Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

[CurlyyHairGirl]

Originally posted by NWKurt
Yayyy!!! The adventure continues (and keeps getting better too)! Alas, I panicked when I read the ending of "With Power comes Responsibility" and thought, NOOO!! This can't be the end??!?!?

AHHHHHH:content !! More goodness. Keep it up Zam, you've got us hooked!

:DNWKurt:D

*speechlessness* I second that!:)

[RavEnigma]

Love this! The James Brown reference is too funny! I can't wait to see what happens next. And James' stereotype of what Westchester is like is funny, considering. :bow BTW, my mom is teaching me German, so I might be able to help, if you want. I can always ask her on the stuff I don't know. Can't wait for more!

[Lauren]

aww this was a cute chapter too! me wants more of this story missy! Gimme! *holds out hands Invader Zim style*

[Rowena]

Brilliant. Completely, utterly, wonderful. And I LOVE the title, too!

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about Wolfgang, to tell you the truth. I keep having the feeling that something is going to backfire...I don't know. He just strikes me as being overconfident. He's been taking over so much, and he is still inexperienced--especially when compared to all those families of performers going back generations. Generally, success streaks like he's been having rarely last...and besides, those scars have to come in somewhere, don't they? I'm probably way off the mark, but that's just my reaction so far.

Embarrassed as I am to admit it, I can really relate to Kurt's episode in the airport. :blush
I'm not quite that bad, but that strong discomfort among crowds that aren't an audience is incredably hard to shake. I've starred in a bunch of school plays and was absolutely fine, but at the receptions afterwards I just wanted to get out of there, you know? That's where my stage fright kicks in--offstage. It was kind of difficult for me to read that part--which is definate proof of how well it was done! I'm really glad Kurt got to see the airplanes after all. I love airplanes!

I REALLY liked this:

Quote:

Reading his story over again, he realized that there was one very fundamental flaw. When he had written it, he had hardly been aware of how insensitive he was being. It was the idea that Kurt had to be transformed into an angel in order for everyone to accept him. That was the wrong message. Wolfgang decided that instead, Kurt would look exactly the same at the end as he had in the beginning. The only ones transformed would be the audience.

End Quote.

That was incredibly good!

This story has really got me hooked. I'm hugely curious to find out what happens next, especially now you've introduced a new character! James Brown! LOL! That's great!

Just curious... How old is Kurt now?

I eagerly await the next chapter!

[Saint Kurt]

Yeah, Wolfgang isn't perfect, but not in the way you would expect. As for James, I was trying to think of the most white bread American name I could think of and the name James Brown popped into my head. At first I wasn't going to use it, but then I liked the idea of a skinny white kid named James Brown trying to get everyone to call him "Jim".

Wolfgang arrives when Kurt is 14 (just after his escapade with Lola) and in Project Bamf says he's known Kurt for about a year making Kurt 15 now.

I just noticed that this thread has had 900 views. That's so cool. I'm glad people are reading it. Thanks.

-e

[Saint Kurt]

“So, what are you going to do about Maria?”


“I guess there are a lot of mutants in the circus.” Said James as he and Wolfgang climbed up to the top of the empty bleachers.

“Not as many as you would think.” Wolfgang said, sitting down next to James. “It’s too high profile, most mutants don’t want the exposure. In fact, the Elf is the only one I know of for sure. But, he’s high profile all the time so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

"You call Kurt an elf?" James asked.

"It's the ears." Wolfgang said, pointing to his own ear and miming an imaginary point at the end of it with his fingers.

James laughed. “I guess you're right. Did he always look like that?”

“Yeah. Margali, his foster mother, has an album of photos. Whenever they took publicity photos of the performers, she paid the photographer a little extra to do a family portrait. There are a few pictures of Kurt as a baby. He looks exactly the same.” Wolfgang pictured the portraits in his mind; they contained such warmth, the family in close contact, relaxed and smiling. They were so different from the stiff painted portraits in his parents’ home.

Laurentiu Wolleck entered the tent and waved to them.

“Ist es alle Rechte üben, wenn wir Ihnen zuschauen,?” Wolfgang called down.

“Ja, geht voraus.” Laurtentiu yelled back.

“What are you guys talking about?” James asked almost as a reflex. He’d only been with the circus for a day and he already felt isolated by the language barrier. Nearly everyone knew English, but they rarely spoke it. Conversations were mostly in German but James noticed that phrases in other tongues were mixed in, occasionally in the same sentence. It was like being at a very colorful United Nations meeting. Even though no one ever complained, James was growing tired of asking everyone to repeat themselves in the one language he could understand.

“He said we can watch them practice.” Wolfgang said.

Actually, considering the intensity of the culture shock, James thought he was doing quite well. Thirty-six hours ago James had had an apartment with plumbing, a girlfriend, and a regular job. Now he was sharing a small mobile home with Wolfgang, plumbing was a quickly fading memory, and he wasn’t exactly sure what writing circus music entailed. And considering that though it was ten in the morning while his body was telling him it was 3 am, he thought he was doing quite well indeed.

As Laurentiu and his family began climbing the ladders to the tight rope platform James sat up a little straighter. Now the work was beginning, he pushed his problems to the back of his mind and watched.

Right off James could see that this wasn’t going to be a matter of writing songs or even a soundtrack. Normally movement was choreographed to the music, but in the circus it was backwards; the movements were too unpredictable and the harder the act the more time was needed for the performer to prepare. Instead of choreographing the performance to the music, the music would have to be choreographed to the performance.

About halfway through the Wolleck’s practice they were joined by Kurt who seemed to arrive out of nowhere, climbing up to them from the back of the stands.

“What are do you to think of it?” He asked James.

“I had no idea you could do that many things on a tight rope.” James answered. He noticed that Kurt was one of the only ones besides Wolfgang who made a conscious effort to speak English when he was around. He was thankful for it though Kurt’s English was as paradoxical as his appearance. Kurt may have looked like an extra from a monster movie, but he was one of the nicest guys James had ever met. James had heard him speaking in at least five different languages, but his English was unpredictable. Most of the time he was perfectly intelligible even with his occasional mistakes, but he had a rare tendency to come up with English that was so wrong, even Wolfgang couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say.

“This troupe is new.” Kurt said. “They are really surprise look at of our old tight wire walkers.” He pointed to a teenaged boy navigating his way across the rope on a unicycle. “You met Ivan last night.”

James nodded his head, fairly certain that Kurt was saying that these performers were better than the previous ones.

In addition to the usual adjustments one makes when moving to a new country, James had the addition task of adjusting to the circus’ schedule and lifestyle. Meals, for instance, were communal with the cooking and cleaning tasks divided amongst the members. Since the circus was primarily divided into family groups, a different family prepared dinner each night while another cleaned up. All the other meals were eaten at different times based on everyone’s schedules, but dinner was always a large gathering.

It was surprising that the performers took on the extra work given all the other demands on their time. Wolfgang told him that there had once a hired cook, but they hadn’t used one in years; that they preferred to keep the inner circle of the circus fairly tight. It wasn’t too bad Wolfgang had told him; it was like having a dinner party every night.

He and Wolfgang had sat with a few of the older performers, the ones he’d be working with while he wrote the music for the show. Several feet away from them was the circus’ adolescent crowd, easily the loudest group. Kurt was there; along with someone Wolfgang had introduced as Lars, as well as Kurt’s sister Amanda and several other of the circus’ teenaged performers. He recognized the boy Kurt pointed out as having been there too. As a musician James was no stranger to the bonds made on stage and from watching them, he could tell who performed with whom. Kurt and Lars easily had the monopoly on the comedy; watching their timing it was obvious that they worked together and had for sometime.

