Madison Esshaki

The Showmen arrived when I was five.

I remember the day well; my mother had been feeding my little sister and I breakfast when the trumpets first blared through our quiet town. Loud and chaotic, carrying behind them swarms of performers just as wild. Men with animal skins on their heads, women in sparkling skirts and masks. They set up tents and claimed their territory; started holding their performances in our town square every night. 

“Tourist crossroads,” they’d told us when we’d questioned their arrival, pointing out how our town sits on the way to two large cities. “People need a place to stop, and we need an audience. Perfect spot to start an entertainment business!”

They seemed to think we wanted their shows; that we enjoyed the constant noise, fireworks, lights, and stunts.

We didn’t.

For a week or two, our town did our best to ignore the Showmen and the people who came to watch. Mam never let me and Tessa even speak of them, let alone go near the tents. Most families did the same.

It wasn’t until rumors of the Showmen kidnapping a young boy for their show started swirling around the town that we really began to distance ourselves. We found the boy, and though the Showmen claimed he joined willingly, the kid wouldn’t speak a word after the incident.

Our town didn’t take that well. After some aggressive arguments between our leaders and theirs, no one could come to an agreement. We sparred them for invading our property, and they claimed we were overly sentimental with no eye for business and good culture.

So the wall was built. It isn’t the most sturdy, or the tallest, and it doesn’t keep much of the noise out. But it separates us from them; lets the Showmen know we want nothing to do with them or their performances.

We’ve learned to live with it, and I guess they have, too. Two opposite ways of life separated only by wrath and a scrawny brick wall.
I think our village, now half as big as it once was, still prays the Showmen will pack up their things and leave as quickly as they arrived.

Ten years later, that hasn’t happened.

I hurry throughout town tonight, breathing in the crisp autumn air to calm my nerves. I’m headed to the pharmacy to get medicine for Tessa. She’s awful sick, just barely hanging on now, and Mam’s herbs aren’t strong enough.

I’m not only her brother; I’m her most trusted friend. So I snake through the dark streets, quick as my feet can carry me. For Tess.

The town is quiet, save for the Showmen’s usual ruckus beyond the wall. I feel as though I have every beat of their wild music memorized. It pounds through my head… though I try my best to drown it out. 

My fingers reach for the pouch of coins in my pocket as I lean against a nearby building to catch my breath. Times have been tough, and we haven’t much to spare. I hope it’s enough to save my sister.

I reach the pharmacy at last, my palms sweating as I turn the rusted door handle. The bell above the entrance dings, and Mr. Farlen– the apothecary– comes to the counter.

His usually kind eyes are cold as he meets my gaze.

“Can I help you, Kiran?”

Everyone knows everyone in our small town.

“It’s Tess,” I pant, pulling the coin bag from my pocket. It jingles as I set it on the counter. “She’s got a horrible fever. Red and swollen, she is. And coughing a storm. Mam tried every herb from our garden… but she’s only getting worse.”

Mr. Farlen frowns, spilling the contents of my small purse into his hands. He runs the lackluster pile of copper coins between his fingers, deep in somber thought.

I have to break the long silence.

 “Well? What can you give me?”

Mr. Farlen replies with a sigh and rubs his temple as if he’s just come down with a horrible headache. “Nothing, Kiran.”

He turns his back to me, but not before I catch the glisten of tears in his eyes.

“What?” I manage. “But, Mr. Farlen…my sister…”

“I wish I could!” he cries. “But those bloody Showmen have run my business dry. Not enough people in this town can afford medicine, and all the tourists prefer the pharmacy closer to their entertainment. I’ve had to pack up and close shop.”

I stand there in disbelief, as he points to a “closed until further notice” sign hanging over his window. I was in such a hurry I must have missed it on my way in.

“It’s like they’ve built a whole empire over that wall,” Mr. Farlen gripes, throwing a wool hat over his head. I notice only now that he isn’t in his usual apron and tunic, but tattered travel clothes. “First they took our land, now all our business. Rumors have it even their pharmacy is dripping with gold, and stocked full of the best medicines in the country. I bet their apothecary wears a robe and crown.”

His bitter eyes turn sad again as he hands me my coins. “Your sister is a good kid, Kiran. I’m praying she recovers.”

