Hidden Colours, a Novel by Nillu Nasser

Author:Nillu Nasser [Nasser, Nillu]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: syrian refugees, berlin girl, best contemporary literary fiction, circus story books, literary fiction best sellers, refugee women, cultural integration
ISBN: 9781622537839
Goodreads: 42597918
Publisher: Evolved Publishing LLC
Published: 2018-12-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

The police came around, asking questions about a fight between two men in the park. Fear sparked in Yusuf when one of the officers closed in on him, and he found himself retreating from the common room, leaving it to Doris to smooth things over. He couldn’t be sure of the police agenda, or how Karl might have twisted the story of that afternoon, so his lips remained sealed about Karl’s repeated provocations.

Terrors began to fill his sleep once more. He couldn’t decide what the trigger had been: Simeon’s stabbing, the clashes at the circus, the argument with Ellie, or his growing suspicion that perhaps the Interior Minister wasn’t a friend to refugees after all. Fragments of Silberling’s television interview had filtered through to the circus folk, unsettling them, revealing the fragile footing they stood on in this new home of theirs.

If only he could reel back time. If only Selim hadn’t died. If only the war hadn’t started. If only his mother was there to believe in him when he didn’t believe in himself. If only he hadn’t come to this place. Why did everything good in his life crumble to dust?

He’d been unable to sit still since his argument with Ellie. Once he’d dressed, he headed to the circus tent to practice his skills, hoping the physical exertion would dull the whirr of thoughts in his head. The midnight blue and bronze tent quivered in the wind, as if it was a real, breathing person. Yusuf followed the tunnel into the ring and inhaled the scent of circus life: the sawdust that grounded him; the sweat of the performers; the lingering salty musk of popcorn.

He longed to practice alone, but an air of concentration pervaded the tent. A handful of performers toiled, deep in the throes of their routines, despite the early hour. Only repetition and rehearsal kept them sharp; rusty skills formed the surest route to injury. Witnessing their exertions brought him no pleasure this morning. He wasn’t himself. He recognised the patterns that revealed inner turmoil. Zul clowning about on the trampoline made him cringe rather than laugh. He squeezed his eyes shut in response to Aischa’s clumsy dismount from her galloping steed. Time and again, he’d observed variations of the acts, but his mental arithmetic of the timing of jumps or the crescendo of a set piece seemed off, as if his judgement was impaired.

As if he couldn’t trust himself.

He crossed his arms across his chest and retreated to the stands to wait. More performers arrived, skipping into the ring, calling out hello. Being here, surrounded by people, made Yusuf feel more alone than if he’d stayed cooped up in his flat. He pressed his lips together and scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration, restless, eager for his own turn.

Ellie lingered in his mind: her downturned lips, tearful eyes and the voice that sought to soothe him but fell short. He’d ruined everything. Even his friends in the circus couldn’t scale the walls he’d erected around himself.

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