“Ladies and Gentlemen. Children of All Ages.”

Natasza is bouncing her ball in the hallway of her grandparents’ house. It’s a red ball, big and shiny, and she loves it. On the Minton floor, it goes thump, thump. Occasionally, it slips from her hand and ricochets off the things that are on the shelves and the telephone table. The stuffed rabbit in the hunting hat is knocked askew. The angel chimes ring out prettily.

The hallway is old and dark, full of wonderful, musty air. The lamps are shaded with fringed, burgundy velvet and at least two of the ornaments show naked, embracing lovers. Louche leftovers from her grandmother’s dancing days.

The mirror in the hallway is ridiculously large. It’s made of brass, ornate and curlicued.  Everything should be reflected in it, but Natasza can barely see the top of her head. She stands in front of it and starts bouncing the ball there. It makes her giggle so much when she sees the ball appearing, then disappearing in the mirror. “Granddad, Dziadzia, come and see”, she says. “I’m doing a magic trick”.

She hears the creak of the leather as he gets up from his chair and she jigs with excitement because she knows in a minute, he’s going to be with her. She continues to bounce the ball and its red, wild child movement rips through the ancient air of the hallway and the air is grateful for it.

The stained glass window casts green and purple across the kilim rug in a slanting, bejewelled light.

***

Natasza’s late for school again and she doesn’t even want to go. It’s all rush and dash and brush your hair bother. She hasn’t packed her bag yet and the bus will be here in five minutes. In her grandparents’ hallway, she crams everything into her satchel and picks it up to put over her shoulder. But as usual, she’s going too fast and in the buckling of the satchel, Natasza manages to throw everything out of it. Pens, pencils, text and exercise books strewn like tumbled down acrobats over the hall floor. She smiles at the chaos, at the naughty thought that she could gather it all up in one big armful and throw it in the bin.

Instead, she pauses and looks in the hall mirror. She’s had a growth spurt lately and she can see her face clearly, but she doesn’t like what she sees. Her face is serious and long and it’s rather unsymmetrical. The look overall reminds her of the distortion you notice in the funhouse mirrors. A nose that’s too out there and piggy little eyes. She frowns, tries to even out the height of the pigtails on either side of her head, shrugs and gives up.

“Come on Natasza, come on. You’re going to be late”, her grandmother calls from the kitchen. Raising her voice has instantly tired her and Natasza hears her coughing and her grandfather’s voice tutting and then reassuring. Natasza wonders at what point she’d stopped being her grandmother’s Mushka, her little fly, and the thought makes her sad. In the middle of her crazy whirl to get out of the door, she does at least remember to shout goodbye.

As she is leaving, Natasza takes one more look in the mirror and in its gleam, in the hall’s familiar darkness, she catches the bounce of a red ball out of the corner of her eye.

***

It’s 1964 and Natasza has a man to meet. Well, not a man exactly, but eighteen year old Jonathan Cunningham from the office where she’s temping. He says he’s beguiled by her and he wants to take her to the pictures. He wants to hear more about her grandparents’ circus days, her grandmother, the dancer in feathers and sometime fortune teller; her grandfather, the magician and when it was needed, stand in clown. “You’re so exotic”, he says, “tell me more stories”.

But Natasza isn’t sure about this at all. There’s nothing very exotic about her and she’d only mentioned her family’s history in passing one lunch break when someone had asked her about her name. Besides, they’re her stories, her people.

Nevertheless, she’s put on some makeup and ironed her blouse and she knows Jonathan Cunningham means her no harm. Before she leaves the house, she goes upstairs to check her grandparents are safely tucked up and to see whether there’s anything they need.  She doesn't really want to leave them, but she can't be with them all the time.  They’re in their single beds, separated only by the little pot cupboard with their pills and their water on. While she’s talking to them her grandfather reaches over the gap to try and hold her grandmother’s hand, but he misses and for a few moments he futilely scrabbles at her quilt while he tries to locate it.

As she’s about to close their bedroom door, she looks back at them one last time and in the glow of the lamp on the dressing table, she sees her grandfather’s magician’s cloak hanging on a wall hook by the window. The cloak’s black and red, dramatic swirls look too vivid, too vital in the soft, old rose of the bedroom. “Good night, my darling Kasia, sleep well”, she hears her grandfather whisper. “I love you, Aleksy”, her grandmother replies.

