On Thursday morning, I happen to pass the ground-floor studios. In one, students are working on contortion exercises. They’re doing the pretzel, their backs arched, their palms pressing down on the floor behind them. One boy’s body shakes from the strain. I hope that won’t happen to him during our performance tomorrow.
I pause in front of the next studio. Hugo Lebrun is hunched forward on a stool, his chin resting on his hand like the guy in that famous sculpture by Rodin. He is watching Leo and Guillaume rehearse the routine they’ll be doing for the final performance.
Both boys are wearing plaid pajamas—Leo’s are red; Guillaume’s are blue. They’re not wearing clown noses, but they have huge gray felt slippers that make walking difficult.
Guillaume nearly trips over his slippers, but Leo catches him just in time, only to fall over backward. Then Guillaume trips over Leo and falls to a heap on the floor. The two boys raise their legs in the air, waving their slippers in Hugo’s direction. It’s a silly gag, but I still laugh, because it’s so silly.
They’re working with props today. There’s a narrow metal cot with a mattress on it, a huge washing machine and dryer, both made out of cardboard spray-painted a glossy white, and a pink wicker laundry basket.
Leo drags Guillaume up from the floor and marches him over to the cardboard dryer. He points at it, gesturing that he wants Guillaume to unload what’s inside, then taps his wrist where a watch would be.
Guillaume nods obediently. He’s leaning down to reach into the dryer when Leo pulls open the dryer door, smacking him in the forehead. Guillaume falls over backward, taking the opportunity to do a somersault.
Leo lifts him up from the floor and dusts him off as if he’s a piece of furniture. Then he points back at the dryer.
This time Guillaume reaches in and begins pulling out a white bedsheet…and pulling…and pulling. The sheet has to be at least ten bedsheets sewn together. Leo is pointing at the bed now and looking again at his wrist. He wants Guillaume to make the bed. Now!
Of course, when Guillaume finally gets the sheet out, it is way too big for one bed. He and Leo get tangled up inside it. Gray slippers emerge from under the giant sheet.
Leo hands Guillaume the laundry basket. Guillaume pulls out several men’s dress shirts. Then he pulls out a lacy pink nightgown, waving it in front of Leo.
Leo bonks the side of Guillaume’s head. The nightgown drops out of Guillaume’s hands, landing back in the laundry basket.
Leo points at the cardboard washing machine and checks the time again.
Guillaume trips over the basket. He stumbles to his feet, stuffs the shirts into the washing machine, then pulls them out and stuffs them into the dryer.
Leo points at his red-plaid pajama top. He needs a clean shirt! Guillaume dabs his forehead with the back of his hand. When he reaches into the dryer and sees what is inside, he stops, then turns to look back at the audience—Hugo, and me too, though Guillaume doesn’t seem to notice I am standing at the window. Just his expression—his eyebrows shoot up in a combination of surprise and horror—cracks me up.
Guillaume reaches again into the dryer and pulls out six tiny white shirts and a tiny lacy pink nightgown, all too small even for a doll.
Leo’s eyes widen. Then he starts chasing Guillaume around the studio. They go in circles, banging into each other and tripping over the bed, the laundry basket and their oversized slippers. They collapse on the floor, then get up and start all over again.
Leo finally catches Guillaume and stuffs him inside the dryer. Leo is turning the pretend dial on the dryer when Guillaume pops his head out of the dryer door.
The two boys are having so much fun, they both start laughing. Leo laughs so hard he has to hold on to his side.
Hugo gets up from his stool. He wags his finger at the boys, and though I can’t hear what he is saying, I know he is telling Leo and Guillaume they must stay in character until the very end of their performance.
I watch as Leo and Guillaume nod solemnly. Hugo knows that they are talented, but he’s pushing them to become even better and more professional—the way that Terence has been pushing Genevieve and me.
I think back to what Anastasia said—how the most important part of being a circus performer is connecting with your audience. That’s what Leo and Guillaume are so good at. It’s something I have to keep working on in my own way. That’s because connecting with the audience is a skill no circus instructor, even one as famous as Hugo Lebrun, can teach.