The Ice Child

UDDEVALLA 1973

Vladek’s behaviour was becoming more and more erratic. His workshop had gone bankrupt, and he paced the house like an animal in a cage. He talked a lot about his former life, about the circus and his family. He could talk about these things for hours, and all of them would sit and listen.

Sometimes Laila would close her eyes and try to imagine everything he was describing. The sounds, the smells, the colours, all the people he mentioned with such love and longing. It was painful to hear him say how much he missed them and to hear the underlying desperation in his voice.

Yet those moments also gave her an occasional breathing space. For some reason everything would quiet down and the chaos would stop. They all sat there as if in a trance, listening to Vladek, allowing themselves to be spellbound by his voice and his stories. His tales gave her an opportunity to rest.

Everything he described sounded as if it came from the world of fantasy and fairy tales. He talked about people who could walk a tightrope high above the ground, circus princesses who could do handstands on the back of a horse, clowns who made everyone laugh when they sprayed water at each other, zebras and elephants that performed tricks no one would have believed they were capable of doing.

And most of all, Vladek talked about the lions. The dangerous and powerful lions that had obeyed his every command. He had trained them as cubs, and they did everything he asked of them in the circus ring. The audience watched with bated breath, waiting for the wild beasts to launch themselves at him and tear him to pieces.

Hour after hour Vladek would talk about the people and the animals in the circus, about his family members who for generations had passed down the magic and the delight. But the minute he stopped talking, he would be yanked back to the reality that he wanted more than anything to forget.

The worst part was the uncertainty. It was like having a hungry lion wandering around, waiting to pounce on its prey. The outbursts and attacks were always unexpected, each time coming from a different direction than she had imagined. And her sense of exhaustion meant that she was less and less on guard.