Meeting Xavier

[moonshadows]

The lights go on. I'm standing by the center pole, leaning against it as though it were a light post. I'm wearing a trench coat and fedora, and a newspaper covers my face. The audience can see my hands and feet, and the tip of my tail which I twitch very obviously at my ankles. Pre-jump sense would have let me know when the clown wandered into the ring, even if the audience's cheers hadn't...but it lets me know when he approaches.

[Excuse me, sir...] The clown has wandered up to me and taps me on the shoulder. It's one of the younger, more limber clowns - and incidentally, one of the shorter and lighter. This has the double bonus of making the gymnastics easier on the other clowns, and making me look like a man instead of a boy. [Excuse me, sir!] The clown, having been ignored, is more insistent.

[Yes?] I answer without moving the paper.

[I believe you are wearing my hat.] The clown is comically indignant, and the crowd loves it. I lower my newspaper slowly to the eerie organ music. The clown is looking the other way, and doesn't see the unveiling of my blue face. I take the hat off my head. [Here you go.] The clown turns around, and does a well-rehearsed take at the big plastic horns on my head. With a yelp he takes off, and the chase routine begins. I leave the trench coat behind with the first jump, and am wearing only a loincloth - and the hat, which I hold in one hand.

A good clown act moves like clockwork. The music sounds pell-mell, but is actually giving us our cues. I cry out, [Wait!] and give chase. My jump-sense is fully activated, and all rational thought ceases. There is only the choreographic mental commentary. Turn, pose, wait four beats. Jump, pose, clown climbs six rungs on the ladder. Jump, appear on the ladder, clown falls back into the arms of the back-up clowns. The act progresses, and during it I use my jump-sense to keep tabs on where everyone is. I notice a man in the crowd, however, and that's unusual. He stands out in my jump-sense. He's middle-aged, in a wheelchair, and sitting absolutely still. That's not enough to explain why he stands out, though. It's as though his calm face draws my inner eye.

There's a part in the act where the clown tries to hide in the audience. By some coincidence, he picks the section the wheelchair man is sitting in. My part requires me to pick a member of the audience and appear in front of them, ask then if they've seen the clown. The jump-sense is so strong that it's like I'm performing in slow-motion, or a dream. I come out of my jump right in front of this serene man, ritualistically say my lines, and he smiles and points to the clown, who immediately bolts. But all this time, his eyes - those calm, piercing eyes - are boring into mine. I am a friend, they say. I can help you, they say. All through the routine, I can feel those eyes on me.

The act ends with me chasing the clown out of the ring on all fours, hat balanced on my upraised tail. The audience loves it. While the animal act goes on, I'm resting and eating a light, high-energy snack. My special act is the last one of the night, and it's a very strenuous one. Finally the act is over, and the Circus Master enters the ring to explain my act. The twenty-five clowns grab their balloons and arrange themselves throughout the ring. I'm wearing a comfortable spandex body suit and strapping on my needle-gloves while waiting for my cue. The opening notes of Nena's "99 Luftballons" begin playing, and the Circus Master explains that I'm going to pop all hundred balloons by the end of the song - without touching the ground, or letting any balloon touch the tent fabric.

The Circus Master announces me and I jump to his side, raising my hands and playing to the crowd. The Circus Master backs out of the spotlight as the trapeze lights go up, and I'm on. There is no time for thought; there is only the jump-sense telling me where the balloons are. I don't know how the clowns decide when to let the balloons go, I just jump frantically around the ring and pop the highest balloon - usually. Once in a while, I'll let one go almost to the top before popping it - the crowd always loves that.

Finally, I'm down to one balloon and the last verse will begin soon. I jump to it and grab the string, then begin the trickiest part - a controlled fall after an exhausting few minutes of nonstop, high-intensity jumping. I open the post-jump-sense all the way and aim it towards the top of the tent, managing a slow, drifting fall all the way to the floor of the ring. The crowd is going nuts, and with leaden arms I do a bit of choreography to the last verse, letting the last balloon go, then jumping up, popping it, and vanishing in a small cloud of smoke. I reappear in a small, heavily-guarded tent to the rear of the bigtop.

