Fading, Like the Stars

“Have I then lived so long only for this disgrace? And have I grown grey in warlike toils, only to see in one day so many of my laurels wither? Does my valor – which all Spain admires and looks up to –, my arm – which has so often saved this empire, and so often strengthened anew the throne of its kings – now betray my cause, and do nothing for me? O cruel remembrance of my bygone glory! O work of so many days effaced in a day…”

He was standing in the middle of that makeshift stage, a blemish light shining above him, making his figure partly stand out against the dark all around. His clothes were from another age, rich and flamboyant, perhaps, but worn, old, like they had been passed down the generations. The manner in which he spoke, his pose, the way he held his head, all of this spoke of a time that was long gone… It was like something surreal, something coming straight out of a dream.

“New dignity fatal to my happiness! Lofty precipice from which mine honor falls! Must I see the count triumph …”

I could hardly recognize Félix. If it hadn’t been for his voice… but even then… even his voice… it was different. There was more feeling to it, a different kind of passion. It didn’t sound like Félix, not like the Félix that I had observed and heard many times at the circus. Not exactly. It was someone else, speaking in Félix’s voice. Or Félix, speaking like he was someone else.

There was pain and despair, and deception and rage. All of that, in just a few lines recited by a man, standing alone in a ray of light. It was acting, pretending, fictionalizing, lying. But it seemed real. It was real. I could relate to what I heard in his voice. I could relate to the hopelessness and the feeling of defeat, of being unable to do something. I was not sure what it was about it, but something had captured my attention. I was enthralled by the scene that was taking place in front of my eyes.

In the beginning, all that I had been able to see was him. And it took a few minutes of staring in complete awe before I could notice anything else. Then I started taking notice of the surroundings. It wasn’t just the poorly set up stage and the dim light. There was more than that. There was a palace, in the background, with a town visible from a window, and other items around him. It wasn’t just a man on a stage. There was a world that had been built around him.

The stage was hardly a stage at all. The décor was made of bits and pieces, picked up here and there. The painting in the background was not – by far – a masterpiece and the costumes were old, clearly worn over and over again, reused until they were damaged beyond repair. The light was bad. This was not the best environment for a play – for it was what this was, a play, here in that strange setting. But I barely noticed it. The acting did everything. It brought the palace in the background back to life. It didn’t take too much effort to hear the noises of the town depicted in the window in the background, to imagine the marble and the rich decoration. The dreadful light became that of chandeliers, or of the moon and the stars. The old costume was splendid once again.

It was the acting that did all this. Félix’s acting.

I would never have believed that a man like him was capable of something like that. He had always scared me, and now he was making me dream. How extremely strange. I could hardly recognize the man that had scared me, now. I could hardly recognize Félix.

But perhaps it wasn’t him, after all. Not really.

This was Don Diego, an important, high ranking man in the Spanish court. Don Diego, whose honor had been tainted by the Count’s actions. Don Diego, who was about to ask that his son avenges him.

And Don Diego, alone on the stage, with his pride wounded, was taking his sword out. And the sword was not a fake anymore, it wasn’t made of painted wood, it was real, it glinted under the light. And Don Diego looked at it for a long moment. I held my breath. This was a play, this was not real. And yet it was real. He was there, I could see him, he was looking at his sword, starting a move, like he was going to throw it far away from him. It was useless, it had been of no help to him when he needed it, and his lack of actions drove him to despair. The useless sword disgusted him now, he no longer wanted to have it and was going to get rid of it. But then he changed his mind, kept the sword in his hand, lifted it up, but looked at it with disgust and disappointment and disdain. And he spoke, yet again defeated, hopeless.

“And thou, glorious instrument of my exploits, but yet a useless ornament of an enfeebled body numbed by age, thou sword, hitherto to be feared, and which in this insult has served me for show, and not for defense, go, abandon henceforth the last of his race; pass, to avenge me, into better hands!”

There was heartbreak in the sighs of his first words, but determination in the lasts. I was with him again, in that renewed hope that someone would set the records straight for him. I held my breath in anticipation, curious about what would follow, impatient to see what had appeared to him to be the solution to his problem.

It was Rufus who broke the magic.

I had been so absorbed by the scene that he had revealed when he had lifted the veil, that I had paid him no further attention. It was unfair to him that I completely ignored him when he had just offered me that most wonderful present, but I couldn’t help it. It was all because of the play. I was fascinated. I would never have expected to see that in my life. How could I possibly be asked to look away? Rufus gently touched my hand and I, reluctantly, looked away from the stage. I frowned, glancing at him in a questioning way. On the stage, Félix was still talking, and I wanted to look at him, to see what he was going to do. Rufus’ interruption lightly annoyed me. I didn’t see why he had to distract me from what was going on on the stage.

“We can’t stay here…” he murmured.

“Why?” I replied, whispering like he was. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t simply stay there and wait until the play was over. Or at least until Félix had finished his talk.

Rufus shook his head. “Let’s go and find a seat,” he said softly.

