Just a few notes before you read Chapter 13. In relation to the background of the Trio: When I saw LND on the stage, the actor playing Mr Squelch (Simon Ray Harvey) looked mixed race, so this gave me an idea for his back story. He was an understudy and I realise that the character may be white in other productions, so apologies for any confusion.

Also - there will be a few dark, slightly disturbing moments in this chapter so I hope it won't upset anyone. Please review!

I turned eleven in March of 1908 and my papa brought me to Mario's ice cream parlour on Surf Avenue for a birthday treat. He was still not comfortable with being out in public during the day and he did not enjoy trying to eat in public, but it humbled me to realise that he was willing to make this sacrifice for me. We sat in a quiet corner of the parlour with Papa glancing around from time to time to make sure no-one was watching. Coney Island in March? He needn't have worried.

I enjoyed a chocolate and strawberry sundae, which was new to me. It was served to me by Mario himself and I quickly set about demolishing it, savouring every mouthful. There were quite a few confectioners' shops in Paris which sold ice cream but normally I only had it for dessert or maybe a handful of other occasions before I came to America. Anyway the kind served here was much nicer. My lifelong fondness for ice cream began in Mario's; I think I must have tried every flavour he sold at some point. On that day, Mario brought an extra bowl and spoon, and Papa tried a little of my sundae, getting a lot of it on his mask, but I wiped it off for him, much to his embarrassment.

I had always liked sweet things but here in New York, there was every kind of sugary and unhealthy snack imaginable. Coney Island was quiet out of season which meant that queues were shorter, but unfortunately some eating establishments only opened in the summer.

Papa gave me a diary for my birthday and encouraged me to write in it – things that happened at school, stories that Mother used to tell me, all kinds of little things. Later that day I even wrote about my birthday treat. Inspired by this present I even tried to write my own stories and writing became another hobby of mine, which I still indulge in to this day. Papa also gave me some new books which I enjoyed; it was uncanny how he always knew what I liked.

I still called Papa Mister Y sometimes but he seemed to understand. He was sometimes irritable or bad tempered but I did everything I could to calm him and make him happy. I even tried making him breakfast occasionally; he always tried to act grateful for the cold porridge, burnt toast and watery coffee that I presented him with.

We planned to move into our new home in the Easter vacation. It was a fairly large house not too far from Phantasma with plenty of room for us both. As well as a large living room area there was a decent sized kitchen with room for a dining table. There were three bedrooms and the third bedroom would be used as a study. This meant that I could have my own room which I was excited about, although I would miss sleeping in the same room as my papa. Sometimes I still got in beside him to sleep in his embrace, for I knew the nightmares that he had and I wanted to soothe him, just as he did with me.

Some of the things he used to mutter in his sleep frightened me at first.

"Please, give me back my mask… Please, let me out! Let me out, I want to go home!"

Or "No, not again, please, leave me alone! Someone, help me!"

Not that I always slept peacefully either. I still dreamt of that night, and Meg trying to kill me in various ways. And then there was that dream that I've already written about; the one where I'm banging on the window of the chateau and Mother doesn't look up or let me in.. One night before we moved house I was in tears after I woke from that dream and Mister Y lifted me into his bed and held me in his arms. "Don't cry, Gustave darling, I'm here now. You are safe," he whispered softly. And whenever we fell sleep in each other's embrace no nightmares bothered us.

I did not ask him any more questions about his past. He was so troubled, so tortured… When he looked at Mother's photograph or played certain songs on the piano, there were often tears in his eyes and I simply left him alone at those times. I waited for him to tell me in his own time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There was one problem with our move – our beds would simply not fit down that spiral staircase. "I made mine up here, same as yours," he explained, and in the end we dismantled both of them, transported the pieces to the new house and rebuilt them in the appropriate bedroom. Papa and I worked on this together and it was good to learn another new skill. Back in France I could never have imagined doing manual work like this, but I found that I liked working with materials and putting things together. These skills have come in handy since then too. There was not much furniture in the old apartment so we traipsed around furniture stores as well as lumber yards, as Papa wanted to create as much of our new furniture as possible.

