Colin, Milly and the other animal trainers wouldn’t let me near the animals anymore. Some nights I’d sneak in to sleep with the camels but I slept in one morning and Colin discovered me. He changed the locks on their enclosure.
Angelina still talked to me, but wasn’t happy. ‘People don’t trust you anymore, G. Milly said you were asking awkward questions. There’s rumours you’re pressuring your mum and dad to get rid of the animals. No one wants to lose their job, G.’
Things were already difficult with the clown troupe; when I returned after the months spent with the animals they’d devised a whole new act that didn’t include me, and now they wouldn’t speak to me, except for Horatiu.
He came round to my caravan with a bottle of whisky one evening and we sat outside watching the sunset, drinking and talking like we were old friends.
‘The whole community treats me like a pariah, but not you,’ I said.
He shrugged and said, ‘Personally, I don’t give a shit about the animals. Travelling would be a lot easier without the dumb bastards. They draw all the attention. We’d make a fortune if we got rid of those spotlight whores.’
I laughed. ‘I like your perspective.’
I nursed my whisky for a moment then said, ‘But I wasn’t trying to get rid of them, I was just—’
‘Making a point?’
‘Starting a discussion.’
I drank my whisky and looked at him. He continued staring at the sunset.
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ I said. ‘After how I treated you?’
‘Tim said what it was about, and I understand your feelings about the past.’ He looked at me and said, ‘You just took it out on me.’
I felt myself blush and looked away, down into my whisky glass.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, glancing at him, ‘I’m sorry, Horatiu.’
‘It’s all in the past,’ he said.
I looked up at him and smiled, shaking my head.
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘all in the past.’
‘I’ll drink to that. More?’
When he reached over for the whisky bottle his sleeve rolled up and I saw the small faded tattoo on his forearm. He glanced at me, pulled his sleeve down, and poured me another glass.
‘To the past,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘To leaving it behind.’
I met his glass with mine and we knocked back the whisky, sitting in silence. I recited the numbers on his arm over and over in my head until they became meaningless.
‘Did you travel much, Horatiu? Before the war?’
‘Not before the war.’
He didn’t elaborate and we sat in silence until I said, ‘You think it’s okay not having a home? Do you think we’re missing something?’
‘You carry your home with you, G. Modern living is an illness. Those people, settled, with their comforts – they’re never happy, never truly alive.’
Eventually things returned to normal. Mum and dad talked to me again after a month or so. They never brought it up, just got on with things as if it had never happened. A few of the other circus folk thawed too, but there was still an awkwardness with some of them and Milly wouldn’t speak to me at all. I stopped writing articles on circus life and put more time into fiction and photography, getting several short stories and photographs published. I didn’t go back into clowning or looking after the animals. I spent my time in Freaks and Wonders, taking photographs, and writing. Creating a different future for myself.
Then the dog was found hanging from one of the candy-striped circus poles, neck broken, tongue lolling. I couldn’t look at his eyes. I was a murderer and I was being arrested.
Chapter 11
London, 30 November 2011
Who’s responsible for this, Goblin? Don’t you want them brought to justice?
I’m responsible. I was born blue. I could have died. Could’ve, should’ve.
Just give me their names.
There can never be justice. She was tied up and dragged down until she drowned. There’s red in the river and it’s too late.
Poland, 1967
We should’ve moved on. When we rolled into the town it was clear we weren’t welcome, but we performed to a half-empty circus tent. Dad cancelled the evening performance and we stayed on to do repairs and get some tools and food. I went into town with Blake and Laura to help get the supplies.
We were loading everything into the back of the truck when I heard yelling and laughing. I looked over at a small crowd in the square.
‘What’s the entertainment?’ I said.
‘Who knows,’ said Blake, not bothering to look.
We finished loading the supplies and Blake went back into the store for something we’d forgotten. Laura sat in the truck and I went over to the crowd, edging my way through. There was an old man on the ground, crying. He was speaking, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying or what language it was. A dachshund was running from one side of the crowd to the other, looking for a way out but only finding the force of a boot. The dog whined when they kicked him but continued running, this way and that until I kneeled down and grabbed a hold of him. I held him to my chest and walked through the crowd, who parted in surprise.
I made my way back to the truck, the dog uncertain of me, wearily trying to bite. I heard yelling and shouting. A couple of people caught up with me and tugged at my arms. I placed the dog on the seat of the truck, handing Laura my coat.
‘Wrap him in this.’
‘Goblin, what—’
I closed the door and turned to find the crowd were coming towards the truck. A man dragged the sobbing old man by the collar of his coat.
‘Why were you kicking the dog?’ I said, looking round the crowd.
‘It’s German. We don’t like Germans.’
‘And we don’t like gypsies.’
‘Give the old man his dog back.’
The man who had been dragging the old man dropped him in front of me. The old man babbled at me in what sounded like German.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said, repulsed by him snotting and shaking at my feet. ‘I don’t speak Nazi.’
‘Please, help me,’ he said in English. ‘They beat me, spit on me. They think I’m German but I’m from Austria, I’m an Austrian Jew. Let them have the dog,’ he said. ‘Let them have him then they will leave me be.’
Laura got out of the truck and joined me.
‘What’s going on, G?’
‘These scum were kicking the dog.’
‘Give the old man his dog back, gypsy,’ said the man who had held him.
‘I’m not a gypsy,’ I said.
‘Give the German bastard his dog.’
‘For what?’ I said. ‘For you to kick to death?’
‘Please. Give him to them,’ said the old man, pawing at my legs.
‘Goblin, you can’t just steal someone’s dog,’ said Laura.
‘They’re going to kill him,’ I said. ‘The old man can come with us too. You can come with us.’
‘Look,’ Laura said to the crowd, hands out as if in surrender, ‘we’ll give the old man his dog back, just calm down, just everyone calm down.’
A man pushed her and she fell against the truck. I punched him, sending him into the crowd. I was grabbed at either side and held as the man who had dragged the old Austrian punched me in the stomach. As I doubled over I heard Blake shouting and I was dropped. Blake was over six feet and made of muscle; the crowd backed off.
‘What’s going on, G? What the hell’s going on?’