by Lee

1. Edouard

Strength. Practice. Concentration. Precision.

Trust.

The main components of our profession. When we are on our trapezes, up near the top of the tent, Maribel and I are like machines. I’m the stronger, holding the trapeze with my legs while my hands support her whole body, firmly holding her hands – and then only one hand – as she dangles from an incredible height.

She sways over the nothingness, her hand firmly in mine, and then, with a tumble in the air, she lets go of my hand and grabs her own trapeze. The audience cries out and claps with gusto. We hear the noises, but we’ve learnt to concentrate on what we’re doing, lest we distract from our work.

Maribel swings again, we hold hands in midair, and then she lets go of her trapeze once more. She contorts her lithe body and climbs over my shoulder with the grace of a ballerina. Suddenly she’s standing up, her feet planted on my shoulder, holding onto nothing – just her feet weighing on me.

She trusts me to stand still so she can keep her perfect balance. She’ll also trust me in a little bit, as she’ll do a couple of somersaults over the void, leaving her trapeze and catching my hand.

She knows I’ll be there for her, as I’ve been for years now, since we became partners. Which wasn’t long before we became involved romantically – a logical development, since we spent most of our time together anyway.

The manager wanted us to get different partners. He tried to convince Maribel that she should change to ribbons, but she wouldn’t hear of it – she wanted to work with me. She trusted me, she told him. I loved her, she loved me, and what better trapeze partners than two people who were completely devoted to each other, who trusted each other blindly?

She didn’t hear his muttered comment, about his hope that we would always be so devoted to each other, would always trust each other.

As Maribel prepares for the final somersaults, I remember the old  man’s words. I still love her, but I don’t trust her any more. I did, until this morning. She left our bed early in the morning, as usual, and went to the cafeteria for her only vice, a cup of coffee. I never indulge, so she didn’t expect me to have a sudden urge to be with her, to surprise her by joining her for breakfast. I dressed quickly and went to the cafeteria. It was empty. Maribel wasn’t there. Puzzled, I walked outside and thought I saw a piece of her yellow sundress fluttering in the wind, behind the building. Noiselessly, I approached the place and saw her. In the arms of the new strongman, Serge.

His huge hands were holding her tiny waist, and he was kissing her hungrily. Her hands had disappeared under his long hair, but I could see that she was caressing his neck. Then they separated and I saw the desire in her face, as she led him towards his lodgings.

I spent the whole day wondering if I should tell her than I had seen them together, that she had broken my heart, and I couldn’t trust her any more. But I couldn’t make myself do it. It would be an admission that Maribel wasn’t mine any more, that she was his now.

She’s doing her somersault now, her hands stretched towards mine. She trusts me, although she has betrayed my trust. She knows I will be there for her, my hands reaching out to hers with precision.

It’s only a matter of fractions of inches – one imperceptible tremor, or maybe a sweaty palm failing to grab another sweaty palm. She may not be mine, but she won’t be Serge’s, either.

2. Maribel

I have to concentrate in the last somersault, the hardest part of our number. But it comes easily now, after so many years of practice.

After tonight’s performance I will talk to Edouard. I have to tell him I’ve fallen in love with Serge, and I don’t want to do the trapeze any more. I want to move to ribbons.

I won’t be able to do this routine with Edouard if we’re not together any more. I need to trust him blindly.

Here I go, free in the air, my hand reaching out for his. I know he’ll catch me with precision, for our final act.

A fraction of an inch is all that separates us.