Colette descended from the rigging backstage, having double checked that her trapeze artists were secured in their costumes and ready to fly. She dusted a bit of chalk off her hands, addressing the crowd as she burst through the black curtains behind the rings.
"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to fly? You've seen my daring Arab vaulters, you've marveled at my feathered friends, but you've never seen anything like this before--I present to you a family of high-flying sisters, to whom the air is but a second home."
A lone trapeze dropped slowly behind her, and she backed up a pace, sitting on it delicately, kicking her feet lightly so she swung gently back and forth. It began to rise, and two matching trapezes began to descend on either side of her. Soon, the three of them were in an even line, and on both sides she was flanked by a young woman with equally dazzling outfit and smiles.
"Ladies?" Colette held out a hand first to one, and then the other, both of whom giggled lightly. Colette grinned at the crowd, balancing delicately with her hands outstretched.
The girls tugged back and forth lightly, and her trapeze swung from side to side, at first with a gentle motion, and then more raggedly.
"Now, now, girls, is this any way to treat your employer?"
The girls laughed again, and with a little wink at the audience, pulled her entirely off the swing.
She tipped backwards, falling back until she was nearly diving at the ground, and then the thin line that ran down her back snagged in the riggings above, brought her horizontal to the ground, and brought her whizzing back above the crowd almost faster than the eye could follow. Within a few seconds, she had disappeared entirely into the dark.
The two girls continued swinging like they were in a park rather than hanging at the top of the tent, leaning back and letting go first with one hand and then with the other, dropping down to hang from their knees. Colette's middle trapeze returned, absent the ringleader, and one of the girls reached for it, releasing her knees from the first trapeze so that there was a moment of holding nothing in mid-air before she snatched the bar and pulled herself gently back to sit on it. Alisa and Lin went back and forth for a few passes in gentle competition - one letting go just a moment sooner and grabbing just a moment later, the next adding an extra flip. Marie knew that it was all choreographed, and that who would outdo who had been planned in advance, but Lin's usual intensity was still there regardless and she was almost loath to drop into it. Rolling her eyes, she slid down onto the third, empty bar, sitting on it for a moment like a swing and getting it moving back and forth while the other two struck a pose before dropping down to hang by her knees. She flung herself off it and was snatched out of the air by Lin, who whispered something to Marie before tossing her back to Alisa. The music - a cheerful tune, tinny like something on a toy piano - was picking up its pace and volume, and Marie decided to assume from the pinched look on Lin's face that it was some uninteresting criticism of her hair or posture or entrance, and thus could be ignored. Alisa caught her wrists and gently lobbed her back to the middle trapeze, and she pulled herself back up as a fourth trapeze descended, holding Lottie, who smiled broadly. The four girls now made four corners above the center of the tent, close enough together that anyone dropped would land well away from the edge of the net, so that the routine they transitioned into - with girls swinging in leaps and flips from their own trapeze to be caught by the girl adjacent, one or two at a time - was impressive but not overly dangerous.
In the middle of this routine, the ceiling mechanism began to move again, this time starting to rotating slowly so that the four trapezes circled the top of the tent, forcing the acrobats to adjust their throws and leaps, for the spot they were aiming for was not where the trapeze was when they first took off. With some more gentle creaking, another object began descending from the ceiling in the middle of the circle: A large metal ring, in which Abigale was lounging, her back resting against the curve, with one leg dangling down. One of the little mechanical birds from earlier perched on her knees and sang, its amplified, tinny voice mixing with the music from the orchestra below. It took off, flying around the tent a bit before landing on Marie's trapeze bar.
The ladies on the edges stopped throwing each other while Abigale repositioned herself in the ring. She dropped her other leg and for a moment just sat, holding nothing, leaning back a bit further than comfortable and swinging her legs in ballerina-like movements so the ring swung a bit with her. A few more more birds flew into the tent and added their voices to the music as Abigale began to climb into the ring, bracing her legs on the inside or wrapping them around the top in a series of gravity-defying poses, her back arched to match the curve of the ring. On the edges of the tent, the ladies started moving again, mimicking Abigale's slower, more stationary moves - Lin slid slowly from her seated position to dangle from the bar by one leg, and Marie hung below her bar by her arms and pulled her legs up into the splits, smiling so as not to betray to the audience how much she truly loathed this part - gracefully holding difficult poses was much less exciting than flying through the air. One of the birds landed on her outstretched leg and she mentally peppered it with profanities.
Abigale continued to manipulate the ring, with more and more impressive maneuvers, until she was hanging from the top by her arms, legs bent above her and back arched in a modified, mid-air version of a yoga pose she'd stolen from one of the contortionists. The ladies on the bars pulled themselves in slow, graceful motions to stand on to of their bars; the birds, who had been flitting around the acrobats, swooped back towards the middle of the ring.
It was a prettily put together pose, accented by a change of lighting and swell of music, and the audience clapped politely, and then were cut off with a gasp as the girls all suddenly dropped in concert; Abigale catching herself with her bent knees on the bottom of the ring, not changing her position at all except to move her arms, and the rest of the girls likewise falling back off their bars to catch themselves with their legs. Hardly a breath later, the mechanical birds exploded abruptly, and the lights darkened so that the audience could clearly see the net below, now apparently quickly catching fire.
