“Sure,” she said, smiling. “He’s your brother.”

La Grande Sauterelle gave him another little push.

“You’re always pushing me,” he said, and this time he left for good.

He ran along the sidewalk, then crossed the street, just missing a cable car, went around a florist’s display and, cutting his way through the mob of people at the corner of Powell and Market, he came to the subway station. He leaned over the brass railing that went around the amphitheatre.

The tier in the middle? No, he wasn’t there.

There were people on all the benches, but he didn’t see Théo. He looked everywhere.

Suddenly he saw him: he had grey hair, and he looked like an old man, but it was him!

It was Théo!

He was sitting on a bench with some other people in the middle tier, and he was warming himself in the sun. He was sheltered from the wind. His hair was really very grey. Almost white. With eyes half shut against the sun, he was looking at what was going on down below.

And down below, in the centre of the open space opposite the subway station, there were circus trappings: a number of wooden crates, unicycles, Indian clubs, torches, top hats, musical instruments. In big letters on one of the crates were the words:

LOCOMOTION VAUDEVILLE

The people coming out of the subway were sitting on the steps or the ground. Jack waved at his brother, but Théo wasn’t looking in his direction. Anyway, there were more and more people, not just down below but also in the middle tier and up above, around the brass railing.

Now there was no more room down below.

It was better to stay up above.

He mustn’t lose sight of Théo.

A clown had just arrived. He wore no makeup but ‘Bounce the Clown’ was printed on his T-shirt. He was a short man, ageless or perhaps in his forties; he was bald, with a few lank wisps of hair on either side of his head. He was spinning a ball on his finger. He mingled with the spectators and talked with them. When he saw a child he would ask it to raise a finger in the air, and spinning the ball a little faster, he would balance it on the child’s finger.

Two other performers had arrived, a man and a woman, and they were juggling with the Indian clubs. The woman, who was very thin, wore a multicoloured costume; she was smiling. The man looked serious and wore black.

Théo was serious, too. He sat there motionless, his face imperturbable. Jack was watching the performers, but he was also keeping an eye on his brother. He felt a hand on his elbow: It was La Grande Sauterelle.

“I got too nervous to wait,” she said.