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The night’s performance had been cancelled out of respect for Simeon, who fought for his life in a white-washed hospital ward, but also for Dawud, whose guilt weighed like a millstone around his neck. The refugees understood violence, and how it could suddenly bloom then subside, even in children. They knew how the absence of primary relationships and stability warped the mind. They had long recognised that fairytales didn’t exist for the likes of them.
Yusuf and a small group attached signs apologising for the closure on the route from local train stations, and on the tarpaulin of the circus tent itself. He didn’t anticipate any trouble: advanced ticket sales had been meagre. On their return, the circus family carried out their chores amidst low-level chatter, too disheartened and superstitious to be raucous lest more misfortune befall them.
“He will be okay, won’t he?”
“We should pray.”
“Leyla’s cooking up some treats for when we are allowed to visit Simeon.”
“Dawud’s eyes are red-rimmed. I’m scared of what he might do next.”
“What if word gets out of the violence here?”
On and on, round and round, the thoughts carouseled in their minds as they worked on tasks assigned by Emir: the trainers tended to their animals and the rest secured exits and reset the arena for the evening thereafter. The routines usually soothed Yusuf but not tonight. The day’s grime sat heavily on his skin. He stayed at the edge of them all until Emir approached.
“Son, we need to clean where it happened last night. Can you help?” Emir motioned to the corner behind the bandstands.
I don’t want a reminder of Simeon laying there, thought Yusuf, but he nodded, bile rising in his throat. With an elevated pulse and a wash of grey noise in his ears, he fetched a spade and a bucket to remove the blood-red sawdust. The two men worked together until the red became gold, and the remnants of the night’s events had been washed away.
When the chores had been completed to Emir’s satisfaction, he called the performers into a round, and they prayed there for Simeon, right where they stood in clothes musky with sweat. The words came to Yusuf on auto-pilot. Anxiety crusted his soul and left him rigid and unmoved. After prayers, Emir tipped his top hat at them, incongruous with the tracksuit he wore from the neck down, and dismissed them for the evening.
Yusuf walked into the night, his footsteps heavy. The night wrapped itself around the big top and blotted out the stars. He breathed out slowly, releasing the toxins from the day, the way his mother had taught him to do as a child. An eerie silence stretched across the residences when he returned.
He fell into bed and shuttered out the world.
Little Mirjam tumbled through the door and switched on the light. Yusuf groaned, and lifted his head from the pillow, feeling as heavy as a humpback whale. He couldn’t have been asleep more than an hour.
“Mirjam, what is it?” He rubbed his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
The urgency in her voice pierced through his drowsiness. “There’s loud noises coming from the tent. Emir Dada is there. Papa has gone to check everything is okay. He asked me to call you.”
A clang sounded. Yusuf listened hard. The wind whistled through the thin walls. “It’s probably nothing, little love.”
Another bang, followed by a flurry of shouts.
“Did you hear that?” said Mirjam, eyes wide with worry. She’d only been calling Zul Papa for a few months. It tugged at Yusuf’s heart that she’d finally given a name to their emotional connection after the hurt of losing her biological parents.
Yusuf sat bolt upright, his nerve endings tingling. There could be no sleeping if his friends needed him. Mirjam was counting on him to keep her new daddy safe. “Zul’s there, you said? And Emir?”
The little girl nodded.
He slipped on his shoes. “I’m going to check on them, but I need you to go tell Doris what has happened. Can you do that for me?”
She grabbed his hand. “Can’t I come?”
“No, you stay here.” He bent down to her and pushed a soft toy into her hands. “Remember this? My elephant? My mother made it long ago. Look after it for me while I am gone. Take it to Doris. I won’t be long.”
He shut the door behind him and pushed her towards Doris’s flat before jogging down the corridor, through the exit and out into the park. Outside, he met Osman and Zul.
“Mirjam woke you?” said Zul, torch in hand.
Yusuf nodded. “Just the three of us then? We could have asked Najib.”
“You want a man like that at our side when trouble goes down?” said Zul.
“You’re right,” said Yusuf.
Zul pointed towards the tent. “Emir’s got to be in there.”
A horse darted past them.
Osman jumped, and put up his hands. “What on earth? Woah there, boy!”
The animal paid no heed, and galloped into the distance under the indigo night sky, with one of Esme’s doves right behind it.
“Didn’t you lock up?” said Zul, swinging his torch beam in the direction of the fleeing animals.
“Sure I did. The horses, doves and two goats in the barn tonight. The other four are in with me,” said Osman, brows knitted together. “What’s going on?”
