Simone's trailer was a tiny, cramped little tin can stuffed to the gills
with what a single woman, who is also a trapezist, would need. Misha and
Sonja felt sorry for having referred to her as "The Duchess" for all these
years; she was hardly living "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous." In fact,
Sonja wondered how she could even breathe in this trailer: it smelt like
burnt rubbish and was so tiny that she and Misha found themselves having to
move single file.
It had been very hard to get the key to her trailer. Simone kept it close to her, on a chain around her neck, which she never took off except for performances (she'd lock it in her makeup drawer.) They were forced to, with Lakshmi's help, break into Mr. Henrie's office in order to get Simone's key. Mr. Henrie kept keys to everything pertaining to the Circus Boheme.
They knew they were breaking a sacred trust not to mention probably a few laws. Before they entered, Misha made the sign of the cross as he'd seen his mother do a thousand times. He hoped the Lord would understand why they were doing this and go easy on them.
First they tried looking at some of the stuff on her kitchen table, but it consisted of the same meaningless scraps of paper anyone woman, single or otherwise, would have. They poked and prodded around a bit, finding only receipts, recipes, a sink full of dirty dishes, and some letters she'd written to some guy named Carlos in Canada, none of them interesting.
"Okay," Sonja said, dusting herself off as she stood, "I think we've done enough poking around: now it's time to really snoop." She walked over to one of the drawers and tried to open it. "What the." she muttered. Misha didn't say anything but smiled and pointed at the little gold lock on the door.
Sonja looked around. On every door and drawer was a nice little lock, opened only by a key. Even the door to the shower had a nice little lock. "Jeez.what's with this woman and locks?" she muttered, struggling to open another drawer. "What if she has to go in the middle of the night?"
"Hey Simone was never known for being typical," Misha shrugged.
"Yeah but even your mother has her limits."
Misha nodded ruefully. His mother, besides being known for her massages, was also known for her daffiness. Anyone who went into her trailer to search for something would have a rough time finding it because Irina Bogdanov believed firmly in putting things in the most bizarre of places. Therefore if you were to open the refrigerator, one might find a pair of shoes next to the leftover broccoli.
It's not that she was crazy or stupid-both would mean she couldn't operate and she operates very well-she just saw things a bit differently from everyone else. Misha, Oleg, and Sergey had long learned to tolerate this but it never failed to amuse anyone outside her living quarters.
"Aha," Sonja said, spying the little brass key ring hung next to the door. She grabbed it of the shelf. "Damn it! What is it with this woman!" she shouted. Every key looked exactly alike.
"Why don't you yell a little longer, Sonja? I'm sure a few people in Sweden didn't hear you."
"Sorry. Hey Misha, how do you figure out which key to use?"
"You try them tell you find a match."
"Oh you're huge help." Sonja bent down and began trying the locks. She finally found one that would open but since it contained fairly mundane material she moved on.
Both tried many different keys and many different locks until they finally found what they had been looking for. It was the drawer to the right of the sink next to the silverware. Inside they found scraps of letters written by some guy named Creed. There were all sorts of weird miscellaneous items: an earring missing it's pair, a bandana, a postcard from Africa.
"Hey Misha, come get a look at this," Sonja said in a weird voice. In her hands was a driver's license. The picture had been scratched out but the name was still visible: Ororo Munroe. Height: 5'11.
"Whoa, this is creepy," Misha said. He wanted to leave now and take the license with him; they could be dealing with a homicidal maniac. Instead he kept quiet and tucked the license into his pocket.
Sonja continued riffling through the drawer. She paused when her fingers brushed up against something leather. It was one of those faux leather things anyone could buy at the grocery store with golden letters embossed on the cover: Memory Lane. First few pages were simple enough--birth announcement, wedding announcement, obituary, some photos and letters-but after a few pages a disturbing picture began to emerge.
"Five Injured in Grassfire," Sonja muttered. She turned the page; more articles about fires. Superimposed on these pages were reviews or advertisements for the circus; it was a bit like turning from Entertainment Tonight to Ted Koppel. "Okay that women's sick."
Misha nodded in agreement. They turned the page and continued reading. "Woman Disappears From Home: Circus Suspected in."
