I have been toying with this idea a while now. Images have been forming in my mind, dialogues in my ears... Today I was feeling a need to escape from my needy novel and the idea found its way onto the screen in the form of words. I intend it to be short story (how short I don't know yet!) and decided to put the first draft here for the world to see!!
26th of May 1924, Philadelphia. My name is Naomi Holmes. This is my account of my time spent with the greatest Fire-Breather I ever met.
I had grown up in a world of wonders, so I suppose I ought to have been used to seeing one unfold in front of me. But I wasn’t.The young man must have been around my age, in his early twenties. He was simply clad, in a pair of black leather trousers that matched his black, silky hair. His chest was bare, ornamented with beads of sweat. His bright blue eyes reflected the red flames roaring as they were emitted from his mouth.
Suddenly, he opened his arms wide, and more fire blasted from them. He circled them around and created fiery rings, suspended in the darkness, as if burning in an abyss. Watching him was dizzying but I couldn’t look away; it was as if my eyes needed to be infused in the light, as if my very soul needed to be embedded by the magic of it.
When the performance ended, the man slowly brought his hands to his mouth, opened it wide and swallowed the flames as if they were nothing. Suddenly there was no crackling sound, no rushing roar, and no orange glare. Only a dark and heavy silence, broken abruptly by the hefty applause coming from my father sitting next to me. I jumped in my seat, thoroughly annoyed by the noise that broke the spell.
“Wonderful, now that’s what I’m talking about!” my father exclaimed loudly. Everything was loud with him and it had to be, given that he was the Circus Ringmaster. “Now, I’d like it if you could add some acrobatics to the act, but we’ll talk about that later. Wonderful, wonderful!”
He went on praising the fire-breather as he signed the contract with a flourish but stopped as abruptly as he had started, calling the next performer before the young man had even left the tent.
I watched him as he walked away; tall and straight. I had never seen a person look so elegant on his feet, so effortlessly. Perhaps he sensed me staring, because just as he reached the exit, he stopped in his tracks. Turning around, his eyes met mine, as steadily and readily as a hunters.
I felt frozen to the spot, captivated by his otherworldly stare. Finally I managed to look away, feeling myself blush furiously, but when I looked back again he was gone. Overcome by an insatiable curiosity, I stood up.
“Where are you going?” my father asked me, looking shocked at my sudden movement. Even the juggler performing in front of us tripped over his own feet. But that might have been on purpose.
“I have a headache.” I lied, helping the juggler stand up –he just fell over again. “I think I should get some rest.”
My father didn’t reply, sporting the awkward look he always adopted when reminded of the fact that I am now a young woman. Raising a daughter alone wasn’t easy for him, and living in the circus didn’t help either.
I left the tent wanting to look for him, only to find myself in the midst of a vast array of more tents, colorful and bright and plastered with the names of their respective performers, yellow stars, grey moons, pink stripes… All exuberance was welcome. At night time, lights would be blinking everywhere, music would be blasting all around, voices laughing or screaming across the before empty field. During the day, however, there was an odd sort of serenity, a strange quiet, as if it were a bizarre graveyard where the monsters –clowns, acrobats, and illusionists- awoke only at nightfall.
I was the only one here to be born into the circus. My mother was a contortionist and met my father when she began working here. They had fallen in love, married and had me. Perhaps it had been her work that had caused her to die during my birth; that is what my father says. She had mangled her body so badly on the inside that it couldn’t handle bearing me.
My poor father was left with a baby and a circus to manage, but he was fortunate enough to have many helping hands. I was raised, unitedly, by the entire circus. They are my collective parents.
Growing up in a circus is not as marvelous or exciting as one might think. Having seen the truth behind the illusion always robs it of its magic, as any good illusionist would tell you. I have heard the childlike clowns cursing each other with vulgarity, taste the fear of the brave animal tamers and seen the graceful contortionists cry from the pain it caused them.
Nothing has ever felt magical or wondrous to me. Until today.
Knowing where the fire-breather might be I lifted my long dress and ran through the various tents, careful not to trip over the ropes pegged to the ground, holding them upright. After an annoyingly long time, considering the twists and turns in the pathways between the tents, I found myself in front of the train.