Yusuf looked towards the barn, and the big top just beyond it. The house lights had been extinguished only an hour before when they had said their goodbyes. Now, it shone like a beacon. His pulse accelerated as they picked up their speed. Yusuf reached the barn first, his chest heaving with exertion. The door, usually padlocked overnight, had been prised open. He flicked the light switch and it buzzed on. Inside, he discovered that only one horse remained. Esme’s bird cage stood empty.
Zul came up behind him, puffing heavily, his face a blotchy red. He looked inside. “Heaven help us.”
“I don’t understand,” said Osman. “I checked them myself earlier.”
From the circus tent came the clang of instruments, discordant notes and arrhythmic drumming that revealed an amateur’s hand rather than the skilled house band.
Yusuf gulped. “Emir!”
A renewed sense of urgency filled them, though they had only just caught their breath. The trio sprinted towards the big top.
“Kids maybe?” said Zul, eliciting no response.
They reached the tent, and though the main entrance was still sealed, the tarpaulin had been slashed to create a crude doorway. They stooped to fit through the gap, and coarse laughter met their ears.
From inside the tent, they heard the roar of Emir’s voice. “Stop that!”
Inside, the house lights blazed, and the stench of faeces infiltrated Yusuf’s nostrils. Litter lined the stands, and instruments lay discarded in the sawdust. Fairy lights had been ripped from the lining of the tent.
In the centre of the ring, five men rolled Emir between them in a barrel. Malevolence shone from the faces of the men around him.
Fear tightened like a vice around Yusuf’s chest.
Back and forth, back and forth went Emir in the barrel, like a ping pong ball. His face glistened with beads of sweat and flooded with relief as he saw them. He tried to speak, but the words shrivelled into a cough.
Yusuf turned to Osman and Zul. “We have to try and help him.”
“Wait,” said Osman. He fiddled for a moment and slid a metal rod from the stands.
The tinny sound of metal on metal attracted the attention of the men in the ring. They glowered and started forward.
Yusuf, Osman and Zul strode towards them.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” said the brains of the group, stopping the barrel with his foot. There could be no doubt this was their leader, judging by how the other men followed his every move.
Yusuf’s voice trembled, as if he were not man enough to protect his loved ones. “Let him out, please. His heart is weak.”
Behind him, Zul and Osman stood in formation.
“Let him out, please,” taunted the chief thug in a sing-song voice that chilled Yusuf to the bone.
“You don’t want any harm to come to him,” said Yusuf. “He is old.”
“We didn’t put him in there for his health,” said the man, showing perfect, pearly white teeth.
The men with him sneered.
Zul and Osman stood still, ready to spring into action. Yusuf’s mind whirred through the options. It would be better to talk their way out of this situation. To persuade or flatter the men into leaving them alone. They would all willingly take a beating for Emir, if it came to that.
“The police will be here soon,” said Yusuf. Beads of sweat coated the back of his neck. If Mirjam had relayed the message to Doris, perhaps help would follow.
The man gave a great big belly laugh and clutched his stomach as if Yusuf had just told a particularly good joke. “You think they would put a bunch of immigrants ahead of real Germans? You’re the last in line for help.”
Emir spluttered, his eyes pleading with Yusuf for help.
Yusuf signalled to Osman and Zul to stay in place and walked forward with tentative footsteps, his hands raised. “I’m just going to help my friend.”
A bellow erupted from the chief thug. “You do what I say.”
Yusuf glanced at the strangers. He took in their humourless, determined faces, the clenched fists and triangle stances that showed they were prepared to fight. Emir and Zul both lacked the physicality to fight. But Yusuf and Osman could land blows if that was what it took. There didn’t seem to be another way.
He took a deep breath and ran at the ringleader, landing a punch on his cheek. The man groaned. Someone kicked Yusuf’s shin, and he buckled into the sawdust. Emir wriggled out of the barrel. The muffled sounds of Osman and Zul fighting their attackers reached his ears. Blows landed on Yusuf’s body from all directions. Emir tried to pull one attacker away, but within seconds he lay sprawled in the sawdust. A man with closely shaven hair chased Zul through the stands, and was nearly upon him. Only Osman, the giant man that he was, stood valiant, his gentle face transformed with ferocity, his arm swinging the metal bar wildly, meeting flesh and causing his attackers to recoil.
A wail of sirens cut through the rush of blood in Yusuf’s ears.
The chief thug lifted his foot from the small of Yusuf’s back. He gripped Yusuf’s face. Passionless eyes raked over him. “This isn’t over. You have powerful enemies, my friend.”
The men scattered and ran for their makeshift exit.
Osman dropped the metal bar and it landed with a dull thud in the sawdust.
Zul lit a roll up. The performers huddled together in silence, bruised and tender, each trapped in a hell of their own.