They grunted a little as they received the kick. They turned around. Simone was standing there dressed in her practice clothes. Her body was coated with sweat-bits of hair clung to her face-and her dark eyes glowered with a strange gleam that made her appear almost lit within.
"Well what have you been doing in here," She said, giving a strange grin. It was like something from a movie; both Sonja and Misha were expecting her to shoot them. Instead she reached forward and yanked the scrapbook away.
"You really shouldn't be snooping around where you don't belong; curiosity killed the cat after all," She said. Her smile now resembled a snake cornering a mouse. "Now you have five seconds to beat it before I call the cops!" she shouted. Any pretense she'd made at polite behaviour was gone now.
Misha and Sonja barreled out of the tiny trailer, banging their heads on the doorframe as they ran. Simone shouted after them in French. What she said, they didn't know and weren't particularly curious to find out. They ran and ducked behind one of the tool sheds.
"Okay.that's it." Sonja said, panting, "there went my dream of being a secret agent. When Simone came in on us, I just about had a heart attack."
"Ditto," Misha said. "It wasn't a complete lose though; I did get this." He presented the driver's license.
"Good work, Misha. You're better at this spy business than I am," Sonja said, "Have you considered a career with the CIA?"
"Thanks but no."
They sat there for a few minutes, discussing theories and thanking every deity they could think of for their lucky escape, when Lian walked up to them. She was dressed in warm-up clothes with her long black hair tied back in a bun. Her small face was full of question and worry.
"Hey Misha. Was that you Simone was screeching at?" She asked.
"Yeah." He said, sheepishly. "We kind of busted into her trailer."
"Really? Why would you do something that hideously stupid?"
Misha turned beet-red.
"Let me translate. Simone's been acting weird lately so we decided to see if she maybe had something to do with the disappearance of Ms. Munroe. We got the key to her trailer from Mr. Henrie's office and broke in. Unfortunately, she found us," Sonja said.
"Did you get anything good?" "Well we got this," Misha said as he presented the license.
Lian's eyes widened. "Omigod, we have to go to the police with this." She suddenly began to feel very fearful.
"We were thinking of giving it to those outsiders who've been hanging around," Sonja said.
"Them? I don't know; I've never really liked them. My mama says you can't completely trust outsiders and that bald guy creeps me out. It's like he's studying you inside and out," Lian said.
"Lian, you're being silly. They're just people looking for their friend. If one of us ever went missing, you'd want the people involved to be as helpful as possible," said Misha.
Lian had to admit he was right, but she couldn't help but have her reservations about the outsiders. Outsiders always seemed a garish, loud, passionless people. Whenever she went outside the encampment without another circus person, she always felt so small and anonymous and frightened. She berated herself for this: why couldn't she be more like Sun- Yi who was as brave as Catwoman, Supergirl, and Wonder Woman all mixed together?
Suddenly she felt an urge to come clean. She had to talk to someone about what happened Monday and maybe they'd be able to help: they were older than her after all. "Um guys..." She began. She was shaking like an autumn leaf. "I have a confession to make."
"Really, what?" a familiar voice asked. Lian turned around: it was Sun-Yi. It always struck her as funny the way she would insist on looking like a fashion plate even when she was sweating bullets during practice. Today she was wearing her blue Supergirl t-shirt with bright yellow shorts. Her hair was braided into two pigtails tied with red shoelaces. "I mean, if you're going to tell them, you're going to tell me. I am your sister after all," Sun-Yi said.
Lian sighed. Curse her sister for being able to come up with infallible arguments. "Okay, come with me, but please don't laugh," She whispered.
This struck the trio as odd-why would she be afraid of them laughing at her-but they followed anyway. She led them into her family's trailer. The three of them found places at the kitchen table and waited for her to show them whatever she was going to show them.
Lian stepped forward, hiding her art stuff behind her back. "Do you remember Monday Night's Movie?"
"Oh yeah, Alegria. That movie was awesome." Misha said.
"I loved how seamless their Russian Bar act was," said Sonja.
"Well I loved the movie, too. When I got back to the trailer, I couldn't stop playing the music in my head. That Francesca Gagnon has a voice like an angel. Well anyway, I couldn't get the music nor the images out of my head so I drew a picture of the White Singer and here it is," said Lian.
