Hidden Things

Luxembourg

The circus is headed for Constantinople, but the company has a few hours before the train departs. Pamina has grown used to spending these evenings alone, reading from the piles of books accumulating among her luggage, while the remainder of the company seek out old acquaintances and avante garde ballets, or rests and recuperates and otherwise passes the time.

Tamas accompanies her to Le Jardin. While Pamina enjoys the mild weather Tamas if uncomfortable with the cold and dons a pumpkin coloured cable knitted scarf, which Pamina changes to midnight blue and back again to occupy herself. She finds she is increasingly unfocused when she spends too much time away from the circus, as though the weight of its constant management is more pronounced with the distance.

Tamas departs just before sunset for le Grand Guignol, to which he has been invited to for some time since admitting to Paikea that he had never seen any ballet, which she considered a crime and promised to reconcile immediately. He invites Pamina who politely declines.

“Thank you but no,” she sighs. “I am not in the mood for the macabre.”

They part at a nearby fountain, and Pamina stays to listen to the bubbling water a few moments after Tamas has disappeared into the muted sunset and approaching nightfall. Then she traverses the gardens with a practiced eye for beautiful flowers and trellises and bowers that comes with living in a circus.

Pamina stops to rest in the pavilion, as the sky becomes deep royal blue, the first of stars twinkling.  

There are few crowds passing by in the gardens, and those that do appear pay no attention to the woman alone in the pavilion. Pamina wishes she had brought a book with her, though she had not anticipated settling into the gardens for reading. Especially without the aid of proper lighting, and she is too tired to manage to conjure a lantern. She has little time to read these days. Between the circus and instructing Bensiabel and the few social engagements she does attend, Pamina rarely has time to herself.

Pamina closes her eyes and leans against a pillar, breathing in the scent of clematis. Though there is another smell, like clean silk and cologne.

“Pamina,” says a voice.

Her eyes snap open. Tamino stands across the pavilion, as static as though he has always been there, though she has no conviction he has stood in that spot for more than a few seconds.

Pamina stands and executes a perfect curtsey. “Tamino,” she greets him.

“I had hoped to see you, before you left. I am glad I am not too late,” Tamino says.

“You almost were,” Pamina retaliates, standing and drawing her coat more comfortably over her shoulders. “The train departure is in less than two hours.”

Tamino does not inquire as to where the train will be en route. “You are avoiding me.”

Pamina walks toward the steps of the pavilion, her shoes echoing softly as she descends. Tamino follows silently, his footfalls making no noise. “It is intentional. I had thought you would have deduced as such by now.”

“Do you remember the Chinese proverb?” Tamino asks. While Pamina can remember it quite clearly, she remains silent. “If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow. I am sorry about Hansen.”

She does not look at him when she asks “Then why have you waited so long to come see me?”

“I was not sure you wanted me here,” he replies, reaching out to gently push a stray curl behind her ear. Her eyelids flutter closed at his touch. A sudden breeze lifts the leaves on the ground into a tempest of yellow and red. A man and his companion passing reach for the scarves around their necks, to loosen them in the sudden heat. A woman cries out as a gust of wind carries her hat across the street. The lampposts flicker and sputter, sparks rebounding off frosted glass. Then Pamina steps out of his reach.

“Why are you here?” Pamina asks, meeting his eyes that have grown dark in the lamplight.

“I wanted to see you,” He answers, taking a step closer. “I wish I could have seen you sooner. You were avoiding me.”

“You did not seem to mind,” Pamina remarks mildly, though the heat of his gaze makes her flush.

Tamino entwines his fingers with hers, brushing his thumb across the soft inside of her wrist. “If I had known you wanted me to write, I would have written you endless letters. If you had wanted to see me, there is nothing that would have prevented me from being here.”

“There is truly nothing?” Pamina asks as she withdraws her hand, her expression guarded once more.