In reality, there were two nets: what the audience saw, which was the edges of a net which burned continually through a clever trick of pyrotechnics, and the smaller net hidden below, perfectly safe (or as safe as circus things went) and not at all on fire, but tucked out of audience view. So that when the trapeze machinery began to lower, dropping the swinging and twisting acrobats closer to the flames, the audience began to shift with concern. Marie climbed back up onto her bar and jumped, apparently diving into the flames, only to be snatched out of the air by Lin, who caught her ankles and tossed her back towards the center of the tent, where Abigale, still hanging from the bottom of the ring, caught her by one arm. They held the dramatic pose for a moment - Marie dangling, limbs spread dramatically, above the fire, held precariously by the suspended Abigale. Then Abigale grabbed Marie's other arm and the act continued, with Marie flying first to Lottie while Abigale's ring lowered and she dropped herself in it, holding herself in by her arms and shoulder blades and twisting her legs so that the ring spun. When it was low enough, Marie could fly over top of it to Alisa, who caught her and tossed her - into the middle of the net. She seemed to disappear into the flames, below the wildly spinning Abigale, who was pulling herself back up to sit in the ring. Marie bounced up briefly on the net, reaching an arm out - Abigale leaned precariously forward in the ring, stretching out her hands to catch her, but Marie fell back down, vanishing beneath the stage. Lin went next, swinging back and releasing into an incredible flip with ended with a dive into the net. Lottie followed, and then Alisa. The entire time, Abigale's ring was ascending back towards the ceiling; for a moment, she stood in it, lit by the flame and smoke below, before swinging back down to hang by her knees. The ring dropped suddenly and Abigale tumbled off of it, into the net. Abruptly, the music stopped, and the little flames licking at the edges of the net flared into a column of fire that stretched nearly to the top of the tent, throwing the previously dim corners into yellow light. As quickly as it had come, it vanished; the lights came up again slightly, to reveal that the trapezes and net were gone, and the acrobats nowhere to be seen. Indeed, the circus's rings were entirely empty.
Colette's voice, amplified mechanically, drifted through the tent: "Ladies and gentlemen, we deeply appreciate your patronage this evening. Our talents are our greatest gifts, but sharing them with cities so fine as Orleans is our greatest joy. We look forward to performing here all week; return if you dare, or simply spread the word that the greatest Cirque ever to grace the Western World has come to France--Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages... La Cirque de la Vapeur!"
In a crawl space beneath the stage, stage manager Tom Sry was helping the acrobats wiggle out of the secondary net without being spotted by the crowd leaving the tent above. "Well done ladies, well done," he whispered, ushering them into the performer's area behind the tent. The circus was alive with performers, hugging each other, jostling around looking for clothing and props, breaking into celebratory alcohol while still half in their costumes. "Yes, yes, you all did marvelously," Tom Sry said in his drawling voice, his accent an odd mix of Arabic and Spanish and French. "Be sure to put all the costumes back on their hangers or Alexandra shall turn you into a newt. Lads," he called to some of the stage hands nearby, "see that the nets get packed up properly. Check for weak points, the fire might've caught the edges."
"That could have gone worse," Lottie said cheerfully to no one in particular, straightening her skirt. "We smell repulsive."
"Keep it down, ladies and gents!" Tom Sry called above the din. "The audience is still out there!" But the performers could hear them dispersing, the sound of footsteps on the seats in the big top lessening and the sound of chatter in the space beyond swelling as the audience trickled out into the night.
31 October 2010
23 October 2010
Silks and Serpents
A flurry of panicked motion filled the back changing tent as the belly dancing troupe frantically tried to find all of the pieces of their costumes before their portion of the show began. The lights dimmed, then rose, and dimmed again. Gears above the stage clicked as they shifted into new positions to prepare for the second half of the circus shows.
Alexandra tucked her deck of cards back into a pouch at her waist as she walked back from her performance tent into the changing tent to help control the chaos. Upon seeing the mess, she immediately dove in and helped to sort out everyone’s costume pieces.
All the lights in the circus dimmed and then slowly began to rise with a red undertone. Music began to spin and weave throughout the tent and drifted in past the double layered curtains that separated the changing tent from the rings. It was a haunting tune in a minor key: played on violin, clarinet, accordion and cello. The dancers, wrapped in sheer and flowing multi-coloured silks, gracefully slid past the curtain and posed in the center ring. The lights continued to rise, allowing the crowds to see the silhouette of the belly dancer troupe. A heavy drum beat started in the background: one, two, three, four. With each drum beat the dancers reposed themselves, spreading out across the stage. More instruments added themselves: clarinet, accordion and cello. The lights rose completely and the troupe continued to dance seductively to the beat of the drum.
As they glided around the ring, another act was preparing in a small shelter attached to the main tent. A scantily clad woman with henna tattoos covering her body knelt and opened up a deep basket to lift out large python, which she wrapped around her slender shoulders. Two muscular men, wearing only loose fitting pants and more henna tattoos, lifted a basket on each shoulder and followed her as she slipped into the back of the main tent.
