I don’t want to be alone. Not after Terence’s news. The other girls must feel the same way because when Hana suggests we go hang out in the MCC library, we are all quick to agree.
The library windows overlook the small gym, and from here we can see a student swinging back and forth on the trapeze. She’s swinging so peacefully, I decide she must not yet have heard that a local circus performer is dead.
Dead.
I can’t get the word out of my mind.
I’ve known circus performers who’ve been injured—who’ve sprained ribs or ankles, who’ve dislocated shoulders…I even knew a trampolinist who broke her arm—but never anyone who died. It’s weird to think it could have happened while we were eating poached eggs in the cafeteria this morning.
Anastasia sits down at one of the computer terminals. Hana flips through a book about the history of circus. Genevieve and I seem to have made an awkward truce. We sit at opposite ends of the couch, watching a DVD of a performance by Circa, an Australian circus troupe that performed in Montreal last summer.
Genevieve fast-forwards the DVD to get to the climbing act. A redheaded woman with muscular shoulders climbs the tissu with the speed and ease of a monkey.
“Nice,” Genevieve says to the screen.
“I wonder if the climber who died was doing tissu or rope,” I say quietly.
Genevieve doesn’t lift her eyes from the screen. “How should I know?” She sounds annoyed.
“Don’t you care that a climber died?”
“I care. I just don’t want to think about it right now,” Genevieve says.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t think about it either. I try to concentrate on the monkey woman’s number instead. She is dangling from the red fabric by one ankle.
But then I start thinking about all the reasons why rope is better than tissu. A rope is rough and natural—there is nothing pretty about it. With rope, the focus stays on the performer. With tissu, the audience gets distracted by the beauty—the bright colors and the soft swish—of the Lycra.
Of course, I can’t say any of this to Genevieve. We’d just get into another fight. From the way she has burrowed into her corner of the couch, her hands crossed over her chest, I decide she must be as upset as I am about the climber’s death, even if she won’t talk about it.
The librarian is hunched over Anastasia’s computer. She’s a tall woman who wears funky clothes, and today she has on a colorful artist’s smock. She must know Anastasia has trouble reading, because she is pointing at the screen and explaining something to Anastasia. They both shake their heads and sigh. That’s when I realize Anastasia is not checking her email. They are googling this morning’s accident. Has it already made the news?
I pop up from the couch and head over to the computer. Genevieve stays on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, though I feel her gaze flutter and land on me when I get up.
The librarian moves over to make room for me. I was right. An article from the Montreal Gazette website is on the computer screen. The headline makes something catch in my throat. Rope Climber Dies in Tragic Circus Accident.
The librarian pats my elbow. Is it because she knows rope is my specialty at circus camp? I try to read the article, but the words keep getting blurry. An aerialist with Cirque Viva plummeted forty-five feet to her death earlier this morning. There will be an investigation, but preliminary reports indicate the aluminum carabiner to which the rope was attached broke. The victim was a woman, though her name has not yet been released. Several of the victim’s fellow circus performers witnessed the accident.
I’m imagining what it would feel like to fall forty-five feet, to hear my friends’ screams in the background. I close my eyes to make the picture—and the sounds—go away, but it doesn’t help.
Leo picks that moment to burst into the library. Other people enter a room; they walk or, if they’re in a hurry, they run. Leo bursts in.
He stops at the circulation desk. “Where’s Genevieve?” His voice echoes in the room.
Genevieve doesn’t look up from the screen. “She isn’t here!” she calls back.
Leo doesn’t get the message. He marches over to the couch. Now he notices me at Anastasia’s computer. “Hey, girls,” he says to all of us, “you coming skating or what?”
Genevieve keeps ignoring him.
When I look up at him, he walks over to the computer. “I guess you didn’t hear about the accident,” I whisper.
Leo freezes. “What accident?”
“An aerialist with Cirque Viva died this morning. They think the carabiner broke,” I tell him.
“Oh no,” Leo says.
Genevieve has finally stopped watching the DVD. She comes over to the computer. So does Hana.
We’re all looking at the screen, not saying anything. Maybe because there are no words.
The librarian wipes her cheek.
That’s when I realize that even if the Gazette website hasn’t published the name of the aerialist who died, the librarian too may already know who the woman is. Didn’t Terence tell us she was a student at MCC?
“Did you know her?” I ask the librarian.
“We all knew her.” The librarian’s voice is soft and sad. “Louise and Terence trained together. At one point, they competed for the same position…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s remembering Louise and Terence together in la palestre.
“I guess we’re not going skating,” Leo says.
“We’re not,” Genevieve and I say at the same time.
So much for our catfight.