Tamino is silent as they continue alongside trellises laden with roses, the blooms smell so strongly they are almost cloying.

“How is the circus?” Tamino asks when they pause under a weeping willow. Ribbons of leaves cascade around them.

“It is doing well. In retrospect we have not been as mobile as we should be. There are a few too many curious glances in some cities. I admit, I did not expect some patrons to be so observant to notice the changes in the cirque.”

The breeze becomes a wind; stray leaves swirl madly around them.

“What changes? In the acts?”

Pamina sighs. “No, more in the feel of the circus. You would not notice exactly, though you might more than most. You are more sensitive to the different energies that others. It is not something palpable, and I have been too busy to focus on it myself lately. But others can feel it.”

“Others such as your informant?” Tamino says, advancing on Pamina, stepping around the swaying tendrils of the tree.

Pamina does not react. “It is not nearly as deceptive as you make it seem. He is discreet; he is not a spy or a sneak. You are a hypocrite. I would wager he is far more truthful than your own informant.”

Tamino is silent in consternation for a moment, halting in his approach. “I did not realize you knew of her,” he manages.

“Nonsense. Of course I knew of her. I noticed her energy as soon as she stepped within the confines of the circus. She is quite clever, but she is capricious. Already she is becoming bound to the cirque. It will not be long before she cannot leave. How long will it be before she is trapped?”

Tamino sighs and removes his hat, his hair ebony in the lamplight. “I fear the rules are not as intransigent as that. My… player cannot interfere with the circus. She is still outside the entire affair, in the position of an observer. She is like any patron, though I imagine her perspective is less manageable at times. It is a peculiar position, as she comprehends the scope of what goes on. Not the entire scope, but enough that her vantage helps her avoid being overly concerned. Your player, I would think, would have that problem.”

“Tamino, he is not exactly a part of the circus proper, but he is… involved. And he does not have the natural gifts your player has, regardless of the promise he shows.”

Tamino pauses, taking a moment to consider what to tell her. He does not wish to break the delicate spell they are under, wandering in a moon-tinted garden, alone beneath a blanket of stars. He holds his hands behind his back, clutching the brim of his hat to keep from reaching for her. “I believe out rivals have confronted one another,” he says finally.

“I know,” Pamina says without turning.

Tamino almost drops his hat in shock. “You do?”

“Yes, for some time. She is a very smart girl, from what I have heard. And they are hardly rivals; they spend almost every night together at the circus. I have hardly seen better friends.”

Tamino frowns and replaces his hat on his head, the brim of it casting shadows over his eyes once more. “How are you able to observe them while you work?

“I do not watch them every second, but I monitor everyone involved in the circus, even if he is not in the circus proper.”

They stand in meditative silence. Pamina occasionally meets his eyes, and in the moments they hold each other’s gaze, the entire grove of willows seems to shudder. Without a word they continue past the willows to a spectrum of exotic blooms, climbing a group of stone statues, their faces worn away by rain and wind.

Pamina refuses to look at him. “I think our rivals are working in tandem,” she sounds amused, though it is difficult to discern her expression in the shifting light.

“Does that rather defeat the purpose?”

“Not at all,” she says. “On the contrary, I think it will further their accomplishments. Their anonymity is irrelevant, it always has been.”

“I think they have taken a liking to one another,” Tamino says thoughtfully.

Pamina turns away, reaching downward for a delicate white blossom that has the barest breath of scent.

“Why would you think that?” she asks.

“It is in the way they look at one another. Does you see no semblance in it, to anything?” He watches her carefully, but her expression is impassive.

“No.” Pamina finds it difficult to lie, directly. She has seen only brief moments of Sage and Benisabel’s interactions, but they are undeniably similar to conversations and gestures from long ago, in magic lessons and transfiguration and epigraphy, in Tamino’s dark eyes. It is not a lie though, that she has not seen any semblance to her weariness and Tamino’s inscrutability.

