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Stars blanketed the heavens as Yusuf and Ellie walked hand-in-hand by the River Spree. In Ellie’s hands, she clutched a handful of flowers the colour of ripe tangerines Yusuf had plucked from the park. He intertwined his fingers with hers to distract her from her nervousness about the vigil.
He, too, wanted the vigil to be a success. Not for the circus, but for Doris, who deserved to be remembered. His chest ached with her loss. The rest of the circus had also experienced the loss keenly: Doris had been their friend, a blessing for those who didn’t trust easily and had been disappointed often.
“What if no one comes? I’ll look so stupid,” said Ellie.
She had every reason to be proud of herself. Her Die Welt story had spread like a wave to other newspapers. Even with a gagging order from Marina’s lawyers, Die Welt refused to retract the allegations, so secure they were in the knowledge that their case was airtight. Information about the vigil had been retweeted thousands of times on Twitter.
Yusuf drew small, smoothing circles on the back of Ellie’s hand with his thumb, eager to be touching her still. “No one will laugh at you. If they do, it’s only because they envy your passion.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Fifteen minutes to go.”
“Have you even thought about what you’ll do if a crowd does turn up?”
She grimaced.
A man hurtled towards them in the distance, his clown trousers billowing like sails.
“There’s a crowd gathering outside the circus. They look friendly. I mean, I think they do,” said Zul, puffing with exertion. “Emir said you should come, both of you.”
“Oh, God,” said Ellie, paler than usual under the night sky.
She dropped her flowers when he grabbed her hand, and they hurried after Zul to the lawn in front of the big top, beyond the trestle tables, where a river of humans stood deep and wide, stretching out across the park.
Ellie froze.
Yusuf tightened his grip on her hand. He blinked, thinking this couldn’t be for him, for the refugees, but their banners fluttered like ghosts in the sky, and there could be no mistake that this was the vigil Ellie had called for.
There was no uniformity to the crowd, and he made out Christians, Muslims and Jews, Turks and Afro-Germans, hippies and punks, students with their rucksacks and bikes, workers in crisp shirts, pensioners and children riding on their parents’ shoulders. They had wrapped themselves in flags from across the globe, in rainbow flags and European ones, in the tricolour Syrian flag, so similar to Germany’s own. The throng continued to build as they watched. This wasn’t a rabble; this was a community. They moved like a shoal of fish, shaking hands, patting backs and sharing food.
Yusuf’s breath caught in his throat.
There stood two young men he recognised from pictures in Doris’ apartment: her sons. Alongside them were Ellie’s parents, and Isaiah with some of his spraying friends, holding up a sign for open borders and Be a Doris. Just behind, Imam Saeed held one corner of a multi-faith banner aloft, adorned with the Star of David, the cross, the crescent moon and star, and beside them, the Om sign and the Dharmachakra. Soon, his circus family joined in: Emir in his top hat, Zul with his white face and red nose, Osman in a shimmering satin tracksuit, and the girls in flowing dresses.
Yusuf’s stomach tightened at the sight of the hovering camera crews, along with the police patrol engaged to keep the peace.
Ellie danced on the spot. “We have to greet them,” she said, jerking him towards the crowd.
Yusuf shook his head, still hovering by the big top, trying to suppress the hope that bloomed in his chest that everything would be all right.
She tugged his hand. Her eyes sparkled. “It’ll be okay.”
He followed her, light-headed, his stomach a bundle of nerves.
A hush descended as they stepped towards the masses, then the crowd erupted into cheers and cameras flashed.
Tears clogged Yusuf’s throat as he read the signs and the welcoming faces around him: a mosaic of goodwill from all corners of the city.
A journalist from ZDF pushed a microphone under their noses and asked a stream of questions without pausing for breath. “Do you consider Germany your home, Herr Alam? Was this what you hoped to achieve, Frau Richter?”
Yusuf blinked into the glare of the camera light, his lips dry. “This is my home, yes.”
Ellie leaned forward. “We’re grateful for everyone who is here today. We’re here in memory of Doris Kaun and what she believed in. We need to send a message to the Government.” She pointed at the crowd. “This is who we are.”
A man wearing a black t-shirt with a host of tattoos covering his arms approached, and commandeered the attention of the journalist and his cameraman. He squared up to Ellie. “We’ll purge this country of people like you and him.” A ball of spit landed on Yusuf’s shoe.
The cameraman zoomed in, and the crowd grew still.
Ellie stepped closer to the man, arching her back, until her nose almost touched his.
“Leave it, Ellie,” said Yusuf, placing a protective arm around her.
She shooed him away, shrugging her shoulder while the camera still rolled. “I’ve got this.”
The man puffed out his chest, eyes ablaze, facing Ellie down, daring her to act. His body odour filled Yusuf’s nose, even at this distance, but Ellie stood her ground. She didn’t flinch.
“I want people like you to be outnumbered so you learn what it is like to be a minority,” she said. “Look around you. You are outnumbered.”
The man snarled, venomous, and Ellie stood tall and uncowed. Then she smiled despite the man’s animosity and the hate that made him small.
Yusuf looked up, sensing a change in the current of the crowd. His heart raced to see friends and strangers, nearing thousands now, holding their mobile phones in the sky. The crowd became a sea of light amongst the dark shadows of the trees, and it didn’t matter if one person, or many people, hated because the weight of love would always be greater.
A lone voice sang, and soon the crowd joined in, and the melody seemed far away. Yusuf didn’t recognise the song, though he knew the spirit. Ellie knew it, and so did the man. He slunk away, and the camera whirred, taking in images of the vigil that would be projected on the national news, and also internationally, in countries where hope was in short supply, and others where they longed for Western aid.
The people continued to sing as the moon climbed higher in the sky, peeking at them from behind a group of leafy trees. A rugged man in shorts and loafers had brought his guitar, and soon, he stood on a trestle table, leading the crowd in renditions of Bob Marley and The Beatles, and when the police tired, they shooed him away, and the crowds dissolved into the night, leaving remnants of joy floating in the air.
Yusuf, wrung out with emotion, turned to Ellie. “Would you like to come back with me tonight?”
She looked up at him, radiating strength, and his heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”
They walked the short distance to the residences and the balmy night hugged itself to their skin. The trees rustled as they walked through the park. He held her close to his side, understanding once more how much one person’s love could hold storms at bay. Tonight, the circled dwellings seemed like a stronghold that no ill will could penetrate, although in reality he knew the circus remained under threat.
They crawled into bed together, and she slept within moments, her body curled into his. He drew the covers over her, matched the rise and fall of her body to his, and drifted into oblivion.