The woman stalked out of the shadows and into the view of the crowd. Bells attached to her ankles chimed to the beat and she spun and danced in half time to the music, lifting the python over her head and dancing with it. The rest of the belly dancer troupe spread out to either side of the snake charmer, moving with the music. The two men placed the baskets on the ground, opened them, knelt and pulled flutes from loops on their belts. From inside the baskets deadly cobras and vipers began to raise their heads, hissing at the light and noise of the crowd.
As one, the crowd seemed to draw back in their seats at the sight of some of the most venomous snakes in the known world. The music playing for the belly dancers faded slightly as the snake charmer men began to play their flutes. The snakes’ attention was drawn to the sound and they rose further out of basket, swaying to the music. The woman with the python wrapped around her danced gracefully in between the baskets, gently stroking the swaying scaly heads.
To one side of the stage, Colette stood with Alexandra watching the performance of the belly dancers and the snake charmers. “They’re doing well tonight, aren’t they,” Alexandra murmured to the ringmaster, “it’s a full crowd out there and the tickets for tomorrow night are almost sold out.”
“Wonderful. Tell the ticket master to bring the cash from tonight to be to put in the safe; we don’t want anything to happen to them, especially after making such a profit,” Collette replied, keeping her eyes on the performance. “I’ll see you at the end of the show; I have to go announce the next act.”
Alexandra nodded, walked back behind the curtains of the stage and left to go find the ticket master of the Cirque to pass on Collette’s message.
As the act drew to a close, the song played by the flutes grew slower and slower, lulling the snakes back into their basket. And, with the belly dancers accompanying them, the snake charmers gathered up the baskets and slid gracefully off the stage and back behind the dark curtains.
A small group of men and women wearing sparking red and gold bodysuits tumbled out of the shadows and into the bright spotlights and, barely even pausing, three of the men broke out of the roll and knelt, allowing one of the smaller women to flip onto their backs and bow to the crowd.
“Ladies and Gentleman!” Collette’s voice rang out from high above the crowd as she dropped down on a swing shaped like a gear from the top of the tent. “I am pleased to present the Tortuosity Troupe of Contortion.”
Two of the women who had rolled to each side then simultaneous flung themselves at the three person pyramid; pushing off the backs of the men and balanced themselves in a handstand on the shoulders of the woman on top with one hand and held each other up by grasping each other’s hand over her head. The crowds exclaimed with amazement at the feat and continued to “oooo” and “ahh” as the contortionists broke from the pyramid and reformed with each of the men holding one of the women above their heads by one hand. The women, balancing on one hand, gracefully and in sync did the splits while upside down, before dropping one foot into the men’s other hand and letting go with the other hand and flipping themselves right side up. They continued to bend and contort themselves, all the while balancing on one foot, held up by the incredibly strong men underneath them.
All of a sudden, the women flung themselves out of the grip of the men and caught almost invisible black ribbons which had dropped from the ceiling while the crowd was watching the contortionists. The women twisted and spun as the ribbons began to lift high into the top of the circus tent, appearing to the crowd as if they were floating stars shimmering in mid-air as they continued their contortions.
As the women were lifted off the stage, the men began to flip backwards across the stage one after the other and each one grabbing the hands of the other acrobat and lifting and tossing the other across the stage. They continued their twisting and tumbling until they reached a small platform that had lifted out of the stage. They agilely stacked themselves, one on top of the other, holding themselves up by one hand or foot and staying almost motionless in one almost impossible position. This platform began to slowly spin and sink into the stage. As the platform turned a full rotation, the men changed their positions, turning their bodies into full circles or twisting their legs around and above their heads while balancing on one hand.
As they disappeared completely into the floor and the women on the ribbons above disappeared into the darkness, swings began to drop from the ceiling of the tent. Fog began to rise from somewhere in the depths of the machines under the stage, swirling around the ground and rising slowly to completely obscure the wooden flooring. The lights dimmed and a spotlight shone down from the top of the tent and into the fog.
Alexandra tucked her deck of cards back into a pouch at her waist as she walked back from her performance tent into the changing tent to help control the chaos. Upon seeing the mess, she immediately dove in and helped to sort out everyone’s costume pieces.
All the lights in the circus dimmed and then slowly began to rise with a red undertone. Music began to spin and weave throughout the tent and drifted in past the double layered curtains that separated the changing tent from the rings. It was a haunting tune in a minor key: played on violin, clarinet, accordion and cello. The dancers, wrapped in sheer and flowing multi-coloured silks, gracefully slid past the curtain and posed in the center ring. The lights continued to rise, allowing the crowds to see the silhouette of the belly dancer troupe. A heavy drum beat started in the background: one, two, three, four. With each drum beat the dancers reposed themselves, spreading out across the stage. More instruments added themselves: clarinet, accordion and cello. The lights rose completely and the troupe continued to dance seductively to the beat of the drum.
As they glided around the ring, another act was preparing in a small shelter attached to the main tent. A scantily clad woman with henna tattoos covering her body knelt and opened up a deep basket to lift out large python, which she wrapped around her slender shoulders. Two muscular men, wearing only loose fitting pants and more henna tattoos, lifted a basket on each shoulder and followed her as she slipped into the back of the main tent.
