The Nature of Stories

“You may not tell stories but you are what stories are made of. Your story, your choices. Fairytales are no longer as simple as swans and wolves, of spells and curses and gold and small tailors. Farrin will be a great storyteller one day. His words will make people laugh and cry, but you are the story maker. You have every opportunity he does. Perhaps more. Your choices and the paths you take are the heart of the story. Farrin is the wordsmith, you are the story.”

“I don’t see ever having an adventure like this one,” Bensiabel says.

“Of course you will,” Tamino replies. “Whether or not people know it, they are always part of a story. Stories overlap, do not forget that. They are always happening, never ceasing, not forever. What is someone else’s story may overlap with narratives of many others’ lives, and someone else’s story overlaps’ with theirs, and so on. Your story is part of Farrin’s story is part of Sage’s is part of many others.”

The circus gates are opened, patrons filing in, faces alight with wonder. There is a chorus of “oohs” and “ahs”.

“And you played a very important role in many of those stories. You saved the circus, in a way. You are, it could be said, the hero of the story,” Tamino says.

“I didn’t save the circus,” Bensiabel says quietly. “I didn’t save Cirque de la Lune. I changed it. It won’t be the same.”

Tamino is silent. “You’re right, I suppose,” he says after a significant pause. “But that will not make it any less special.”

“No one here will ever know the magic that was in Cirque de la Lune,” Bensiabel indicates the steady flow of patrons, which has not yet begun to taper. “They will think they understand each feat. They don’t know magic exists and they never will.”

Tamino makes a sound that may be a laugh but when Bensiabel looks at him his face is impassive, though his eyes sparkle. “Magic. What a strange word for describing the way things simply are. There is magic in this and there is magic in that. There is magic in everything, Bensiabel. It has nothing to do with tricks and illusions; it is in the way one sees the universe. Whether you are forcibly manipulating it or just bending it to your will and vision. Magic does not exist but the universe does, and it is perception that creates this magic. They may not realize it, but many of them would not believe it if you tried to enlighten them.”

“So magic does exist, but it doesn’t?” Bensiabel repeats.

“Precisely,” Tamino pauses, regarding Bensiabel with interest. “You have done well in keeping that magic, as you call it, alive.”

“Thank you. But I think you’re exaggerating with the hero bit.”

They stop near the large tent that occupies the area where sat previously a mirror. It is striped in scarlet and rosy gold. Patrons are boisterous and loud with anticipation, gales of laughter rising and falling among the crowd.

“Perhaps. There are many sides to a story. Heroes are villains to those that would destroy their efforts, and villains who win out, wolves that would eat grandmothers and little girls, dragons that burn villages and make off with the gold, are the heroes of their stories. It is the conditions of villains that they do not think they are villains, and perhaps heroes feel the same way. But you prevented the circus from ending, though some, including myself I’m sorry to say, would have believed it was time for the circus to end. You have great willpower. And you had great tribulations. The more tribulations a hero has, the greater the story and the greater their efforts.”

Bensiabel pauses by a vendor to converse briefly. The vendor takes no notice of the man in black. He nods and whisks away into the crowd.

“Then everyone is a hero,” Bensiabel says, returning to their conversation, though his eyes are fixed on the patrons now lining up for hot apple cider or, for the adults, wine in an adjacent tent. “Everyone faces trials and tribulations. Everyone is unique and does some deed in their life that must end well. What separates one hero from another? Why are some stories remembered more than others?”

Tamino does not answer immediately. “Because the greatest stories have the biggest feats, the feats that are magical.”

Around them the lights of the circus are appearing. Some are pale in the daylight, but those hidden in the corners of tents cause cries of delight from nearby patrons and cast dancing shadows on the walls.

The scent of caramel apples is carried on the breeze.

“If I am a hero, I did not mean to be. And I did not do it alone, I had Farrin and Sage-“

“But heroes seldom do accomplish such feats alone. Aladdin would not have married the princess without the help of his genie. Arthur would not have pulled his sword from the stone without the help of the wizard Merlin. Companions do not diminish the power or greatness of the goal.”

Bensiabel watches Tamino’s expression carefully. The man in black seems less impassive than he did at the beginning of their conversation. His face appears younger. “Sage does not particularly want to stay with the circus. She wants to teach the techniques you taught her.”

The change in the man in black is imperceptible, so small Bensiabel may have missed it. “Then I wish her luck with that. She will likely be a great teacher.”

“And Farrin says he will stay, to help,” Bensiabel continues. Tamino says nothing. “To help tell stories. I don’t understand why you chose me instead of Farrin.”

Tamino remains silent; watching the lanterns swaying above the tents, long strings of orange silk bubbles with tangling tassels that shift in the wind. Finally he says, “You are a dreamer, never doubt the importance of that. You were the one who was there, the one who was willing, and that is significant in itself. Believe in yourself, whatever your choices will result in.”

Bensiabel nods, not completely understanding the words, but feeling reassured. “Thank you.”

“And now the circus is yours,” Tamino says, tilting his head toward Bensiabel, the brim of his hat momentarily hiding his eyes beneath an umbra of black silk. “You can do with it whatever you will.”

“I want to make stories,” Bensiabel says, voicing the idea he has been forming in his head since the circus came into his ownership.

“Stories?” Tamino repeats. “You want to tell stories? And give up all of this?” He waves at the tents and the patrons filing in at the gates.

“No, I want to make stories. I want to make them with each person involved in the circus. Each act together in one show, one exhibit, to tell a story.”

“I see,” Tamino says. The patrons that pass them move consciously around Bensiabel, but part around Tamino as though they are not even aware of the action. “And which story will you tell first?”

Bensiabel gestures around him, waving at the tall star speckled tents beneath a rising sun, where his story is intertwined with Tamino’s story is intertwined with everyone else’s, that make up the never ending tales in which heroes and dreamers live on. “This one.”

Text by Lucie MacAulay