Wind Beneath My Wings (Tag: Alain)

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Some village in northern France, 1827

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Almost time… almost time…! Mylène gave the blurry and slightly distorted image in the old mirror one last checking glance, seeing a young girl staring back at her with widened eyes. Now, what was that?! Was Mylène La Coquine developing something close to stage fright ?! No, that was a laugh! She had mastered so many other situations, she had escaped from a place like hell, had survived five years as the leader of a child gang without being caught once, had intimidated even elder and stronger boys with her fierceness, and now her stomach was dropping by just thinking of going out there and dancing on a rope?! She could do this, of course she could! She would go out there and fascinate the crowd with her skills of balance and her daring. She was La Fille Volante… the Flying Girl – not the worst thing to be for a girl that valued freedom and independence over everything else.

So… why was she even feeling nervous? Was it because of the crowd? She was as social as one could be in her circumstances, and she looked forward to see them all entertained by something she did. She also wasn’t afraid of falling, she hardly did anymore, or else Alain would have never said she was ready for her opening show. Right now, she felt as at home as you possibly could on a tightrope, and she knew she would look marvellous with those stripes of blue cloth around her wrists that added to the ‘flying’ look of her performance, like very slim wings.
Mylène surely wasn’t getting her own nervousness at all, but telling herself that she was silly didn’t help either. Was she turning into a worrywart, she of all people? Oh, the devil forbid!

Energetically, she slapped the small wooden board in front of the mirror that acted as a table as well as a wall shelf, housing all kinds of make-up paraphernalia and whatever a carney needed to up his appearance, and thus she almost overheard the knock on the door that fell in right with her attempt to call herself to order. “Come in”, she encouraged whoever wanted her attention right now, guessing it to be Estelle, or maybe even Lucille, though that would be unlikely. Lucille had been a bit miffed over the last few days, ever since Alain had announced that she was ready to be presented. Oh well… that girl would hopefully get a grip soon. There was absolutely nothing to worry about!

[ALAIN LECORBEAU]

Always another town, another performance. Enough of a routine to be comforting—they usually stayed about a week in each area before moving on, sometimes two if business was especially good—and enough excitement to keep things interesting with the constant change of scenery. After a while on the road towns began to blend one into the other, the buildings and houses looked the same. Each had its specialty, musical instruments or textiles, but it was the people that really distinguished them and ensured that no two were the same. Alain did love that and would make a point of meeting as many townsfolk as he could, but such indulgences were best saved for after the performance.

The moments before each show were dedicated to feverish preparation. No matter how many times they'd done this, there was always some snarl in their best-laid plans that needed untangling. or less frequently a disagreement between Corbiers that needed settling. Alain thought of the group as his family, but the metaphor was too apt—they had squabbles sometimes as well as close camaraderie. Today though preparations were light, and only a few small things had to be seen to, easy things like minor repairs to equipment that was showing its age. They had enjoyed a string of modest success lately, so perhaps they could buy replacements soon.

Anyway, Alain was glad to have a few extra minutes before the show started because he wanted to check on Mylène, who was one of the newest additions to the Corbier family. This would be her very first performance and though she'd shown remarkable skill on the tightrope and was a brave soul in general, this was still the first time she would be appearing in front of a crowd. He could still remember it; he'd been even younger than she was now and the details of that old memory were hazy, but the feeling had stayed with him. It felt as if you were falling with no one and nothing there to catch you, a particularly bad sensation for an acrobat. So as soon as everything was as ready as it would ever be, he stopped by her door and knocked softly.

Given permission, he opened the door but didn't enter right away. "It's me," he said to announce his presence. "Not who you were expecting, I'm sure. I just had a spare moment and thought I'd stop in. Is everything all right? Anything you still need?" He was sure she was ready for this, of course; he wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. But sometimes that same knowledge hadn't quite caught up to the performer him- or herself.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène’s face was half-turned towards the door expectantly, and so she recognized the attire even before she saw the face belonging to it appearing in the doorframe, and knew instantly that she apparently had been mistaken. What would Alain be doing, checking on her? For a split second, panic flooded her mind. Was something wrong? Would he tell her he’d changed his mind and that she could not perform after all? That he thought she was not ready?! But as soon as these thoughts had appeared, they already vanished again and she thought herself completely silly. Of course Alain would not say that, there was no need for doubting her skills, she was GOOD at this. She had always been agile, and from a wall crest to a tight rope, there was a smaller step to take than one might think. She thrived on the challenge and the risk, and she knew that one day that tightrope might not be enough for her… Mylène would want more, would want new challenges.

