Page 52 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘What should we call them?’ The larger black-and-white male carthorse stuck with his smaller female counterpart; the other two, younger tan geldings, plodded slowly around, investigating everything.

‘Those two we should call Abigail and Jacques.’ Jean pointed at the couple.

‘Was that her name, Abigail? The girl with the long legs.’

Jean nodded, and watched them walk and eat in unison.

‘And the other two?’ Michel asked.

‘They are the nosiest pair I’ve ever met. Always into boxes, investigating things. Once, one of them managed to open a box of costumes and ended up with Geneviève’s petticoat stuck on his head!’

‘Let’s call one of them Bertrand – my friend from Paris – gentle but hardworking and inquisitive.’

‘And the other?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What’s your middle name, Michel?’

‘Louis.’

‘Then let’s call him Louis – a questioning sort of fellow.’

Michel play-punched Jean in the arm and then they sat quietly, Jean with his eyes on Abigail and Jacques, and Michel watching his horse counterpart with his best friend Bertrand.

A crow cawed from a nearby tree, its yellow eye focused on Michel. He watched it as he took a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. The bird followed the movement, then tilted his head to the side.

‘Have you any paper, Jean?’

‘Writing paper? I do.’

‘May I borrow some, and a pen?’

‘Feeling reminiscent now, Michel?’

‘A little.’ Michel stood, went to the newly named Louis and Bertrand, and patted their flanks as they walked around the field together.

That night, as the others ate and talked, Michel sat with the horses in their carriage and smoothed down the piece of paper with the palm of his hand. The fountain pen Jean had given him leaked as he wrote, staining his fingers a deep navy blue.

Dearest Bertrand,

I write to you now from a sloping hillside somewhere in the country – where, I do not know. The evening breeze is welcome as it has been another hot day, full of work, dust and little rest. I yearn now for a wash, but we are stuck here overnight, and I smell worse than the horses, who you may like to know are my bunkmates.

If you ever wondered what train you forced me to stow away on, it was a train carrying a circus troupe, and after some trials I have been welcomed into their family (well, by most!). I’m training their newest horse, Beau, a beautiful black stallion, and caring for the others. In fact, just this evening, I christened two of the workhorses Bertrand and Louis – an inquisitive pair who get themselves into mischief. It made me think of you, and an ache appeared that I had been trying to keep down since I left by working all the time – a homesickness for Paris, for your apartment, for our conversations and your guidance.

I wish I could ask for your guidance now. This job, whilst a joy in some ways, is not without its troubles. There is no money – at least none has been given to me – and the boss hates me so much that I wonder why he bothers to let me stay.

What should I do, Bertrand? Leave? Go to Saint-Émilion? Hope that I find a job and a place to stay somewhere else?

I just laughed to myself as I heard your voice instantly in my mind – ‘You have a job, Michel, a home, food; why are you risking this? You always were a hothead.’

You are right, of course you are.

There is a woman, Bertrand. I am amazed by her. You once told me that you cherished your wife. I never knew what you meant by that before, but I think I do now. I cannot win her love – even talking to her is difficult for me. All my words get stuck and come out in a jumble, and I sound stupid. Even if I could speak to her, she would not be interested in me – I know this, and I have to remind myself of this fact – she is far superior to me.

And there is Odélie, an acrobat in the troupe. She likes me, and I her. But it feels fleeting, like those women I met at Odette’s café – a night, a week, a month perhaps, but that is all. And yet I wish it weren’t that way. Odélie is beautiful too – a little older than me, intelligent, quick-witted – why can I not cherish her instead? Why do I want what I can’t have?

Enough now. Enough of me and my thoughts. How is Paris? Has it changed? How is Odette?