The Circus Was in Town
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The Circus Was In Town Richard Duijnstee Copyright © 2019 Richard Duijnstee All rights reserved. ISBN: 9789402194128 DEDICATION For Thera, whose smile I remember every day. 1. The circus was in town. The posters were the first signs that made me aware of that: bright yellow print with red lettering and in the middle an elephant, its trunk curled, beady eyes looking at the viewer. The elephant was surrounded by six white horses, on their heads a red, fluffy plume. This was the early 1990’s, when animal rights organizations hadn’t yet won their battles and the circus with live animals didn’t realize that its glory days would soon be over. In the upper right corner of the poster was an image of a girl swinging from a trapeze. The trapeze seemed to be hanging from the big, red letter S. Over the next couple of days, glossy brochures popped up in the local stores, where you could also buy tickets to see the shows: six evening performances and three matinees. In the grocery store where I had a weekend job manning the register, I grabbed one of the brochures and brought it home to show my parents. I was 15 at the time, turning 16 in a couple of weeks. I considered myself a bit too old for the circus, but something in the poster had struck a chord and made me feel like I was a young kid again. Fortunately, my brother was six years younger than I was. He would be 1 THE CIRCUS WAS IN TOWN the perfect excuse to go. We all went: my parents, my brother, and I. We rode our bikes to the town’s festival terrain; the large, open spot surrounded by trees where all big events were held. Since the 50’s, the town had stuck almost religiously to a schedule that had a line-up throughout the year: the circus in the spring, the carnival in the summer, the concert in the fall, and the winter market and ice rink when the days were short. It was early evening and when we got to the terrain, dusk had set in. The grounds were lit by thousands of light bulbs, the ones that seem mandatory for carnivals and circuses, and the hustle and bustle of people arriving by bike or on foot made for an exciting, longing atmosphere. We put our bikes in the racks with the other bikes and walked over to the big circus tent that had planted itself smack in the middle of the festival terrain. It was almost completely dark now, making the lights seem more magical. Shadows of people danced on the canvas of the big tent and faces became abstract in the yellow light. We passed the smaller tents, trailers, and cages of the circus on our way to the big top. The animals in the cages were restless. They too felt the excitement of the crowd and seemed a bit uneasy in their confined spaces. Two giant torches lit the big entrance, where two lines had formed. One for people with tickets, one for people that still needed to buy them at the box office. My parents had not bought tickets yet, so we ended up in the queue that led to the brightly coloured booth where an older lady was selling them. The line-up for the booth seemed long to me, as I saw on my right the other line moving swiftly towards the entrance. Would we be able to still get tickets? My heart pounded, and I got a bit restless. I glanced at my brother, the 9-year-old with no idea that tickets could be sold out. He was looking at the lights and people in amazement, with his childish curiosity and not a worry 2 THE CIRCUS WAS IN TOWN on his mind. I got annoyed at him for not seeing the possibility of us having to turn home again after the lady would politely, but firmly say “Those were the last tickets, I’m sorry.” Why this restlessness, this feeling of all importance came over me, I didn’t know. Why was I, the almost 16- year-old, who was doing well at school, had skipped a grade and dreamed of a career as a physician, so eager to go to the circus? The circus, of all places, that childish entertainment where kids and simple folk laughed at silly clowns, dogs on barrels, and performers balancing on elephants. I usually rather spent my evenings reading a book – preferably something that made me feel interesting, like Shakespeare or one of the literary classics from the 18th and 19th century. Of course, I watched television, but at that young age I had an Opinion about television and a disdain for the mindless entertainment that was shown on it. I was turning into a bit of a snob, I’ll admit, as the only one in my family destined for university. My father had been a shop assistant in a clothes store all of his life, my mother a stay-at-home mom, who did some part-time administrative work for the local elementary school. My brother Nils who, although he was only 9, was not doing well at school and was more interested hanging out at the garage at the end of our street, where he would pay much more attention to the workings of cars than he would ever do to teachers explaining math and language arts. At the age of 15, almost 16, I had decided to distance myself a bit from that family of underwhelming prestige and make something of myself: high school, university, then become a physician. But first, deal with this strange urge to see the circus. One evening, enjoy it, and back on track. We came to the booth and the lady told us there were still tickets left. Some good seats as well, pretty close to 3 THE CIRCUS WAS IN TOWN the rink. I instantly felt relief. We were in! My parents led the way and gave my brother and I the glossy program for the show. We walked through the dim corridor leading to the bleachers. I can still smell the scent of people, popcorn, and animals that heavily hung in the stagnant air. I don’t remember if my parents bought us drinks and candy – although, probably not, thinking back at the frugality my mother always had observed, carefully weighing how to spend my father’s hard earned, but meagre salary. Buying tickets for the circus was already a rare luxury. Then, the air cleared as we stepped into the dome of the big tent as friendly staff ushered us to our seats. I was impressed with the sheer height of the tent. It almost looked bigger on the inside – I now come to think the circus is where the writers of the television show ‘Dr. Who’ must have gotten the idea for the rather small telephone box that, on the inside, harbours the giant interior of a time travelling spaceship. The bleachers were already packed with people, but in that sea of human activity, I could not recognize anyone. Only the next day I heard a couple of kids from my class had been there the same night and saw me, waved at me, but I wasn’t aware of them. I looked up. High in the top of the tent, between the dozens of theatre lights, there was some activity: circus workers who adjusted the lights and the swing of the trapeze. Impressed by so much dare, to be so high up, I walked into my father. “Careful, Lars,” he said in his soft, friendly voice, “Our seats are here. You sit next to Nils, and your mother and I will sit over there.” We only just sat down as the lights dimmed and a spotlight turned on. The circus orchestra played and the ringmaster, classically dressed in his top hat and red velvet tailcoat, started his announcements. I don’t remember much after that. I think there were clowns, an act with the six white horses parading through the rink. 4 THE CIRCUS WAS IN TOWN Was there an elephant? I couldn’t tell you, although there must have been, because there was one on the poster after all. All I can remember now from the show was sitting next to my brother in that dark part of the tent surrounded by masses of people. Only one of the performances is etched into my memory: the trapeze act. I had read a little in my program about the trapeze act. It was performed by a troupe of Croatian acrobats, who were part of the same family. The program showed images of this family during rehearsals, but before I could take a good look, the ringmaster announced the trapeze act. The lights were turned down completely; the audience fell silent for a moment. A drumroll sounded, the music of the orchestra swelled as the lights came on again and there, high above us, was the group of acrobats: strong looking men and women in glittery leotards. The men, all but one dark haired and muscled, looked stern. The women, who had their hair in buns and their faces painted with glittery make-up, appeared to be fairies. I could count five men and three women. The group started their performance. They were swaying from the ropes, ladders, and swings as if gravity didn’t exist. The music was pounding, just a bit too loud, but enforcing the effect of the spectacle.