The woman stalked out of the shadows and into the view of the crowd. Bells attached to her ankles chimed to the beat and she spun and danced in half time to the music, lifting the python over her head and dancing with it. The rest of the belly dancer troupe spread out to either side of the snake charmer, moving with the music. The two men placed the baskets on the ground, opened them, knelt and pulled flutes from loops on their belts. From inside the baskets deadly cobras and vipers began to raise their heads, hissing at the light and noise of the crowd.
As one, the crowd seemed to draw back in their seats at the sight of some of the most venomous snakes in the known world. The music playing for the belly dancers faded slightly as the snake charmer men began to play their flutes. The snakes’ attention was drawn to the sound and they rose further out of basket, swaying to the music. The woman with the python wrapped around her danced gracefully in between the baskets, gently stroking the swaying scaly heads.
To one side of the stage, Colette stood with Alexandra watching the performance of the belly dancers and the snake charmers. “They’re doing well tonight, aren’t they,” Alexandra murmured to the ringmaster, “it’s a full crowd out there and the tickets for tomorrow night are almost sold out.”
“Wonderful. Tell the ticket master to bring the cash from tonight to be to put in the safe; we don’t want anything to happen to them, especially after making such a profit,” Collette replied, keeping her eyes on the performance. “I’ll see you at the end of the show; I have to go announce the next act.”
Alexandra nodded, walked back behind the curtains of the stage and left to go find the ticket master of the Cirque to pass on Collette’s message.
As the act drew to a close, the song played by the flutes grew slower and slower, lulling the snakes back into their basket. And, with the belly dancers accompanying them, the snake charmers gathered up the baskets and slid gracefully off the stage and back behind the dark curtains.
A small group of men and women wearing sparking red and gold bodysuits tumbled out of the shadows and into the bright spotlights and, barely even pausing, three of the men broke out of the roll and knelt, allowing one of the smaller women to flip onto their backs and bow to the crowd.
“Ladies and Gentleman!” Collette’s voice rang out from high above the crowd as she dropped down on a swing shaped like a gear from the top of the tent. “I am pleased to present the Tortuosity Troupe of Contortion.”
Two of the women who had rolled to each side then simultaneous flung themselves at the three person pyramid; pushing off the backs of the men and balanced themselves in a handstand on the shoulders of the woman on top with one hand and held each other up by grasping each other’s hand over her head. The crowds exclaimed with amazement at the feat and continued to “oooo” and “ahh” as the contortionists broke from the pyramid and reformed with each of the men holding one of the women above their heads by one hand. The women, balancing on one hand, gracefully and in sync did the splits while upside down, before dropping one foot into the men’s other hand and letting go with the other hand and flipping themselves right side up. They continued to bend and contort themselves, all the while balancing on one foot, held up by the incredibly strong men underneath them.
All of a sudden, the women flung themselves out of the grip of the men and caught almost invisible black ribbons which had dropped from the ceiling while the crowd was watching the contortionists. The women twisted and spun as the ribbons began to lift high into the top of the circus tent, appearing to the crowd as if they were floating stars shimmering in mid-air as they continued their contortions.
As the women were lifted off the stage, the men began to flip backwards across the stage one after the other and each one grabbing the hands of the other acrobat and lifting and tossing the other across the stage. They continued their twisting and tumbling until they reached a small platform that had lifted out of the stage. They agilely stacked themselves, one on top of the other, holding themselves up by one hand or foot and staying almost motionless in one almost impossible position. This platform began to slowly spin and sink into the stage. As the platform turned a full rotation, the men changed their positions, turning their bodies into full circles or twisting their legs around and above their heads while balancing on one hand.
As they disappeared completely into the floor and the women on the ribbons above disappeared into the darkness, swings began to drop from the ceiling of the tent. Fog began to rise from somewhere in the depths of the machines under the stage, swirling around the ground and rising slowly to completely obscure the wooden flooring. The lights dimmed and a spotlight shone down from the top of the tent and into the fog.
14 October 2010
Legerdemain
Anselme’s strong clear voice still echoed among the canvas and timbers of the main tent as he stood in the center ring, bowing low in response to the thundering applause of the crowds, his long feathery sleeves brushing the arena floor. His heart was racing with the adrenaline with which performers are often so familiar. In his head, he was counting the seconds until his cue to exit the stage, and mentally tracing the path behind him that would lead past the crowds into the cool night air. He knew the route with his eyes closed… which happened to be a vital point at the moment.
With a heart-stopping suddenness, every light in the tent winked out at once; the stagehands operating the lanterns unnoticed. Cries went up from the patrons in their seats: some men stood abruptly, some sat in patient dread, and several startled ladies swooned. A single lamp, focused upwards, illuminated the ringmaster in her perch high above the circus stage, the shadows casting a look of menace and mania to her narrow features. “Ladies and gentlemen,” her voice bellowed from the heavens, “do not be alarmed. When confronted with danger, one must remain stalwart.” A soft glow now began at the edges of the ring, casting a faint orange tint to the tent interior. As Colette continued, the flames became visible in their troughs around the giant cogwheel terraces, yellow tips dancing madly to and fro. “When faced with flames, the Vapeur remained unflinching. Here to showcase this bravado is a man of mystery and power, said to be possessed of Satan himself! May I present… Asmodeus Prodigious!”