My heart is pounding too hard, my mouth is too dry. I don’t even notice Mr. Farlen pushing me out the door and slamming it in my face. The night wind bites at my skin as I stand on the doorstep, closing my eyes and trying to clear my thoughts.

All I can see is Tessa in her bed, shivering with chills. Mam insists she keeps the window open, to bring down her fever, but she’s miserable. 

Trembling. Coughing.

Dying.

Think, I command myself. What now?
I glance around and curse the Showmen for how loud their brassy ragtime blares. My head is already throbbing. Lights project into the sky from their side of the wall, while ours remains dark and hopeless.

Think, Kiran.

What can you do?

“Come see the show of a lifetime! Glittering gold, best in the country!”

The show leader’s voice bellows, meddling itself with the music that worms its way through my aching brain. Maddening… until suddenly, it morphs into realization.

The apothecary, on the other side of the wall.

They would have what she needs.

Dripping with gold.

Best medicines in the country.

“Thank you, Farlen,” I mutter, and before I can form a hesitant thought, I’m running towards the brassy ragtime.

Towards the wall.

Tessa needs you to do this, I tell myself.

Mam needs you to do this.

Don’t stop. Don’t overthink.

Climb over, find the pharmacy, buy the medicine. Then run back home and save her.

What could possibly—

I stop only when something grabs hold of my shoe. Nearly tumbling over, I glance down in shock.

A young boy, pale and dirty, grips my ankle with fingers thin as twigs. His eyes are glossy, his face sunken, and his clothes torn to shreds.

Starving.

He doesn’t speak a word, but raises a shaky finger toward my pocket.

He knows I have money.

He’s a beggar.

Mind racing back to Tessa, I shake my head. Breaking free from the boy, I send myself back into a sprint.

I don’t have time— or coins— to waste.

—

Smothering any doubt in my head, I stare at the cracking brick wall in front of me. I haven’t been this close to it since the day it was put up.

Mam would kill me if she knew what I was about to do.

I let out a breath, placing my hand in the first crevice a few inches above my head. The brick is cold and like sandpaper against my fingers.

“And now, the finest dancer in the world!”

The show leader’s voice nearly startles me to the ground, but as the music changes pace to a slow, alluring song I’ve never heard before, I readjust my grip.

The crowd cheers, and the music speeds up again as I climb. I hear oohs and ahhs from the tourists, and an occasional interjection from the leader.

“Oh, you lucky man!”
“Watch her go!”
“Quite the charmer, ain’t she?”

By the time the dancer’s music stops, I am sitting at the top of the wall, glancing down. In other circumstances, my jaw may have dropped at the sight. Colorful tents, strung with bulbs of yellow and white lights that glow like stars. The tourists gather around a stage in what used to be our town square, dressed like kings and clapping for a girl in a glittering rainbow dress. The leader— clothed in a red and black suit — takes her hand and raises it in the air.

“La Neva, everyone!”

The crowd erupts with whistles and cheers, and my eyes drift behind the bowing girl on stage.

Buildings. Real, sturdy buildings— an abundance of them— lining the wall and streets. Painted white in color, gold in accent.

It really is an empire, I think, taking another breath.

More Showmen join the girl on stage, and the next song starts up. I carefully slip onto a nearby rooftop, and wait for a firework to explode before sliding to the ground.

I waste no time.

Bolting to the street behind the stage, careful to stay out of sight, I keep my eyes peeled for a pharmacy.

Library. 

Merchant. 

Tailor.

I sprint past buildings with all of these signs, but not the one I need. My hands clench the bag of coins in my pocket. 

Hang on, Tess.

This side of the town is dark, and eerily quiet. Minutes pass, and I am far from the stage now; the music is faint and distorted.

I’m not sure why that unsettles me.

While taking a pause to regather my breath, the weight of where I am hits my chest. I look around, no idea of my surroundings. It’s growing darker, and I see nothing but lifeless buildings around me. My heart pounds.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of footsteps. Startling back, I run into what seems like an alleyway, before realizing that was a mistake.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” a raspy voice calls. I swallow hard, eyes fixed on the two young Showmen who emerge from the shadows and corner me.