The three looked over the drawing. It was truly a marvel, managing to catch the ghostly and ethereal beauty of the chanteuse. One could almost hear the singer's voice.
But Sun-Yi was not amused. "So what's the point?" she asked. Sun-Yi was not known for her tact.
"I'm getting to that. So I drew it, then went to bed. I had the weirdest dream in which she waltzed with me and gave me a silver necklace. It was the most vivid dream I'd ever had: I could feel her flesh and smell her perfume. Next morning when I woke up, I saw my picture lying next to me. I thought it was strange because I could distinctly remember hanging it on the wall. I was going to tell Sun-Yi all about my wonderful dream when I reached into my pocket and pulled out the necklace. As you can imagine I totally freaked: I thought I was going crazy. I figured just to make sure I'd better test it. So I drew a picture of a cube and it appeared. I erased it and it disappeared. And that is what I have to tell you," Lian said.
There was a pause than laughter. Loud, unrestrained, slightly nervous laughter. "Man," said Misha between gulps of air, "you should use that story next time Mr. Mischke assigns us a creative writing project. That was good."
Lian felt faint. She had prepared herself for every possible response but ridicule. She felt sick. Why were they laughing? Couldn't they see how important this was to her? How she'd worried all day long about it?
"Guys!" she shouted, "this is serious! I made it appear!"
The laughter stopped. "Really?" Sonja asked.
"Yes!"
"Oh. We're sorry; we thought you were joking." Misha said.
"I wish I was."
"You know what," Sonja said, "I wish we could have used it when we were breaking into Simone's trailer. We could have gotten the key without breaking into Mr. Henrie's office."
"You know what? I think Sonja's onto something. Maybe we could help the outsiders using your artwork. It would be for a noble cause," Misha said.
"I don't know. Seems kind of risky," Lian said.
"I think Misha's on to something. What happened to the White Singer? Maybe we could use her to get more info," said Sun-Yi.
"I don't know. I haven't seen her since Monday."
"Well maybe you have to perform some sort of voodoo ritual to get her to come: Hocus pocus.mucus pucus!" Misha said waving his arms around.
The group brooded for a moment, trying various means of summoning the White Singer.
"I don't know what happened; how could she be here one minute and gone the next," said Lian. She was getting frustrated and starting to wonder if she was going crazy. Misha and Sonja were starting to lose interest.
"Maybe she'll only listen to you. Try asking her to come to you," said Sun-Yi. She was the only one with any optimism left.
"Okay," said Lian. It was worth a shot if nothing else. "White Singer, come here."
There was silence then a tap on the door. Misha opened the door. Standing on the porch was the lovely White Singer. She seemed almost lit from within.
The White Singer smiled. "Excuse me, where may I speak with my master." Her voice had a French accent, which made her voice seem even lovelier.
"Uhh.She's inside," Misha said. Man just when you think you've seen it all, here you are, he thought. "How did you manage to draw in a French accent, Lian?"
Lian scowled and mouthed 'if I knew don't you think I would have told you.'
"Sorry. Don't have kittens."
Now that the White Singer was here, they started discussing ways to use her to break into Simone's trailer (They wanted to fetch the scrapbook.)
"What if we use the cloak of invisibility like in Harry Potter?" Sun-Yi suggested.
"How am I supposed to draw that?"
After much hemming and hawing, they decided to have Lian draw the cloak of invisibility and then draw a copy of the key. Lian drew them then gave them to the White Singer with strict orders about what she was looking for, where she could find it, and which key to use to access it (Sonja's suggestion.)
They waited a tense ten minutes for White Singer to return. They knew she probably wouldn't get caught and even if she did, who would admit to it? Simone was very concerned about her image after all.
Lian worried about whether or not White Singer would obey her: Did she have a free will like her? It was probably a silly thing to worry about given the way she was so gung-ho about helping them. It was more of a question of if she actually had the power to create humans with the minds and personalities like everyone else. It was quite spooky when you thought about it.
