Free Secret Heart by David Almond

could nearly be t-twins,” he said.
    “Ha! Yes, we could.”
    Then she knelt and eased her slippers onto his feet.
    “Better, eh? Much lighter. Things you can fly in.”
    He flexed his toes, stood on tiptoe.
    “Lovely,” he whispered.
    “Up you go. Go on.”
    The ladder twisted, swung and trembled as he climbed. He scrambled his way through the net.
    “You're a
bit
like a turkey,” she said. “But go on. Just go on.”
    He tried to fix his eyes on the roof of the tent but he had to keep looking down at his clumsy feet on the narrow rungs, and Corinna was further and further away. Then the larks inside him started singing, helped to lift him to the platform's edge. He climbed onto it, and stood there, gripping the pole. His knees shuddered.
    He looked down through the blue shade to her upturned blue face. Her eyes shone. All around, the blue-starred tent wheeled.
    “Listen, Joe. Look straight out, into the air above the net.”
    He looked out.
    “Nothing can harm you, Joe. There's just air, and that can't hurt you, and then the net'll catch you and keep you safe.”
    He tried to breathe deeply, slowly.
    “Mebbe it's true, Joe. Mebbe in another life, in the life before the last life, you were the greatest flier of us all.”
    The larks inside him hung high in the blue and sang and sang.
    “Mebbe we were together, Joe. Mebbe we weretwins in sparkling costumes, catching each other high in the air while tigers growled below us.”
    He teetered at the edge. He heard the awful growl, the roar, like something from some deep dark cavern rather than from an open mouth. His head reeled. He looked down and saw tigers caged inside the ring, tigers clawing the air, tigers clawing at their trainers.
    “Believe in it, Joe. Just jump.”
    He jumped. He held his arms out. He reached for the sun. He crumpled into the net.
    He lay twisted and awkward, the net cords digging at his skin.
    “Brilliant!” said Corinna, from below him. “Brilliant, Joe.”
    He rolled clumsily toward the edge of the net.
    And then the air inside the tent trembled. The flap was drawn back. Hackenschmidt stood there, a huge shadow, a silhouette.

Seven
    For many moments, Hackenschmidt just stared. Then he came forward, into the blue light. He wore blue trousers, a blue shirt with white flowers on it, shiny black shoes. His hair and beard were combed. He seemed three times as high as Joe, three times as wide. His arms were as broad as Joe's waist. His hands were bigger than Joe's head. He walked to Joe, who lay still at the edge of the net.
    “Come down,” he said. His voice was soft and calm. He lifted Joe with his great hands from the net. He slowly swung him down onto the sawdust floor. He straightened Joe's satin clothes, just as Joe's mother would. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.
    “H-Hack—”
    “Yes. Hackenschmidt. The Lion of Russia, the greatest wrestler ever seen. The champion of the world. The…” His voice faltered and he sighed. “And you are Joe Maloney.”
    “Yes,” said Joe.
    “You'll refresh the world, you and my Corinna.”
    He turned his eyes to the trapeze.
    “You went up there, eh?”
    “Yes.”
    “Brave boy.”
    He sighed again. His breath fell across Joe's face. They stood together, the huge man, the scrawny boy, the lithe girl. They stood in the blue shade, in deep silence, just the sighing of breath, distant drone of traffic, the shifting of the tent.
    “Listen to it,” whispered Hackenschmidt at last. “The lovely gentle sound of canvas between the world in here and the world out there. Do you think it's lovely, Joe?”
    “Yes.”
    They gazed toward the ancient faded galaxy. They breathed the blue air and the dust.
    “Soon,” said Hackenschmidt, “the tent will be gone. Everything that has happened in here…”He flicked his fingers at the air. “Gone, just like that.”
    Great sadness crossed his face.
    “We have been so beautiful, Joe. Even me, even ugly Hackenschmidt. So beautiful.”
    He smiled,