“A seat?”

He smiled and nodded a yes. My eyes, that had until then been fixed on the stage – what I saw was too amazing, there was no way on earth I would have been able to look away –, my eyes drifted to the rest of the room, to that part that remained in the dark, in the shadows, all the time. I gasped. It hadn’t been my intention, but I couldn’t help it.

There were people in there. People! They were sitting there, on old chairs, on boxes, on anything that they had found that resembled a seat.

“How is that possible?” I asked, but Rufus shook his head and did not answer. He raised a finger to his lips, telling me to keep quiet. Not now, he seemed to be saying. Not now, later. He carefully closed the curtain, hiding the stage from my sight.

“Let’s go in there and find somewhere to sit,” he whispered, taking me by the wrist and leading the way towards the small archway that marked the real entrance to the room. I nodded, and followed him in silence, torn between the desire to miss as little of the play as possible, and the need to receive an answer to the many questions that floated round in my head.

When we eventually got back in the room, Félix was no longer alone on the stage. Pierre had joined him, and I stopped, fascinated by the interaction between the pair. Rufus gently tugged at my arm, and dragged me towards two chairs that had been placed against a wall. They looked so old that, had I not been so fascinated by the play, I would never have dared to sit on it, out of fear that they were going to break.

I cast Rufus a quick glance, and even in the dark, I could see that he had a pleased smile on his face. My reaction full of admiration for everything that I saw here was making him rather happy.

From Rufus’ face, my eyes drifted to the face of all the others who were watching the play. They were at least a dozen, and there was not one of them who didn’t seem as full of admiration as I was. I would have loved to know who they were exactly, what had brought them here, and how it was possible that the Authorities let something like this take place. But in the darkness it was impossible to hazard a guess as to who these people were. And my attention was quickly redirected to the stage anyway.

We stayed there until the play ended. Nobody spoke. I was vaguely aware of Rufus’ presence, just next to me, and of his reactions to what was happening in the play, but the biggest part of my brain focused on what was going on on the stage.

The room wasn’t the best of places to watch a play. It was cold, dark, and slightly damp. But I didn’t hear anyone complain about it.

Then the play ended, and everyone in the crowd applauded politely. They were quiet, careful not to make too much noise. They didn’t want to alert anyone, didn’t want anyone to become aware of what was going on down here. That suddenly reminded me of the illegal nature of the event.

The actors all stepped on the stage to thank the crowd, everyone applauded some more, and then we all stood up. There were some who immediately exited the room. They didn’t want to be seen. They didn’t want to be recognized. But others stayed there and mingled with the actors, congratulating them on their performance.

It took a moment before I could assimilate all that had happened. During the first minute or so after the play had ended, I remained silent. I was way too amazed to actually be able to find something to say.

So this was the circus’ big surprise… the secret that they were sharing and that they had finally agreed to tell me. Now I understood why Rufus had had to ask for Félix’s permission before he could let me know what was really going on. This concerned a lot of people, and not just those who travelled with the circus. Félix’s questions made more sense now. Everything did. Félix had not known if he could trust me, he hadn’t known me long enough to be certain. And trust was incredibly important in a case like this. And, since Rufus had not told him about the books, Félix had no reason to trust me.

But, in the end, I was glad that they had decided to let me know about this. If they hadn’t, then I would have missed a lot.

I turned to look at Rufus. There were so many things that I wanted to know that I did not know where exactly to begin. I was confused, and I think that it was easy to see it. But from my delighted smile, it was also easy for Rufus to guess that I had been enchanted by what I had seen.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Rufus said.

I could only nod enthusiastically. Whenever I opened my mouth to actually speak, I couldn’t chose only one question from the lot that I wanted to ask. I could not even speak or, at least, I wasn’t able to formulate a complete or coherent sentence. Even my thoughts were far from coherent at this point. My curiosity concerning all that I had seen was so intense that it rendered me a blubbering fool.

“I’d never thought that it would impress you that much, though,” Rufus said after a short pause. He smiled. My reaction apparently amused him.

“What I don’t understand,” I eventually said, exasperated by my lack of speech, “is how you people manage to make all this work.”

He nodded a yes, a pensive look suddenly on his face. “Hmm, yes, it’s not that easy,” he mused. “It demands a lot of preparation, and a lot of organization.” He paused, looked around the room for a moment. Then his eyes landed back on me, and he nodded again. “A lot of organization,” he repeated. “And everyone has to be extremely careful.”

“That’s what I don’t understand!” I said. “All these people…” I waved around, pointing at those who were still in the room. “How can you, how can Félix, be certain that those people can be trusted?”

Rufus shook his head, his face very serious again. “We can’t,” he said, looking at me in that intent way that I had come to associate with the very serious and thoughtful side of his personality. “Now you understand why it’s not all that safe to stay with us…”

I shook my head, dismissing his remark with one shrug of my shoulders. “It’s not as if my life was very safe before,” I grumbled. “Honestly I don’t even know what ‘safe’ means anymore. But you, have you never had any problem? I mean…” I looked around and frowned, “I mean, any of those people could betray you… they might as well… and then you’d all be as good as dead. Surely that has occurred to you.”

