3

ZARCONI’S INCREDIBLE TRAVELLING CIRCUS

The sign outside said ‘Keswick’, but the conductor told Gus he had to get off – he’d arrived in Adelaide. Gus stood in the door of the train and felt a rush of panic. The crowd surged along the platform. How would anyone know him? What if no one had come to meet him? He fumbled in his pocket for the envelope with his name on it and stepped out onto the platform. He figured if he stood still long enough, someone would ask him who he was. He couldn’t quite bring himself to pin the envelope back on his chest, so he leant against the wall, right under the Keswick sign, and waited for someone to find him.

‘This is the worst day of my life,’ he thought.

A few metres up the platform, someone else was waiting – a big man, built like a bear and almost bald. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets and he was leaning against the wall. As the crowd thinned he looked up and down the length of the platform and finally he stared at Gus. Gus stared back. The man had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen – like little pieces of sky.

Gus couldn’t move. He waited as the man lumbered up the platform.

‘Augustus O’Brien?’ asked the giant.

‘No, my name’s Gus McGrath and I’m waiting for my grandfather.’

‘Gus McGrath, is it? Now why’d your mother call you McGrath? You’ve got the O’Brien eyes, no doubt about it.’

‘Are you him?’ asked Gus in a small voice.

The man put his hand out. ‘Doc O’Brien,’ he said. Gus felt his own hand disappear into the big man’s fist.

‘Should I call you Grandfather or Grandpa or something like that?’

‘You can call me what you like, long as it’s civil. But everyone else calls me Doc.’ They looked at each other for a long uncomfortable moment.

‘C’mon then, boy, can’t hang about all day. Got work to do.’ He strode down the platform to the parking lot, threw Gus’s bags into the back of a battered red truck and gestured impatiently for Gus to hop in. Zarconi’s Incredible Travelling Circus was painted on the door in faded yellow letters. Gus felt as if his feet were made of lead as he walked across the bitumen towards it.

‘I’ve got a letter for you,’ Gus shouted above the roar of the engine.

He took the crumpled envelope out of his pocket and pushed it across the seat.

‘From your mother?’

‘No, from Mrs Spanner. She was looking after me for a bit while Mum was in hospital.’

‘Nothing from your mother, then?’

‘No,’ Gus said and turned to stare out the window.

He thought of his mother in the hospital the last time. When he’d tried to ask her about his grandparents.

‘You’ll find out for yourself, Gus,’ she’d said. ‘They’ll be good to you. Don’t worry.’

‘But why haven’t we ever been to see them?’

‘It’s a long story. When you’re older, I’ll tell you about it.’

Gus looked hard at his grandfather as the truck headed out into the traffic. His nose was like a tropical fish – red at the base and shot through with strange colours. He didn’t have much hair left and the top of his head was smooth, shiny and red. And he was so big. Broad shoulders, a barrel chest – everything about him was huge. Gus sank a little lower in his seat. His grandfather reached across and took the letter, tucking it into his shirt pocket.

‘Haven’t got much to say for yourself, eh boy?’ said his grandfather.

‘No.’

‘Not like your mother then. She always had plenty to say.’ He laughed, but his laughter was like an angry bark.

They passed around the edge of the city, heading west.

‘Do you have a house around Adelaide?’ asked Gus.

‘A house!’ roared Doc. ‘By god, you wouldn’t catch me living in one of these little boxes!’ He gestured out the window. ‘Never lived in a house in my whole life and not about to start now. No, I’ve got a home – and that’s the road. Was good enough for my father and his father and it’s good enough for me. Always sorry it wasn’t good enough for your mother.’

Gus winced.

‘So where am I gonna stay?’

‘With me and your grandmother. You can sleep on the couch up the front of our caravan.’

‘The couch?’

‘Comfiest bed in the place and I should know. I’ve slept on it often enough after your grandmother’s had a go at me.’

Gus frowned and shut his eyes. If he held his breath as well, he could imagine he was underwater, water pressing all around him, dark and still and quiet. He gasped as Doc cuffed him across the back of the head.

‘Why did you do that?’ asked Gus, putting one hand to his chest.

‘You looked like you were stacking on one of your mother’s turns. She used to hold her breath till she turned blue. Not a pretty sight.’

For a moment, their eyes met, like blue flints striking each other, before Doc turned his gaze back to the road. Gus stared at the black bitumen stretching ahead of them.

‘Is it much further?’ he asked.