“New in town?” One of them smirks, the gem-studded lion mask on his head identical to his friend’s.

“Can’t you tell from the rags? He’s a runaway,” the other chimes in, landing a hard punch in my gut. I buckle forward in shock and pain, all air leaving my lungs.

“You’re right, Cain. He reminds me of that one pipsqueak who joined our show all those years ago,” the first one says, striking my nose. My eyes water, and I gasp as warm blood trickles my face. “We never did get revenge on your pathetic town for framing us.”

Get out of here, Kiran, my head screams, but the pain and fear paralyzes me.

The two laugh, taking turns striking me. I try to fight back, but my hungry arms are no match to their muscle. They plant bruises all over my skin; rip at my flesh with their nails. When one of them wrenches my ankle, I collapse to the ground, searing pain shooting through my leg.

The man kneels to my level, noticing the hand in my pocket.

“What’s this?” he says, grabbing hold of my wrist. He tries to yank it out of my pocket, but I hold on with all the strength I have.

Anger flashes through his eyes. “Think you’re strong, eh?” he says, punching my nose a final time. I let go with a whimper, and he steals my coins.

“No!” I cry, failing to swipe the bag.

A smug look on his face, the lion-man rises, shaking my blood from his fist. His friend snatches the money.

“You know, you could come join us if you ever heal up,” he smirks. “Tamed beasts are always a crowd pleaser.”

Then, quicker than they’d arrived, the two were gone into the shadows, my coins in their hands.

I lie on the cold ground, helpless. Bloody. Defeated.

Alone on the Showman side of the wall. Without a cent to my name.

What was I thinking, coming here?

Groaning, I sit up. My head throbs worse than before, and I can’t help but think of Tessa.

Has she been able to hang on? Is she still in bed, shivering and waiting for me?

Mam’s probably worried sick, or mourning us both.

I let out a yell, weak and not caring who hears me now, as I fall onto my back again. 

Will I ever make it back home? I can’t climb— I can’t even stand in this pain. If my ankle’s not broken, it’s sprained. Even if I could walk, I’m not sure I could bring myself to see Tess again empty-handed. Knowing I can’t save her.

Tears drip down my face now.

So, what option does that leave?

Heal up and join the Showmen?

Never.

Let myself bleed out?

Pathetic.

As I teeter the line between consciousness and dark, I can only form one thought.

Maybe if I die, the good Lord will let Tessa live.

—

My mind wakes before my body. 

I feel around for Mam’s hand, listen close for Tessa’s early morning laughter, but my hand touches only rough cobblestone.

Dread settles in my sore stomach as I remember where I am.

My eyes snap open.

Glancing around, I realize it’s a new day. The sun is beginning to rise, as are the people of the Showmen’s town.

I sit up. My ankle is the size of an apple, and red as one. I sputter out a breath and scan my eyes across the street adjacent to the alleyway I collapsed in.

A sparking remembrance rushes through my veins.

“Could someone help me?” I call, loud as my bruised chest will allow me. Desperate. Maybe if I get up now, I can still save my sister.

All I need is the grace of a stranger.

Moments pass before I meet the eyes of a man passing by. Time stills as his brown eyes bore into mine. Yet instead of helping, instead of risking humiliation, instead of saving my life and subsequently my sister’s, he flashes me a condemning look of disgust. Straightening his golden glasses, I watch as the haughty man scurries to the other side of the road and walks on.

“Please?” I beg, to everyone and no one in particular. 

The next passerby is a woman, tall and bony and reminiscent of Mam, only dressed in an expensive silk robe. She pauses, eyes towards me, but with one sound in the distance her head is turned and she scurries away.

My stomach drops.

It’s no use.

The wind picks up around me. I close my eyes, letting it rush against my face and knock me back to the cobblestone. Giving in to the rotten feeling of despair, I allow myself permission to surrender to whatever fate awaits me. 

Minutes, maybe hours, pass.

Even as the quick patter of footsteps echoes in my direction, I remain motionless in the dark of my own head.

That is, until a gentle voice breaks through.

“Good heavens, are you alright?”

The voice is clear, articulate.

A performer.