She does not get the chance to elaborate before Tamino changes the subject.

“I would like to see one of your illusions, if you would not mind.”

Pamina turns to Tamino, her gown swirling around her ankles, disturbing petals in its wake. “I had not planned on it. Usually such a performance requires a ticket.”

Tamino smiles and steps closer. When she does not move away, he takes another step. “I had not anticipated asking you. I don’t have a ticket.”

“Then you shall have to find some other method of reimbursement,” Pamina answers. “Would you like to see a work in progress?”

Tamino looks surprised. “I was not aware you could do that outside of the circus, he says.” In response Pamina smiles and reaches for the scarf around her throat.

Pamina unties her scarf, a swath of rich blue silk, several shades lighter than he usual attire. Tamino watches silently as she holds it out in the palm of her hand; it’s tasseled ends rippling in the breeze. As she focuses her gaze upon it, it flips end over end, rising and falling, into a wheel of slowly rotating fabric. It changes colour, deepening in hue from blue to black, each fiber in the weave dark as coal. Pieces of silk tear into lengths and tie themselves around the spinning wheel. They flicker with silver light, undulating as the wheel turns. It spins slowly, like a real Ferris wheel.

Tamino reaches for her and grabs her waist, spinning her around to pull her back to his chest.

“What are you doing?” she asks, clearly out of breath.

Tamino bends down to whisper to her, his breath stirs the curls by her ear. “I still owe you for not having a ticket,” he says.

The wheel of silk grows bigger, each rotation expanding and contracting as though it is breathing. It seems to fall apart, pieces of silk falling away and reforming into small carriages. Patterns appear on the silk like patinas. As the fabric stiffens, the wheel darkens, like a sky fading into black night. The strips of silk turn silver, as they grow. A huge looming wheel of oxidized metal, festooned with silver lanterns bright as stars.

Carriages rotate slowly within the wheel, swaying with the Ferris wheel’s motion.

Pamina gasps, putting a hand to her lips to muffle the sound. Then she laughs delightedly. “I think this is more extraordinary than what most people would expect from a ticket.”

Tamino shrugs and releases her reluctantly, to allow her to freely explore his creation.

She runs her hand along the metal rim, smooth and cool in the night air. She runs her hand along the metal rim, smooth and cool in the night air. When she looks up she cannot see the top of the wheel. It disappears in the darkness, the lights ringing it only hazy silver clouds in the distance.

“I did not realize you could do such things. Or that you had paid so much attention to the circus. This,” Pamina waves a hand at the circle of lights, “reminds me of it.”

“I’m glad. That is precisely the core of the idea. Though I would enjoy a splash of colour,” Tamino says. As he speaks the lights on the Ferris wheel shine blue and green, with the occasional burst of gold that results in an eruption of white sparks.

Pamina is bedecked in a gown of such bright silver it is almost mirror reflective, and each thread mimics the treated luminaries around them.

“That is one regret I have about the circus, the necessity for a lack of colour,” Pamina says.

“It is what makes the cirque unique, among other things. Would you like a ride?”

Tamino sweeps an arm toward the Ferris wheel, which slowly comes to a stop, the hue of the lights fading until they are bright and white.

“I would. I wonder how you came up with the idea. I have constructed dozens of tents with a dizzying number of factors to consider, yet I did not imagine a Ferris wheel.  Pamina can also feel the power it is taking Tamino to manage the Ferris wheel. It is miniscule in comparison with the circus, but he manages it with far more ease than she ever could.

The wheel comes to a stop, a carriage rocks before them. The door opens of its own volition.

“I do not know how to describe it. I thought it would be interesting to manufacture something interactive, yet elegant. I have been so concerned with the running of the circus I had not considered until now the beauty of it.”

Pamina smiles. “That is my biggest hindrance. If only I were not so preoccupied with running it. I would love to view the circus through the eyes of a patron.”

