Circus of Silence

Trespassers

~*~

He seems to find you rather funny, and he shakes his head and sighs.

He looks over his shoulder at you as he swaggers away, gold gleaming in his eyes.

"Welcome home," with a flourish of his hands, he cries.

~*~

          It was hours before opening, minutes before breakfast, but her grandmother's first customer didn't seem to care. His skin was dark, his eyes darker, and his startlingly white teeth were something he saw fit to bare. He was angry, but Rosalind Maybrush couldn't understand why... or how. He was furious, and it made her rather curious.

He stormed forward, what might have been a pleasant picture pinched into a deep frown. Almost a snarl, like... like the bear. The dancing bear that Rosalind had loved so much. The one she'd named as a little girl and put its paws against hers when she visited. The one that hated sweet Shula, hated her grandmother for some radical reason.

He came to her first, sizing her up like a prized pony he pondered over purchasing. He took in her dress... which was black and plum and in the style of mourning, for some reason, and her elegantly piled hair inside her hat. His lip twitched. "This is private property," he stated, snappily and sourly. "Leave."

He had an accent, viscous and lilting, like he spoke from the side of his mouth. "Are you American?" she asked, and the boy's face seemed to settle and soften. Southern states. Somehow, over night, they'd wound up in the southern states! She wondered if her grandmother did these tricks often.

"Yes...?" he said it like it was obvious, glancing over his shoulders at the space around the circus. Fields and crops in the distance, a house in the back. A farm. This was somebody's farm, and they weren't in Russia anymore. "This here's my pa's farm, and it's private property. Your circus can't come without our permission."

"It's not my circus," apologized Rosalind, still taking in the vast new world around them. "But I can take you to my grandmother," she said, the browning grass brushing her hem. Mourning? Who was she mourning this morning?

"Whoever's in charge here," growled the boy, dragging a hand through his close-cropped, coiling coif. He tugged up on his suspenders, then moved to follow Rosalind to wherever her grandmother might be. He was rather thin, and rather tall. In coming here, they both knew he had a fair amount of gall. Her grandmother would have a ball.

"Shula!" she cried, clapping her hands loud enough that the snake-charmer came running. He dipped his head in a slight bow, then turned to study the boy. She hadn't yet learned his name, but she supposed she'd learn swiftly. She took his arm and looped it with hers. Welcome home, she thought, welcome home. "Take us to my grandmother's dome."

~*~

         The aisles of carnies were quiet. Her grandmother had warned her there might be a riot. She was getting old, Rosalind had been told. Her immortal energy had all been sold.

That was why Rosalind had been summoned here. The closer to the carousel she came, the clearer everything got. She was here because she was to be tested- faced with an opportunity that could forbid her body, her youth, ever rot. Her magical grandmother was giving she, and everyone else here, a lot. Priceless. The gifts she gave them all were priceless, compared to the cost.

"Come along," she told the boy, whose name she'd learned was Harrison. Harrison Wallis, sixteen years old with a straight back and clear voice. He was strong- probably from all that farm work- and had a temper that came more easily than his laugh. That, if she passed, was something Rosalind wanted very badly to change. This Circus would cut his sorrows in half.

Shula swirled sideways, sandals sliding in the sand. With a flourish, he swung both arms out to the right, "Miss Maybrush," he said with what seemed like a sorrowful smile, "no rush." But she was sure she'd want to speak with Harrison as soon as possible. She nodded to her escort, thanking him softly, then swept Harrison Wallis inside. To her grandmother's wishes, she had to abide.

"Open locks, whoever knocks!" cried the Witch.

           Her grandmother was halfway through the process of metamorphosis when she walked in. She was already hunched over, her hands gnarled and her nails were sharp and jagged. Her face, though it never did change much, was done, her hair already ragged. She was in the process of leeching the colour- that golden sunlight she so savoured- out. Besides the tips, her hair was as white as the moon. She'd be done soon... But Rosalind knew she couldn't wait.

"Grandmother," she said, smiling sweetly, "this is Mr. Harrison Wallis, he lives just up the road. Do you mind if I stay and watch, as you make him a toad?"

Her grandmother cackled like the witch they all thought her to be. Evil, flying on a broomstick with warts and a cauldron who ate children instead of candy and cake. Rosalind knew better now, after some time in bed. The Forever Song had cleared her head.

Harrison jerked back, scowling. Her grandmother wouldn't turn her into a toad- that much was certain. Toads were boring. Toads were overdone and cliche. What she would do, though, was difficult to say.

Rosalind tittered teasingly, the boy's arms still entwined with hers as her grandmother turned triumphantly around. Her transformation was thorough, total, the knots in her now-white hair; taut. She smiled, showing all of her once-again missing, tinted teeth. They glowed yellow in the light of the crystal chandelier that hung overhead. 

Harrison flinched back and she heard a catch in his throat as he tried to breathe. Terror. Who knew such a proud-postured boy could be so timid!

"This is private property," she hissed with a smile, "leave!" Harrison's own words, not a demand. The Circus never wanted anyone to leave.

Harrison gulped, his arm sliding out of Rosalind's like a snake through the grass. Water through a funnel. She watched the lump in his throat move back up, like his throat was a tunnel. "This land belongs to my family. We don't want any businesses here, temporary or not. You... you have to get lost."

Her grandmother shrieked with laughter. "But what if I give admission to you... free of cost?"

Harrison's eyes seemed to fill back out again after that, his spine straightening superbly. She doubted he'd ever been to such a circus before- and certainly not one like the Circus Everlasting. Just ones that were quite frankly a bore.

"No," breathed the boy. But he didn't sound like he meant it. "No, ma'am."

Her grandmother's smile only widened, her chipped teeth like mountain peaks on faded red gums. Her attention switched to Rosalind. She winked.

And as the soft music started to play, the Granddaughter blinked. Some rusted gears inside her mind had clinked.

"Grandmother," she said as she turned to go, "The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven, Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest. Remember that, please."

For him, she thought as she pushed her way out of the Circus's grand dome, and for me.

~*~

You watch him as he goes- as he crosses to a dark-skinned boy with a remarkably straight back.

You realize the both of them are there to laugh at you, and not to attack.

You grumble about mean-spirited kids as you gather your goodies and go.

~*~