A few minutes later, watching the assembled members of Lycka på Himmelen, James’ suspicion was confirmed. Kurt and Lars were the trapeze troupe’s youngest male flyers and as such, did the flashiest tricks. They reminded him a little of two jazz musicians, trading riffs in constant friendly competition though it was obvious that Lars was somewhat outclassed against Kurt’s unique physical attributes.

“The plan is to write the show all summer to give us all winter to put the show together. What do you think?” Wolfgang asked.

“It’s a lot of work, but possible. And then what?” James said.

Wolfgang shrugged. “We tour the show until they’re sick of us.”

“Actually I was talking about you.” James said.

“Me?”

“Yeah. You. And Maria. I thought you told her you were taking a year.”

Wolfgang’s smile dropped from his face, leaving a look like a scolded child. He sighed rubbed his eyes with his hands. “I know James.” He said.

“And it’s been what, a year and a half?”

“Yes.”

“So, what are you going to do about Maria?”

Wolfgang frowned. He’d managed to keep Maria out of his mind since their parting in New York’s John F Kennedy Airport, when he’d gone to his plane bound for Munich and she the plane bound for Rome. He hadn’t considered that James was going to come here and start playing the part of his conscience.

“Have you even called her?” James asked, sounding more and more irritated.

“I wrote.” Wolfgang said.

“Christ!” James shouted, slapping his palm against his forehead, “You tell a girl you’ll marry her in one year and then you just write her once?”

“Twice.” Wolfgang said indignantly.

“That’s hardly an improvement. She’s not going to wait forever you know. I can’t believe you Wolfgang.” James turned away in disgust. He’d only been apart from Brin for less than two days and he felt her absence like a physical pain. How could Wolfgang promise to marry a girl and then disappear for over a year with only a few letters?

Wolfgang sighed. “I still love her.” He said. “I just didn’t want to inflict upon her…”

“Inflict what upon her?” James asked.

“Me.” Wolfgang said, gesturing at himself for emphasis. “I thought that maybe if I got all my silly ideas out of my system I could go back to her as, I don’t know… a better man.” He looked away from James, pretending he was listening to what Sven and Papa were saying to Lars even though he couldn’t understand a word of Swedish. “It’s just that they’re not going away.” He finished at last.

James shook his head. “Maybe she likes your silly ideas.” He said.

“Maybe.” Wolfgang shrugged. “But it just doesn’t seem fair to her. I love Maria, but I want to support her, take care of her, and I’m just not ready to do that.”

James snorted. “Your friend Kurt has more heart than you and he looks like Satan.”

“Don’t be rude. Kurt can’t change the way he looks.” Wolfgang shot back.

“Yeah, but you can change the way you act.” James stood up. “I swear, I won’t write a note until you clear this up. It’s not fair to Maria. You’re being an asshole.” He started down the stairs.

“James!”

“I’m serious Wolfgang.” James said, and kept walking.



Dear Brin,

Well, I made it – my first transcontinental flight. It wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be, just a little boring. But, my luggage and I made it to Munich intact.

Wolfgang picked me up at the airport and it’s been typical non-stop Wolfgang craziness ever since. He brought his friend Kurt with him to pick me up. Do you remember those circus posters that Wolfgang sent us, the ones he painted with that blue devil guy on them? (You should, it’s in our living room.) Well, that’s Kurt and that’s what he’s like. All of the time. But he’s pretty nice.

I’m sharing a trailer with Wolfgang and his movie collection. As you can imagine it’s a tight squeeze, especially since the circus is supposed to have their business office in there too. (Oh yeah, Wolfgang is the business manager for a circus now. Isn’t that hilarious and yet somehow fitting?) I’m still trying to adjust to life here and I think I will be for a long time. Remember plumbing? Electricity? Privacy? English?

I’m trying not to sound negative because I’m really not. Once you get used to it (which I’m sure I will eventually) this is probably the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. The band is incredible and so are the performers. Plus, Wolfgang’s idea is actually really good and I think they can pull this off. So you can stop your countdown – I’m going to stay, at least until we finish the show.

I miss you like crazy. We’re going to be traveling all over Europe for the next few months so I won’t have an address. And there are no phones. I’ll send you a postcard from every place we visit and I’ll call you the next time I’m near a payphone. Maybe by then I’ll know how to say, “Hello, I’m a sheltered city kid from America” in German.

Did I mention I miss you?
Love
-Jim

PS – I lied about the electricity. They have generators. How else would Wolfgang get his movie fix?

[CurlyyHairGirl]

:LOLThat was great. Wolfegang better get his act together, leaving his girl with a proposal and staying longer than he should have...tut tut tut...KURT'S ENGLISH IS ADORABLE!!!:LOL

[Saint Kurt]

I'm glad you like it Curly. I wanted to show Kurt learning to speak English and getting better at it over time. Most of his lines were done by writing in English and running it back an forth through the translator a few times.

Now for some action...


“Nice try. You’re just trying to get back at me for that time with Wolfgang. Would you like me to steer with my tail?”


“How do I know you’re not cheating?” Amanda asked as Kurt swept a small pile of candies into the much larger one at his feet.

Kurt held up his hands so she could look down his sleeves. “I swear I’m not.” He said.

Amanda looked skeptical. “What about your tail?” She said.

Kurt added his tail to the display of innocent limbs. “Maybe I’m just lucky.” He said.

Amanda snorted. “You’re not this lucky when we play with everyone else.” She said.

Kurt grinned. “Then perhaps it’s because the only one worse than me at bluffing, is you,” he suggested, as innocently as possible. Amanda made a face and swatted him with a pillow from the floor. Kurt was about to retaliate when the van lurched and most of Kurt’s winnings slid across the table into Amanda’s lap.

“Never mind.” Amanda said coyly. She let the pillow go and started tallying her newfound wealth.

“Hey!”

“I’m playing by your rules.” Amanda said. “What do you think started your winning streak? It’s not my fault the truck didn’t lean in your direction this time.”

Kurt picked up the deck of cards and shuffled them. “I’ll have it all back in a few hands anyway,” he said. “Then next time we play with the group, I’ll actually be able to bet on more than one hand before going broke.”

The van jumped again and Kurt had to wrap his tail around one of the table legs to keep from falling off.

“Sorry.” Margali called into the back.

“That was close.” Kurt said.

“Maybe you should sit in a chair instead of on top of the table.” Amanda suggested.

Kurt shrugged in mock exasperation. “Yes, Amanda.” He said. He was about to climb down when another lurch sent him tumbling off the table and against the opposite wall.

“Mom!” they shouted in unison.

“Sorry.” Margali said again, “This road is really bad, and it’s getting steeper. Why don’t you both sit on the floor?”

Amanda got down on the floor, sitting with her knees up on one of the many cushions. Kurt untangled himself from where he’d fallen and dragged a cushion over to join her. They sat in silence, bracing themselves every few seconds as they were rocked from side to side by the bumpy road. It was a routine they were used to, something they’d done since they were children, whenever the road got dangerous Margali would have them sit on the floor so they didn’t get hurt.

Kurt had missed driving with Wolfgang at first, but now that he was back in his old van, sitting on the floor with Amanda like they’d done through his entire childhood, he was glad to be back. He’d missed the long rides talking to Amanda, taking turns reading to each other from the revolving stock of books that were passed from performer to performer, and playing games. Since Stephani left for school it was just the two of them and he had relished those times spent with his sister and best friend. It was comfortable slipping back into the old routine. Even though he spent a lot of time hanging out with Lars and Wolfgang, he’d always felt closer to Amanda than anyone else in the circus.

They sat in silence listening to the familiar grinding of the van’s gears, the throb of it’s ancient motor. Kurt’s hand strayed to the rosary in his pocket while he watched Margali steer the truck down the winding road.