Colette vanished into darkness as the lantern was extinguished. Music drifted into the tent, quietly at first, but gaining both volume and tempo. The flames around the stage had attained such ferocity as to shed a considerable light upon the floor of the tent. A man stood upon the center-most gear, but it was no longer Anselme. Fire reflected on gold buttons and braids, crossing purple leather in a dazzling pattern that seemed to come alive under the inferno’s spell. His arms rose slowly above his head and Asmodeus began to rise above the stage. Up and up he rose, ascending some 20 feet with the aid of the small, matte black balloon strapped to his back, the pilot light from the torches strapped to his arms giving it the proper motivation to inflate. With a quick flick of the wrist, he touched the spark to the miniature blimp, igniting the accelerant that had been soaked into the fabric. There was a burst of intense white light as the balloon was instantly consumed in flame, Asmodeus wreathed in a halo as he plummeted to the earth below. He landed hard in a crouch, an addition to the stage giving imperceptibly under the sudden weight. The bellows he had set up came into play, forcing oil into the troughs around the stage, sending the conflagration towering above the crowds.
As the flames receded, Asmodeus allowed himself a satisfied grin, and reached for two steel spheres on either side of him. He rose, tossing both orbs into the air and catching them, the magnets lining his gloves sending them whirling in place inches above his hands. Thus he stood, the central stage gear rising, rotating. Asmodeus crossed his arms, deftly activating the torches again, the spheres catching fire above his palms. He began to swing his arms in a tight, controlled manner, his hands weaving dizzying patterns through the air, the magnets from both hands keeping the balls of flame static in their whirlwind course. In the darkness the eye could perceive afterimages where the orbs had been, assuming familiar shapes out of seemingly random lines. Asmodeus’ hands increased their pace, until suddenly the rosette that was the Vapeur’s icon burst forth from the gloom, showering sparks that bounced and scattered from the elevated stage.
Asmodeus clenched the orbs firmly, smothering the flames, and dropping them to the stage. What followed was a menagerie of clockwork-inspired spectacles that drew forth gasps and applause from the assembled masses. Before long, however, Asmodeus reached the end of his routine. He opened the gas feed of his torches to full. Arms at his side, a jet of flame erupted from both of Asmodeus’ wrists, angling down from his body and steadily rising as he raised his arms like phoenix wings. Asmodeus then swung his arms down in front of him, hurling the twin gouts of living orange into the stage before him, creating a brilliant aurora just as their fuel source exhausted, and the music stopped. All was left dark and quiet within the circus tent.
Asmodeus emerged back stage, a wide grin of self-satisfaction plastered to his face, sweat beading on his brow from the intense heat of his performance. Alexandra stood nearby appearing, for all intents and purposes, to be thoroughly examining her cards. She had been watching the show the whole time, spellbound by the cunning tricks and gadgetry Asmodeus employed, riveted by that strong, imposing figure standing solitary upon the stage. She would, of course, never admit it. To further enhance this illusion of ennui, Alexandra looked up nonchalantly from her cards, and asked coldly, “So, how many ladies offered themselves to you after…” Her barbed remark was cut short by a startled cry, and Alexandra’s eyes grew wide. “You’re on fire!”
Asmodeus’ grin grew even broader, teeth beginning to show from between his upturned lips. “I know; it was incredible. Fire is a lot of fun! I should really incorporate more flammables into my routine.”
“Lord, man! In earnest, YOU ARE ON FIRE!” Alexandra pronounced the words with as much emphasis as a hammer on a window, making certain to drive through Asmodeus’ thick ego. His brows knit together in a worried expression, and his eyes slowly followed Alexandra’s outstretched finger to his sleeve. A gas line had blown, and a thin trail of orange and blue was happily licking its way up his arm.
Stalwart was the word Colette had used.
Brave. Fearless. Asmodeus controlled the fire.
He began frantically flapping his arm, prancing around in circles, all the while howling and shouting “Put it out! Put it out!!” Alexandra gave chase, armed with a blanket, face twisted in a scowl at the thought of being late for the intermission business rush.
****
Inside the main tent, the lanterns had been relit, and a stagehand ran in front of the audience, from section to section, shouting “10 minute intermission!” Dozens of conversations had broken out at once, some discussing however she left the house wearing that, or how your ailing mother was holding up, but the majority of attendees were recounting their favorite moments from the varied acts. A throng of people left the tent for the fresher, certainly cooler air of the circus field, attending the many sideshows and stalls.
Within and behind the main tent, stagehands and performers bustled here and there, laying out set pieces for the next act, gathering essential props, and generally looking frantic. Alexandra, having extinguished the flames of Asmodeus’ arm, but not of her own heart, hurried off to her tent to tell fortunes to the inevitable line of wives asking after husband’s fidelity and businessmen inquiring about financial investments. Colette leaned back against a support beam of the team, stealthily drawing a flask from some unknown pocket and taking a long, deep swig. Asmodeus, his sleeve charred but flesh intact, meandered off to assist Marie and the other acrobats in their final preparations for their impending performance. In both the circus crew and the night’s guests was a sense of unbridled anticipation for the second half of the show.
