The Road to Gundagai (10 page)

How did you feed an elephant?

Blue stood helplessly as Mrs Olsen fetched the teddy bear, then strode off with Madame into the main tent. It was impossible to tell that Madame was counting her steps. Was she really blind? But, as Blue watched, the old woman’s hand touched the bales of hay. She turned slightly, then walked in a straight line into the tent.

Blue looked at the elephant, still eyeing her from its canvas shelter. She walked, carefully swaying with tiny steps, and held out the teddy bear. The grey trunk reached for it. The tip looked strangely soft and moist. It felt soft too, as it curled around the toy, then tenderly placed it on top of the pile of hay.

Blue pulled the sack of carrots out from under Madame’s caravan.

‘Ahhhgg,’ sighed the elephant quietly.

Blue filled her arms with carrots. She tried to look as though she fed an elephant every day of her life while wearing nothing but a wig and slippers, harem trousers and a camisole that didn’t quite cover her waist.

The elephant took a step towards her and then another. Slowly, delicately, as though the vast animal knew she was nervous, the trunk stretched out. It wrapped around a carrot and coiled back towards its mouth.

Two crunches and the carrot was gone.

Blue laughed. She wasn’t sure where the laugh had come from. How could she laugh, with tragedy and terror all about her? Someone was trying to poison me, she thought. I have lost my family. Lost my home. I am scarred and misshapen.

But somehow that was a world away. Now there was only today, the breeze on her bare waist and an elephant — an actual, real, breathing, living elephant — grinning at her. Yes, definitely grinning.

She held out the carrot this time. ‘You’re beautiful, do you know that? The most beautiful elephant in the whole world. You deserve a whole sack of carrots. And apples …’ What else did elephants like? ‘And buns,’ she added. ‘How would you like a sack of buns?’

‘Excuse me, miss?’

She hadn’t noticed the young constable behind her. She felt his gaze on her bosom — or, rather, on her bosom perched on top of the rubber-ball halves — then he looked back at her face. She put her chin down, looked up through her eyelashes and smiled, and heard him catch his breath. ‘Yes, officer?’ She tried to flatten her accent so it sounded like Mrs Olsen’s.

‘You seen a girl? Sixteen years old, long red hair, scars on face and neck.’ His boots had dust on their polish. Laurence’s boots, made for the whole Victorian police force.

Blue shook her head, heart thumping, half fear, half delight at the obvious admiration on the young man’s face.

‘She’s crippled-like too. Walks funny, they say.’

The elation vanished. ‘Yesterday, at Willow Creek,’ said Blue slowly. ‘I think there was a girl like that last night. I caught a glimpse of her before the show began.’ She tried to keep her voice steady. That had been the right thing to say, hadn’t it? Too many others would have seen her last night to deny that she’d been at the circus.

‘Not since then?’

Blue shook her head, feeling the unfamiliar sway of the wig against her neck. ‘What’s happened to her?’ Mrs Olsen had said not to ask questions, but it would look strange if she didn’t ask that one.

The constable shrugged. ‘Run off with a boyfriend, most like, though don’t know what he’d want with the girl if she’s so badly scarred like they say. But she’s some bigwig’s niece so we have to do our duty. If you wouldn’t mind going into the tent with the others, miss. The sergeant wants you all to wait in there while we search the caravans, then he’s goin’ to ask you some questions.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She smiled at him again, put the rest of the carrots in the shade, near Sheba, then on impulse patted the elephant’s side, hoping the elephant wouldn’t object and ruin the pretence that she knew what she was doing. To her relief the elephant ignored the pat, her attention on the carrots.

Blue swayed into the tent.

The seating had been arranged, but the barrier between the audience and the ring wasn’t yet up. Gertrude sat in the front seats, still in her boy’s shorts but with her hat off, her hair fluffed girl-like around her face. The top two shirt buttons were undone, showing a hint of bosom. Real, thought Blue enviously, not rubber balls. Two dancers sat next to her looking almost like sisters with their identical blonde hair and the skilfully applied make-up. Mrs Olsen was the first, thought Blue. Who was the second?

A wide mouth under slightly slanted eyes grinned at her. It was the bearded lady, now beardless once more.

‘Freshen your lipstick, Frederika.’ The ringmaster sat opposite, in his dinner jacket, his top hat by his side. Ginger sat next to him, looking like the innocent nine-year-old Blue suspected he could never be, with the moustached ticket-seller/Boffo the clown in overalls on the other side.