“Alain!” she exclaimed, obviously delighted by the tone of her voice. “Yer right, not who I expected at all, bu’ tha’ doesn’ mean yer unwelcome. Come on in, a’right?” There was not much space to stand in the tiny caravan, but the carneys after all were used to that. The whole world was their living room after all, if they wanted it so, and they only used the wagons for storing their little belongings and sleeping. Turning slowly towards him, she comtemplated his question for a moment, but then shook her head. “There’s nuthin’ really I can think o’ now. Might realize though when I’m on the rope tha’ I’ve forgotten me head somewhere dun there.” She joked, trying to overplay her anxiety. Anxiety was weakness, and Mylène had long since buried all signs of weakness deep inside of her, as the life she had led dictated it so. Those who showed weaknesses were the prey, the others the hunters. Having lived by such maximes for so long, it was not easy to get rid of them now.

“How many have gathered?” she asked then, “enough te make this show worth our while? Tha’ blasted rain the las’ few days didn’ get us many spectators. I was convinced France would drown eventually, bu’ alas, here we still are." She was running her mouth as always, it just felt good to do ordinary things right now, when she was about to try something extraordinary.

[ALAIN LECORBEAU]

Despite the earlier permission, Alain still lingered at the threshold, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. Everyone had their peculiarities right before a show, even old hands could be thrown off balance by the wrong interruption. Mylène had been with them for some time, but there was a world of difference between an audience of friends and maybe a flock of starlings, and an audience of people. Until he had a better sense what her pre-performance rituals were, he wouldn't just impose himself. But she was no gruff strong man and was quick to issue an invitation, which he accepted with a smile. As he straightened his body from its leaning position, he did the same for his costume, which was in the same colorful vein as his everyday clothes, just a shade or two brighter and with an exaggerated amount of flair. It was no good getting a crease in it, there would be no time to shoo it away again before the show.

Ducking his head, he entered. Portability was the watchword of these tiny caravans, and that included height. The ceiling just barely avoided the top of his head. There was a reason they spent as little time inside as possible, but the tiny wagons were perfect for their purpose. Meanwhile Mylène was trying to make light of things, but it wasn't hard to guess she was at least a little bit nervous. Well, there were remedies for that and if humor would help, he would join in. His tone mock-serious but belied by the smile threatening to surface, he said, "Incidentally, did you know we once had a headless fellow? Could take it right off his shoulders, it was a really big draw as you can imagine. But then... the Garnier twins thought it was great fun to steal it, and one day they forgot where they'd hidden it. So the poor man had to go on without any head at all. He was a hopeless juggler after that. We had to get him a job as a hat model."

It was bad form to laugh at your own jokes, but he couldn't help smiling a bit. Then he put a hand lightly on her shoulder. "You'll do beautifully. You have a real knack for it. And I wouldn't worry about your head, it looks pretty well attached to me." She asked after the crowds, and he was glad to have good news to deliver. "There's more than enough, looks like half the town. We may even have the rain to thank for that. Now the sun's finally come out, everyone's eager to come out and enjoy it. If you're ready, maybe you'd like to follow their example. It's still a while before you're on." The sun, as if celebrating its newfound freedom, was shining with extra vigor, and he doubted even the worst case of the nerves couldn't survive its rays.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

The funny story Alain recountered was exactly what Mylène needed right now to get her mind off the minutes that were to come. She already had heard so many tales since she had been starting to live with Les Corbeils, and yet she could not recall ever having heard of a headless man. It was surely intriguing, and she found herself wondering: “He was not REALLY headless, right? What did ye do? Was he wearing somethin’ o’er his head tha’ gave him a bigger height an’ false shoulders, so he could take off tha’ false head?” Mylène laughed merrily as she tried to imagine the poor man walking around looking for his head that had been hidden so well that it could not be found again. “Ah, the Garniers! Always the ones te cause mischief! Bu’… wha’ became o’ the hat model? Did ye ever see him again? Or…” she could not help but grin, “is it somun I know an tha’ never told me ‘bout it, cause it’s such a weird story?”