With a heart-stopping suddenness, every light in the tent winked out at once; the stagehands operating the lanterns unnoticed. Cries went up from the patrons in their seats: some men stood abruptly, some sat in patient dread, and several startled ladies swooned. A single lamp, focused upwards, illuminated the ringmaster in her perch high above the circus stage, the shadows casting a look of menace and mania to her narrow features. “Ladies and gentlemen,” her voice bellowed from the heavens, “do not be alarmed. When confronted with danger, one must remain stalwart.” A soft glow now began at the edges of the ring, casting a faint orange tint to the tent interior. As Colette continued, the flames became visible in their troughs around the giant cogwheel terraces, yellow tips dancing madly to and fro. “When faced with flames, the Vapeur remained unflinching. Here to showcase this bravado is a man of mystery and power, said to be possessed of Satan himself! May I present… Asmodeus Prodigious!”
Colette vanished into darkness as the lantern was extinguished. Music drifted into the tent, quietly at first, but gaining both volume and tempo. The flames around the stage had attained such ferocity as to shed a considerable light upon the floor of the tent. A man stood upon the center-most gear, but it was no longer Anselme. Fire reflected on gold buttons and braids, crossing purple leather in a dazzling pattern that seemed to come alive under the inferno’s spell. His arms rose slowly above his head and Asmodeus began to rise above the stage. Up and up he rose, ascending some 20 feet with the aid of the small, matte black balloon strapped to his back, the pilot light from the torches strapped to his arms giving it the proper motivation to inflate. With a quick flick of the wrist, he touched the spark to the miniature blimp, igniting the accelerant that had been soaked into the fabric. There was a burst of intense white light as the balloon was instantly consumed in flame, Asmodeus wreathed in a halo as he plummeted to the earth below. He landed hard in a crouch, an addition to the stage giving imperceptibly under the sudden weight. The bellows he had set up came into play, forcing oil into the troughs around the stage, sending the conflagration towering above the crowds.
As the flames receded, Asmodeus allowed himself a satisfied grin, and reached for two steel spheres on either side of him. He rose, tossing both orbs into the air and catching them, the magnets lining his gloves sending them whirling in place inches above his hands. Thus he stood, the central stage gear rising, rotating. Asmodeus crossed his arms, deftly activating the torches again, the spheres catching fire above his palms. He began to swing his arms in a tight, controlled manner, his hands weaving dizzying patterns through the air, the magnets from both hands keeping the balls of flame static in their whirlwind course. In the darkness the eye could perceive afterimages where the orbs had been, assuming familiar shapes out of seemingly random lines. Asmodeus’ hands increased their pace, until suddenly the rosette that was the Vapeur’s icon burst forth from the gloom, showering sparks that bounced and scattered from the elevated stage.
Asmodeus clenched the orbs firmly, smothering the flames, and dropping them to the stage. What followed was a menagerie of clockwork-inspired spectacles that drew forth gasps and applause from the assembled masses. Before long, however, Asmodeus reached the end of his routine. He opened the gas feed of his torches to full. Arms at his side, a jet of flame erupted from both of Asmodeus’ wrists, angling down from his body and steadily rising as he raised his arms like phoenix wings. Asmodeus then swung his arms down in front of him, hurling the twin gouts of living orange into the stage before him, creating a brilliant aurora just as their fuel source exhausted, and the music stopped. All was left dark and quiet within the circus tent.
Asmodeus emerged back stage, a wide grin of self-satisfaction plastered to his face, sweat beading on his brow from the intense heat of his performance. Alexandra stood nearby appearing, for all intents and purposes, to be thoroughly examining her cards. She had been watching the show the whole time, spellbound by the cunning tricks and gadgetry Asmodeus employed, riveted by that strong, imposing figure standing solitary upon the stage. She would, of course, never admit it. To further enhance this illusion of ennui, Alexandra looked up nonchalantly from her cards, and asked coldly, “So, how many ladies offered themselves to you after…” Her barbed remark was cut short by a startled cry, and Alexandra’s eyes grew wide. “You’re on fire!”
Asmodeus’ grin grew even broader, teeth beginning to show from between his upturned lips. “I know; it was incredible. Fire is a lot of fun! I should really incorporate more flammables into my routine.”
“Lord, man! In earnest, YOU ARE ON FIRE!” Alexandra pronounced the words with as much emphasis as a hammer on a window, making certain to drive through Asmodeus’ thick ego. His brows knit together in a worried expression, and his eyes slowly followed Alexandra’s outstretched finger to his sleeve. A gas line had blown, and a thin trail of orange and blue was happily licking its way up his arm.
Stalwart was the word Colette had used.
Brave. Fearless. Asmodeus controlled the fire.
He began frantically flapping his arm, prancing around in circles, all the while howling and shouting “Put it out! Put it out!!” Alexandra gave chase, armed with a blanket, face twisted in a scowl at the thought of being late for the intermission business rush.
****
Inside the main tent, the lanterns had been relit, and a stagehand ran in front of the audience, from section to section, shouting “10 minute intermission!” Dozens of conversations had broken out at once, some discussing however she left the house wearing that, or how your ailing mother was holding up, but the majority of attendees were recounting their favorite moments from the varied acts. A throng of people left the tent for the fresher, certainly cooler air of the circus field, attending the many sideshows and stalls.