Mrs Olsen passed Frederika the lipstick. The young woman applied it. She winked at Blue as she handed it back. Gertrude ignored Blue. She looked bored, and a bit angry too.

Madame sat as straight as if she was at a duchess’s dinner party. ‘Ginger, go and see what the police are doing.’

‘Yes, Madame.’ He ran out, then was back a few seconds later. ‘On the last caravan now.’

‘Then we shall begin. If you please?’ Madame inclined her head towards the ringmaster.

Blue followed as the three other dancers stood up and walked back to the entrance of the tent. Somewhere a needle scratched on a record. The music began, tinny and even less like a real orchestra than the night before. Had the darkness given the music depth too?

Forty steps in, each foot placed precisely in front of the other, forcing her hips to sway, to move as her knees did not. Don’t look at the other dancers. Arms down, hips move. One, two, three, four, cast off a scarf …

Arms up, faster now. The loose silk brushed against her ankles. Surprisingly the hardest part was not looking at the others, to check that she was doing it right.

… five, six, seven, eight …

Faster, and faster again … The pain, slight when she had tried this in the caravan, was worse now, as though the scar had torn. She tried to keep her knees more firmly together, even as she swayed …

Turn, arms up. Dimly she was aware of three policemen standing at the entrance, staring at the dancers, their gaze intent. Could the sergeant see through her disguise? And then she realised that his look was the same as the young constable’s.

It was desire.

She had read about desire, in the novels on her parents’ top shelf, sneaked down and read at night. Now she knew its face.

He was looking at them all, at Madame, Frederika, Mrs Olsen …

He was looking at her too.

… eight, one … two, sway, arms down, turn …

It was as though none of the policemen could look away. She remembered the faces of the men last night, the women in the audience caught up too in the beauty of the dance. And I am beautiful as well, she thought. They are watching me.

The ugly girl had vanished in the caravan. This girl controlled the audience. They see only what I let them see, she thought. Nice girls don’t wave their hips, or wear lipstick. I’ve been a nice girl all my life.

Suddenly even letting the scarf fall to show her waist was freedom.

The pain vanished to a small corner, where it could be ignored. Strength burned through her bones.

The dance ruled the watchers.

She no longer had to think about the moves. There was just the music, the beat of gold slippers on dusty grass, the audience of three, staring, staring …

… seven, eight, arms down …

Suddenly she realised. During last night’s circus performance, the dancers had stepped out of their harem pants! Surely they wouldn’t do that now. She had no knickers on. Even if she could wear them, the policemen would see her scars …

The music stopped.

‘That’s enough practice for today, girls.’ The ringmaster stepped into the ring. ‘Go sit down,’ he added to the dancers and then, turning towards the policemen, ‘Well? Find anything?’

The sergeant ignored him. Like the ringmaster is a flea, thought Blue, despite his dinner jacket and top hat. She concentrated on getting to her seat. Smile, she thought. Smile. Her thighs screamed as she sat. Her legs poked out in front of her in what she hoped was a casual way. Dimly she was aware of Frederika putting her legs out too, so hers didn’t look so obvious.

The sergeant nodded to the constables. They took up positions at either entrance to the tent. ‘Names?’

The ringmaster answered first. ‘I’m Ebenezer Jones. This is my brother, Ephraim.’ The moustached man nodded. ‘The lad here is Ginger Olsen. That’s his mum, my younger sister, Mrs Olsen, and his two sisters, Belle and Gertrude.’

Blue was already smiling, trying to ignore the pain, the sweat trickling down her face. Gertrude gave a smile of confident long practice, meeting each of the policemen’s eyes in turn.

‘And that’s our aunt, Madame Zlosky, she’s our aunt on me mum’s side, and that’s me daughter, Frederika. Her poor mum passed away ten years ago.’ Frederika’s smile was a long one and involved batting her lashes.

‘A family affair then, this circus?’

‘Yes, sir. Always has been. Never any trouble with the police before. Just family, all respectable.’

The sergeant sniffed. He had not even given his own name, Blue realised.

‘Now let’s go through this again.’ The sergeant sounded more bored than suspicious. ‘You just so happened to be in a town where a young girl vanished last night. You just happened to pack up and leave that very night. Am I right so far?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The ringmaster’s voice was gruff but soft. ‘We don’t usually stay anywhere more than a night or two, unless there’s good pasture and a creek. No grass for Sheba.’

