The Memory of Scent Read Online Free Page A

intricate and tuned as the workings of a clock. There is a large trapeze net and a man springing up and down with a rope tied to his waist as two men each hold one end of it. I pull back a canvas flap as I can hear voices inside. It is a huge space withone long bar area where three young women dry glasses while others flatten out sand heaps underfoot. They barely look up at me, even though they must know, must sense, that I am not of this place. Back outside again, a strong man holds two women aloft, one in each arm. His muscles are slathered in something; his vanity is clearly outstripping the women’s safety for I feel sure they will slide off the glistening and sinewy bulges. His manhood is tucked into folds of cloth, resembling something you would swaddle a baby in, his chest broad and bare.
    I feel more inclined now to brazenly lift the various canvas flaps as if peeping through a picture book. There is a whimpering sound coming from somewhere. I slowly step my way towards the source of it, which appears to be behind a wooden screen. There, standing naked with little skinny arms crossed in front of her, is a young girl of about fourteen or fifteen, head bowed with her dark hair falling forward. A man is walking around her as if he is inspecting merchandise. I remember hearing recently that the circus owner likes to stage side-show cabarets for select bands of gentlemen where they are entertained by nude girls. I hear myself shouting.
    ‘What the hell are you doing?’
    The man’s eyes meet mine with a steely gaze. ‘And who, might I ask, are you?’
    I am emboldened and move to grab the wrist of the young girl but an unkempt elderly woman sitting on a small stool in the shadows startles me as she presses down hard on her haunches and rears up like an angry beast.
    ‘Leave my granddaughter alone. Don’t you go near her.’
    The woman has a walking stick, and she raises it to hit me but I step back. I feel contempt for this woman rising biliously from deep in my stomach. The man throws a blanket at the young girl.
    ‘Look, the customers here are high class. This is not some brawling absinthe-soaked hovel. Anyway, I would never hire her: she is far too young and far too skinny. All of you just get out of here immediately and good riddance.’ Then, with a swipe of his forearm, he bursts out through the flap and into the afternoon air. The young girl starts to cry.
    ‘I am sorry, grand-mère .’ She begins to dress herself with the weariness of an eighty-year-old. The woman turns to me with flinty eyes and hisses at me.
    ‘Why would you do this? Who do you think you are?’
    The woman suddenly slumps back on to her stool as if broken. She wipes her eyes, then stands up and limps over to the girl to help her dress. She tenderly smoothes out the girl’s long hair.
    ‘Don’t worry sweetheart. Your grand-mère will find something.’
    I slowly back away, knowing that neither the woman nor the girl would even notice. I ease my way out to look for Maria. I want to leave immediately.
    * * *
    Maria and I drag ourselves slowly up the steep incline of the Rue Lepic where she has arranged to meet Henri in the Bonne Franquette bar. It is painted in a dark green, and the shutters have faded to an anaemic grey. There is little about it that is warm and inviting but still, many trawl up the hill to slay their demons here and it somehow fits my mood at this moment.
    ‘Ladies, here, try some of this. It will test you.’ Henri pushes his glass across the table towards me and I take a quick sip, nearly spitting it out again.
    ‘What is this devil’s brew?’
    ‘A wonderful mixture of absinthe, red wine and cognac,’ he winks.
    ‘I don’t have your constitution. I’ll have a cherry brandy please.’
    Maria requests a small beer. Henri clicks for the attention of the server.
    ‘Have you heard about the splattering?’ Henri is now poised on the edge of his chair with his eyes glistening. ‘Well, they are calling it that,