Within and behind the main tent, stagehands and performers bustled here and there, laying out set pieces for the next act, gathering essential props, and generally looking frantic. Alexandra, having extinguished the flames of Asmodeus’ arm, but not of her own heart, hurried off to her tent to tell fortunes to the inevitable line of wives asking after husband’s fidelity and businessmen inquiring about financial investments. Colette leaned back against a support beam of the team, stealthily drawing a flask from some unknown pocket and taking a long, deep swig. Asmodeus, his sleeve charred but flesh intact, meandered off to assist Marie and the other acrobats in their final preparations for their impending performance. In both the circus crew and the night’s guests was a sense of unbridled anticipation for the second half of the show.
08 October 2010
Claws and Feathers
Quiet music played as the mist cleared, a single tinny note hanging in the air. Marguerite turned a mechanical swallow over in her hands, wondering at the irony of its name. Birdsong twittered behind her. She released the bird, letting it fly overhead to signal Eric, the lion tamer, to begin.
As the brassy avian clinked around the ring, Eric crawled on stage in the shadows. His lions, two female and one male, followed in the main stage, growling. Their shoulders rippled with each step, tails settled behind them, ears perked. The audience was quiet. Marguerite could tell the beasts watched Eric closely, but the audience did not see him. The lions loped onto the platforms rising in the middle of the ring, and the tinny whistle and birdsong grew into a fanfare when Eric rose from the shadows, sitting calmly in front of his pets.
“I hope your birds can fly high, Auréle. I think my cats are hungry,” Eric said. The ringmaster swung down from her perch above to retrieve the mechanical swallow, shaking her whip at him before hiding again. The audience laughed, and then stopped when Eric rolled from his sitting position. The lions leapt after him.
The music followed in a hunting bugle, cut with sharp, tribal drumbeats. Eric stood just as suddenly as he rolled and the lions reared onto their haunches, paws waving in the air, their mouths gaping. He continued his act, at some points pretending each lion was nothing more than a housecat. The lions rolled, reared, and roared through the ring. At one point they ran close enough to the audience that, had they dared, the front row could reach out and touch them.
Once the promenade ended, Eric settled the lions on their own stands. The females on either side opened their mouths, their lips pulling back over curved teeth. Eric stepped up to the first one, passing his hands between the lioness’s jaws. She closed her mouth playfully a few times. Eric mimed a struggle. The audience seemed torn between laughter and terror when he retrieved his arm and sent the lioness backstage. Eric signaled, and the second lioness stepped down from her pedestal, crouching. He edged towards her, the music reducing to a trembling note of suspense. The lioness growled. Eric jumped back. He approached her again, with similar results. Placing his hands on his hips, Eric stomped forward and growled. The lioness reared, placing her paws on his shoulders. Eric let out a shrill scream, but the lioness licked his cheek. After nervous laughter, a waltz began to play. Eric and the lioness danced before he sent her backstage as well.
At last, Eric approached the male lion. He extended his hand. The lion rolled onto its back, as though sleeping. Eric threw his hands up in frustration, and the lion mewled. Once the laughter quieted, Eric clapped his hands. The lion returned to his pedestal, jaws opening. Eric passed his hands over its tongue, and then slowly inserted his head. The lion stood patiently while the audience clapped. Eric held one hand in the air, the other in the lion’s fur. He removed his head when birdsong reappeared.
Auréle descended with the swallow perched on her hand. When she hung halfway between ground and gears, a flock of songbirds lead by more mechanical swallows poured over the audience. They fanned from the center of the ring and circled back to the ground, where they gathered around a lanky man in a tight fitting, sparkly suit. His sleeves flared into magnificent, feathery cuffs that fluttered behind him while he walked forward. The lion and tamer were nowhere to be found.
Auréle said, “May I present the glorious plumage of our Avian Master, whose song will enchant you this evening. Anselme, do keep my precious little birds safe, will you?”
The brass birds settled their flocks around the ring. Behind Anselme, a peacock spread its tail feathers, its remarkable cue followed by Anselme’s tenor voice. He began with a country song, light and airy. Two of the mechanical birds danced to the tune, their wings clacking like little cymbals in the ring. At the song’s peak, they took the air, the other birds in their wake. They flew in a spiral to the top of the tent, nearly brushing the underbelly of the main airship. The gears spun to meet them, clicking and clanking. Anselme’s platform rose into the air, bringing him to his birds, then tilted over the audience. His voice quieted, and in its place the instruments picked up the melody.
“A pretty tune, don’t you think?” He called to the audience. They applauded, and the birds dove over their heads. Three peacocks strutted about the ring, their own cries overwhelmed by the songbirds and musicians. A trumpet heralded as the machinations continued to work their way from the ship’s hull, as though its gut were sliced open, spilling the contents in the height of the circus ring. But patterns formed from the otherwise chaotic mess of oversized gadgetry. Pipes extended from the ring’s floor to the tent’s top, and a keyboard sat before Anselme. His platform connected with it, and he proceeded to play the tune on the newly formed pipe organ suspended in the air. Birds and music surrounded the audience, another mist growing from backstage.