‘Who the blooming hell is Sheba?’

Blue had never heard a man swear in front of a lady before, though she had heard swear words when a man hadn’t realised she was listening. Of course. Even if he had looked at the dancers with apparent desire, this man thought so little of the circus women that he’d use a word like ‘hell’ in front of them. We are not ladies to him, she thought. We are … hussies. It was an Aunt Lilac word. But it fitted. We are painted and show our bosoms. Our waists are bare. The sergeant might desire us, but he doesn’t like us, or trust us either. She felt a true smile behind the fake one. We can fool you, she thought. We hussies are fooling you right now.

‘And none of you saw this girl after she left last night?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. ‘What if I said someone saw you outside the girl’s house last night?’

The ringmaster’s face didn’t flicker. ‘Impossible, sir. We were dismantling the tent at the Willow Creek site. It’s a huge amount of work and takes a lot of people.’

‘I’m supposed to take your word for that, am I?’ The sergeant’s voice showed exactly what he thought a circus man’s word was worth. Blue felt a shiver of indignity at the assumption that the ringmaster would lie, and then the realisation that the sergeant was right.

The ringmaster was lying. They were all lying, each one of them. No, not lying, she thought, just like Madame’s predictions weren’t lies either. The ringmaster hadn’t said they were
all
at the site. We’re just letting them see what we want them to see.

‘Where are the rest of you then?’

‘We are all here, sir.’

‘Don’t give me that. Where are,’ the sergeant looked down at his notepad, ‘the Boldini Brothers? They was here last night. And a bearded lady and a dwarf with a hunched back too.’

‘That’s me,’ said Ginger. He almost managed to sound polite. He held up a harness. ‘Makes me a great hunchback. Put on a half-bald wig and Bob’s yer uncle. I’m Tiny Titania too.’

‘I’m the bearded lady.’ Frederika gave the sergeant another flirtatious look. He ignored it.

‘My oldest daughter and I are the Boldini Brothers, sir,’ said Mrs Olsen.

Blue managed not to stare. The sergeant snorted. ‘Pull the other one, will you. Come on, where are they? Them brothers were the ones seen outside the house last night.’

But they weren’t, thought Blue. It was a woman and a small boy.

‘They can’t have been, sir, for they don’t exist,’ insisted Mrs Olsen.

‘None o’ your lip —’ began the sergeant.

‘Gertrude? Untie the ladder,’ said Mrs Olsen quietly.

‘Yes, Mama.’ The words were meekly obedient. Gertrude unselfconsciously unfastened her baggy shorts and stepped out of them. She wore tight woollen shorts underneath. She unbuttoned her shirt too, showing a singlet underneath, and a lot of what was simply Gertrude. Gertrude let her smile linger on each of the policemen. She glanced down at her bosom. ‘Have to keep myself bound when we perform.’

‘To disguise yourself?’ The sergeant still sounded incredulous.

Gertrude’s smile was all too innocent. ‘Oh no. Because they bounce. Even a small weight can tip the balance when you’re trying something new. And I’m not small, am I?’

The sergeant’s jaw dropped. Frederika chuckled. Gertrude moved over to the side of the tent and untied a knot.

Two swings and a long narrow rope ladder bobbed down from the top of the tent. Gertrude thrust her hands around the ladder, grasping it from behind in some way too fast for Blue to follow. She climbed it like a monkey, hand over hand. A fairy monkey, thought Blue, trying to look as though she had seen Gertrude climb like this a thousand times.

Mrs Olsen waited till Gertrude was sitting on the swing, holding onto its rope sides, then she climbed the ladder too, her harem trousers still billowing around her hips. The ringmaster, Ebenezer, pulled the ladder back out of their way.

For a moment mother and daughter sat on the swing, motionless, then slowly each bent forwards and then back. The swing moved, arcing higher and higher each time.

Suddenly Gertrude swung herself down, almost too fast to see what she had done, or how. She hung on the swing by her legs, her arms stretched loosely down.

Back and forth, back and forth. The swing’s highest point almost reached the roof of the Big Top now.

All at once Gertrude was on the swing no longer. For perhaps three impossibly long seconds she flew, across the tent, before grasping the other swing with both hands. She hung there for a moment, then hauled herself up in one swift motion, the muscles bunching in her slim arms. A few seconds later she plunged down again, once more hanging from her knees.