘Nuthin.’
I whistled to Devil and scuffed my way up the path. The neighbour called after me.
‘She’s gone, boy. She’s sick. Her family took her away.’
I looked down at Devil. He barked at me, but all I could hear was the drone of the insects. I swayed, mesmerised by the bees tumbling amongst the weeds.
‘Boy?’
‘Huh?’
‘You alright?’
‘Where’d they take her?’
‘I don’t know.’
I walked off. I felt dizzy and sat on the curb.
‘So what?’ I said to Devil.
I scuffed my feet on the ground.
‘So what? She was a stupid crazy pigeon woman anyway.’
It wasn’t until weeks later I thought about the pigeons. I went back, broke in through a window and there they were, all over the house, dead like the mummified things, but rotting and stinking. I’d let her birds die.
I cleaned up the best I could, got them all together and buried them in the garden. I remembered from somewhere that people buried things with pennies, so I put pennies on the pigeons and said a lizard prayer.
‘Forgive me lizards, for I have sinned. Forgive me my trespasses better than I forgive those who trespass me.’
I stuck a bit of wood in the ground and wrote, ‘Here lie Pigeon’s pigeons. May they rest with the lizards below.’