Margali glanced at her children behind her before returning her gaze to the road. This van is getting too old, she thought. She pushed in the break as she rounded another turn and nothing happened. Surprised she pumped her foot up and down. The van didn’t slow, in fact as she steered it seemed to be picking up speed. The van tilted sideways as it rounded the turn, throwing its passengers hard to the left.

“What’s going on Mom?” Amanda said.

“Hold on to something.” Margali said, forcing her voice to be calm.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Kurt asked.

“We don’t have brakes.”

Kurt laughed. “Nice try. You’re just trying to get back at me for that time with Wolfgang.” He stood up. “Would you like me to steer with my tail?”

“No, Kurt. Sit…” But Margali was interrupted as she forced the rapidly accelerating van around another sharp turn. Kurt was knocked off his feet and slid up against the dashboard. He sat up and shook his head to clear it. He tasted blood and realized he’d bit his lip.

“You’re serious?” He asked, turning around to look through the windshield. He caught a quick glimpse of a sign: “L'avertissement: les Courbes Dangereuses en avant”

Margali wrenched the steering wheel the opposite way. “Yes.” She said through gritted teeth. She could hear Amanda on the radio, promising it wasn’t a joke.

“Wolfgang said he can see smoke coming from under the truck.” Amanda said.

“Kurt, get in the back.” Margali said. “I’m going to stop this van before we go over the edge.” The only seatbelt in the van was hers. “Hold on to something.”

Kurt slid himself back to where Amanda was sitting and was surprised when she wrapped her arms around him. All the other trucks had moved away to let them pass.

“Get ready.” Margali said.

Not sure of exactly what Margali was planning to do, Kurt held onto Amanda and wrapped his tail around the leg of their table, the only thing near that was anchored to the floor. Margali steered hard to the right and they hit the rock wall on their right with a crunch, the front of the van folding in against the wheels. Kurt and Amanda were thrown forward so hard that Kurt barely had time to release the table leg before it snapped his spine. Margali tried to brace herself against the wheel but the force was too much and she slammed against it chest first with a gasp.

The impact didn’t even slow the truck; instead it skipped off the rocky outcropping Margali had tried to use to stop them and spun out of control away from the wall. Amanda screamed. Margali was still trying to catch her breath when she looked up. The van was skidding towards the edge where the roadside abruptly ended in a cliff. She felt the front wheels leave the pavement and was vaguely aware of Kurt grabbing onto her, still holding on to Amanda with his other arm. There was a deafening crack and then she was tumbling head over heels in a tangle of bodies, every limb battered and scraped by the concrete. They landed in a heap and the world went dark.

Wolfgang slammed on the breaks, his truck screeching to a halt, the trailer threatening to fishtail. He and James were thrown hard against their shoulder belts.

“What the…” James let his sentence trail off. There were people in the road but Margali’s old delivery van, the most distinctive in the circus, was nowhere to be seen. Wolfgang pulled the parking brake and jumped out with James close behind.

“Oh my God.” Wolfgang said, looking around. Pieces of the van were strewn across the road, a set of tire skids led to the road’s edge.

“They were thrown out.” James said in relief. He ran to the edge of the road and looked over. About fifty feet below them he could see the battered upturned form of Margali’s van, flames licking upward from the engine compartment. The other trucks were stopping now, pulling as far off the road as they could. He walked back toward Wolfgang how was kneeling each in turn over the still forms of Margali, Amanda, and Kurt.

Amanda was the first to wake up, blinking her eyes and looking very pale. “Dizzy.” She gasped.

“It’s okay Amanda. It will go away.” Wolfgang said. He turned to Kurt who was lying half buried beneath his foster mother and sister, his whole body shaking. James knelt down next to Margali who was coughing, her hand to her chest. Kurt slowly opened his eyes.

“Are they safe?” he asked weakly.

“They're fine. Did you take them both together?” Wolfgang said.

James helped Margali sit up. She stared at Wolfgang with a curious expression on her face. James wished he knew what they were talking about. Kurt nodded, closing his eyes and Wolfgang smiled, smoothing Kurt’s hair back in a surprisingly tender gesture. “Sie machten gut. Nur Rest ja?”

“What are you talking about? What did Kurt just say? What’s going on?” James asked, but Wolfgang shook his head. James swore under his breath. Things were bad enough without the language barrier, but there was something strange too. How had they been thrown from the van in a big pile like that? All three of them had cuts and bruises, but more than anything they’d looked sick. And Wolfgang’s apparent unconcern was the strangest of all; it was almost like he had seen this happen before.

Sven and James helped Margali to her feet. “I can’t believe it.” She said looking around unsteadily. “I couldn’t stop the lorry. I don’t know how we got out. Amanda? Kurt?”

“I’m okay.” Amanda said. “I just feel horrible.” She had crawled a few feet away where she had spent the last few minutes retching.

“Kurt, what’s wrong?” Margali asked. She knelt back down on the ground, James still holding on to her arm. He was surprised to see Kurt was still lying on the concrete, his eyes closed. Wolfgang was still kneeling next to him.

“He’s okay Margali.” Wolfgang said. “Sven, take him back to my trailer. Let him rest. Keep him warm.”

Sven looked confused, but scooped Kurt off the road without a word.

“What’s going on?” Margali and James asked simultaneously in two different languages.

“It’s nothing.” Wolfgang said in English so he could answer them both. “He just looked really tired to me.” He quickly changed the subject by making arrangements with the other drivers.

They couldn’t stay parked where they were so Margali and Amanda found rides in the remaining trucks and they drove in a slow procession to the nearest place they could camp for the night. The Olsson women were kind enough to make space to Amanda and Margali in their trailer and Wolfgang slept on the floor having given his bunk to Kurt.

The next morning found Margali and her family sitting together on a picnic bench staring gloomily off into the distance. They looked like a trio of refugees, still dressed in the torn clothes they had worn the night before. Wolfgang pulled up in one of the smaller trucks with Ivan and Lars. They were each carrying a box.

“We got everything we could.” Wolfgang said setting his down on the table so they could look inside. “I don’t know whose stuff is whose, but it looks like everything in the front got completely charred. The things in the back of the van fared a little better.”

“How could this happen?” Amanda asked, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

“She was old.” Margali said. “I should have replaced that old lorry years ago. I guess I got attached. It was our home.”

Lars and Ivan set their boxes on the table and Margali, Amanda, and Kurt picked through the contents listlessly, seeing what of their few belongings they had left.

“Ugg.” Amanda sniffed some of the clothes that she pulled out of the box. “We’ll have to wash everything. It stinks.”

Magali looked sadly at a few books, the edges of their pages charred. She brushed at the ashes and watched them crumple away into the wind. “Some of the Grimoires I kept were over a hundred years old.” She said.

“I’m sorry.” Wolfgang said.

Margali shook her head and smiled sadly. “It’s ironic. When I was a little girl I was always taught not to value possessions. Some gypsy I am.”

Wolfgang put a hand on her shoulder. He really liked Margali. She was in many ways, his boss. Franz Gehlhaar was of Rom descent too and had entrusted the business of running the circus to Margali because as a Rom herself, he trusted her. Margali handled the financial side of things and Wolfgang took care of the rest. She may have looked like a fortuneteller, but she was a shrewd bookkeeper and knew how to stretch even the tiniest budget further than anyone he knew.

“Are these all the books?” Kurt asked, looking into box on Margali’s lap. “Did you see my bible? The one Father Dietrich gave me?”

“Oh, yeah.” Wolfgang reached into the pocket of his jacket. “There were pages falling out and I wanted to make sure it all stayed together. It was actually the first thing we found.”

Kurt accepted the slightly charred book and carefully turned the pages. “It was like that before the accident.” He said. “It’s just a little burned around the edges.”