The tent has been specially prepared for me; there's a selection of cheeses and meats on a plate, and a huge pitcher of juice with a glass. I collapse into the poofy chair and weakly help myself. Frau Meyer, the [Circus Mother] is there cooing over me and mopping sweat off of my face. Bruno and Boffo, the two burliest men in the circus, peek in for a second to make sure all is well before returning to discouraging curious people. I'm vulnerable right now, and if I were able to think clearly it would scare me. My special routine exhausts the part of me that lets me jump, and jumping takes energy. I'm literally unable to move faster than a stagger, and I can't even summon the pre-jump sense.

I nibble on cheese and meat, and Frau Meyer pours me juice regularly. After a few minutes I'm able to think again, although I know the jump-sense won't return for another hour or so. Bruno's arguing with an American outside the tent; he has a smooth, pleasant voice, though I can't hear the words. Boffo peeks back in, and gestures to Frau Meyer to talk to the American. I can hear some words now; from what I can gather, the American wants to talk to me and Frau Meyer doesn't want to let him. The tent flap opens slightly in a gust of wind, and I catch a glimpse of the man: it's the calm man in the wheelchair.

[Frau Mutti,] I say. Immediately she's at my side, glaring at the American. [He's in a wheelchair, he can't hurt me. If he stays on the other side, Bruno or Boffo could get to him before he could get to me.]

Frau Meyer nods, although it's obvious she has her reservations, and lets the American into the tent. He wheels carefully inside, and Frau Meyer bustles about in the back of the tent. I look at the man.

"Good evening, Mr. Wagner." The man inclines his head towards me.

"How is it that you know my name?" I never go by my real name; only the police and the circus know it.

"I've been paying attention to you for quite some time; your abilities are...unusual, even among mutants." Behind me, Frau Meyer stiffens with anger.

"Meine Kurt ist keine mutant!" she exclaims with indignation. "He ist a treasure of the Cherman nation!"

The man smiles at her. "I'm well aware of the protected status of German mutants, Mrs. Meyer. I meant no disrespect. I, too, am a mutant." He looks at me. "A telepath." The word goes over Frau Meyer's head; her English is not that good.

"What is it that you want with me?"

"The question, Kurt, is: What do you want?" He leans back in his wheelchair. "I run a school for...gifted youngsters, children and teenagers with unusual abilities. I realize that being with the circus must have trained you quite a bit, but there's something missing...isn't there?" His eyes bore into mine again. I see your pain, they say. "Looking as you do, travelling as you do...you've had little chance to relax around people your own age, and less chance at formal schooling.

Frau Meyer bristles again. "Ve have taught him as vell as any school!"

That calming smile again. "I believe you have, but you can't deny the importance of school for a well-rounded education, and a chance for college."

I'm impressed; he hit Frau Meyer's soft spot, her desire for all her 'children' to be able to go to college and get jobs outside the circus if they so desire. There's something painful in her past, but in the circus we don't pry. She calms down, flustered.

"Vell, if your school can help my Kurt get into a college..." she looks around. [Will you be okay, Kurt? I will need to discuss this with Herr Meyer.] I nod my assent, and she leaves me alone with the American.

"Who are you?" I ask. "What can your school offer me that a school in Munich cannot?"

"My name is Charles Xavier. My school teaches more than ordinary classes; I and my instructors teach young mutants how to control their powers - but more importantly, how to live with them. How to live with society. My goal is to teach my students to be at peace with who, and what, they are - and how to teach others to not fear them."

"But I know how to control my power, and live with it, and in Germany I am not feared." Not good enough, I think at him. What else can you offer? Why should I go with you?

"I have done quite a bit of research on the X-gene since my own mutation put me in this." He gestures to his chair. "I have a very good laboratory, and with it I can thoroughly analyze a genetic sample. You must know that even among mutants, your appearance is unique. As a scientist, of course, I want to study you. But as a man, I want to help you." Let me help you, say his eyes.