Tamino does not respond, but moves aside to allow Pamina to enter.

The interior of the carriage is not a seat but two cushioned settees aligned to allow passengers to recline almost until lying down. The top of the carriage is comprised of a dome of crystalline glass, so clear it appears not to be there.

Pamina steps past Tamino and rests on a settee. Tamino climbs in after her, and take his place beside her, stretching on his settee.

They are almost in darkness. They are shadows edged with silver light.

The door of the carriage closes, untouched, and a set of locks fall into place with a series of clicks and thumps.

Slowly the carriage begins to rise, swaying gently, serene and sonorous. The carriage ascends above the lamps of the gardens and as Pamina’s eyes adjust to the darkness she can the stars more clearly than before.

“How high are we going?” she asks, closing her eyes against the brightness of a light that spins past.

“I do not know.”

The carriage comes to a stop at the wheel’s zenith. Through the glass dome of the carriage the stars are still appearing, in inchoate constellations, like crystals in a swath of black velvet.

Pamina can hear the barely audible sound of creaking as they sway, but in the almost silence she can pinpoint other, more subtle, sounds. The wind rustling the leaves outside, far away city noises, Tamino breathing beside her.

“It is quite clever of you to use the patrons of the circus as a conduit,” he says finally.

“You figured it out. I knew you would. When the cirque was first born I had only myself to draw from; it was so exhausting until I discovered the stimulus.”

“But how do you control the energy? You aren’t using it all and it is bound to the patrons of the cirque. It could be dangerous. There must be something else you’re doing,” Tamino presses.

Pamina looks at him directly, the first time she has done so without unease or apprehension. “I have safeguarded the entirety of the circus. No one can be physically harmed by it. I would not jeopardize anyone who comes through the gates.”

“I did not suggest you would. And I am surprised you are being so honest with me. You and my rival are alike in that way, you have a tendency to evade sensitive subjects. Or any subject you wish not to discuss. I see how it is preferable to lying, but I do not see how it is better than trusting others.”

“It seems I am not the only one who does not trust others,” Pamina says.

“What do you mean?”

“If you trusted me you would have no need for an… informant of your own.”

“I chose her as a precaution,” he explains. “She has an ability unlike I have seen naturally in a person for years. She is remarkably good at observation and she is doing nothing to interfere with the circus. She is here to safeguard it, though I had not wanted to choose someone so young. I would rather she was older, but that cannot be helped. She is not sabotaging your endeavor, nor has she ever born ill will to your patron, as you call them. If something were to happen, she will be able to tell me. I do trust you, but even you cannot control everything.”

She evinces only the mildest interest in his observations, though she records each word verbatim in her memory.

“The stars remind of me of Morocco,” Tamino says suddenly. Pamina realizes that they are similar. Though there had been more above the bazaars of Morocco, less hidden by city fog and lights. And the jardin does not smell of musk and spices and dies. “You quite enjoyed that trip. After our lessons you would always wander off into the market. I found you by the animal cages more often than any other booth.”

Pamina relaxes into the satin cushion of the settee. “I did not think you would remember that,” she says quietly.

“I remember every moment we’ve spent together,” Tamino says.

They sit in silence for some time, gazing at the black velvet sky, the wind tossing Pamina’s hair.

He does not move. He does not touch her.

She can feel Tamino’s gaze burning her cheek and resists the urge to meet his eyes with hers, though it feels like resisting the pull of an ocean tide.

“When will this end, Pamina?” Tamino asks.

Pamina reaches for his hand, her skin brushing his, sending the carriage swinging wildly in the air. Tamino holds her wrist firmly, stroking the inside of it with his thumb as the carriage slows to a gentle rocking.

“I am sorry,” Pamina says.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do not know,” Pamina sighs.

Tamino does not answer, only intertwines his fingers with hers. They hold each other until the clock in a distant square chimes, echoing in the dark night.

Text by Lucie MacAulay