Rufus laughed dryly. “No,” he said simply. “It’s not as simple as that. We’ve thought about it more than you seem to think, you know. We think about our safety all the time. And if we even just suspected that there was some danger, we’d stop and hide. We know how to take care of those who depend upon us… But anyway, you were asking about everyone in the room... it’s pretty simple, actually. They won’t just go and tell the Government about what’s going on. This is a two way relation, you see. If anyone here were to talk, to tell the Government the truth, they would in the same time admit that they have been involved in it too. By putting us in danger, they would immediately put themselves in danger too. Everyone here understands that.”

I nodded. “Yes, I understand… but… still…”

“Yes?” he asked, smiling at me.

“Well, I still find it worrying, that’s all. I worry,” I grumbled.

“You don’t have to. I do my best to keep everything safe. Do you think that if there had been any danger, I would have brought you here tonight?”

“It’s not what I worry about,” I whispered. “I don’t think I’m in danger. I feel safer now than I did before.”

Rufus’ eyes twinkled. “What do you worry about, then?”

“They’d execute you, if they knew!” I breathed, looking at him with wide eyes.

“They would have executed you too, had they known what you were carrying around. They were ready to kill you simply because you refused to obey an order, the day we met,” he replied in the same tone, smiling slightly.

I nodded. Somehow, I had occulted that memory. I hadn’t thought about it since… well, I hadn’t thought about it at all. As a general rule, I avoided thinking about the times when my life had been in danger; it made it easier to go on. Hell, if I had thought about it too much, I would have been paralyzed by fear. But that was not the only reason why I didn’t like being reminded about it by Rufus. I would have preferred the circumstances of our first meeting to be different, more in my favor, making me look less – oh, I don’t know, less reckless, or less stupid, or not in need to be saved – I don’t know – better. Oh, in the end, I suppose I was just like anyone else in these circumstances. I wanted to impress him.

“It’s not the same,” I finally said, shaking my head at him. “It’s absolutely not the same.”

“How so?”

“Because – because you matter more, I mean, to people… I don’t matter as much as you do, to people. You’re important for more people.”

The smile immediately deserted his face. “Is that what you think?” he asked.

The intensity of his gaze forced me to lower my eyes. “It’s not what I think,” I mumbled, “it’s how it is.”

My answer did not really make him happy. “You’re wrong,” he stated calmly, in a whisper. “Can’t you see how wrong you are to say, or think, something like this?”

I shook my head. “I disagree,” I replied quietly. “I mean… Rufus, before I met you, no one cared about me. Hell, no one even knew I existed. Anyway,” I added quickly, not wanting to discuss this any further, “tell me more about this. The plays, the people who come to see it, how it works… I want to know everything.” I looked at him with insistence, hoping that he would answer the questions, not only because I wanted to change the subject of the discussion, but also because I was curious.

Rufus sighed. He was going to answer, it was only a matter of time. But he still took his time. He shook his head for a while, like he disapproved of my curiosity – or perhaps of the fact that I did not want to continue on the previous subject. He pretended to think about it, frowned and pursed his lips, and then eventually sighed again.

“I don’t know what to answer,” he grumbled. “I don’t know what to say. It’s… complicated. That’s it. It’s complicated. We have all these people in all these towns that know about us, and then when we get here, someone gets the word to them that there’s going to be a play, and tells them when. And they bring people they trust along, sometimes. That’s how we gain an audience.”

“But these people, who are they? How did they learn about your existence? It must have started, at some point…”

“Why must you be so curious? Can’t you simply enjoy the fact that this exist?”

I stared at him, trying to decipher the expression on his face. “No, I can’t. I want to understand. I want to know how you’re so certain that you’re safe around those people, because as long as I don’t know why you feel safe around them, I’ll continue worrying.”

He sighed again, but he didn’t really seem annoyed. He even smiled. “I told you, they’d risk a lot by admitting they’ve been associated with us. They wouldn’t tell anyone…”

“But what if – what if they worked from the government, from the start, I mean there could be spies.”

At this point, Rufus frankly laughed. “All those books, they’ve gotten to your head, Aimée,” he whispered. “But if you must know, there are people working for the government who come and see us. You see that man over there?”

I looked at the man he was pointing at. He was an aging man, with dark eyebrows and a thick white beard, who was sitting in a corner, looking at the room with interest. He was discreet, didn’t stand out in the crowd, and if Rufus hadn’t pointed at him, I wouldn’t even have noticed his presence.

“He’s one of our most dedicated spectators,” Rufus continued, “never misses a play, when we’re in town. He’s a high judge, too.”

“A judge?” I choked. “Like the ones that work in court and that condemn criminals and outlaws to prison, like the ones that would sentence every single one of you to death, if they knew what you were doing, under the cover of the circus?”

“Exactly like those ones, yes.”