In her grandparents’ hallway, Natasza looks in the large, brass mirror. Even in the hall’s muted lighting, she can see she has too much makeup on. Her eyes are ringed with an excess of kohl and her lips are far too red. She shakes her head at her own clownish desperation and for a second in the mirror, catches sight of the girl who didn’t care much about what she looked like. The whirlwind chaotic, pigtail crazy girl, always moving, always dancing – and she wonders where she’s gone.

***

Natasza has been to the circus. She hadn’t particularly wanted to, but she’d promised her friend, Nell, she would go with her and Nell’s two, young daughters. The girls had had a blast. Sitting in the chairs at the very back of the big top, they’d gasped at the tightrope walkers, they’d laughed at the clowns and they’d stared open mouthed at the tigers and lions, little hands clapping in unison.

Natasza had resisted the urge to talk to them or to Nell while the performance was on. But it was something she’d really wanted to do, because she didn’t want to be drawn into the world in the ring. She didn’t want to be convinced of its reality or be compelled by its glitter and magic. She knew, however, it would be unfair to break the spell for the children; so instead, she’d contented herself with pressing the canvas walls of the big top so she could feel its flimsiness, its temporary nature.

Afterwards, on the way home, Nell had walked ahead, a tired, excited little girl holding her hand on each side. The girls had chattered on, talking over each other and periodically shrieking with hysterical happiness. Natasza had walked behind them and every so often, she had stretched out her hands as if to hold the hands of her children. Her air children, her ghost children. As flimsy and insubstantial as the walls of the circus tent.

Back in her grandparent’s hallway, her hallway now she reminds herself, Natasza looks in the mirror. She sees the hallway reflected back, known and unknown in the glass. She’s changed nothing in the house. Why should she? She loves it just as it is. It’s full of memories and precious things and smells and feelings that matter to her. Sometimes she’s sure she can hear her grandfather calling her name still, her grandmother telling her to hurry up, she’s going to be late.

Her face in the mirror is a solid face. Not pretty in the slightest, a sensible, middle-aged face. She sees the lines on her forehead and round her mouth are taking hold more sternly, and deep in the mirror, Natasza glimpses a previous face. One with too much kohl and lipstick on and she thinks that in this moment, she could do with that face’s glamour.

***

Natasza is alone in the hallway of her grandparents’ house. It’s a cold February evening and the air in the house is freezing as she can’t afford to put the heating on. She’s feeling very tired and knows she should really go and sit down, but it seems too much trouble. Instead, she continues to look in the large, brass mirror. She wonders when her face had deflated to the point it resembles the disappointed creases of a punctured ball, sucked in and old lady gaunt.

There is a slight movement behind her and Natasza looks round to see that the angel chimes are rotating and tinkling, but there is no draught to move them. She looks back in to the mirror and catches a flamboyant slash of gold and red at the periphery of the glass, but when she looks behind her to see what the mirror could possibly have captured, there is nothing there.

Then, on the rimy air, she hears the unmistakable, bright brashness of circus music. Yaht daht dada dada daht daht dada. Daht daht dada dada daht daht dada. Over and over.

Natasza looks left, down to the far end of the hallway by the kitchen and she sees something coming towards her. It’s a procession, a wild and crazy, technicolour parade. First there are the clowns with their sad happy faces, then the animals and their tamers. Then the acrobats flipping and somersaulting as they advance, then the circus freaks and the dwarves. She presses herself flat along the wall to let them pass and she no longer feels tired or cold, or old. She’s an excited, little girl again, eyes flashing and heart beating with the lawless delight of it all.

Towards the back of the procession, there is a dancing girl. She’s so beautiful with her intense blue feathers as she shimmies and sashays. When she passes her, she smiles at Natasza and blows her a kiss. The last person in the procession is the magician. He looks wise and formidable in his billowing cloak and tall black hat. As he swishes past Natasza, she sees he has his name written in silver and black sequins on the back of this cloak. The Great Aleksy Gizinski.

He stops, turns round and he looks at Natasza. His eyes are twinkling and he looks so full of life and mischief. He holds out his hand to her and with wonder and relief, Natasza takes it.

Domestic Detail in the House of Dreams