The circus arrives in the night, without notice, without
warning. One morning it is simply there where before it was not. In place of an
empty field are dozens of tents enclosed in an iron fence. A sign above the
gates reads “Le Cirque des Rêves”, the circus of dreams, below it “The circus opens at sunset and closes
at sunrise.”
Everywhere you go talk of the
circus follows you, those who have been tell stories of magical illusionists,
daring cat tamers, and impossible attractions. It’s been years since you thought
of the circus, since one has last come to town, since you wrote it off as a con
to exchange money for half-baked dreams. Despite this you find yourself
counting down the hours until you get off the work, counting the minutes until
the sun sets, until the circus is open.
When you step into the circus you
are swept up by the crowds, past a magnificent clock and deposited inside a
tent. Inside the tent there is nothing: no seats, no props, nothing. You’re
about to leave, to follow the enticing smell of circus treats, when the door
seals shut as if it was never there. Puzzled, you join the audience, what else is
there to do? The lights dim, but still nothing. A lady beside you whispers “Look
up”. Up you look. Above you there is a web of ropes stretched across the tent,
accompanied by a stream of ribbons cascading down. Trapeze artists glide
through the air, momentarily weightless as they fling themselves around the
room. Aerialists and acrobats spin through the air suspended by ribbons. Your
visions of this is crystal clear, there are no nets to interfere. A man in a
tuxedo emerges from the centre of the web spinning until he becomes a blur. Then
he plunges down, hurtling towards the audience. You dive out of the way, or
rather try to. He stops inches above your head and takes a bow.
You find yourself ducking into tents to avoid the crowds,
pausing only for the slightest moment before leaving, but this one grabs your
attention. Inside is a desert, complete with a scorching hot sun and sand that
creeps into your shoes. Outside: the moon is high in the sky, while the grass
is firmly packed down. Impossible. A group of people emerge from nowhere, a
light powder of…snow covers there shoulder. All are decked out in grey,
embellished with a touch of red in the form of a scarf, a tie, a bracelet. They
seem amused by your shock, and reveal a hidden door that leads to another room.
Curious you enter, only to find yourself in a winter wonderland. The room
beyond that reveals a beach, a glacier, a valley. Each room is more spectacular
than the last, eventually you find yourself back in the circus. Disappointed
you turn to re-enter the tent, only to find that it is gone.
You wander along until you feel the cool breeze emanating
from a tent; you cautiously enter, expecting a blizzard or something equally bizarre.
Instead there is a garden, made entirely of ice. Transparent roses bloom before
your eyes, crystal grass crunches beneath your feet. A fountain bubbles at the
centre, water streaming down the sides before it freezes and becomes a part of
the sculpture. An elegant tree stands beyond the fountain, the ice twists
around the trunk, each twist breaking off to become a branch. Each branch is
covered in leaves, tiny delicate leaves that are thin enough to see through,
and thick large leaves, with craggy edges. A vine wraps around the trunk,
flowers budding. You reach out to touch a flower, one that has just blossomed,
only for it to shatter. You take a step back preparing to run back out into the
circus, only for the flower to grow back, as though nothing had happened. As
you step outside you look back to see a young man adorned with a bowler hat
stoop over the flower, you blink and he is gone.
The next tent you stumble upon contains yet another tree, made not of ice, but of fire. It’s labelled the wishing tree, and you
are encouraged to make a wish by lighting a candle and attaching it to the
tree. It is these wishes that make the tree appear to be made of fire, as the
flames flicker from every branch. Is it weird that you find yourself wanting to
make a wish? After all, wishes are for children, like toys and cartoons and…circuses.
But what to wish for? That new promotion, a better office, the lottery? You
could, but instead you smile and write down your wish, wrap it around a candle
and attach it to a branch. Out of the corner of your eye you see a young lady in victorian dress light her own candle. You blink and see only a flickering candle.
It takes you sometime to find the next tent, now realising
that each tent contains something spectacular and amazing and that its contents
should be considered carefully before entering. What does it smell like? Feel
like? Do others frequent it? This next tent seems to have many, many visitors and
feels like the cool mist that descends on a foggy morning. Inside you are alone
those that you followed in have mysteriously vanished. Instead there is a cloud
in front of you, with steps leading up to it. You climb the stairs and hesitantly
step on it, to your left another cloud appears and you clamber on to it, and
reach for the next cloud. The tent is true to its sign, for it is a cloud maze.
From time to time you hear the sound of laughter, catch the glimpse of someone
in the distance. You reach the top and discover a group of circus goers, once
again dressed in grey, with a touch of red. You reach them just as one leaps
over the side and hurtles to the ground. “Don’t worry”, says one of the group. “It’s
perfectly safe. The clouds slow you down and catch you. Try it.” As you plunge
down towards the ground a cloud swoops up under you, catching you at the last
minute.
Outside the crowds have thinned no doubt retiring for the
night. You take the opportunity to wander along, pausing to observe the impromptu
performances of contortionists, snake charmers, storytellers and human statues.
Eventually you stop to listen to as a young man begins his story. It is a tale
of how the circus began, of the two magicians who competed in it, the love they
shared, and how that love nearly destroyed the circus.
It is hard to leave the circus unchanged, and changed you
are. You pause at the gates. It’s difficult to leave, even though you know that
you will be back tomorrow.