It felt strange to live in a normal house. The chateau had been huge, then I'd lived in that tiny apartment at the top of a tower and now I was in a proper home. Our home, my father's and mine, and the best thing was that we created most of it together.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In between school and homework, I was now helping with various odd jobs around the park, especially with getting it ready for the tourists. So many things to do! Painting, repairs, cleaning, trimming the grass, stocking up the food stands.. I never realised all the work involved behind the façade. Joe set me to work, cleaning down the rides and other jobs, things I could never imagine myself doing in my old life. And I loved it.

My first full season at Phantasma got off to a gloriously sunny start and indeed, this weather endured for most of the summer. That first season... when I think of it, I think of sunshine and happy families, children laughing, the carousel horses, the taste of toffee apples and hot dogs, and the Coney Island Waltz. That carousel tune was used at various locations around the park and I sometimes still find myself humming that evocative, lyrical melody which became such an integral part of my summers.

One of the most amusing sights was watching the Trio move about the park during the day, handing out flyers for the various shows and attractions. Dr Gangle tended to scare people a little, especially small children, but it was often the older children who were the most fascinated by him and his strange companions. Adults usually tried to avoid them. They had this uncanny ability to creep up on people quietly and startle them. Then, they would hand them the flyer and perhaps recite a rhyme about the show in three parts before bowing and curtseying in their elaborate way. It was funny to think that a few hours later they would be in our house, where they were regular visitors, perhaps helping to prepare dinner while talking casually about how the season was going, or perhaps just resting after a hard day's work, like normal people.

They were my friends now, the three of them; Dr Gangle would entertain me with funny songs, voices and stories in an attempt to cheer me up and Mr Squelch would lift me on to his shoulders as if I weighed nothing at all and carry me around the park. Sometimes he would run around with me and I would grab on to his head or his hair, trying not to fall off.

But it was Miss Fleck who I became closest to. She entertained me too, with cartwheels and backflips, which she tried to teach me to do. However, behind that façade lay a sadness that I only understood as I got older. She was the first of the Trio to tell me about her life, mostly during the times that she looked after me, when Papa was busy or meeting with employees.

As it happened, she was born in France into a circus family who travelled around most of Europe. She became part of her family's acrobatic act while still very young. All of her early life was spent travelling and performing and she spent many of those years in England. When she was seventeen, the circus stopped at a small town in southwest England for an extended period and while here she fell in love with a local boy. The two of them planned to marry after a brief courtship against the advice of both their families. She and her new husband eloped to a bigger town, but she was derided as a freak by the people around her because of her small size and her circus background. Worst of all, her husband was a drunkard who beat her regularly and called her a freak. After four years of abuse she ran away and managed to track down her family but they rejected her for marrying an "outsider". So she worked until she saved up enough of her wages and tips for a cheap passage to America.

On the ship, a musician told her about this place called Coney Island where he used to work and all the sideshows and attractions you could visit. And so after a short period working in a vaudeville theatre, she made her way to Coney and found the park called Phantasma where Mister Y hired her for his show.

I did not find much out about Dr Gangle, except that he grew up mainly in a French orphanage and somehow made his way to America. No doubt his tall, gangly build and strange appearance made him a target for bullies. "I was Dr Gangle from the day I was born!" he would announce proudly and it was easy to believe him. To be honest I could not imagine him working in an office or a store – he was just too strange.

Mr Squelch's swarthy complexion was the only clue to his background – he was the grandson of a black slave who escaped from the Deep South to the northern "free states" before the Civil War and married a white servant. He told me of his father's early death, how he and his mother moved around a lot and how he had been bullied growing up. He was surprisingly strong as a child and as he grew older he cultivated his unusual strength to fight his tormentors. After his mother died when he was only 15, he worked at various labouring jobs then ran away to join a circus where he perfected his trademark act with the help of another circus "strongman". After the circus broke up several years later he came to New York, having heard about the shows of Coney Island. Apparently he got his current job after he lifted Mister Y above his head along with the chair he was sitting on, but he advised me not to tell my papa that I knew this.