My eyes snap open and focus on a skirt of glittering rainbow tulle.

Not a Showman. 

A Showgirl.

The dancer.

I swallow as my gaze travels to her face, bright and brushed with the same glitter as her dress. Her dark brows are furrowed, and her eyes ooze with empathy as she reaches a hand out to me.

“Let me help you,” she says, and with cautious hope bubbling in my gut, I let her pull me to my feet. 

The moment my ankle hits the floor, I stumble and cry out in pain.

“I’m Neva,” the girl says, noticing my injury and carefully guiding my bruised arm over her shoulder. “Here, put your weight on me.”

Unable to form words and feeling a bit as though I’m dreaming, I lean into Neva. She stands strong, and when she turns to ask, “think you can walk with me?”, I manage a nod.

After a few painful steps, I realize I haven’t spoken and snap to my senses.

“Why are you helping me?” I blurt. “You realize I’m not from here, don’t you?”

Neva keeps her eyes forward, and her voice steady. “You’re my neighbor. It’s a duty of mine to help.”

I’m taken aback by her simple response until the pain in my ankle takes the forefront of my mind and I wince.

“No one else did,” I reply, trying to bite back the edge in my voice.

Neva sighs, meeting my eyes. “I’m afraid people here don’t always know how to treat those who aren’t like them.”

The Showgirl leads me slowly out of the alley, and once we’re back on the main road, I grow wary of who I’m with. She doesn’t seem like the greedy type, but remembering the thieves I encountered earlier, I decide I’d rather nip the subject in the bud.

 “I’m afraid I can’t give you anything in return for your help,” I say.

“How about a name?”

Neva’s straightforward request leaves my cheeks burning. Here she is, helping me at her own expense. And I haven’t even given her my name.

“Kiran,” I swallow. “Thank you…Neva.”

She offers me a side smile.

“My pleasure.”

Without another word, Neva leads me to a fountain a yard or two behind the stage she performed on earlier. She carefully helps me sit on the edge, and wastes no time examining the wounds on my body. I hold my breath as she rolls up my sleeves, cupping water from the fountain and cleansing the blood from my skin. Then without a moment of hesitation, she rips a strip of rainbow off her skirt and bandages me up— first down my arms, then carefully around my ankle.

I flinch all the way.

“So, now that we’re better acquainted,” Neva sinks into a cross legged position in front of me now, and I take the minute to catch my breath. “What happened back there?”

Maybe it’s my recent brush with death, or the several hits to my head getting to me, but I feel as though I trust Neva with my life.

The life I owe her.

So I spill out everything that’s happened. From Tessa’s sickness, to Farlen’s bankruptcy, to the attack by the lion-dressed Showmen. And when I finish, when I wipe away the last of the tears that slipped through without warning, Neva stops.

She stares at me, like no one ever has before, and I watch as her own eyes gloss over.

“I’m… so sorry, Kiran,” she says. 

Then she stands, glances around, and nods once before reaching a hand out to me again. “But there’s still time. Come on, I’ll show you the pharmacy.”

When I rise and lean into her again, Neva reaches into her pocket and shoves a silk bag of coins into my palm. 

No words.

No hesitation.

Just grace from this stranger.

I let out a breath.

Hang on, Tess. 

—

Standing in the pharmacy, enclosed by four walls of golden wallpaper, I feel out of place. Neva does most of the talking, turning to me only to have me explain my sister’s symptoms to the apothecary. The Showgirl neglects all mention of me being from the other side of the wall, performing so well it’s never even questioned. When the apothecary asks for payment, she covertly gestures for me to hand him the silk coin bag. I understand now why she gave it to me beforehand; it’s all part of her act to make the pharmacist believe I belong here.

“If there is any additional expense, I’ll cover it,” she tells him as he turns to grab the medicine. “I want to help as much as I can.”

In an instant, the man returns. He hands me a small glass bottle and the silk coin purse, still jingling with the change it holds. Neva thanks the man quickly and leads me out the door.

“Time is of the essence, yes?” she says to me as we start towards the wall.

When at last we’re standing beneath the tower of stone-brick, Neva helps me lean up against it. Wasting no time, she lands her heeled boot into a crevice and begins hauling herself up the wall. I’m mesmerized by how easily she does it; how somehow she makes it look graceful. 