A few hours later Kurt and James were spread out on the floor of trailer he shared with Wolfgang, trying to piece together what was left of Margali’s photo album.

“I can’t believe how many books you guys had.” Wolfgang said from his perch on his bunk.

“They are on the shelves to be packing really close.” Kurt said. “Other would not to have staying on the shelves.” He accepted a piece of cellophane tape from James and carefully taped a torn photo into place.

“That makes sense.” Wolfgang said figuring it wasn't the right time to remind Kurt that only one verb per object was needed to get his point across. “The books on the outside were completely burnt but the ones inside were okay. They must have been protected from the fire.”

“I guess.” Kurt said distractedly. He was trying to manipulate to halves of the same photo to line them up but kept dropping the tiny bits of paper.

“Here, I let me help…” James started to reach out to help but Kurt moved away from his grasp.

“I can do it.” Kurt snapped. James put the tape dispenser down. He’d never seen Kurt get angry before.

“Don’t be so upset Kurt. You saved Margali and Amanda’s lives.” Wolfgang said to him in German. “I can’t believe you teleported with both of them at once. That’s amazing.”

“It was really hard. I thought we were all going to end up back in the truck. But we had already gone over the edge. I had to try.” Kurt said.

“I guess you were right about wanting to practice. That it would come in handy someday.”

Kurt nodded his head, set the photo he had been working on aside, and picked up another. “It seems like such a strange sacrifice. Our lives are spared but we lose our home and now everyone’s suspicious of me. Once again I wonder what is God up to?”

“Would you cut that out?” James shouted. “If you’re going to have a conversation can you at least speak in a language I can understand?”

Kurt and Wolfgang stopped speaking German and looked at him guiltily. “Sorry.” Wolfgang said.

“I’m sorry before I snapped to you James.” Kurt said.

James shrugged. “It’s been a crazy day.” He said. “I guess I can see why we’d all be tense.” To show there were no hard feelings he handed Kurt another piece of tape.

They worked in silence until Amanda pushed the door open. She dropped a drawstring bag on the floor with a heavy thump.

“I had to run each load through three times to get the smell out. When are you going to start doing your own laundry Kurt?” She said. Once again James was out of the conversation, but he didn't feel like asking for them to speak in English for the millionth time.

Without looking up from his work Kurt cried out in a falsetto voice, “Oh Lord, help us! It’s a demon. A demon, doing his laundry! Save us! We’re all going to hell in a launderette!”

James had no idea what Kurt had said, but it sounded pretty funny. Wolfgang tried to suppress a snort of laughter.

Kurt switched back to his own voice. “Not any time soon,” he said.

“What’s got you so cranky?” Amanda said putting one hand on her hip.

“Margali talked to Franz Gehlhaar while you were gone.” Wolfgang said. Amanda made a face at the mention of the circus’ owner’s name. “He said that he will pay for a new van for you guys, but only after the end of the summer tour.”

“So now we don’t have anywhere to live.” Kurt said.

Amanda opened her eyes wide in disbelief. “After?” She cried. “That’s totally unfair. Where will we stay?”

Wolfgang sighed. “I told Kurt he could stay here. Margali’s trying to make space for you and her. We’ll work it out.” He said.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “We always do.” She said.



Dear Brin,

The phrase “never a dull moment” is de rigueur for Circus Gehlhaar. Wolfgang and I are getting an amazing amount done. Among his many titles is “lorry driver” and I’ve become his partner. Trucks are called “lorries” in Europe. I think the entire show has been written at over 80 Km per hour. (I think that’s about 50 miles per hour but I’m not quite sure.)

Two nights ago while we were on our way to Lyon in France we passed through Val D’Isere (in the French Alps) and had this huge accident. There’s one family, the Szardoses and they had the most amazing van. It was like an old tall, flat sided delivery van that they lived in but it was incredible inside. Margali, who is the mother, is a real gypsy. Did you know they have a nationality? Roma. I didn’t know that.

Anyway, it looked like what you would imagine a real gypsy caravan would look like. The outside was painted with advertisements for the circus and the inside was this incredible little homey space. They were the only family without an electrical hook up so they lit it with gas lanterns and all the furniture inside was handmade and bolted down. It was really old though and Margali was always repairing it every time we stopped.

So while driving through the passes, Wolfgang gets a call on his radio from Margali’s daughter that their brakes are out. Wolfgang thought it was a joke at first because before I came, Kurt was Wolfgang’s driving partner and apparently they once played a similar prank and Kurt was in Margali’s van. (Kurt is Margali’s adopted son. I have no idea where she found him.) But it turned out it wasn’t a prank and the van crashed into a rock wall and went over the side.

Here’s where it gets weird. When we realized it wasn’t a prank, Wolfgang freaked out and gunned the motor so we passed all the other trucks at like a zillion miles per hour. I thought we were going to die too. And then he nearly sent my organs out through my mouth by stopping short because Margali, Amanda (her daughter), and Kurt were lying in a big heap in the road in front of us. I looked over the edge and I could see the van burning at the bottom of the cliff. I figured the three of them jumped out, because they were pretty much fine except that Amanda was sick to her stomach and Kurt was completely out of it. The weird part is that Wolfgang didn’t seem all that concerned – actually he seemed to know what to do, like it had happened before. Especially the thing with Kurt. I thought he’d hit his head, but Wolfgang was like “No big deal, he’s just tired.” Tired? From a car accident?

You’ll have to let me know the next time we talk if that made any sense. Unfortunately everyone was speaking German so I have no idea what people were saying. I get the impression that Kurt did something that got them out of the van before it fell off the road and that only Wolfgang knows about it but maybe I’m imagining things.

Oh yeah, Kurt’s my second roommate now. Wolfgang had to store most of his stuff in one of the equipment trucks so we could all fit. It’s not like Kurt has much left – just his clothes and a bible. (He’s really really Catholic. Isn’t that odd?)

I’m rambling, but it really has been a weird few days. We’ve been camped a couple of nights but we start for Lyon again early tomorrow morning. I’ll call you when I get there. Hopefully you’ll have gotten this letter and you can tell me I’m nuts and to stop imagining things.

I miss you.

Love,
Jim

PS - I keep forgetting to tell you. Wolfgang said it’s: Hallo, ich’m ein beschütztes Stadtkind von Amerika. (And Kurt said I should add this to make it more clear: Bitte so ausnutzen meiner guten Natur. Ich kann nicht den Unterschied zwischen einem deutschmark und meinem Mastdarm erzählen. )

I don’t know what any of that means (they had to spell it for me so I could put it in this letter) but knowing them, I’m sure it’s embarrassing.

[NWKurt]

Uhhh oh! The secret is out! Grrrrr..... Can't wait for the next one Zam! I have to see how what Kurt did gets explained!!

Oh....have to wait till next time!!

[Rowena]

*snicker*

*snort*

*snickersnortguffaw!*

OK, please tell me if I’m translating this right. I’m trying to figure this out by sight, so I could be completely wrong. I’m just feeling too lazy at the moment to search my messy room for my German dictionary and my grammar book.

“Hello, I’m a sheltered city kid from America. Please exploit my good nature. I don’t know the difference between a Deutschmark and my *ahem* rectum.”

Is that right? If so-- Naughty Kurt!

What translation program are you using? Some of the German looks a tad odd, but Im certainly no expert so I cant really say. Im just a complete amateur trying to teach myself three languages in my all too limited spare time. Yes, I am insane.

This chapter was really great! Kurt got to use his power to save TWO damsels in distress! Go Kurt! Its so awful they lost their home though...

I like these letters James is writing home. Its neat to see things from his POV, since hes so unfamiliar with the people, their circus, and its workings. The fact that he is writing them also says a lot about him.

Is Kurts dad going to have much to do with the plot later on? This story is filling my head with so many questions and possibilities--its an awesome story, and I cant wait for the next installment!

