No trace: Part Two of The Accidental Trilogy

Chapter Nineteen

Paris in 1924, the city is glitzy, fun and bubbling, including and especially the champagne. After the strictures of prohibition and dodgy booze, partying on the proper stuff is a truly lovely feeling and I revel in it.

I stay for a few years, enjoying myself, I work in a café, serving drinks and such to the patrons - the criminal life had started to lose ist appeal. And the wages dropped whenever I changed groups.

Of course, when the depression hit, my wages dropped again and in direct correlation, so did my partying habits.

I left the café' and joined a circus that was travelling through the city.

'Do you have something you can do?'

'I can do a pretty nifty disappearing act.'

'We've got one of those.' Dismissive man, he looks down again.

I remember something I used to do back while lying in bed, with the Comte and Comtesse down the hall. Over the decades, I've practiced this during the night, sometimes entertaining others in my midst, when I was living in little more than tents.

'Okay, how about this?' I start a demonstration, forming little figures with the flames and making them dance.

Sounds familiar. He finally looks up and seems faintly impressed. 'Alright, you're in. Ten francs a week, fair?'
'Fair,' I reply. Shaking his hand, I swallow my disgust at having his saliva on mine and go and pack my things.

I'm quite joyous at being on the open road again; it is heavenly to have my old friend by my side.

Performances are an interesting experience, having many people staring in my direction is nothing new, but having their expressions be of wonder and amazement, rather than disgust and fear, is.

The circus group is as expected, an eclectic group of people, all with differing opinions and faiths. The camaraderie feels strange, there are a couple of occasions where townsfolk look suspiciously on me or look like they may do me harm, and every time, a couple of the group - or more, will flank me on both sides and watch out for me.

Considering how much physical harm to others I have caused, over the century and a half, it is almost laughable, almost.

Years go by in this happy existence, having these friends by my side, it takes some getting used to. I almost believe that it will keep going on.

One night, after performances are over, I'm sitting by my tent, with a few others sitting in front of the one next to me. A roaring fire in front, people passing pieces of bread and meat and a bottle of bad wine around to each other, radio playing, in other words, an ordinary night, I even amuse the others with more fire pictures, as they have become known.

But then a voice on the radio announces after some music stops playing, that Germany, seemingly not satisfied with the combined occupied forces of Austria, Czechoslovakia, Sudetenland, has now invaded Poland. I quit making pictures as a hush falls over the crowd. Poland has alliances with both France and England and there are few people from the circus, who are from Poland. There are tears and I find myself hugging my knees in tight.

If Germany is taking Poland, then it is really becoming serious now. Britain will be drawn into something big.

I am proven right a few days later, another radio broadcast that everyone is paying close attention to, '... stating that unless we heard from them, by eleven o'clock, that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now, that no such undertaking has been received and that consequently, this country is at war with Germany.'

The closest person to the radio quickly switches it off. No one says a word, in complaint or otherwise. There are a few of us who are German, and those people now look defensive, others afraid. I do not blame them, people in towns will fear them, simply because of their misfortune of where they were born. I am angry, no furious at this turn of events.

The circus owners are determined to keep going and indeed in this first year of the war, now known as the 'phoney war', all seemed fine. Things continued on as they had, but in the next year in May, when the Germans invaded Holland, later encircling Belgian forces, it was clear the situation was getting serious.

A month later, France was next and the surrender was signed, almost in the blink of an eye.

'We shall go on,' was the brave refrain of the owners. I personally had my doubts, nearly everywhere in this country was in a state of upheaval, having a circus coming to town just seemed to add to the madness and this time, not in a good way.

It was now sad, this circus life.

I left in the night, pretending that the rain that night, falling steadily on my face was just rain, and nothing else.

I didn't know where to go next, almost ten years of having my route decided for me had left me unable to think of where to go next on my own volition and I despised myself for letting down my guard.

I knew Mussolini and Hitler were together as leaders, which meant Italy was out of the question. North were countries occupied, probably about to be occupied.

I crossed the border into Switzerland, still not sure what I should do.

Living in a tent on the outskirts of a town, an ancient habit that is difficult to break. Nowadays though, I'm not the only one, refugees from France and everywhere else besides - or so it seems, are joining in, in these living habits of mine.

The next morning, I join the force that is the Red Cross. It's something to do, and I rise quite quickly, my skill with languages makes me invaluable, a strange thing to be wanted.

First, my main task is taking down details from the refugees, here taking refuge. Their names, ages, town and country of origin, family members in other countries, this information and more like it, is kept on record and made available to the other Red Cross branches.

Still, I am a volunteer, so I survive once more on busking, Switzerland still has citizens with pockets, and I play to them.