No Stars at the Circus by Mary Finn

with eels of all different sizes. Then – CRASH! BANG! – there was the worst noise you ever heard at the front door.
    It was much worse than knocking. It was hammering and banging. Someone began to shout. I couldn’t make out the words so I was sure they must be German. Whoever it was sounded really,
really
angry. The banging just got louder and then something made of metal started to make a cruel hurting noise against the door. They were going to splinter it to bits.
    I knew right that minute that it must have been like this for Mama and Papa that morning in July. What did they do? Did they open the door or did they let it be broken down? Which was worse? Did Mama try to hide Nadia under the bed, telling her to run to the church on her own afterwards?
    I couldn’t run anywhere now. If I tried to go upstairs they’d see me through the smashed door. But if I waited they’d be in the hall in a minute. The kitchen was only a couple of steps down from the hall and then they’d find me.
    And I couldn’t just open the door now, not after all the banging.
    “Who are you? Why didn’t you open up straightaway? Where are your papers? Don’t you know we’re cleaning up this country?”
    That’s what they’d shout at me when they saw me.
    But first they shouted something else.
    “OPEN UP, BY ORDER OF THE—”
    I didn’t catch the next word, but now I could make out that they were speaking French. And then someone swore and a dog barked.
    Everyone knew the Germans had search dogs. They could sniff people out, even if they were covered in meat and hiding in a butcher’s shop.

HIDING
    The window in the kitchen was very small and very high up. There was a tiny yard outside but the Prof had told me that if you went out there you could be seen from the other houses. And there was no kitchen cupboard deep enough for me to fit into and hide, because they all had narrow rows of shelves inside them. Anyway, you can bet Germans know full well to throw open the cupboards first thing when they break into a house.
    But the kitchen was the only place I had.
    I got up really,
really
quietly and went to the cupboard nearest the cooker, where the Prof kept his sheets and towels. I rooted out some of these and then I sat on the floor and curled up. I pulled a few of the sheets and towels down and wrapped them around me, underneath as well. I wanted it to look as if the linens had fallen out while the Prof was in a mad rush looking for a clean shirt, or something. But I knew it wouldn’t fool the dog.
    Then I just sat. If I put my hands over my ears it would block out the noise at the door, but it would be worse not to know what was happening. Suppose they got in and I missed hearing that and then I sneezed? So I waited.
    Maybe it wasn’t even me they were after. Maybe the Prof had done something else wrong. Maybe he was a Commie. Papa said the Germans hated Commies nearly as much as they hated Jews. That’s because they’re fighting the Russians now and they’re Commies.
    If the police came and took the Prof away what would I do? What would he do? He was so old.
    I was breathing so fast I was sucking the sheet into my mouth. I’d no spit left and I really wanted to cough. Then I heard the door being flung open. Boots in the hall. It sounded like there was a whole battalion out there.
    I peed a little then, because of the shock, but I managed to stop. I tried to make myself stop shaking too. Towels don’t shake. I tried to breathe through my nose. Then I tried to become invisible.
    Signor Corrado says if you do a trick you have to believe in it yourself, totally.
    “Do you know why everybody believes my wife looks just like the Mona Lisa, Jonas?” he asked me one day. “It’s because she believes it herself.”
    He said an acrobat or a wire walker has to believe they can fly or walk through the air. They have to believe they will never fall. Or else they will.
    I had to be a towel or a pillow case that nobody would even