Alain’s encouragement came a little unexpected, but it was all the moe welcome for its novelty. This man wasn’t usually one to wear his heart on his sleeve like that, even though he had always nurtured her talents. He must have seen something in her from the start after all, or else he wouldn’t have offered her a place in his troop a few weeks before. Was it really only a few weeks?! It felt more than just a lifetime, with the whole different world she had entered. The community she felt here was so different from the comfort of the thieves and beggars in the Cour des Miracles. There you never knew what they truly were thinking, except of maybe a selected few. You always had to watch your back. Here, with Les Corbeils, she dared not hope yet, but she might have found a little kind of family. It surely was always fun and amiable.

“Thanks Alain, I will try not to make a mess and ruin the show”, she promised with a grin. “I might refrain then from the double salto mortale I practiced when you weren’t lookin'.” Of course she had done no such thing, she knew she was not ready yet for such stunts, even though of course she had tried a salto on the ground already, trying to land on a narrow spot she marked with a twig. But she still had balance problems when coming back on the ground, so that was not advisable to do on a rope yet. One day though… one day, she really would fly! When he asked her if she wanted to come out, she cocked her head in thinking. Getting out into the sun was always a plus, she loved the feeling of sunlight on her skin. “Bu… is it a’right fer people te see me in me costume before the show? Wha’ shed I say if someun approaches me? How do ye deal wi’ spectators, Alain?” This was something she had no idea of, and she didn’t want to make any mistakes. Surely after her first performance and after a few more, she would become nonchalant and bold like she always was. Just… not yet.

[ALAIN LECORBEAU]

Sometimes all it took was a distraction. Rather like magic, actually. A little sleight of hand, and the eye—or the mind—was drawn elsewhere. It didn't affect reality at all. The rabbit was still there, hiding in a cage underneath the table. The stage fright didn't necessarily disappear. But as long as it wasn't top of mind, it didn't have nearly as much power. Alain did smile at her questions, totally in his element now. This was good warmup for when in a few minutes he would have to narrate the show. "That would be telling," he scolded, entirely in jest. "What, don't you believe a man can be headless? It's true! He kept it in a box and for his act, he would set it out on a table so he could see to juggle."

This was, strictly speaking, true; he'd just neglected to mention that it was a sculpted replica of a head, skillfully painted and even equipped with real hair. He could see though that Mylène wouldn't be satisfied with nothing but glibness, so he continued more seriously, "Yes, it was a false head. Very convincing from a distance, though. Thibault was before your time, but he could do things with a paintbrush you wouldn't believe." Most of the Corbiers had more than one skill; it was a factor of the kind of person who fell into a group of entertainers. They had usually been out on the streets, necessity a harsh but effective teacher. And if they didn't when joining the troupe, they often learned from each other. "Well," Alain answered, his smile returning at the question of the man's fate, "far be it for me to reveal a man's secrets, but I will tell you this much: you do know him." That should keep her guessing for a while—and it had the advantage of being entirely true.

He didn't know her well yet, but he had an eye for talent, had seen it that day when she'd nearly gotten away with his purse. Nothing of her in the past few weeks had found him doubting that first impression. "The only mess will be the muddy ground, and you'll be high above it," he assured her, although his eyes widened a bit. For a half second he thought she might have been serious and was concerned, but then he saw her grin and relaxed. "Yes, not a bad idea there. You'll have plenty of time to learn those, no need to rush it." Rushing things could be risky with an act like hers. It was all very well getting ahead of yourself if you had two feet planted on the ground and all you had to worry about was whether you could handle an extra object to juggle. A misstep on the tightrope could have tragic consequences. Alain didn't mind taking risks himself, but he guarded his family from them as best he could.

"What do you tell them? Why, that you're La Fille Volante, of course! And that they should stay around to watch you. You've seen how the others mingle with the crowd sometimes. The people are here to see a spectacle, it just becomes part of the excitement for them. You can think of it as another part of the act." He paused, adding, "There's the space behind the wagons if you really don't feel up to that yet. I don't know about you, but close quarters don't bring out my best."

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Now Alain had managed it, Mylène was laughing heartily inspite of her nervousness, as she listened to her mentor’s fake assurings that the man they had been talking about indeed had been headless. Every person in their own mind knew that could not be true, but she didn’t doubt it must have been a grand act. A sad fact that she wouldn’t be able to see it anymore, since the twins had mislaid it. That of course was the worst thing that could happen to a troupe, their props getting mislaid or stolen. “Maybe it was also stolen?” she suggested, following her trail of thoughts. “Imagine how exciting tha’ wed be fer a few rascal youths. If ye here stories ‘bout a headless ghos’ or sumthin’, ye shed follow tha’ trail, it might lead ye te the missin’ head.”

