Carol Birch - Orphans of the Carnival

‘Dangerous? Dan gerous?’

She went to the door. No one stopped her. She could see the back of Theo’s head and Huber in profile picking at his lip. The policeman’s eyebrows were stoically raised, his eyes downturned. He addressed a long torrent of words in German at Huber, and the manager took out a grey silk handkerchief and dabbed his sweaty brow.

‘What’s he saying, what’s he saying?’ Theo sounded near to tears.

‘Bestiality,’ said Huber queasily. ‘He’s saying they’re calling it bestiality.’

‘What!’

Another torrent.

‘Also—’ Huber glanced quickly sideways, his eyes catching her at the door and sliding away, ‘there’s been some concern — a doctor — doctors.’

‘Doctors?’

‘These are my instructions,’ the policeman said in English, sitting down behind the desk, ‘I have no choice.’

‘They’re saying,’ said Huber, ‘that her face might be dangerous for any pregnant woman in the audience.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘That her face might — cause some misfortune — to the mother — the baby—’

‘What!’

‘Miscarriage—’

Theo laughed, a hard cry of a laugh.

‘Spoil the baby,’ Huber went on, as the policeman rambled on in German, scribbling notes on a piece of paper. ‘Make it like her.’

She didn’t wait to hear more. She went back to her dressing room, closed the door and sat looking in the mirror. Someone had stuck a coloured drawing in the side of the glass. It showed a handsome round building in a grand park, with elegant people strolling about in front. Dear Miss Pastrana , the writing said, here is a picture of one of the many beautiful buildings in the glorious city of Vienna — your friend, Hermann Otto.

The scent of flowers was thick.

Theo bashed the door open. ‘Those idiots. Those beasts. They’re living in the Middle Ages.’

Julia veiled and stood up, began putting on her shawl. ‘Is it very cold outside?’ she asked.

He stalked about, venomous. ‘Aren’t you angry?’ He stopped, glaring at her. ‘Aren’t you furious?’

‘Is it snowing?’

She wouldn’t look at him.

‘How can you stand there like that?’ he said. ‘How can you be calm ?’

‘So what now?’ She stood by the door.

‘How would I know?’ His hair stuck up greasily. ‘Damn Huber carrying on as if it’s my fault. How was I supposed to know these benighted peasants believe in old wives’ tales? Obscene! They’re obscene! I hate them!’

Someone came to the door and said the carriage was ready.

‘I’ve never liked Leipzig.’

The drunker Theo got, the more bullish he became, striding up and down her room with a glass in his hand, spilling pale liquid over his fingers.

‘When were you here before, Theo?’ She was sitting on the end of the bed, twisting a ribbon between her fingers. A fire blazed in the grate.

‘Ten years ago.’ He stood looking down into the fire, remembering the Gatti Twins, the awful awakening from his first great venture. ‘I’m done with this place now,’ he said, ‘it’s bad luck for me. We shouldn’t even have come. Stupid.’ He hit himself on the head. ‘Fool you are, Theo! Should have gone straight to Vienna. That’s what we’ll do, that’s what’s next. I’ll get onto old Otto first thing. Vienna!’

He walked over to the window, lifted the curtain and stood looking out at the snow falling fast across the flat white façade of the buildings opposite.

‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘what’s next.’

Suddenly afraid, Julia began to cry.

‘Huber just standing there,’ he said, ‘yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir. Looking at me as if everything was my fault.’

A formless gloom was on her, and she felt far from home. Certain words had cut. Obscenity. Not ugly, she knew she was that. Fact was fact. Ugly was ugly and beauty was beauty, and nothing anyone could do about that. But obscene? Immoral?

‘Bestial,’ she said.

He turned sharply.

‘After all, what am I really?’ Her voice was thick.

‘Are you crying?’

‘What if I am? What am I?’ She laughed. ‘It isn’t who am I? It isn’t who am I? I know who I am, I’m Julia. It’s what I am.’

Oh God, poor creature, poor creature, he thought.

‘Julia,’ he said, striding across the room and falling on his knees in that ridiculous theatrical way she was getting used to, grabbing both her hands. ‘I will not have you bothered by ignoramuses and bigots. The words that drip out of their mouths are worth less than the spewings of a sewer. They don’t matter.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said.

‘Julia, forget them.’

‘How can I? I blight babies in the womb.’

Don’t, he thought. I can’t deal with this. ‘ They’re the ugly ones,’ he said hopelessly, but she pulled her hands from his and covered her face. ‘You’re much better than them. Stronger,’ he said, but she just shook her head and turned away. He got up, sat down beside her, putting one arm around her shoulders. Touching her sent a thrill of excitement up his arm.

‘I want to go home,’ she said, stiffening.

‘Home?’

‘Mexico. Home. They’d have me back.’

‘Ssh!’

‘At least they didn’t hide their babies.’

‘We’ll go to Vienna,’ he said. His arm felt awkward.

‘It’ll be the same there.’

‘No, it won’t, I promise you.’

She started wiping her face with the ribbons.

‘Here.’ He gave her his handkerchief. ‘What do fools matter? You can’t let this stop you.’

He took his arm away.

‘You’re a wonder,’ he said. ‘A fascination. A miracle.’

Julia dried her face and composed herself.

‘The people who really count adore you,’ he said. ‘They go home and tell everyone — when they’re old, they’ll tell their grandchildren — how they saw the great Julia Pastrana on the stage, how beautifully she danced and sang, and how charming she was afterwards when they shook her hand.’

‘No,’ she said.

‘They’ll remember you all their lives.’

She turned to look at him. ‘I don’t think so. I think they just go home and say, guess what? I saw a monkey in a dress today.’

Theo said nothing. The shine of tears caught in the down on her cheek. Poor soul, he thought. ‘I’ll never put you through that again,’ he said.

‘I know you won’t.’ She sniffed, wiping her face, ‘Because I won’t do it. I’ll go home.’ She was starting to cry again.

After all, he thought, it’s only like stroking a dog. It’s only hair. ‘

You don’t want to go home,’ he said, putting his arms round her and stroking her big shaggy head. ‘You don’t want to go home, Julia. And be a servant again?’

No one had held her since she was small. Solana probably, it was hard to remember. Maybe even her mother. There had once been arms around her though, she was sure of it. ‘I wouldn’t be a servant,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘I have some money now, I could be independent.’

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘in a few years, but not now. Not while everything is so perfect for you. They want you in Russia. They want you in Warsaw and Prague. In Vienna. Everyone wants you.’

The embrace had become stiff.

‘We’ll throw that stupid play aside and carry on as we were.’ His voice was strained. ‘Just you and your talent. There’s so much waiting for you, Julia.’

‘You know, Theo,’ she said, and her voice was steady again. ‘I really don’t know what I am.’

He drew back. This was the moment when in any normal circumstance there would have been a kiss, she even saw the flicker of it in his eyes, but she also saw that he simply couldn’t do it.