[CurlyyHairGirl]

I was so happy you mentioned Father Dietrich again, he was cool. Yeah! What about his papito? I enjoyed this and Rowena's translation almost gave me a hernia...rectum...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA:*D

[SheCat]

Very cool. I'm still loving Wolfie. Yo've made a very convincing OC, which is very hard to do. The truck accident had me on pins and needles until it hit me - guh, he can teleport! Still, extremely well written. Loving it, doll.

[Nandireya]

Originally posted by zamweasel
Yes, yes, I know AC/DC are Australian. But I think explaining that even though they're Australian they're popular in America and therefore Wolfgang brought a tape of their music with him back to Europe with him is kind of more than the reader needs to know. (And you're right, probably something Kurt wouldn't know himself.) I really just wanted to talk about the song and didn't want to get bogged down in the details since I do that a lot as it is.

Point taken...but I'm sure you can excuse me my little bit of national pride *points to location*

Sad thing it...I don't even know the song...

[stocktonwood]

I positively adore this fic, please keep it coming!!!

[Azur]

Originally posted by zamweasel
Most of his lines were done by writing in English and running it back an forth through the translator a few times.

[...]
He caught a quick glimpse of a sign: “Lavertissement: les Courbes Dangereuses en avant”

errr do you mind if i try to correct your french sentence ?
i think the correct phrasing should be
"avertissement: virages dangereux devant"
or perharps simply "danger: virages dangereux"

(damn, im going to get even more paranoid about my english )



*catch Margali* hey you ! youre used to Bavarian Alps, you crossed the Pyrénées, i bet you went to Switzerland, too: you must have known one should never go to the Val dIsère without having their truck checked before

ah ... oops sorry, i didnt mean to threaten an innocent character :/

please continue your story ?

[Saint Kurt]

Wow. That's a lot of comments. I actually had to take notes so I would remember who asked what. Thanks you guys.

Rowena - Yes your translation is correct. I use three different pieces of software to write German dialogue. I start by putting the English into a piece of software called "Intertran". It gives me a translation that I can then tweak using a list of potential matches based on the definition for each word. Once I've specified each word's exact meaning, it then gives me what should be a grammatically correct German sentence. I then put it into a cheaper piece of software called "WorldLingo" to see if it translates back to English correctly. (I also put the English version in WorldLingo to so how close it comes to the Intertran translation.) Then just for a final check, I put it through Babelfish and see what that gets me. If I can get nearly the same English and German from all three, I figure I'm pretty close to intelligible.

Some things are impossible though. For instance, the phrase "Deutschmark from his rectum" started out as "Deutschmark from his own ass", but no matter what I did the word "ass" got translated as "donkey". I tried "butt" and a similar thing happened where it kept translating as a "rifle butt". Finally I went with "rectum" to ensure that I got the right part of the anatomy even if it does come out sounding overly graphic.

James' letters to his girlfriend started as an after thought, but I liked them. In case it's not totally obvious, James writes in my voice. So, I'm making a cameo in my own story.

On the subject of AC/DC and Aussie pride: I'm down with that. I love Australia and hope to visit there and New Zealand someday. I used to be a snowboard/ski instructor and a lot of folks from down under come to the US and Canada to teach during their summer so I know a lot of Aussies and Kiwis - all of them larger than life personalities. I can't even imagine what a whole country full of people like that is like. A big happy party perhaps?

Thanks for the French translation Azur. I admit I did that one myself and my French is quite terrible. I love Val d'Isere and Chamonix - absolutely insane skiing and the lack of lawsuit crazy Americans means that the steep stuff is actually open to the public. Crazy driving though.

Thanks. I'll post more soon, but I don't want to get ahead of myself. I like to post around 5 or 6 stories behind where I'm actually writing and I'm stuck on what would be part 27 if they were numbered. It's got Father Dietritch in it and I don't have writer's block so much as writer's ignorance. I have no idea what priests do all day and since Kurt is no longer eight conversations between them are a lot harder to write. So I'm banging my head against that.

Thanks again for the feedback and translation assistance.
-e

[CurlyyHairGirl]

:DYAY!!! I can't wait for Father Dietritch's return, he reminds me of my uncle Joe!;)

[Saint Kurt]

“I have something I need to show you.”


Wolfgang crouched in the bushes, waiting. He pressed the button on his watch, illuminating the dial in the darkness. He had only been here five minutes. He’d give him another ten.

When Wolfgang’s watch showed that the requisite amount of time had passed and rose and walked to the doors. They were a pair of large heavy wooden doors, each carved with an ornate cross on the center. He tried to open them, but they were locked and whe knocked it was useless. The doors were too heavy. Wolfgang pulled his hand back and rubbed his knuckles. Next to the doorway, on either side was a pair of leaded glass windows. Wolfgang peeked through and could see the inside quite clearly, which made sense; that was how he had gotten in. He rapped on the window. A moment later he heard the grating of the bolt sliding back and one of the doors opened.

“Can’t a guy get a minute alone around here?” Kurt asked, peeking out from the darkness.

“I gave you fifteen.” Wolfgang said. “What are you doing?”

Kurt glanced back into the dim interior. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Wolfgang gave a short laugh. “Okay, it was a dumb question. Can I come in?”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s not my church.” He said and stepped aside so Wolfgang could enter. Once they were both inside he shut the door and slid the bolt back. Without inviting Wolfgang to join him, Kurt returned to the pew where he had been sitting and picked up his rosary.

“Why do you always sneak into churches at night anyway?” Wolfgang asked, his voice echoing in the empty space. He sat down at the pew in front of Kurt and turned around to face him.

Kurt frowned and looped his rosary back on his belt. It was obvious that as long as Wolfgang was here, prayer time was over. “Because I can’t exactly visit during the day now can I?”

“I guess not.” Wolfgang said. He glanced around the room. Kurt had lit a single votive at the far end. The rest of the light was provided by the moonlight that came through the windows. “It’s kind of nice.” He said. “Maybe having the place all to yourself makes up for not being able to visit during the day.”

“It doesn’t.”

“And yet you continue to love a God whose subjects won’t let you into their houses of worship. Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I just do. I have to.” Kurt said.

“Have to? What do you mean you have to?” Wolfgang asked.

Kurt sighed. “It’s because of who I am.”

Wolfgang sat up a little straighter. “This is the second time you’ve said something like that to me. You don’t honestly believe that you’re some kind of demon do you? You know that’s horseshit right?”

“Wolfgang!” Kurt admonished through gritted teeth.

“Sorry.” Wolfgang said sheepishly. “But the question still applies.”

Kurt sighed. “I… No, I don’t. It’s complicated.”

Wolfgang was silent long enough for Kurt to resume saying the rosary.

“Do you know that I’m Jewish.” Wolfgang announced. Kurt looked up mid-sentence.

“No. I didn’t know that.” He said.

Wolfgang nodded. “I am. My whole family is. Or they were.” Kurt looked confused, but said nothing. Wolfgang continued. “You see in the beginning, Germany and Austria simply wanted the Jews out. And my family was more than happy to leave. Except no country wanted to take any of the expelled Jews in. So there was nowhere they could go.”

“I’m sorry.” Kurt said.

“It’s so much easier to hide when you change your name and deny your faith.” Wolfgang continued. “Wagner isn’t a Jewish name and we didn’t fit the Jewish stereotype. Plus, my grandparents had a bit of money to throw around; they actually helped support the Nazi party. Can you believe that?

“My grandfather always told me it was better than dying. I don’t know if I agree. None of them go to synagogue anymore. Sometimes I think more got changed than our name.”

“What was your family’s real name?” Kurt asked.

