The Orphan's Tale

by Pam Jenoff

inhaling the familiar warmth of his neck. “The Klemt family circus is internationally known,” he reassured. He was right. Our family circus had been generations in the making, born from the old horse shows in Prussia—my great-great-grandfather, they said, had left the Lipizzaner Stallions in Vienna to start our first circus. And the next generation had followed and the one after that, the very oddest sort of family business. Erich continued, “That’s why I stopped to see the show on my way back from Munich that day. And then I saw you...” He pulled

true; midsummer, they could be almost anywhere

“Bring the brown suitcase.” But Erich stood stiffly, feet planted. “What is it?” “My job,” he replied. “People would know I was gone.” He would not go with me. The roast dropped from my hands, plate shattering, the smell of warm meat and gravy wafting sickeningly upward. It was preferable to the rest of the immaculate table, a caricature of the perfect life I thought we’d had. The brown liquid splattered upward against my stockings, staining them. I jutted my chin defiantly. “Then I shall keep the apartment.”

our edge. I wanted you to know the worst

late—she strides into the ring, shoulders squared with determination. In that moment, I see just how brave she really is. I am awed—and petrified—for her. Astrid climbs a different ladder from the one she had used earlier. This time she hangs from a single satin rope, seemingly suspended in midair. I hold my breath, studying the officer’s face for some sign of recognition. But he watches her, too mesmerized to suspect. She tells a story, weaves a tapestry with her moves. It holds him—and the entire audience—captivated. I remain

town?” I ask hopefully. “We’ll

To pass the time, I study the audience.

the

second before I let go, where I am always

Luc’s disfigurement, but at the cruelty inflicted by a father on his own child. “Not enough to stop me from being useful. Just from being good at the really intricate details,” he adds. I take his hand and kiss his finger, my heart weeping. None of us, it seems, not even Luc, is free from darkness and pain. “How can you stay with him?” I demand. “He’s a monster!” Luc’s eyes widen and I wonder if he will be angry with me. “He was doing what he thought was right,” he replies. We sit silently, neither speaking. Luc has trusted me with his awful secret. I should tell him,

policeman grabs the shoulder of my dress as I near, sharp nails cutting into my skin. I push him away, heedless as the fabric tears. I reach for Peter’s arm, but he shrugs me off. “Astrid, you can’t come with me,” he says in German, his voice low and terse. A large bump is beginning to form on his forehead where he was struck. “You need to stay here. You need to be safe.” “They’ll take you to the village jail. You’ll be back in a few hours,” I say, desperately wanting to believe it. “They’re just trying to scare us, send a warning. Soon you will be back...” “There’s no coming back,” he says before I can finish. “And you can’t wait for me here. You must continue on with the show. Do you understand?” His dark eyes seem to burn into me. “Promise me,” he says. But I cannot. “Enough!” the policeman who had struck Peter snarls, tearing us apart. I start to lunge at him, wanting to claw his eyes out. “Give me a reason,” he threatens. I pull back. I cannot make things worse for Peter. The police begin dragging Peter from the backyard toward an army box truck that has pulled up on the dirt road close to the edge of the big top. There is writing on the side in a Slavic language I do not recognize. A black police car sits in front of it. A driver emerges from the truck in a military uniform and opens the rear doors, revealing two long rows of benches inside. I understand then that it is all ending—he isn’t coming back. “No!” I cry, rushing toward the truck. Arms grab me from behind, ...

good news anymore.” “Emmet said you can perform again,” she says, then pauses, watching my face for a reaction. Does she expect me to leap up with joy and change into my practice leotard? Once returning to the trapeze was all I wanted. But it does not matter anymore. “Let’s go practice,” Noa urges, still trying for all her best to make things better. It doesn’t help at all, but I love her for caring. “Astrid, I know how hard this is. But lying here isn’t going to change things. Why not fly again?” Because doing the normal things

passed this way earlier in the war.

now in tatters? The will had stipulated