All of them were bullied and rejected in the "normal" world. Here in Phantasma their oddness and unusual skills were an asset. The Trio, as they became known, arrived here around the same time and so they began their unique partnership. Phantasma was where they felt most comfortable. They were happy to go into the town for provisions but rarely ventured further afield. The three of them lived on the edge of the park where many of the performers and freaks lived, in three separate caravans. And there was something else which puzzled me as I got older – there was never any romantic attraction between Miss Fleck and either of her companions nor, as far as I knew, did they ever date anyone else. I suppose Miss Fleck found it hard to trust men after her experiences, but I have no idea about the other two. Yet despite this unusual arrangement the three of them were there for each other and were almost inseparable. Like a family, almost. Years later, when I found out that Miss Fleck could not have children I began to understand why she was always so fond of me when I was a motherless young boy.

This was one of Phantasma's best seasons; indeed it was a boom time for the rest of Coney Island too. That year, and all the other years before the First World War... they were the glory years, although we did not realise it at the time. With school over for the summer I often accompanied my three friends around the park after completing my chores, usually on Mr Squelch's shoulders, with Miss Fleck telling him to be careful and Dr Gangle walking ahead of us waving that bizarre top hat at people. All the attendants knew us and my friends often paid for me to go on my favourite rides. In the evenings I watched the shows with my father from his private, screened box at the back of the theatre, but no operatic arias were ever performed there again. He showed me all his secret entrances and passageways in the theatre, and I felt so privileged to be sharing this knowledge with him.

I was a child, eagerly exploring my new culture and identity, getting to know the people of Phantasma, finding my way in this exciting world. These were some of the happiest days of my life… and some of the worst.

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On the first anniversary of Mother's death, the two of us stood at the fateful spot on the beach as the sun was setting and the visitors were going back to their hotels. We did not want a ceremony or memorial service, nothing like that. Dressed as formally as ever in mask, cloak and gloves, Papa stood at my side with his arm around me and we just spent a few minutes thinking about Mother. I tried not to think of that night. I tried to think of her alive and happy, walking down a street in Paris, tucking me in, singing with me at the piano... And yet still that gunshot rang out in my mind and still I could feel her slipping from my arms.

"I miss Mother," I whispered, and I began to cry. When will I stop crying? I thought in frustration. "I miss her too," Papa replied softly, stroking my hair.

"I miss her all the time. It hurts when I think of her sometimes. Why does it still hurt? I thought I'd stopped crying…" I could not bear to be in this place anymore and it was a relief when Papa led me away by the hand. Even though I was eleven, I still liked when he held my hand. Especially at times like this.

"I shouldn't have gone with Meg. If I'd stayed in the theatre, Mother wouldn't have died."

"You can't think like that, Gustave. I've told you before, Meg would have found a way.."

I made no reply. Papa knelt abruptly in front of me and made me look at him.

"Listen to me, child. No-one should have died that night, not you, not Christine. And anyway.. I have to take my share of the blame for what happened, for what my blindness did to Meg..." He seemed troubled and slowly he rose to his feet and took my hand again.

That night, I lay in my bed sobbing as I thought about Mother and how much I missed her. Papa felt that I should be sleeping in my own bed now, but I never needed his embrace more. However he was not in his bedroom, so I made my way downstairs where he was still sitting in his armchair just staring into space, his face unmasked. When I sat on his knee, he put his arms around me.

"I wish Mother was here," I told him sadly.

"I know, Gustave. You don't have to be ashamed that you still miss her, or that you cry over her. I know you live with me now, but you don't ever have to forget her. You should always treasure her memory. I know I will…" He closed his eyes, no doubt thinking of his own grief.

"At least I still have you," he murmured sadly after a little while and I rested my head against his chest. "But I won't always, will I? You'll be a grown man in a few years." He looked at me pleadingly, as if he was begging me to contradict him.