Wolfgang shook his head sadly. “ They won’t tell me.” He said. “And they destroyed all the old family records, photo albums, letters, everything and anything that would connect us to our heritage. We have so many secrets that we don’t even know what they are anymore.”

“I guess I fit right in then. My birth certificate was doctored by your family as well.”

Wolfgang laughed. “Some legacy.” He said. He glanced back at the candle Kurt had lit, still burning in its glass at the back of the church. “What did you light that for?” He asked.

“To say thank you.” Kurt said.

“For what?”

“For reminding me why I’m here.” Kurt said. Wolfgang looked quizzical. “It’s hard to understand, but sometimes I feel like I’m some kind of cosmic practical joke. God must have made me me for a reason. If He didn’t, then what a horrible thing to do to someone. Every time I start leaning towards the joke theory, I get reminded that it’s good to be different. That I’m me for a reason.”

“You’re talking about the accident, about saving Margali and Amanda from the van.” Wolfgang said.

Kurt nodded his head. “It just makes it worth it, you know?”

Wolfgang nodded. “I do. Why do you keep it a secret then?”

Kurt sighed. “I don’t know.” He said. “It scares me sometimes.”

“But you told me.” Wolfgang said.

“I had to tell someone. I trusted you. And I knew that you wouldn’t draw any conclusions about me because you never have.”

“You should tell Margali.” Wolfgang said. “She cares a lot about you. Maybe more than you know. You should trust her too.” He stood up and turned to leave.

“Why did you tell me that thing about your family?” Kurt asked.

“Because some things shouldn’t be secrets.” Wolfgang said.



Kurt sat on the lowest seat of the stands. He had a CO-2 fire extinguisher next to him with the pin pulled. He spun the pin lazily on one finger as he watched.

Circus Gehlhaar’s fire act was Kurt’s favorite. It was the most foreign to him, the most removed from anything he knew. Even though he performed as an aerialist, he understood and could even do most of the other acts. But the same attributes that made him such an excellent acrobat made him completely unsuitable for an act that involved manipulating things on fire. That was why he offered to be their fire-watch whenever he could. That way he could sit on the sidelines and watch with the presumption that should one of them actually catch fire, he could come and put them out. His services had so far remained unnecessary.

Fire knife dancing was a cultural art form created in New Zealand by the Maori tribes. It was a competitive dance when performed by men, and a story telling ritual when performed by women. The Maori used a variety of implements when dancing with fire. There were “poi”, wicks held on chains with one looped in each hand. The flaming poi were then spun around the body in a variety of arcs and patterns. Kurt had never seen or heard any thing like it. The sound of fire moving through the air as it was spun was unbelievably loud, a great rushing sound like a giant wave or a gust of strong wind. In New Zealand the fire knife proper was a real bush knife on a two feet long handle wrapped in fuel soaked cotton on both ends with the knife end slightly longer than the butt end. It was then spun and twirled with amazing speed and dexterity. Fire knives for circus performance were much more refined. Instead of real knives, the ends were made from strong Kevlar wicks. They held the fuel better and since cotton had a tendency to fling bits of itself in the air as it burned, were much safer for the audience and the performer.

Feuer Langhagen was a German fire breather who had lived among the Maori for five years learning their arts. When he returned to Germany he brought two companions back with him. Tipene Black, whom everyone referred to as "Kiwi" and his eight year old son Amiri. The three of them had been with Circus Gehlhaar for three years and got nearly as much attention as Kurt did. Plus now that Amiri was older, he was ready to become a performer as well.

Kurt was watching Kiwi showing Amiri a new double staff trick. The double staff was probably the most difficult fire tool other than the meteors which, quite frankly, scared the hell out of everyone but Kiwi. Each staff was roughly two feet long with a wick on each end. That meant that there were four separate fire elements that the performer had to keep track of and unless the performer was very ambidextrous, the twirling staffs looked lopsided. Kiwi was amazing with the double staffs. Amiri was still learning the ropes.

Kurt had his eyes on Amiri when Margali sat down next to him.

“Do you have a moment?” She asked.

“I’m their watch.” Kurt said gesturing at the fire extinguisher. “I can’t go anywhere.”

“But you can talk right?”

“Yeah. I can talk. Why?” Kurt asked, but he knew what was coming. Margali had been hounding him about the accident for a week now.

“How did all three of us get out of the van at the same time?” She asked.

“ Not this again,” Kurt said, “I told you. We fell out.”

“But it was going over the cliff.”

“We fell out before it went over.”

“And the door. It was closed.”

“It opened when I pushed you.”

“But you pushed me towards the driver’s side. There was no door on the driver’s side.”

“I think we might have slid to the passenger side before we fell out.” Kurt said.

“At what point did you unbuckle my seat belt then?”

Kurt, who’d been answering Margali’s questions with his usual well rehearsed responses, paused. Margali had never asked him that before. “You were wearing a seat belt?” He asked. He hadn’t realized.

“Yes. Did that come off when you pushed me too?” She asked.

Kurt stared straight ahead, saying nothing. “I don’t know.” He said at last without taking his eyes off Amiri and Kiwi as they worked.

“You did something Kurt, I know you did.” Margali cried. “Why won’t you tell me? Why was Amanda sick? Why were you unconscious? What happened to us?”

“I was unconscious because I had just fallen out of a van going 60 kilometers an hour. I don’t know why Amanda was sick.” Kurt said still refusing to look at her. Normally he would have stormed off in a huff at this point, but he was tied to his seat by his responsibility to Kiwi and Amiri. Thankfully Margali stood up.

“Maybe one day you'll feel like sharing.” She said and left.

Kurt sighed and put his chin his hands. Why wouldn’t he tell her? After all Margali had never treated him differently than her own children. Didn’t he owe her the truth? She had saved his life once after all. Perhaps it was that his appearance coupled with the fact that he could now disappear and reappear in a burst of sulfury smelling smoke made even him suspicious. And that didn’t even include that strange man who had called himself his father who could do the same thing. The man whose sigil Kurt had since learned designated him as the demon Azazel. Those weren’t the kind of things you told just anybody.

Kiwi dropped the two staffs on the floor and threw a piece of fireproof duveteen cloth over them. A moment later smoke issued from the cloth as the flames were extinguished. The three performers started packing up so Kurt slid the pin back into the fire extinguisher and carried it over.

“Thanks.” Kiwi said and put it back in the box. “Amiri’s getting pretty good huh?”

Kurt nodded and smiled at the boy. He liked Kiwi and Amiri. It wasn’t just the fact that they were nice people; it was that they had something in common. It was customary in Maori culture to tattoo intricate patterns onto their faces and bodies. The patterns were meant to ward off evil spirits and in New Zealand Kurt doubted people paid them any mind. But in Europe their dark tattooed faces made them look utterly exotic, even menacing. Kurt had noticed that most people tended to shy away from them, sometimes fearfully. It was something he’d experienced nearly all his life and it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one dealing with the superficial judgment of a society that refused to look past exteriors and see what was truly inside.

Kurt started to follow them, but Feuer held him back.

“I heard you talking to Margali.” He said. Kurt said nothing.

“Why don’t you answer her question?” Feuer asked.

“I am answering her questions. But it seems that she doesn’t like the answers.” Kurt said.

“That’s because you’re a terrible liar.” Feuer picked up a small bottle of fuel and a lighter. “The tools of the trade.” He said. “Without them our act wouldn’t be much of an attraction would it?”

“No. I guess not.” Kurt said.

Feuer looked at the bottle of fuel. “A necessity it would seem. As anyone who works with fire knows, a fire breather doesn’t breathe fire at all; they blow the fuel out of their mouth and ignite it with a match.”

“I… I know. You showed me once.” Kurt said.

“Thisty?” Feuer tossed the bottle to him. “Have some.”