I lick my lips. "My mother was like me. My father was not. That is all I know of my parents." It's a sort of surrender, an unspoken plea.

"I cannot promise that we will be able to learn any more than that, or that we will ever find your parents. But I do promise that we will do all we can. Family is very important to most mutants, because most mutants don't have family that they know of, or that will acknowledge them. This, too, I can offer you - a second family of people who share unique abilities, and who care for each other and support each other much like the circus does."

I'd be impressed, if I weren't trying so hard to not bawl like a little boy. He doesn't say it, but he's offering me a pseudo-family like the circus where I will not feel that I have to be the star to be accepted, where I might not have to be the clown in a jar so that people won't fear me. There are a few other [Protected Citizens] in the circus, but we don't talk much, and from what I can tell, they feel the same way. Luckily, Herr Meyer the Circus Master and Frau Meyer the Circus Mother enter the tent, sparing me the need to find something to say.

"Good evening, Mister...?" Herr Meyer leaves it hanging.

"Xavier. Charles Xavier." Herr Xavier holds out his hand, and Herr Meyer shakes it.

"Herr Xavier, my wife tells me you are offering our Kurt a chance to attend your school in America. Is this correct?"

Herr Xavier nods and smiles. "Xavier Institute is a school where gifted youngsters like Kurt can learn both academics and to control and hone their talents. If he accepts, and you both agree, I can arrange a full scholarship for him."

"But vat if he does not LIKE it there?!?" Frau Meyer is rather distraught; she's trying to hold back tears, and is clinging to Herr Meyer.

"The Institute typically accepts students for a thirty-day trial period, to settle into living there. After thirty days, the parents or guardians are invited to visit and see how their child is doing. At that time, full-time enrollment is discussed, depending on how the student and parents - or guardians - feel the month has gone. We provide for all transportation costs, to give each student every chance possible."

Herr Meyer turned to me. [What do you think, Kurt? You're almost a man. This is your life; you decide your future.]

Family, I think to myself. Herr and Frau Meyer have been almost like parents to me...but... [I want to give it a try,] I say. [I can always come back in a month.]

Herr Meyer turns back to Herr Xavier to discuss the details, while Frau Mutti gives herself over to weeping over me going to America to go to school, and maybe a good American college. She's always fussed over me because of my past, but she genuinely cares about me and this isn't going to be easy on her. I comfort her the best I can while trying not to join her in weeping and clinging.

Finally, it's decided. I will remain one more day to give a farewell performance, and the day after I will depart for America with Herr Xavier. I won't be taking much, because I don't have much to take. A few body suits for workouts, my few sets of casual clothes, my toothbrush and hairbrush, soap and deodorant. I've never needed to shave. My battered CD player and beloved Nena CD, headphones, and the small Bible that I kept from my days in the Church. I will wear my monk's robe and wooden sandals. All my worldly possessions fit into a shoulder bag, and make me feel like a vagabond.

The next day, before the night's performance, I take a trip around Munich, just taking in the sights. When I get back to the circus, a few regulars stop me; they've heard the rumors already. A few offer to buy me beers or other edibles. I ask them instead to give the money to the poor, or donate it to charity. A few other [Protected Citizens] congratulate me, and wish me well and slip back into the crowds. The night-show has record attendance; everyone who had been thinking of seeing the circus had realized this was their last chance to see [The Blue Devil] onstage, and a lot of people who'd come to earlier shows decided they wanted to see it again. Crowds are like that - just make 'em think this is their last chance, and they'll jump at anything. In this case, however, it was the truth, and it was giving me butterflies whenever I thought about it - so I didn't.

Nope, no airplane trip to another country where I could be hunted and shot with a man who can talk inside my head for the remote chance of finding out something about the parents I knew nothing about. Nothing special at all.

It was a brilliant performance, that night. Amazing how well you can lie to yourself if you know how.