that.’
So Jago put a leather safety harness around my middle. He tested the buckles and the rope. The strongman lifted me up and I stood as straight as I could. I was high up on a tiny wooden platform at one end of the tightrope, at least fifteen feet up over the square. I was cold, and I nervously flexed my toes while Jago lifted me a little off the platform to test the support rope.
‘Remember, try not to look down,’ he said. ‘If you feel wobbly, just stand still and breathe slowly, and remember you’re safe, there is the harness and if you fall you’ll just swing on the safety rope, so don’t panic.’
By the time I was ready, some of the wagons had left, trailed off into another part of the city. The strongman had stayed to help Jago, and I could see him below, warming himself at a brazier. It was my own fault; I had begged to try the tightrope, I had wanted to try it, but it meant I must learn the hard way.
I stepped out on to the rope. I kept my feet close together, one behind the other in a straight line. I felt an instinctive need to curl my toes over and around the rope, but the rope felt too thick.
I swayed and I raised my arms straight out from my body, parallel to my shoulders, and I looked straight ahead to the other pole, twenty feet in front of me. I raised my leg and felt my weight shift suddenly on to the other leg. At first I couldn’t bring the other down in front of it and I began to wobble. I flailed my arms to keep my balance. Suddenly I was swinging free on the safety rope and my breath had been pushed out of me in a visible cloudy rush as the harness pulled up on my chest. I swung past Jago, who was standing at the top of the ladder, and he smiled at me as if to say, ‘I told you so.’ I felt a fresh determination and a little lurch in my stomach as I was lifted up and dumped back on to the platform.
‘Don’t panic,’ said Jago. ‘Just walk forward slowly, confidently, as if you were on a pavement, and you had to walk only on the cracks, one foot behind the other. Didn’t you play that as a child?’
‘Not that I remember,’ I said.
I stood for a moment hunched forward, breathing hard, with my hands on my knees. I straightened myself, and I tried again.
This time, emboldened by the smile from Jago and an appreciative whistle from the strongman, I launched myself at speed. I walked forward without thought, with my arms outstretched. I imagined that the rope at my feet was like a wide road opening up on either side of me. I would show Jago. I crossed the rope, and this time the sky didn’t turn over and the harness didn’t tighten.
‘That’s better, good, amazing, in fact,’ Jago said. ‘Try again but don’t try and run before you can walk.’
I spent the rest of that cold morning trying the tightrope over and over. The strongman watched me from below, huddled by the brazier, warming himself as Jago paid out the line. My tenacity and Jago’s patience had impressed him. Despite the cold, and the dangerous height, I was gaining confidence with every one of my simple walks along the rope. I lost count of the number of times I crossed it. Then Jago had a try. He climbed up the support rope and stood bouncing in the middle of the tightrope; he balanced on one leg and twisted his hips so that his body faced outwards. In one hand he held his brightly patched parasol. He flung the parasol up in the air so it turned over and over. He caught the parasol on his head as it fell and held it there, so that he stood balanced on one leg and with the parasol upside down on his upturned head. I was on the platform, shivering but impressed all over again by Jago’s skills. If I could only master a little of that skill, I thought, I might be allowed to stay with them, to hide for ever. Anything but go back to living a pretend life in fear in that little attic room. I had discovered something that I could do, and do well, and perhaps it would be my ticket to freedom and a new
So Jago put a leather safety harness around my middle. He tested the buckles and the rope. The strongman lifted me up and I stood as straight as I could. I was high up on a tiny wooden platform at one end of the tightrope, at least fifteen feet up over the square. I was cold, and I nervously flexed my toes while Jago lifted me a little off the platform to test the support rope.
‘Remember, try not to look down,’ he said. ‘If you feel wobbly, just stand still and breathe slowly, and remember you’re safe, there is the harness and if you fall you’ll just swing on the safety rope, so don’t panic.’
By the time I was ready, some of the wagons had left, trailed off into another part of the city. The strongman had stayed to help Jago, and I could see him below, warming himself at a brazier. It was my own fault; I had begged to try the tightrope, I had wanted to try it, but it meant I must learn the hard way.
I stepped out on to the rope. I kept my feet close together, one behind the other in a straight line. I felt an instinctive need to curl my toes over and around the rope, but the rope felt too thick.
I swayed and I raised my arms straight out from my body, parallel to my shoulders, and I looked straight ahead to the other pole, twenty feet in front of me. I raised my leg and felt my weight shift suddenly on to the other leg. At first I couldn’t bring the other down in front of it and I began to wobble. I flailed my arms to keep my balance. Suddenly I was swinging free on the safety rope and my breath had been pushed out of me in a visible cloudy rush as the harness pulled up on my chest. I swung past Jago, who was standing at the top of the ladder, and he smiled at me as if to say, ‘I told you so.’ I felt a fresh determination and a little lurch in my stomach as I was lifted up and dumped back on to the platform.
‘Don’t panic,’ said Jago. ‘Just walk forward slowly, confidently, as if you were on a pavement, and you had to walk only on the cracks, one foot behind the other. Didn’t you play that as a child?’
‘Not that I remember,’ I said.
I stood for a moment hunched forward, breathing hard, with my hands on my knees. I straightened myself, and I tried again.
This time, emboldened by the smile from Jago and an appreciative whistle from the strongman, I launched myself at speed. I walked forward without thought, with my arms outstretched. I imagined that the rope at my feet was like a wide road opening up on either side of me. I would show Jago. I crossed the rope, and this time the sky didn’t turn over and the harness didn’t tighten.
‘That’s better, good, amazing, in fact,’ Jago said. ‘Try again but don’t try and run before you can walk.’
I spent the rest of that cold morning trying the tightrope over and over. The strongman watched me from below, huddled by the brazier, warming himself as Jago paid out the line. My tenacity and Jago’s patience had impressed him. Despite the cold, and the dangerous height, I was gaining confidence with every one of my simple walks along the rope. I lost count of the number of times I crossed it. Then Jago had a try. He climbed up the support rope and stood bouncing in the middle of the tightrope; he balanced on one leg and twisted his hips so that his body faced outwards. In one hand he held his brightly patched parasol. He flung the parasol up in the air so it turned over and over. He caught the parasol on his head as it fell and held it there, so that he stood balanced on one leg and with the parasol upside down on his upturned head. I was on the platform, shivering but impressed all over again by Jago’s skills. If I could only master a little of that skill, I thought, I might be allowed to stay with them, to hide for ever. Anything but go back to living a pretend life in fear in that little attic room. I had discovered something that I could do, and do well, and perhaps it would be my ticket to freedom and a new
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