For a while he
went out to other places when he wasn’t too trembly, but if you didn’t get it
right they’d poke fun at you and sometimes they’d be cruel. In one town two
burly fellows had grabbed him, tied him to the ducking stool and shoved him
under the water until some boy had waded in and freed him. At least in your own
place they’d just joke a bit or turn away.
Today
the farmers were in early and the crowd from the town milled round. Familiar
faces. Some of them smiled at him and he felt heartened. He straightened his
coloured stripes and brushed off the worst of the dust. Moving to the centre of
the market stalls, he started with a few handstands and somersaults. Thank God
he still had his strength and balance. When there was a bit of an audience, he did
backflips and stood on one hand. Their attention on him, he toppled into the
cowpat he’d chosen, rising with one foot covered in shit, shaking it into the
crowd as he got up. Once before he’d landed face first. That raised a bigger
laugh but he wasn’t going to repeat it. While they were still snickering at him,
he worked out a path from the stalls to the corner of the square and suddenly
set off in cartwheels to the foot of the steps.
Meg
was standing there beating the drum, Peter’s silly hat in the dust at her feet.
Meg’s tongue lolled around in her mouth and she made strange noises but no
words. Same old worsted dress and woven jacket. Peter was sure she filled out
the folds of her dress more each time he saw her. He couldn’t work out where
she scrounged so much food. He stood, raised his arms and announced himself
while she beat on the drum. Everyone knew him and his tricks, but a bit of a
crowd still gathered.
He did a few
turns with Meg, waltzing her round and looking at her from between his legs.
Then he put a coin in her mouth, shook her about, listened at her stomach and
suddenly whacked her hard in the breadbasket. Sometimes Meg let out an almighty
fart, which added to the effect. He raised her skirts and there the coin was.
In the beginning he used to reach under her skirt and between her legs for the
coin but the priest had come and told him it wasn’t right and he’d be arrested
if he did it again.
She
beat on her drum, he stood on his hands and hand-walked towards the steps up to
the keep. With a twitch, he jumped onto the first step, waggling his feet in
the air. Two beats on the drum. Boom BOOM. There were two dozen steps up to the
first landing. He jumped another step. The drum again. It was hard this but he
could still do it and he could feel their eyes watching each move. He lived for
it really. It was some kind of recognition. He hopped up slowly, step by step,
pretending to topple a few times to keep them interested. A few coins were
thrown into his cap. Not much of course but usually enough for a feed when he’d
finished.
Peter
reached the top and looked around at the people below. He was breathing heavily
now and took a moment to suck in air. He looped one end of the rope around the
square stone pillar and left another loop sitting on the parapet wall. Then he
crouched down behind the parapet and in a single bound jumped onto the narrow line
of stone, hands out, knees bent, fighting for balance. There were some gasps
from the children near Meg. One foot was in front of the other near the corner
stone. He tied the free loop around his ankle, wobbling as his shaking fingers
fumbled with the knot.
He
leaned forward carefully and raised himself to stand on his hands on the
parapet wall, then pivoted and showed his arse to the little crowd. Meg shook
the cap for last coins from the group around her, walking the circle and
holding it up to their faces. The locals all knew what he was going to do next.
When there was enough of a jingle and Meg had shambled back to the drum, Peter
straightened up, flicked his ankles back and dived off the wall headfirst.
The noise and
flurry from the crowd stopped abruptly. Maybe the rope had stretched, maybe he’d
got it wrong; nobody knew. Peter landed on the ground and when the crowd looked
up, he was upside down like the hanged man in the gypsy’s cards, the rope still
tied around one ankle, one leg hanging over the straight leg. But Peter’s head
was at an odd angle in the dirt and there was blood coming out of his mouth and
nose. The crowd peered silently then slunk away.
Only Meg went
over to Peter, tears slowly welling in her eyes. She bent over to touch his
face then stood again. Her fingers flicked the folds of her skirt and she
turned her shoulders from side to side in some kind of strange involuntary
movement. She stayed there standing by him making odd crooning noises. She looked
down at the cap in her hands and sifted through the coins.