Marguerite smiled at the contraption. It was one of her favorite elaborate designs of the main airship, a beautiful instrument that bore the rosette underneath its platform. But Anselme’s act was coming to an end. He reached his next to last fermata, a dramatic chord held until Marguerite summoned the brass birds back to their places, and their feathered followers back to their cages.
“Let Hirondelle burn what they wish,” she said under her breath. “We’ve more fire than they could ever know what to do with.”
Anselme’s song came to an end, and so did Marguerite’s post backstage until the end of the night.
As the brassy avian clinked around the ring, Eric crawled on stage in the shadows. His lions, two female and one male, followed in the main stage, growling. Their shoulders rippled with each step, tails settled behind them, ears perked. The audience was quiet. Marguerite could tell the beasts watched Eric closely, but the audience did not see him. The lions loped onto the platforms rising in the middle of the ring, and the tinny whistle and birdsong grew into a fanfare when Eric rose from the shadows, sitting calmly in front of his pets.
“I hope your birds can fly high, Auréle. I think my cats are hungry,” Eric said. The ringmaster swung down from her perch above to retrieve the mechanical swallow, shaking her whip at him before hiding again. The audience laughed, and then stopped when Eric rolled from his sitting position. The lions leapt after him.
The music followed in a hunting bugle, cut with sharp, tribal drumbeats. Eric stood just as suddenly as he rolled and the lions reared onto their haunches, paws waving in the air, their mouths gaping. He continued his act, at some points pretending each lion was nothing more than a housecat. The lions rolled, reared, and roared through the ring. At one point they ran close enough to the audience that, had they dared, the front row could reach out and touch them.
Once the promenade ended, Eric settled the lions on their own stands. The females on either side opened their mouths, their lips pulling back over curved teeth. Eric stepped up to the first one, passing his hands between the lioness’s jaws. She closed her mouth playfully a few times. Eric mimed a struggle. The audience seemed torn between laughter and terror when he retrieved his arm and sent the lioness backstage. Eric signaled, and the second lioness stepped down from her pedestal, crouching. He edged towards her, the music reducing to a trembling note of suspense. The lioness growled. Eric jumped back. He approached her again, with similar results. Placing his hands on his hips, Eric stomped forward and growled. The lioness reared, placing her paws on his shoulders. Eric let out a shrill scream, but the lioness licked his cheek. After nervous laughter, a waltz began to play. Eric and the lioness danced before he sent her backstage as well.
At last, Eric approached the male lion. He extended his hand. The lion rolled onto its back, as though sleeping. Eric threw his hands up in frustration, and the lion mewled. Once the laughter quieted, Eric clapped his hands. The lion returned to his pedestal, jaws opening. Eric passed his hands over its tongue, and then slowly inserted his head. The lion stood patiently while the audience clapped. Eric held one hand in the air, the other in the lion’s fur. He removed his head when birdsong reappeared.
Auréle descended with the swallow perched on her hand. When she hung halfway between ground and gears, a flock of songbirds lead by more mechanical swallows poured over the audience. They fanned from the center of the ring and circled back to the ground, where they gathered around a lanky man in a tight fitting, sparkly suit. His sleeves flared into magnificent, feathery cuffs that fluttered behind him while he walked forward. The lion and tamer were nowhere to be found.
Auréle said, “May I present the glorious plumage of our Avian Master, whose song will enchant you this evening. Anselme, do keep my precious little birds safe, will you?”
The brass birds settled their flocks around the ring. Behind Anselme, a peacock spread its tail feathers, its remarkable cue followed by Anselme’s tenor voice. He began with a country song, light and airy. Two of the mechanical birds danced to the tune, their wings clacking like little cymbals in the ring. At the song’s peak, they took the air, the other birds in their wake. They flew in a spiral to the top of the tent, nearly brushing the underbelly of the main airship. The gears spun to meet them, clicking and clanking. Anselme’s platform rose into the air, bringing him to his birds, then tilted over the audience. His voice quieted, and in its place the instruments picked up the melody.
“A pretty tune, don’t you think?” He called to the audience. They applauded, and the birds dove over their heads. Three peacocks strutted about the ring, their own cries overwhelmed by the songbirds and musicians. A trumpet heralded as the machinations continued to work their way from the ship’s hull, as though its gut were sliced open, spilling the contents in the height of the circus ring. But patterns formed from the otherwise chaotic mess of oversized gadgetry. Pipes extended from the ring’s floor to the tent’s top, and a keyboard sat before Anselme. His platform connected with it, and he proceeded to play the tune on the newly formed pipe organ suspended in the air. Birds and music surrounded the audience, another mist growing from backstage.
Marguerite smiled at the contraption. It was one of her favorite elaborate designs of the main airship, a beautiful instrument that bore the rosette underneath its platform. But Anselme’s act was coming to an end. He reached his next to last fermata, a dramatic chord held until Marguerite summoned the brass birds back to their places, and their feathered followers back to their cages.
“Let Hirondelle burn what they wish,” she said under her breath. “We’ve more fire than they could ever know what to do with.”
Anselme’s song came to an end, and so did Marguerite’s post backstage until the end of the night.
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