The White Singer returned after about ten minutes, carrying the scrapbook under one arm and the cloak under the other. Lian thanked her and sent her on her way. The three sat around the table and began looking through the scrapbook.
Note: XME belongs to Marvel Comics. Alegria and anything related belongs to Cirque Du Soleil.
It had been very hard to get the key to her trailer. Simone kept it close to her, on a chain around her neck, which she never took off except for performances (she'd lock it in her makeup drawer.) They were forced to, with Lakshmi's help, break into Mr. Henrie's office in order to get Simone's key. Mr. Henrie kept keys to everything pertaining to the Circus Boheme.
They knew they were breaking a sacred trust not to mention probably a few laws. Before they entered, Misha made the sign of the cross as he'd seen his mother do a thousand times. He hoped the Lord would understand why they were doing this and go easy on them.
First they tried looking at some of the stuff on her kitchen table, but it consisted of the same meaningless scraps of paper anyone woman, single or otherwise, would have. They poked and prodded around a bit, finding only receipts, recipes, a sink full of dirty dishes, and some letters she'd written to some guy named Carlos in Canada, none of them interesting.
"Okay," Sonja said, dusting herself off as she stood, "I think we've done enough poking around: now it's time to really snoop." She walked over to one of the drawers and tried to open it. "What the." she muttered. Misha didn't say anything but smiled and pointed at the little gold lock on the door.
Sonja looked around. On every door and drawer was a nice little lock, opened only by a key. Even the door to the shower had a nice little lock. "Jeez.what's with this woman and locks?" she muttered, struggling to open another drawer. "What if she has to go in the middle of the night?"
"Hey Simone was never known for being typical," Misha shrugged.
"Yeah but even your mother has her limits."
Misha nodded ruefully. His mother, besides being known for her massages, was also known for her daffiness. Anyone who went into her trailer to search for something would have a rough time finding it because Irina Bogdanov believed firmly in putting things in the most bizarre of places. Therefore if you were to open the refrigerator, one might find a pair of shoes next to the leftover broccoli.
It's not that she was crazy or stupid-both would mean she couldn't operate and she operates very well-she just saw things a bit differently from everyone else. Misha, Oleg, and Sergey had long learned to tolerate this but it never failed to amuse anyone outside her living quarters.
"Aha," Sonja said, spying the little brass key ring hung next to the door. She grabbed it of the shelf. "Damn it! What is it with this woman!" she shouted. Every key looked exactly alike.
"Why don't you yell a little longer, Sonja? I'm sure a few people in Sweden didn't hear you."
"Sorry. Hey Misha, how do you figure out which key to use?"
"You try them tell you find a match."
"Oh you're huge help." Sonja bent down and began trying the locks. She finally found one that would open but since it contained fairly mundane material she moved on.
Both tried many different keys and many different locks until they finally found what they had been looking for. It was the drawer to the right of the sink next to the silverware. Inside they found scraps of letters written by some guy named Creed. There were all sorts of weird miscellaneous items: an earring missing it's pair, a bandana, a postcard from Africa.
"Hey Misha, come get a look at this," Sonja said in a weird voice. In her hands was a driver's license. The picture had been scratched out but the name was still visible: Ororo Munroe. Height: 5'11.
"Whoa, this is creepy," Misha said. He wanted to leave now and take the license with him; they could be dealing with a homicidal maniac. Instead he kept quiet and tucked the license into his pocket.
Sonja continued riffling through the drawer. She paused when her fingers brushed up against something leather. It was one of those faux leather things anyone could buy at the grocery store with golden letters embossed on the cover: Memory Lane. First few pages were simple enough--birth announcement, wedding announcement, obituary, some photos and letters-but after a few pages a disturbing picture began to emerge.
"Five Injured in Grassfire," Sonja muttered. She turned the page; more articles about fires. Superimposed on these pages were reviews or advertisements for the circus; it was a bit like turning from Entertainment Tonight to Ted Koppel. "Okay that women's sick."
Misha nodded in agreement. They turned the page and continued reading. "Woman Disappears From Home: Circus Suspected in."
They grunted a little as they received the kick. They turned around. Simone was standing there dressed in her practice clothes. Her body was coated with sweat-bits of hair clung to her face-and her dark eyes glowered with a strange gleam that made her appear almost lit within.