Our circus train was one of the largest ones at the time, forty two wagons long. We used it for sleeping quarters and for travelling between cities, and I hated it. Being stuck on a train with so many other people, shouting and fighting all day long was nightmarish. I was lucky to have a wagon to myself at one point, but not for long. My father made me share it with the sixty-year-old fortune teller and the giant lady with a beard. They kept fighting with the dancers they had been sharing with previously. I usually avoided the train during the day, but was glad to see it now.
I skidded to a halt in front of the wagon housing the big cats –lions, tigers and cheetahs- sending gravel flying all around my feet. Looking up and down the long train I wondered where my father might have sent him, but was saved the need to ask when I heard two Chinese acrobats talking, one of them glancing furtively over her shoulder as they were walking.
“…is new here!” she was saying.
“Yes and so handsome…” the other replied with a girlish giggle.
There weren’t many new and handsome people in our circus so I was sure who they were speaking about.
“Hang on!” I said, stopping them in their tracks. Both women looked at me haughtily.
“Naomi, this is not how a lady should act.” The giggling one said to me. “You should know better-”
“I’m sorry.” I interrupted, impatiently. “I am sorry to interrupt your conversation,” I began with emphatic politeness. “I was wondering if you had seen the fire-breather.”
The other acrobat raised her eyebrows.
“It is not ladylike to ask after a man, Naomi. Men should ask after you. What would your father say?”
“My father is the one who sent me to find him.” I lied with a stiff smile. “He wants to speak to him. Have you seen him?”
They sniffed suspiciously but one of them eventually replied.
“He went into the props wagon.” She said.
“Thank you.” I said, as politely as possible and moved towards the end of the train.
“Oh, God, I hope he isn’t practicing in there…” I heard one of them say with worry. “He’ll set everything on fire!”
The props wagon was one of the largest ones, because it had to fit almost everything inside. Costumes, makeup, equipment for the acts, parts of the tents, all were crammed in there while we were travelling. Now it would be empty.
When I finally reached it I stood outside, undecided, but a flash of red light shining through the door compelled me to open it slightly and peer inside.
The fire-breather was standing in the center of the wagon, cupping something in his hands, all of his attention focused on it. To me it looked like a ball of flames, sizzling and blazing its way through his fingers, illuminating the wagon, but then he released it and it took flight.
The fire had turned into a bird and it was soaring around him like an eagle.
“Good, good, that’s perfect…” the fire-breather said softly, smiling proudly. “Come back now.”
The fiery bird flapped its wings and came to rest on his outstretched hand. He cooed at it, stroking its head, and then cupped it once more.
If I hadn’t been so starved for something exciting in my life I might have felt afraid, or disbelieving. But I was starving for it, so I felt neither. Instead, exhilaration grew inside me, my long time longing for something truly wondrous finally appeased.
The fire-breather whispered words I couldn’t hear into his hands and released it once more. This time it turned into a snake, slithering and coiling its self around his neck and shoulders. Next, he whispered something to the snake and it exploded into thousands of flaming butterflies. They flew around his head, fluttering beautifully. One of them flew towards me, and came to rest right in front of me. It was inches from my nose and I could already feel its heat. I couldn’t resist; I reached out my hand but it burnt me.
I let out a cry of pain, and immediately the butterflies died out. The fire-breathers head snapped towards me and he looked at me indignantly.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was looking for you.” I replied in a small voice, feeling embarrassed.
“Why?” he went on, but there was curiosity in his blue eyes.
“I… I wanted to ask you about your act.” I began, but paused. How to you tell someone that you think they are magical?
“What about it?”
“You’re different, aren’t you?” I blurted. “It’s not just an act…”
“I am afraid I don’t know what you are talking about, Miss.” The fire-breather said. He turned his back to me..
“Yes you do.” I insisted. “I saw what you did just now. The bird and the snake and the butterflies. That was not just fire-breathing. That was magic.”
He looked around at me and smiled, his face become almost childlike with the small dimples in his cheeks.
“Is that what you think, Miss?” he asked and his blue eyes twinkled.
“Yes, I do.” I said firmly. “I was raised in this circus, I have seen more tricks than I can remember. What you did just now, it wasn’t a trick.”
He looked at me thoughtfully.
“Are you sure?” he said quietly, his eyes piercing me. “Are you sure what I did was magic?”
“Yes.”
He bit his lip for a moment, contemplating something.
“Do you want to see some more?” the fire-breather said with a mischievous smile.
***
It is not as good as I would like just yet, but hopefully by the time it is done it will be!
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