Kurt stared at his friend wide eyed. “Are you crazy? I can’t drink lamp oil!”

“Smell it.”

Kurt opened the bottle and sniffed it tentatively. They had illuminated the interior of their van with oil lamps for years and he knew its scent well. But this didn’t smell like lamp oil. It didn’t smell like anything.

“What is it?” Kurt asked.

“Try it. It won’t hurt you.” Feuer said.

Still looking at the man like he was crazy, Kurt took a small sip, ready to spit it out immediately. He held it in his mouth and was so surprised that he spit it out anyway. “It’s water?”

“That it is.” Feuer agreed.

“How is that possible? I mean, wouldn’t you blow out the match?”

“It’s water because most fire breathers are really fuel blowers. But not all of them.” Feuer walked a few steps away. “Let me show you something else.” Feuer took a deep breath and when he opened his mouth and exhaled it came out as a great plume of fire. Kurt jumped back in surprise. It was the same thing that Feuer did as part of his act but this time Kurt was holding the fuel bottle and there wasn’t a match.

“You’re not the only one here with gifts.” Feuer said. He took the bottle back. “But I can’t do my act like I just did. People don’t like what they can’t understand. So I use a few props and nobody knows that I’m simply doing what comes naturally to me.”

“I didn’t know.” Kurt said.

“That’s because I hadn’t told you yet. Now you know. Kiwi knows. So does Amiri. In fact their whole tribe knows. For a people that use fire to tell their stories I was like a god. But here in Europe I’m an aberration, a freak.”

“Why did you come back?” Kurt asked.

“Because this is where I belong just like it’s where you belong.”

Kurt thought about this for a moment. Feuer was right of course. He hadn’t even realized that being so different from everyone else was anything but a good thing until he was eight. And even now that he’d seen how most of the world was reacted to him; he still wasn’t convinced that it wasn’t a good thing.

“Keep your secrets from the audience Kurt.” Feuer said. “Don’t keep them from your friends, your family. Whatever it is, tell Margali what she needs to know.”

Feuer put the rest of the props into their box and heaved it off the ground. “Think about what’s important.” He said and walked out of the tent leaving Kurt standing alone with only his thoughts.


Margali was sitting alone like she often did. It was nice to get away sometimes even if it just meant sitting one of their picnic tables by herself and looking at the sky. She was a non-performer surrounded by people with larger than life personalities all day. A few moments of silence in the evening was all she needed to recharge. There was a rustle behind her and Margali turned around. Kurt was standing there with his hands in his pockets.

“Mom.” He said. “I have something I need to show you.”



Author’s note: A word on the blatant recycling of characters
When possible, I find it fun to include characters that appear in the comic books. Sometimes this is to tell the story like with Azazel and other times a character just fits in perfectly. I had planned on having a family of Maori fire performers and when I read the Draco I found there was already a Maori character in the canon. How convenient. Kiwi Black is about as un-Maori a name as you can find by the way. Amiri and Tipene are real Maori names. I later came across the Feuer Langhagen character and it just made sense to put the three of them together. It's not important to have Kiwi and Kurt related in this so I don’t even deal with it. If you want Kiwi Black to be Kurt’s long lost brother, that’s cool with me. Otherwise he’s just a guy from New Zealand.

[RavEnigma]

This is great! Absotively posolutely brilliant! :bow I can't wait to see Margali's reaction! Please write more soon!

[NWKurt]

Originally posted by RavEnigma
I can't wait to see Margali's reaction!

I stand behind RavEnigma too!

Zam, you really know when to put a stop to the story for a good 'clifhanger' ending to a chapter. We :Dall:D await the next installment with eager eyes and minds!

NWK

[Nandireya]

Coolness! More story!

Originally posted by zamweasel
I know a lot of Aussies and Kiwis - all of them larger than life personalities. I can't even imagine what a whole country full of people like that is like. A big happy party perhaps?

Yeah...pretty much...

[CurlyyHairGirl]

AWESOME!!!!!!! YOU ARE IN MY LIST OF WRITERS WHO BELONG IN HISTORY BOOKS!!!! J/K you are an exceptional writer and deserve a reward. *gives bear hug and a sack of Werther's Original Caramels*

[Rowena]

ACK!!!!!!! How could you end it there???!!!!!!!
Oh, man! *mumble mumble cliffhangers mumble grumble mumble sigh*

So...Feuer is a mutant too. That's interesting. And that whole Kiwi Black angle. Hmmm...

I'm building up a whole collection of conjectures in my mind and I'm just itching to find out if I'm right or not! I look forward to your next installment!

[Saint Kurt]

That's interesting, because that was not intended to be a cliff hanger. I didn't write Margali's reaction because at this point in the story, it's not that important. Since I had already written on reaction to Kurt's ability to teleport (Wolfgang's) I figured that there didn't need to be another one.

I hope I'm not writing too slowly - taking too long to build things up, because a lot of the pay off for the things going on now take place about 10 years from this point. (I'm figuring Kurt to be in his mid-twenties at the time of X2.) If you get bored with some of this exposition, give a holler and I can skip ahead. Either way it's important to move on now because the pieces are in place for the "big climatic event" to happen. (It has a lot to do with Kurt's scars.)

So hopefully you'll forgive me for my dawdling.

dawdle dawdle dawdle

Okay, fine. Here's the short version of Margali's reaction


"Mom, I have something to show you."

"What's that Kurt?"

BAMF!

"Holy crap! How did you do that?"

"I don't know, one day I just could."

"Is that how you got us out of the van before it went over the cliff?"

"Technically I got us out after the van had gone over the cliff, but yes."

"Wow, that's amazing Kurt. Thank you for saving our lives, and remember I still love you even if the evidence that you are a demon continues to pile up with each passing day."

"Thanks Mom."

I suppose the only really important thing is that Kurt always leaves out the part with Azazel when he tells the story. Hmmm. Maybe I will have to go back and write a more serious version of Margali's reaction....

And the good news is that I finished that damned Father Dietrich conversation so I will post another story.

-e

[Saint Kurt]

“I just can’t get through to them. The tricks are amazing, but without movement to tie them together, it just doesn’t look right. I don’t want them just to run from spot to spot, I want to see purposeful movement, movement that tells the story. I want dance.”


Les Chansons de la Forêt was written in less than three months. Wolfgang and James worked tirelessly – reworking lyrics in French, Spanish, Italian, and English (what Wolfgang considered to be the best “singing” languages) during every spare moment. Kurt had even given up his seat in Wolfgang’s truck so the two of them could use the drive time to write. By the time the circus was getting ready to camp for the winter (near Barcelona once again) they were ready to start choreographing and rehearsing.

James was absolutely thrilled with the band. After Wolfgang had contacted him in the states, he’d gone to the library and listened to every bit of gypsy music he could get his hands on. Circus Gehlhaar had a tight band, mainly Rom, from every corner of Europe. He filled their sound out with kit drummer, electric guitar and bass, and his own keyboards. The result was a brilliant gumbo of jazz rock flavored with the spices of old Europe.

He’d solved the complexity of following the performers by composing much of the background music as a series of repeating passages called “vamps” – a technique used in musicals for set changes. As bandleader James was responsible for watching the performance and directing the rest of the band accordingly. He’d also been careful to build in pauses in the music for applause and the ability to add various “hits” to punctuate the various tricks as they were performed.

Three singers had been hired, a man with a lovely tenor/baritone voice to sing as the “Rom Baro” or Gypsy King, a young woman with a wispy soprano to represent Petra’s character, and a second woman with a more mature voice to act as a more general narrator. The singers as well as the band, would be outfitted with costumes and would perform out in the open in the ring with everybody else.