"Well what have you been doing in here," She said, giving a strange grin. It was like something from a movie; both Sonja and Misha were expecting her to shoot them. Instead she reached forward and yanked the scrapbook away.
"You really shouldn't be snooping around where you don't belong; curiosity killed the cat after all," She said. Her smile now resembled a snake cornering a mouse. "Now you have five seconds to beat it before I call the cops!" she shouted. Any pretense she'd made at polite behaviour was gone now.
Misha and Sonja barreled out of the tiny trailer, banging their heads on the doorframe as they ran. Simone shouted after them in French. What she said, they didn't know and weren't particularly curious to find out. They ran and ducked behind one of the tool sheds.
"Okay.that's it." Sonja said, panting, "there went my dream of being a secret agent. When Simone came in on us, I just about had a heart attack."
"Ditto," Misha said. "It wasn't a complete lose though; I did get this." He presented the driver's license.
"Good work, Misha. You're better at this spy business than I am," Sonja said, "Have you considered a career with the CIA?"
"Thanks but no."
They sat there for a few minutes, discussing theories and thanking every deity they could think of for their lucky escape, when Lian walked up to them. She was dressed in warm-up clothes with her long black hair tied back in a bun. Her small face was full of question and worry.
"Hey Misha. Was that you Simone was screeching at?" She asked.
"Yeah." He said, sheepishly. "We kind of busted into her trailer."
"Really? Why would you do something that hideously stupid?"
Misha turned beet-red.
"Let me translate. Simone's been acting weird lately so we decided to see if she maybe had something to do with the disappearance of Ms. Munroe. We got the key to her trailer from Mr. Henrie's office and broke in. Unfortunately, she found us," Sonja said.
"Did you get anything good?" "Well we got this," Misha said as he presented the license.
Lian's eyes widened. "Omigod, we have to go to the police with this." She suddenly began to feel very fearful.
"We were thinking of giving it to those outsiders who've been hanging around," Sonja said.
"Them? I don't know; I've never really liked them. My mama says you can't completely trust outsiders and that bald guy creeps me out. It's like he's studying you inside and out," Lian said.
"Lian, you're being silly. They're just people looking for their friend. If one of us ever went missing, you'd want the people involved to be as helpful as possible," said Misha.
Lian had to admit he was right, but she couldn't help but have her reservations about the outsiders. Outsiders always seemed a garish, loud, passionless people. Whenever she went outside the encampment without another circus person, she always felt so small and anonymous and frightened. She berated herself for this: why couldn't she be more like Sun- Yi who was as brave as Catwoman, Supergirl, and Wonder Woman all mixed together?
Suddenly she felt an urge to come clean. She had to talk to someone about what happened Monday and maybe they'd be able to help: they were older than her after all. "Um guys..." She began. She was shaking like an autumn leaf. "I have a confession to make."
"Really, what?" a familiar voice asked. Lian turned around: it was Sun-Yi. It always struck her as funny the way she would insist on looking like a fashion plate even when she was sweating bullets during practice. Today she was wearing her blue Supergirl t-shirt with bright yellow shorts. Her hair was braided into two pigtails tied with red shoelaces. "I mean, if you're going to tell them, you're going to tell me. I am your sister after all," Sun-Yi said.
Lian sighed. Curse her sister for being able to come up with infallible arguments. "Okay, come with me, but please don't laugh," She whispered.
This struck the trio as odd-why would she be afraid of them laughing at her-but they followed anyway. She led them into her family's trailer. The three of them found places at the kitchen table and waited for her to show them whatever she was going to show them.
Lian stepped forward, hiding her art stuff behind her back. "Do you remember Monday Night's Movie?"
"Oh yeah, Alegria. That movie was awesome." Misha said.
"I loved how seamless their Russian Bar act was," said Sonja.
"Well I loved the movie, too. When I got back to the trailer, I couldn't stop playing the music in my head. That Francesca Gagnon has a voice like an angel. Well anyway, I couldn't get the music nor the images out of my head so I drew a picture of the White Singer and here it is," said Lian.
