The Blurred Man Read Online Free PDF

day – at seven thirty – and I didn’t see any point in turning up before. If the balloon-seller really was part of the big top, he’d probably be somewhere around during the performance. We would catch up with him then.
    I don’t know what you think about circuses. To be honest, I’ve never been a big fan. When you really think about it, is there anybody in the world less funny than a clown? And what can you say about somebody who has spent half their life learning how to balance thirty spinning plates and an umbrella on their nose? OK. It’s clever. But there simply have to be more useful things to do with your time! And, for that matter, with your nose. There was a time when they used to have animals – lions and elephants – performing in the ring. They were banned and I have to agree that was a good idea. But for my money they could ban the rest of the performers too, and put everyone out of their misery. I’m sorry. I’ve heard of people who have run away to join a circus, but speaking personally I’d run away to avoid seeing one.
    But that said, I had to admit that the Russian State Circus looked interesting. It had parked its tent right in the middle of the park and there was something crazy and old-fashioned about the bright colours and the fluttering flags all edged silver by a perfect November moon. Four or five hundred people had turned out to see the show, and there were stilt-walkers and jugglers keeping the lines amused as they queued up to get in. As well as the tent itself there were about a dozen caravans parked on the grass, forming a miniature town. Some of these were modern and ugly. But there were also wooden caravans, painted red, blue and gold, that made me think of Russian gypsies and Russian palm-readers – old crones telling your future by candlelight. Tim had had his palm read once, when we were in Torquay. The palm-reader had laughed so much she’d had to lie down … and that was only the contents of one finger on his left hand.
    We bought tickets for the show. Tim wanted to see it, and having come all this way across London, I thought why not? We bought two of the last seats and followed the crowd in. Somehow the tent seemed even bigger inside than out. It was lit by flaming torches on striped, wooden poles. Grey smoke coiled in the air and dark shadows flickered across the ring. The whole place was bathed in a strange, red glow that seemed to transport us back to another century. The top of the tent was a tangle of ropes and wires, of rings and trapezes, all promises of things to come, but right now the ring was empty. There were wooden benches raked up in a steep bank, seven rows deep, forming a circle all round the sawdust. We were in the cheapest seats, one row from the back. As a treat, I’d bought Tim a stick of candyfloss. By the time the show started, he’d managed to get it all over himself as well as about half a dozen people on either side.
    A band took its place on the far side of the ring. There were five players, dressed in old, shabby tailcoats. They had faces to match. The conductor looked about a hundred years old. I just hoped the music wouldn’t get too exciting – I doubted his heart would stand it. With a trembling hand, he raised his baton and the band began to play. Unfortunately, the players all began at different times and what followed was a tremendous wailing and screeching as they all raced to get to the end first. But the conductor didn’t seem to notice and the audience loved it. They’d come out for a good time and even when the violinist fell off his chair and the trombonist dropped his trombone they cheered and applauded.
    By now I was almost looking forward to seeing the show … but as things turned out, we weren’t going to see anything of the performance that night.
    The band came to the end of its first piece and began its second – which could have been either a new piece or the same piece played again. It was hard to be sure. I was