Think, Lord, a jester’s life is sad,
Change not “he has” into “he had,”—
Grant me my son.

—From The Clown’s Prayer

The Red Flower

ONE:

THE RED FLOWER

The boy was very still in the small white bed.

The man held the book and he tried to keep reading from it but his voice wouldn’t work and after a moment he let it drop by his side.

The boy’s breathing was shallow but regular, and his eyes were closed. The man thought of a day in spring, not that long ago, when he’d first taken the boy to see the circus. They’d walked hand in hand through the Midway, past candyfloss and popcorn stands and the flashing lights of carousels and hayrides. They saw the clowns. He bought the boy a balloon and gave it to him to hold, but the boy let it go and the balloon floated far high into the sky, until it vanished. The boy had burst into tears and the man picked him up and held him close in a hug he wished would never end, and after but a moment the boy smiled and held the man’s face in his hands and looked at him with such trust and love that it would have broken the man’s heart had he let it. Dad, he said. Dad.

He looked at the boy so still and so small in the bed.

I can’t, he said. I can’t.

The machines around the boy beeped and chirped.

He staggered out. Down, down to the ground floor.

Out of the doors into the night.

A vehicle went past flashing blue and white light.

It rained.

A small red flower bloomed by the side of the hospital gates.

A small red flower bloomed by the side of the road. The Stranger paused, following the trail of red drops down the slope. Pine needles crunched underfoot. The broken moon hung in the sky, as deformed and grotesque as a clown mask. The Stranger had been travelling for a long time, searching for the Flower of Heartbeat, and he was destined to travel for a long time more. He shifted the long rifle on his back and then drew it, cautiously. He proceeded down the slope.

The night sky was clear and in the distance he could see the first signs of a coming storm. Loose ankhs flashed on the horizon, and glowing ichthys fish burst briefly in vibrant blues and reds. The storm was coming, but it was still a long way off. The air smelled fresh and sharp. The Stranger discerned pine resin, gunpowder, blood. The pine trees were not tall and the needles brushed against his face as he passed through the trees.

When he reached the clearing he stopped, and then he put the rifle back over his shoulder. He stood stock still, looking at the bodies.