Thibault... no that name didn’t ring any bells with her, but that didn’t mean anything. Especially here with the jugglers, the phrase ‘what’s in a name’ was very much observed. Along with their christian names, almost all had their pseydonym, like with Alain ‘The Crow’. Mylène herself had heard some nickname of her own a few times, La Coquine, the bold and cocky one. She liked it... it made her seem special. And then, after this day if everything went smoothly, she might have yet another nom de guerre: La Fille Volante... if she didn’t become La Fille Tombée! But her anewed worries were washed away instantly as Alain hinted at her knowing this Thibault. How?! Her curiosity was piqued and her thoughts started to race. There were a few males in the troop, but they also had good connections to other bands of jugglers with whom they met regularly in Paris. “Please.... Alain, je te supplie ! Tell me who Thibault is now !Or give me ‘nother hint so I can find it out for meself!”

She bit her lip as she walked towards him, pondering over his suggestion. It was tempting to escape the hustle and bustle outside for a little more and just get some air without being bothered, but Mylène knew that in hindsight she would never forgive herself that weakness. Backing out was not her way, and she better did not start with it now. “No, no… let’s go outside and face them I say. I just wasn’t sure whether people are allowed te know wha’ I do an’ wha’ me act is, ye know. Bu’ if the others have no problem wi’ it, it’s wha’ I will do. I am one of ye now, after all, am I not?”
She gave a shrug and tried a hesitant smile. “Tha’s right ‘bout close quarters though. I’ve only ever got inte crowds when I wanted te steal from people. An’ in me time wi’ the gang, we had our own lil cavern, jus’ us kids, like ten o’ us. We din’ allow any adults in, cause we din’ trust ‘em.”

[ALAIN LECORBEAU]

He was in his element. Though Alain had a good eye for juggling and could fill in at a moment's notice, weaving stories was the biggest part of his public contribution to the group's performances. With truth the warp and embellishments the weft, he could quickly create a colorful cloth where before there had been nothing. Still, he was equally willing to let it be the backdrop for the ungarnished truth. "That's the most likely," he admitted, not liking to think badly of any of their audiences, but that was probably just what had happened. "It may have been only a spare to its owner, but he rarely let it out of his sight. Anyway, I sometimes wonder if the thief was able to find a buyer for it. Seems to me its uses would be rather limited." He smiled at her suggestion; it appealed much more to him, that some youths had been drawn by the spell of excitement to snatch the head. "Oh, believe me, we've kept our ears to the ground, but so far, not a single solitary rumor." Which probably meant it had been taken by a professional, but he preferred not to think that, not now he had an alternative.

Her eager curiosity made him smile too, and he looked askance at her, pondering just how much he should tell her. It would be more fun—and a better distraction from her nerves—to keep her guessing a little, but it would be a fine balance to strike. If he didn't throw her any more breadcrumbs of clues, she might well implode. Folding his arms, which for him was an at-ease pose, Alain said, "Well, he's not with us now, but you might find him if you ask around for a giant in Montparnasse. He's well-known there." In addition to being a skilled juggler and uncanny painter, this Thibault had also been over two metres tall, and aside from that was known as a gentle if boisterous man. He probably was not going by the same name anymore, that was the way these things went, but height like that you couldn't exactly hide.

"Allowed?" he exclaimed. "Of course it's allowed. There's few rules in this business to begin with and that's not one of them. Just look at it this way: you're not spoiling the crowd, you're giving them a taste of what's in store. That will only make them the hungrier to watch you when your turn comes." There was a slight art to it, a showmanship required, but he had no doubt she'd pick it up quickly. She was outgoing and already had a flair for performance, of which working the crowds was just a natural extension. "Yes, you are one of us. I hope everyone's been making you feel at home." He tried to keep an eye on his little family, and trusted every one of them to be welcoming, but even he couldn't be everywhere at once.

Alain was surprised by this revelation, small as it was. Most members of the troupe were reluctant to talk about that part of their past, the part they were running from—or at least walking away from without looking back. So if she was willing to tell him this much, she must trust him and he would treat it accordingly. "Well, you'll be working the crowds in a very different way today," he said with an encouraging smile. "Stealing hearts in place of purses." He paused to shift into complete seriousness. She had only told him the sketchiest outline of her life before joining the Corbiers, but it was enough to know it had been tough. "That sounds like close quarters indeed. But sometimes, just sometimes you need a haven more than freedom." The troupe was his haven now, but for several years it had been the hot forges of a blacksmith's shop.