‘Not much. We’re set up just the other side of Enfield. Been a good run – nearly a week now – but we’re heading west tomorrow. We’re not a city circus. We’ll be in WA by the end of the month, working the coast road – out bush, where we belong. You’ll be in the swing of things by then.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ muttered Gus.

‘What was that? Speak up, boy.’

‘Nothing. I didn’t say anything.’

The truck bounced along Main North Road, and turned down a narrower street. The houses gave way to an industrial estate and then Gus saw some flags poking up over the top of a flat-roofed factory.

The circus tent was pitched in a field beside a parking lot. It wasn’t very big – not at all what Gus had expected. Its faded canvas had yellow stars painted on a green backdrop. A handful of trucks and caravans and motorhomes were scattered around it, and a girl with long dark hair was doing handstands in the dry grass while a small dog leapt around her, barking.

Doc stopped the truck next to the longest caravan. It looked sad and battered. A sign in black hung on the door: ‘ALL ENQUIRIES HERE’.

Gus climbed down slowly and stood beside the truck. Doc pulled the caravan’s screen door open and called out to someone inside. Gus turned his back and watched the girl kicking her legs up into the air.

‘Augustus!’ called a woman’s voice.

Gus looked around. The woman standing next to his grandfather was as tiny as he was huge. She held one hand out towards him.

‘I’m your grandmother, Augustus,’ she said. ‘Come on. You don’t need to be shy. I don’t bite.’

Gus walked towards her, thinking she didn’t look like anyone’s granny. She had on a green cotton dress and a pair of riding boots. Her hair was red – but not a real red – and her face was thin and fierce. Gus couldn’t work out how she managed to look sad and angry at the same time.

‘Everyone calls me Gus,’ he said.

‘Everyone calls me Nance,’ she countered. ‘And so can you.’

She looked at him straight as she spoke, with sharp green eyes – like an animal’s. He’d thought all grannies had white hair and were plump and cuddly-looking – like Pete’s granny, who made ‘spiders’ to drink with big dollops of icecream in them, and handed out lollies from a little jar on her mantelpiece; but Nance didn’t look like that was her style at all. He had a vague idea that he should want to hug her or something like that but all he could think to do was put his hands in his pockets and look at the dust on the toes of his new shoes.

‘Have you had any breakfast yet?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘Well, come on over to the caravan and I’ll feed you.’

Gus started to follow, but his grandfather clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

‘Hang on there, boy. Haven’t you forgotten something?’ He reached up into the truck and grabbed Gus’s bag.

‘Here,’ he said, thrusting the knapsack against Gus’s chest. ‘Everyone around here has to pull their own weight. No slackers in this circus.’

Gus sat at a little table in his grandparents’ caravan and ate the honey toast Nance put in front of him. A hot, dry wind blew in through the open door. Outside, the dogs all started barking at once as a noisy truck passed the circus camp on its way to the nearby factories. Nance made tea for all of them and Doc sat down on a couch that was built into the side of one wall and stretched out his long legs.

Gus chewed his toast and looked around him. He’d never seen such a compact living space. Every centimetre of the walls was covered with photographs, every surface was cluttered with stuff – piles of paper, tins, notebooks, bits of junk, a hammer, a bell, a vase of plastic flowers. You couldn’t even see what colour the walls were, there was so little of it free. Everywhere you turned, there was something different to look at.

The caravan was twice as long as any he’d ever seen. At one end was a kitchen, separated from the dining area by a long bench. Above the bench a silver and yellow cockatiel was sitting in a cage, watching Gus with sharp, bright eyes.

‘Silly bugger,’ it cawed.

There were cupboards and drawers everywhere, set into every seat and wall. At the end of the room was a little passage, also lined with cupboards, that led to another part of the caravan. Gus didn’t want to seem nosy so he tried not to crane his neck and stare but he found it hard to focus on his grandparents.

‘Now, let’s sort a few things out, boy,’ said Doc O’Brien.

‘Gus,’ said Gus, ‘My name’s Gus.’

Doc nodded and leant forward in his seat.

‘Zarconi’s is a family circus. In our show – whether you’re blood or not – everyone is family and this circus looks after its own. We’re happy for you to be with us and we’ll take care of you ’til your mum comes to get you. You’ve got sawdust in your veins whether she likes it or not and you’ll get the swing of how we do things pretty quick, but you gotta understand that this is a working place, and now you’re here, you’ll have to work too. We can’t carry dead wood – you’ve got to pull your weight. Understood?’

Gus didn’t really understand what sort of work Doc was talking about, but he nodded anyway and took another bite of his toast. As far as he could make out, he was stuck here until his mum came to get him and he would have to make the best of it.