She wears a thin wisp of a gown that would likely be considered scandalous in other company, but this gathering is not easily scandalized. It is more a delicate swathe of red silk held in place by a tightly laced corset than a proper dress.
And it is not the relative insubstantiality of her clothing that causes Marco to stare, but the tattoo that snakes across her skin.
At first, it is difficult to discern what it is, the shower of black marks that curls around her shoulder and neck, ending just above her cleavage in the front and disappearing behind the laces of her corset in the back. It is impossible to tell how far beyond that the tattoo travels.
And upon a closer look it can be discerned that the swirl of the tattoo is more than simple black marks. It is a flowing waterfall of alchemical and astrological symbols, ancient marks for planets and elements all emblazoned in black ink upon her fair skin. Mercury. Lead. Antimony. A crescent moon sits at the nape of her neck; an Egyptian ankh near her collarbone. There are other symbols as well: Norse runes, Chinese characters. There are countless tattoos, and yet they meld and flow into one design gracefully adorning her like an elegant, unusual piece of jewelry.
Tsukiko catches Marco staring, and though he does not inquire about it, she says quietly, “It is part of who I was, who I am, and who I will be.”
And then she smiles and walks into the dining room, leaving Marco alone in the hall, just as the clock begins chiming midnight and the first course is served.
She slips off her shoes by the doorway and walks barefoot to an area near the piano that is catching the best light from the candelabras and the chandeliers.
At first she simply stands relaxed and calm, while the diners regard her curiously, and then it becomes immediately clear what her style of entertainment is.
Tsukiko is a contortionist.
Traditionally, contortionists are either front bending or back bending, depending on the flexibility of their respective spines, and their tricks and performances are based upon this distinction. Tsukiko, however, is one of the rare contortionists whose flexibility is equal in both directions.
She moves with the grace of a trained ballerina, a detail Mme. Padva notes and mentions in a whisper to the Burgess sisters even before the more impressive feats of agility begin.
“Could you do such things when you were a dancer?” Tara asks her, as Tsukiko pulls a leg up impossibly far over her head.
“I would have had a much busier social calendar if I could,” Mme. Padva replies with a shake of her head.
Tsukiko is a consummate performer. She adds the perfect flourishes, holds positions and pauses for the ideal amounts of time. Although she twists her body into unimaginable and painful-looking positions, her beatific smile remains in place.
Her modest audience forgets their conversation and their dinner as they watch.
Lainie remarks to her sister after the fact that she was certain there was music, though there is no sound at all save for the rustle of silk against skin and the crackle from the fireplace.
“This is what I’ve been talking about,” Chandresh says, hitting the table with his fist, suddenly breaking the charmed silence. Tara nearly drops the fork that she has been holding idly in her hand, catching it before it clatters onto her plate of half-eaten vermouth-poached oysters, but Tsukiko continues her graceful motions unfazed, though her smile increases noticeably.
“This?” Mme. Padva asks.
“This!” Chandresh repeats, waving at Tsukiko. “This is the precise flavor that the circus should be. Unusual yet beautiful. Provocative while remaining elegant. This is kismet, her coming here tonight. We simply have to have her, I will not accept anything less. Marco, get this lady a chair.”
A place is set for Tsukiko; her smile is bemused as she joins them at the table.
The conversation that follows involves more creative coercion than outright job offer, and there are several deviations into the subjects of the ballet, modern fashion, and Japanese mythology.
After five courses and a great deal of wine, Tsukiko allows herself to be persuaded to accept an invitation to perform in a not yet existent circus.
“Well then,” Chandresh says. “We are set as far as contortionists go. That’s a start.”
“Shouldn’t there be more than one?” Lainie asks. “An entire tent, like the one for the acrobats?”
“Nonsense,” Chandresh replies. “Better to have a single perfect diamond than a sack of flawed stones. We’ll make a showcase of her, put her in the courtyard or something.”
The matter is considered settled for the moment, and throughout dessert and after-dinner drinks, the only subject discussed is the circus itself.
*
TSUKIKO LEAVES A CARD providing information as to how to contact her with Marco as she departs, and she soon becomes a fixture at the Circus Dinners, often performing before or after dinner, so as to not distract the guests during the meal.
She remains Chandresh’s favorite, oft-referenced criterion for what the circus should be.
Horology
MUNICH, 1885