Fiction

 A Myriad of Marvels 

The train’s cool window pressed against my temple, my mind racing against the rain’s cacophonous patter. My throat tightened as the trees became farms and the farms became neat rows of neighborhoods. Idle hands mimed through my routine, attempting to drown out Madame Madelene’s tall tales of Germany and all the men who will inevitably try to woo her when we arrive. I gulped my heart back into my chest. We’re only in Germany for 2 days, I reminded myself. Get in, get out. No problem. 

We hopped off the train car into the sprawling field that would become Madame Madelene’s Myriad of Marvels in a matter of hours. Candy colored canvas tents were already sprouting up, accompanied by shouting workmen and pounding mallets. Madame’s taloned hand gripped my side. “Darrrrling Sabina,” she cooed. “Look after things while I venture into the city. The good people of Munich must know… THE CIRCUS IS IN TOWN!” She ended with a booming flourish, her beaded shawl sliding off her shoulder.

I lazed in the amber straw as a small city grew before me. After an hour or so, the cook tent had been erected and was radiating the hot scent of crackerjacks and fry oil: a siren song to a hungry vagabond. It was almost enough to distract from the burning dread that being in Germany brought to the surface. Maybe they aren’t even looking for me anymore. My train of thought screeched to a halt when a claw wrapped around my shoulder. 

Madame Madelene towered above with an odd stoicism. “Come with me, young lady.” No dramatic drawl or hair flip: just a swift turn on her heels and an unyielding march toward her private caravan. Something is wrong. I hesitated to follow. 

Catching up to her relentless stomp, I slid into the caravan after her. She gestured wordlessly to a chair facing her desk, and I obliged. “I’ve just received word from the chief of police. It seems, my darling, that I am harboring a fugitive.” This is when I run, I thought- but my feet were cemented to the floor. Madame Madelene was still for the first time since I had known her. I tried to say something- anything- but I could only manage a few incoherent sputters. She broke our silence by a whisper. “Darling, explain.” 

I’d never told anyone. I thought I never would. But there I was, standing in front of the oddest bird the world has ever known, about to give it all up. 

“Three years ago, the German soldiers came to Serbia. I was just trying to get home before nightfall. It was dark enough to see a silhouette, but only that...” How could I explain what came next? Madame let the pause linger as my gaze fell to the floor. 

“Sabina, what happened.” Not a question. A soft command.

I took a breath and squeezed my eyes shut. “He came out of nowhere. I tried to run- he had me- I had my knife- his neck was exposed- I didn’t know he was the General- I just had to get away- I just ran- I jumped on your train and I just hoped-”

 Eyes still shut, I felt a velvet shawl wrap around me with a radiating warmth. Pointed nails trailed lightly on my cheek, catching my tears and wiping them away. I don’t know whose voice it was that came wailing from my body but it shook me down to my feet. All the pain I never let myself feel seethed beneath my skin, boiling my blood, bubbling to the surface in a rolling howl. Then, in haunting harmony with my sorrow, came Madame’s harmonic hums, in through my ears and down through my boiling skin, covering every last part of me. We sang in a holler and a whisper until my throat gave out. 

“I see,” she said, after an eternity. “Thissss must be why you were covered in blood when I found you hiding in that bail of hay.” Only then did I see how unquestioning Madame Madelene had been. Who takes in a carnage-covered teen, no-questions-asked? Crazy people. Circus people. 

“Officer Beilke will be visiting our circus any minute now. He is offering a hefffty reward for a smooth hand-over.” I jerked away in astonishment. One second I had been swaddled in her arms, and the next she was reveling in her new-found fortune at the expense of my life. My head spun. Is this the end? I was ready to run out the door and never look back, but something stopped me dead in my tracks. 

Twenty feet ahead, an omen of death clad in army green and heavy boots, stood barking at a confused roustabout. The next thing I knew, Madame’s talons grasped my arm, and in one swoop, she had my stuffed inside her ornate standing wardrobe. A lock clicked, and I was stuck. I pounded against the door to no avail. “Child, don’t you want to live?” came a sharp whisper from the other side. My mind raced, yet I couldn’t catch up with the present. Was I being packaged for transport, or was Madame trying to protect me? I gulped a breath of air, hoping it would last me forever. 

I’ll never be sure how long I waited, silent, heart hardly beating. In that moment, or hour, or year in that wardrobe, my world was confined to light flickering in through slats and ornate cutouts. When I should have been panicking, or making a plan, or hell, busting out and running for my life, I watched the swirled patches of light wash over faded newspaper clippings pasted to the walls. In the highlighted fragments, a girl stood proudly atop a tightrope in a sequined leotard- my sequined leotard- the one that was handed to me for my very first show. The face however, was a young whisper of Madame Madalene’s. I caught blotches of text marveling at the performer’s grace and balance. She wore a proud smirk even then. 

With a sudden creak of the caravan door, I was torn away. Slices of green cloth flashed through the cutouts of the wardrobe. Officer Beilke was no more than four feet from me. Slices of green cloth flashed through the cutouts of the wardrobe. A man’s thick voice croaked in German, and to my shock, Madame Madelene’s voice produced a fluent reply. I knew no German, but this much was clear.

Beilke was urgent.

Madame was calm.

Beilke was enraged.

Madame was concise. 

Beilke’s boots crashed toward the wardrobe.

The lock shook erratically. 

My whole body pressed desperately against the back wall as I prayed it would fall away into a portal to another dimension. Hot, labored breath poured in from the slats. 

Beilke backed away and harrumphed. 

Then, in Madame’s voice: “Auf Wiedersehen, Herr. Beilke.”

I knew that one. Owff Veedersen. Good bye. 

The door’s hinges whined.

Beilke’s boots grew quiet. 

I held all of my muscles tight, still not trusting myself to breathe. Another eternity, or possibly just a moment passed inside the wardrobe. Finally, light burst in and the wardrobe whooshed open. 

“Darling, let’s get the hell out of Germany.”