Finally, the moment we’ve been dreaming of since we were kids has arrived. Sure, there are no gunslingers, and half our act has gotten lost in a steamer along the way. But as long as Jamie is still in my orbit, I can’t help hoping my gravitational force will eventually bring him around.
Jamie raises an eyebrow at me, as if he senses my thoughts even from across the docking bridge.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” cries Ming Lai, who will be very hoarse after this, “please to introduce to you Virtue and Valor, the Flying Twins of London!”
A polite applause rolls out, and Jamie and I wave.
Mr. Stewart holds up a hand, while beside him, the captain studies us with his piercing blue eyes. Mr. Ismay greets two women who have joined them—April Hart and her mother, holding her daughter’s arm.
April’s gaze slides toward Charlotte, and she coughs out a small laugh. She gives me an approving nod.
“Please keep voices down. On with show!” Ming Lai cries.
Clouds cover the sun like hands over a face, as if the sun isn’t brave enough to watch.
Time to give them something they’ve never seen before. We shall strike our feet upon the wire, and light a fire in the sky.
I look at my brother and blow a dandelion puff of air. He blows back. We are ready.
26
Jamie, who will start us out, fills his lungs with a breath, then expels it. The ship cruises at a moderate pace, which feels as steady as a skate across ice—a few bumps here and there, but nothing to throw one off course. Today seems especially calm.
If you aren’t walking on a rail.
A zing of nerves for Jamie shoots through my belly. Most people believe that we can captain only our own ship, but I’ve always believed I could influence him from afar, just like the times I would call him with my mind and he’d turn my way.
He climbs onto the one-inch-thick rail. A hush falls over the decks. With his feet spaced perfectly, he balances, averting his gaze from the twenty-foot drop to the poop deck.
I envision for him a path where there is no falling. Only lightness, air, and wings. Tuning out the gasps and murmurs, I focus on pulling Jamie toward me, like a kite on a string.One step, two, three, four—a bobble, but he holds on—five, six, seven, eight, nine—he smiles as he nears—ten.He hops off the rail and lands beside me.
People clap, but Drummer tosses off a few drumbeats, and the crowd silences again.
Now people know what to expect. From here, it will grow harder.
“Ready,” I tell Jamie, and he nods. Climbing the rail again, he takes the first step.
I alight behind him, and we step in time. When we reach the middle, he sinks into a lunge.
Visualizing a brick staircase, I step onto Jamie’s calf and place my hands on his shoulders. “Yut-yee-som.” In one smooth motion, I leap onto his shoulders and hold my crouched position.
The ship rocks, or maybe it’s Jamie, but we hang on, with him poised under me like a crane wearing a sunhat.
Below us, the QM sucks in a breath, his hand flying to his chest. I imagine him as one of the brass instruments installed on the docking bridge, a telegraph perhaps, with its open face and jaunty hardware.
“God almighty, they’ll kill themselves!” cries someone.
Life is a balancing act, and the better you get at juggling, the better you get at living.You could be killed walking down the street, but you don’t let that fear stop you. You just practice until the fear is no longer part of the equation.
Of course, to the audience, the fear is everything. People want to see you in jeopardy; they want to feel the terror they imagine you must feel and then experience the sweet relief when you reach the end without falling.
Well, maybe the fear isn’teverything. Watching an acrobat is also just brilliant fun.
Time to move. I zero in on the rail, visualizing it as solidand wide as the quay at Southampton. After another “yut-yee-som,” I finish the leapfrog over Jamie.
Light as a bubble, I land on the rail with my feet in a line.
More clapping punctures the air. I breathe, and we make our way back to the starboard end and jump off.