"You'll always have me, Papa," I told him gently and the look of relief on his face was palpable. He sang to me, wrapping me in a cocoon of safety with that beautiful voice. I fell asleep in his arms, and when I woke much later I was in my own bed, with my bear tucked in beside me.

Looking back, what if the outcome of that fatal night had been different? I cannot imagine how Mother would have coped if Meg had succeeded in drowning me. Nor do I want to guess what would have happened if I'd stayed where I was supposed to be, or if I'd managed to escape, or if…

Too many "what if's" and "if onlys" surrounding that night. All pointless now I suppose.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

School started again, much to my disappointment. My English was rapidly improving and I could read and write fairly well in that language, but the best part of my education was when my father taught me at home – music, architecture, design.. there seemed no end to his knowledge.

And he was a magician too! That discovery fascinated me as I did not know much about magic. He was very willing to teach me though and with endless patience he taught me some card tricks and common sleight of hand tricks such as taking a coin (or at least seeming to..) from behind someone's ear. The more complex tricks always eluded me, but I was happy just to know the simpler ones. Even now I'm proud to say I've never revealed the secrets. They are useful at parties for those times when everyone's starting to get bored.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was around this time that I made the discovery that changed things. Not completely but a little. I came home from school one afternoon and went straight to the Aerie to help my father with his designs. After we left the tower we met Joe who wanted to talk to Papa about some re-painting that needed to be done. As I stood there waiting for him I realised that I had left my maths textbook up in the Aerie, as I had been working on my homework as well. With Papa engrossed in his conversation I quickly ran back up the spiral staircase.

I found the book straight away, on the table, but lingered for a while, looking around this strange room and remembering the first time I had come here. So many odd creations! It struck me then that I had never been here on my own. Papa did not allow me to come here without him, and this was the day that I found out why.

Something caught my eye over in a dark corner. It was a circular platform of some kind, with a curtain drawn around it and it was new to me. Was it concealing a new automaton that I hadn't seen yet? But Papa always showed me his new inventions. I turned on the electric lamp to brighten that side of the room a little.

Curiosity got the better of me and I crept over to have a closer look. Pulling back the curtain, I gasped. It was a new automaton! Or one I hadn't seen yet anyway. Its back was turned to me and I pulled at it to see what it was. It was female anyway; it had long curly hair and was wearing a green dress. I tugged at it again to pull it from its place and turned it around. Clumsily I held its head to the light – and got the shock of my life.

The chestnut curls, that smile, those eyes... It was my mother!

"Gustave, why are you up there again?"

Instantly I dropped it with a clatter. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out.

There were footsteps running up the staircase. My papa's footsteps…"What was that noise? Are you all right?"

He entered the Aerie and I stared at him, trembling. When he saw the doll of my mother lying on the ground, he knew.

"Oh God, no, Gustave…"

I was incoherent with fear and kept babbling, while pointing to the doll.

"Gustave, I'm so sorry, I never wanted you to find out like this.."

"Wh-why... Why have you g-got... that's my.."

"Please, don't be scared. It's just something that I made-"

"You made- you m-made a doll? Of Mother?"

My voice was getting higher and more frantic. More light came on in the room now and I shielded my eyes from that..object on the floor. I watched in horror as Papa walked over casually and lifted her – no, it – up into a standing position again. And my horror increased as I saw how gently he handled it, gazing at it adoringly as if it really was her... It was so lifelike too, with realistic hair and skin…No it wasn't her! She was dead!

"Look, let me show you how it works," he told me gently.

"You mean it moves as well?" I whispered hoarsely. This cannot be happening…

"I created this to remind me of her, when I first came here. I loved her so much…"

He touched that lifelike hair, his voice wavering. Trembling, I backed away as he operated a control on its back and the arms reached out in my direction.

"No!" I screamed, running down the stairs as fast as I could. And I was still shaking as I ran out of the park and all the way down the street into the town. Before I could think about what I was doing, I found myself outside St Michael's church, where I practically flung myself into the sacred building, ignoring the startled looks of the other parishioners who were at prayer. Panting, confused and frightened, I sat down hastily in my usual pew and tried to recover my breath and gather my thoughts.

