The Big Top Crew – Part 1: Raising the Tent

"The big top goes up in four hours," said Marek.

"And if it doesn't?" said Nina.

"Then we sleep under the stars. Which is nice, but not profitable."

She looked at the huge heap of grey-green canvas lying on the damp grass of a park in Prague, with the pile of steel poles, the coils of rope and the dozen sweating crew members standing round, drinking tea. It was six in the morning. A thin autumn mist lay over the trees. Somewhere, an elephant, or something large, trumpeted.

She was thirty-one, a new rigger, small and sinewy, in muddy boots, a battered leather jacket and a woollen hat, with a rope coiled over one shoulder and a determined jaw. Marek, thirty-six, the crew chief, was big and calm, with a bushy beard and a ringmaster's moustache, in a vast sheepskin coat and a pair of enormous gloves. He held a clipboard like a sword.

"You have done this before?"

"Twice. A small tent."

"This is not small."

"I noticed."

He grinned. "Then you will learn fast. Take that rope."

For four hours, they heaved and hauled. The centre poles rose, creaking, into the sky. The canvas swelled and billowed. Shouts echoed: Pull! Hold! Lift! Nina found herself on the end of a line with three men, heaving until her palms burned, her shoulders cracking. At ten, the great red-and-white tent stood proud against the grey sky, flags flying from the peak.

They stood in a ragged line, panting, grinning up at it.

"We did it," whispered Nina.

"We did."

"It's enormous."

"It is only a tent." Marek smiled, and put an arm round her shoulders, briefly, with the easy warmth of a man who hugged everyone after a build. "A very good tent. You worked well."

"I almost dropped a pole."

"Almost is the best kind of drop."

She laughed. At noon, the crew sat on crates with tea and sausages, watching the first performers arrive in a rattle of caravans: acrobats, clowns, jugglers, a pair of white horses.

"Can I ask you something?" said Nina.

"Yes."

"Is it always like this?"

"Always," said Marek. "That is why I stay."

"Green?" she said, a flag, a rope.

"Green," said Marek, a slow smile. "Very green. Dinner is at six."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Storm Night.