Wolfgang wanted the show to be seamless – to create a world in the hearts and minds of the audience and for the next 90 minutes never give them an excuse to leave it. Instead of using the roustabouts to carry props on and off stage, the performers themselves would. And since it was a story being told, the delineations between each act would be blurred with many of the performers onstage whether they were in the spotlight or not.

Writing the show was a balancing act in and of itself. It needed to be written around the various performers skills, to fit them into the story, but that couldn’t be done until there was some structure to the story itself. And so they worked, as though they were placing bricks into the foundation that would become a great hall; the whole time knowing that even when they’d put the last mark on the paper, the real work had yet to begin.

By the time they reached Albania they had their outline – every lyric and every note ready for the performers to make it breathe and live.

Kurt was used to long hours of practice, particularly during the winter times, however this winter would be an even greater challenge for him. As the shows main characters he, Lars, Petra, and Gretchen would be on stage in some way or another for nearly the entire show. Each of them had a solo and they were additionally featured in several other numbers.

The addition of the Wollenck family at last made it possible to do a proper routine with the Russian bars. Though they were not acrobats of the same league as Lycka på Himmelen, they were very good and already adept at landing on even narrower beams than the bars. It didn’t take long for Sven and Papa to train a new group of porters and flyers to fill out their act.

Gretchen was working on a very long hand balancing contortion routine for her solo and Petra was planning on a solo on silks. She had to work Kurt into the end somehow and the two of them were still experimenting. Kurt’s solo which would open the show would be on the flying trapeze. He was a little nervous since solo flying trapeze acts had a tendency to be somewhat dull. He didn’t want to put the audience to sleep before the show had even had a chance to begin.

The only one who couldn’t decide what he wanted to do was Lars. Another trapeze solo would have been redundant and while he was working on straps and silks with Petra, he didn’t feel like he was ready to do either. In the end he decided that rather than do a solo, he would be one of the “showcase” performers in the group trapeze act, the tumbling act, and the Russian bars.

Wolfgang over saw the whole operation, making sure that practice schedules didn’t clash and that everyone got the time they needed with the equipment. He flew to New York with James to audition the new rhythm section. It was a strange feeling; he’d never felt so competent. Suddenly everyone was asking him for direction and for the first time in his life he knew all the answers. It was like he’d already seen Les Chansons de la Forêt in performance and he was just giving everybody instructions on how to replicate it.

James had commented early in the writing process that the forest didn’t hold enough danger. In fact, he had said, the forest didn’t appear to have anything in it but Kurt. Wolfgang agreed, but was concerned that they wouldn’t have enough performers to have both a gypsy caravan and a forest stocked full of creatures. Sven pointed out that you could have people playing more than one character and that was how he became the leader of the wolf pack. With the same core group playing both forest creatures and gypsies, it was now a problem for their costume designer.

With the addition of forest creatures to the story, a whole new set of opportunities opened up for more unorthodox performances and Wolfgang could finally give Christian Alexander’s act the attention it deserved. Christian had been the only American member of the circus before James showed up and he was still quite new. He was from California and had majored in German language at UC Berkeley only to discover upon graduation that just about the only work he was qualified for was as a translator. So Christian had instead indulged his passion for the so called “extreme sports”.

Since high school he had competed locally on both his skateboard and his BMX bike. For skating he stuck to the street course, but on his bike he did both halfpipe and street events. After college Christian decided to go pro full time. He competed in 2 summer X-Games and gained sponsorship interest but since he wasn’t winning, that interest faded. So Christian went to Germany.

His plan was uncertain. Maybe translator jobs were more interesting in Germany, or perhaps the BMX bike scene was in need of a new American competitor. When Christian found nothing to his liking, he became a street performer.

Christian’s performances went beyond just a series of bike and skateboard tricks. He cracked jokes, invited the audience to participate, and juggled pins while balanced precariously on a single wheel of his bike. He made friends with the local artists and on his days off worked with metal sculptor to weld together fantastic new bicycle creations. His act became so popular that he even made it into some of the tourist maps for the city of Berlin. In short he was a one-man circus.

On a solo trip to Berlin Wolfgang saw Christian perform and approached him right away. Christian was a natural clown, playing off the audience with an amazingly quick wit, allowing them to laugh not so much at him, but with him and at themselves as well. His repartee was so quick in fact that Wolfgang was shocked to find out that German was not Christian’s native language. Plus, his homemade bikes were marvelous. He knew Franz Gehlhaar hadn’t given him permission to recruit performers, but there was no way he was going to pass up the chance to have Christian join their circus.

Christian had loved the idea and even though his wages as a street performer were higher, he joined up with Circus Gehlhaar and became the chief form of entertainment before the show and during equipment changes, the closest thing they had ever had to a clown. As Christian’s act was fueled by audience interaction, he ate it up. He loved hoping his bike up the aisles and into the stands so he could jump off to toy with the audience. In fact Wolfgang imagined that Christian was exactly like what Kurt would have been if he had been born blonde haired and blue eyed. The two of them got along famously of course and their impromptu collaborations were some of the most hysterical bits of the show.

But in Les Chansons as it became known, Christian’s days of hamming for the crowd and pretending to run over Kurt’s tail were over. He would finally get a chance to take the spotlight in an act that focused on his pure athleticism and balance; he was going to take extreme sports to a new level by turning it into art.

Rehearsals were going smoothly. As expected Laurentiu’s tightrope walkers adapted immediately to the Russian Bars and Wolfgang could see that that act was going to be one of the show’s highlights. They’d brought out the giant trampoline again, but this time used it without the trapeze. Sven and Nils who had been former Olympic athletes before returning to circus life could get some amazing height from a trampoline take off, enough to do four somersaults. Annika and the three other Olsson women were planning on an aerial hoops act that was just breathtaking.

The roustabouts finally became more than simply equipment movers and rope handlers. Wolfgang discovered a number of innovative carpenters and builders in their ranks; some of their families went as far back in the circus as many of the performers’ did. They built a large platform that sat suspended near the tent’s apex. It had several trap doors allowing performers to make entrances and exits into the ceiling. It also provided the main framework for many of their props such as the trapeze and silks rigs.

There was only one problem and that was the choreography. As much as Wolfgang respected the work of Papa and the others, they were acrobats, not artists. They were coming up with some amazing things, but their focus was on amplitude and complexity, not art.

“I just can’t get through to them.” Wolfgang complained to James. “Even Kurt who usually listens to me. The tricks are amazing, but without movement to tie them together, it just doesn’t look right. I don’t want them just to run from spot to spot, I want to see purposeful movement, movement that tells the story. I want dance.”

“So you need a choreographer who’s a dancer and can teach them that it’s not all about incredible death defying stunts, is that it?” James asked.

“That’s it.” Wolfgang said.

“You mean a choreographer like my girlfriend?”

Wolfgang’s eyes opened up wide. Brin! Why hadn’t he thought of that? He gave James a giant bear hug of gratitude and ran off to make arrangements to bring Brin to Spain. It was perfect. James would have his girlfriend and the circus would have their dancer. Things couldn’t be falling into place more beautifully he thought, especially since Maria would be joining them as well.


Dear Brin,

Did I ever tell you that Wolfgang is a certified genius? No? Okay, it's true, I've only ever said he was a certified maniac. But today I realize how wrong I was because he has seen it fit to hire a choreographer for the show. The best, most skilled, and most lovely modern dance choreographer in New York. (That would be you honey.)

I'm sure Wolfgang will contact you more formally with a contract like when he hired me, but I was too excited not to write you. I know you have your contract with the Civic Dance Theater to fulfill, but that's only for another few weeks right? I have no idea what choreographing a circus involves, but it can't be any weirder or harder than writing the music. Please take the job. Please. Please. Please. (add about a thousand more pleases, I'm running out of room on this postcard.)

Traveling around Europe is amazing, but it would be so much more so with you.

I love you,
James