Vladivostok Circus by Elisa Shua Dusapin
Author:Elisa Shua Dusapin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC019000, FIC071000, FIC133000
Publisher: Scribe Publications Pty Ltd
Published: 2024-04-03T00:00:00+00:00
WE WATCH the training videos seated on Antonâs bed with the laptop propped on the bedside table. Almost three weeks into their preparations theyâd decided they were ready to attempt the four consecutive triples they were planning for the competition. The video shows Leon attaching a harness to Annaâs waist and linking it to a pulley attached to the ceiling. Anton double-checks everything Leon does, commenting all the time. He makes no attempt to be subtle. This goes on for a long time. Itâs uncomfortable to watch, especially when he starts complaining about the double bass. He says itâs really bothering him, heâs fed up with being spied on by the two stupid holes on its front. The film stops. When it starts up again the double bass is concealed beneath the black cloth Iâve placed over it. The camera zooms in on Nino. Every time he and Anton catch Anna, he tenses his chin, a blue vein bulging in his neck, his face set in concentration. His look is more intense than Antonâs. I hadnât noticed it before. As if his task is different from Antonâs despite the symmetry of their positions. Anton seems to lean in, Nino to push away. Or the other way round. Anna abandons the fourth jump, twice. Anton says theyâll never be ready if she carries on being scared. Or if sheâs still in pain.
âIâm not scared and Iâm not hurting!â she shouts. âShit! Itâs the bar, itâs too flexible! Iâm not going high enough, I donât have time to spin.â
Her voice sounds shrill, I canât help thinking sheâs not being honest. That for once, she really is scared. She sits down on the ground. I zoom in on the bar. Annaâs voice can be heard asking me to cut.
âWhat was that? Did you see that?â Leon asks. He peers closely at the screen.
The next shot is of his hands in close-up. The skin is red and wrinkled from the friction of the rope. The camera pans the length of the bar towards the basesâ hands, placed one on top of the other, broad and claw-like, fingers tensed like crab pincers. Annaâs feet, like hooves, laced into reinforced pumps. Then back towards the bases, their wrists. Anna. Ankles. Legs. Feet. Ankles. Wrists. The camera attempts to follow the jumps but it all happens so fast, a blur of toes that look like claws, hands that resemble talons, a body securely strapped into the safety harness, hooks at the waist, the rope sliding, the sound of clicks and pulleys, a low rumbling amplified by the microphone, echoing in the void beneath the dome of the ceiling.
I remark curtly that this is what they asked me to do, close-ups of each member of the group. The tension heightens. I wish I hadnât spoken so harshly. The only one Iâm cross with is Leon. I still havenât managed to talk to him about the failure of my costumes, I donât know if heâs made any progress on his end.
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