Reaching the top, Neva dangles one leg over each side of the wall and steadies herself.

“Use that barrel to give you a boost,” she calls, gesturing to a cask on my right. “Take advantage of the strength in your good leg. I’ll pull you up once I can reach you.”

And so I do. Biting back the soreness in my ankle and torn muscles, I place Tessa’s medicine and the coin purse in my pocket and step onto the barrel with my uninjured leg. Finding a foothold and practically throwing myself against the brick, I reach up to Neva like a baby crying for his mother.

She grips my forearms tight, and begins to pull. I climb, relying on my upper body and one good ankle. A few near-slips and pained cries later, Neva seats me carefully next to her at the top.

Letting out an exasperated sigh as I catch my own breath, Neva wipes her sweaty forehead. Then, in one swift move, she slides down the wall and lands on her feet. Less gracefully, I reposition myself until I am dangling over the side and lower myself slowly. I drop the last few feet, landing on my good leg, and Neva rushes to support me.

“I’ve never been to this side,” she tells me as we walk. “You’ll have to tell me where to go.”

I nod, adrenaline rushing through me.

Our home isn’t far from the wall. Only a few blocks, and quicker if you avoid the crowds of town square. After we arrive, everything seems a blur.

When my eyes latch on home, I ignore the pain and pick up the pace, prompting Neva to do the same. We run, shoulder to shoulder, through the door. Mam is in the kitchen cutting bread, and as we pass by her eyes widen at the sight of my blood-stained clothes… and the dancer helping me.

She doesn’t say a word.

I guide Neva to Tessa’s room.

The window is open, and the sunlight pours over the small rickety bed in the corner of the room. When I see Tess sitting up– pale, coughing, breathing– I nearly collapse with joy.

She grins at me, hugging my neck as I sit next to her. We help her take the medicine. Mam rushes in, and I explain everything to her; introduce her and Tessa to Neva. Tell them how she saved my life. In a scene I never thought I’d witness, I watch my mother hug the Showgirl. Her eyes gleam with grateful tears, and she whispers something to Neva that makes her smile. I can’t help but do the same.

After a few minutes, Mam rushes us out of Tess’s room so she can rest. Before I know it, I’m leaned against the doorframe of my home as Neva walks out.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” I say to her. “Truly, I owe you my life and my sister’s.”

She smiles and shrugs. “It was nothing.”

“No,” I reply. “It was everything.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out Neva’s silk coin purse and offer it to her.

“Yours,” she stops me, placing it back into my palm. “My gift.”

I arch my brow. “What will I do with it?”

The Showgirl shrugs. “Pay it forward, perhaps?”

And then, before I can persist, Neva dips into a curtsy, offers me a final smile, and disappears into the mist.

—

Tessa healed quickly after that day. With the help of the medicine, and as Mam said, her relief in my safety, she was back on her feet in only a week. Conveniently, my ankle healed in that time, too. 

I never saw the Showgirl again after that day she saved my life. I tried to find her; tried to convince Mam to let me cross back over the wall. But after hearing about the robbers and seeing my wounds, she refused.

Regardless, the final words Neva spoke to me have bounced around in my brain since she left.

Pay it forward, perhaps?

I hear her now in my mind as I travel the cobblestone roads of town square.

Towards the pharmacy.

Neva’s coin purse jingles in my pocket, and in a bag over my shoulder sits a small loaf of bread.

Just before I reach Farlen’s, I see him.

The starving boy I neglected all those days ago, leaned up against a building. 

Frail.

Shaking.

Hanging on by a thread.

So I rush to him.

When the boy sees me, he looks up at me with wide, sunken eyes. I watch his brow bend in confusion; in recognition.

Reaching into my pocket, I hand him the silk coin purse.

“Why…why are you helping me?” the boy rasps, shakingly accepting the bread from my pouch.

I smile and give him a Showgirl-inspired bow.

“Because you’re my neighbor. It’s a duty of mine to help.”

——

“‘Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?’ ’The expert in the law replied, ‘The one who had mercy on him.’ Jesus told him, ‘Go and do likewise.’”

Luke 10: 36-37