The three looked over the drawing. It was truly a marvel, managing to catch the ghostly and ethereal beauty of the chanteuse. One could almost hear the singer's voice.
But Sun-Yi was not amused. "So what's the point?" she asked. Sun-Yi was not known for her tact.
"I'm getting to that. So I drew it, then went to bed. I had the weirdest dream in which she waltzed with me and gave me a silver necklace. It was the most vivid dream I'd ever had: I could feel her flesh and smell her perfume. Next morning when I woke up, I saw my picture lying next to me. I thought it was strange because I could distinctly remember hanging it on the wall. I was going to tell Sun-Yi all about my wonderful dream when I reached into my pocket and pulled out the necklace. As you can imagine I totally freaked: I thought I was going crazy. I figured just to make sure I'd better test it. So I drew a picture of a cube and it appeared. I erased it and it disappeared. And that is what I have to tell you," Lian said.
There was a pause than laughter. Loud, unrestrained, slightly nervous laughter. "Man," said Misha between gulps of air, "you should use that story next time Mr. Mischke assigns us a creative writing project. That was good."
Lian felt faint. She had prepared herself for every possible response but ridicule. She felt sick. Why were they laughing? Couldn't they see how important this was to her? How she'd worried all day long about it?
"Guys!" she shouted, "this is serious! I made it appear!"
The laughter stopped. "Really?" Sonja asked.
"Yes!"
"Oh. We're sorry; we thought you were joking." Misha said.
"I wish I was."
"You know what," Sonja said, "I wish we could have used it when we were breaking into Simone's trailer. We could have gotten the key without breaking into Mr. Henrie's office."
"You know what? I think Sonja's onto something. Maybe we could help the outsiders using your artwork. It would be for a noble cause," Misha said.
"I don't know. Seems kind of risky," Lian said.
"I think Misha's on to something. What happened to the White Singer? Maybe we could use her to get more info," said Sun-Yi.
"I don't know. I haven't seen her since Monday."
"Well maybe you have to perform some sort of voodoo ritual to get her to come: Hocus pocus.mucus pucus!" Misha said waving his arms around.
The group brooded for a moment, trying various means of summoning the White Singer.
"I don't know what happened; how could she be here one minute and gone the next," said Lian. She was getting frustrated and starting to wonder if she was going crazy. Misha and Sonja were starting to lose interest.
"Maybe she'll only listen to you. Try asking her to come to you," said Sun-Yi. She was the only one with any optimism left.
"Okay," said Lian. It was worth a shot if nothing else. "White Singer, come here."
There was silence then a tap on the door. Misha opened the door. Standing on the porch was the lovely White Singer. She seemed almost lit from within.
The White Singer smiled. "Excuse me, where may I speak with my master." Her voice had a French accent, which made her voice seem even lovelier.
"Uhh.She's inside," Misha said. Man just when you think you've seen it all, here you are, he thought. "How did you manage to draw in a French accent, Lian?"
Lian scowled and mouthed 'if I knew don't you think I would have told you.'
"Sorry. Don't have kittens."
Now that the White Singer was here, they started discussing ways to use her to break into Simone's trailer (They wanted to fetch the scrapbook.)
"What if we use the cloak of invisibility like in Harry Potter?" Sun-Yi suggested.
"How am I supposed to draw that?"
After much hemming and hawing, they decided to have Lian draw the cloak of invisibility and then draw a copy of the key. Lian drew them then gave them to the White Singer with strict orders about what she was looking for, where she could find it, and which key to use to access it (Sonja's suggestion.)
They waited a tense ten minutes for White Singer to return. They knew she probably wouldn't get caught and even if she did, who would admit to it? Simone was very concerned about her image after all.
Lian worried about whether or not White Singer would obey her: Did she have a free will like her? It was probably a silly thing to worry about given the way she was so gung-ho about helping them. It was more of a question of if she actually had the power to create humans with the minds and personalities like everyone else. It was quite spooky when you thought about it.
The White Singer returned after about ten minutes, carrying the scrapbook under one arm and the cloak under the other. Lian thanked her and sent her on her way. The three sat around the table and began looking through the scrapbook.
Note: XME belongs to Marvel Comics. Alegria and anything related belongs to Cirque Du Soleil.