Who is he? How could he build such a thing?

I could think of no answers, no explanation, as I just sat there and prayed for a long time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I went home eventually. I had to. Father Donovan, the friendly Irish curate, found me in the church in tears but I could not tell him the full story. How could I have explained? He was kind to me as usual and guessed that my papa and I had fallen out over something. We prayed together and he gently advised me to go home and put things right. Then he even walked me home, making small talk in that thick accent which I was getting used to by now. He made sure I went into the house, but did not linger for a chat with my father.

Papa and I did not talk that evening. He made my dinner and set it down in front of me then played the piano for hours. Finally I went and stood in front of him and he stopped abruptly then turned to face me.

"Firstly, you should have told me where you were going instead of just running back up the stairs while I was busy. Secondly, you should not have been exploring on your own. Those items are still my property. And thirdly, you should not have run off. I had no idea where you were, and this is not a safe town to wander around."

"Why?" I asked him, my voice a whisper, and he knew what I was talking about. Defeated, he sighed and leaned forward, putting his face in his hands.

"You must understand, Gustave, I loved your mother very much and when I first came to America, I missed her terribly. I ached for her every day. And when I bought Phantasma and set up my Aerie it was one of the first things I made. So that she would be with me, in a way."

"But she wasn't with you. She was in France, with her husband and with me."

He stood up quickly, slamming down the piano lid which made me jump.

"He didn't deserve to be her husband! He treated her like dirt! You told me that yourself!"

Hastily I tried to get back to the original subject, distasteful as it was.

"It's wrong... You can't have a model of her, it's not.."

But I couldn't explain what I thought. I just knew, even at eleven, that it was wrong.

"Please" I begged him, "Don't leave it up there. I don't like it. It frightens me."

He looked at me with sadness in his eyes. Finally he spoke.

"All right, son. If it bothers you that much I will get rid of it."

I breathed a sigh of relief and went to get ready for bed. But I did not kiss Papa goodnight.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was a relief to go to school and be around children whose fathers worked in offices or stores and did normal things like reading the newspaper by the fire in the evening. School was a different world to the one I usually lived in with my papa and his designs, his strange music.. and his automaton of my mother.

After a few days he came to me and told me that he had destroyed it, and showed me a few pieces to prove it. It was a relief, but I knew that it could not have been easy for him. He destroyed something that was precious to him, so that I would not be scared any more.

When we were both sitting down he spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Gustave. I shouldn't have shown you how it moved, that was stupid and insensitive of me. I don't know why I did it. And.. I suppose you were bound to find it at some point."

I just sat there with my head bowed.

"I don't blame you for running off like that. Of course you were frightened, I can see that now. Please, child, please forgive me. I will never frighten you like that again."

I did forgive him in the end. I thought about how much he loved me, of all he did for me, how he comforted me, how he tried to be a father to me despite his lack of experience. And how neither of us had anyone else. He was my father at the end of the day and yes, he was very strange and sometimes I could not understand him, but I still loved him, and I love him to this day.

But I now knew the depths of his obsessive love for my mother and that frightened me.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Thinking back on it now.. I have spent so long trying not to think of that strange discovery and my reaction to it. As an adult, I still find it disturbing, but it was just one of the many eccentricities that I associate with Papa.

And despite the strangeness of it all it makes me think of how he loved my mother and how little time they had together as a couple. Most of their last moments together were spent searching frantically for me. In many ways she was more of a memory to him than a real person.

I wrote most of this in stages over the last few days, as I have been occupied with various jobs around the house and in the garden. But tonight I am taking my wife out to dinner to celebrate our anniversary. Forty four years! She tells me jokingly that "No-one else would put up with you for that long!" but at least we have been granted all that time together, unlike my parents. What kind of marriage would they have had, I wonder?

Still so many "what ifs" and "if onlys". I need to forget about them for a while and appreciate the here and now.