The truth was that he didn’t love going to these kinds of events. Even the cinema he attended only on rare occasions. But his colleagues at the office had all gone to the circus several days ago and had come back enraptured by what they’d seen. They had urged him to accompany them, but he’d declined. The next morning, they talked about what they’d enjoyed seeing and hearing. S. felt embarrassed for not having gone with them. And it wasn’t just his colleagues: everywhere he went, he heard people heaping praise on this circus, saying they’d never seen anything like it.
So S. found himself convinced to go to the circus, yielding to the general atmosphere—although deep down, he knew he’d have a better time sitting at the cafe he patronized every day. He kept putting off going to the circus, day after day, hiding his hesitation. Sometimes he persuaded himself he’d go eventually, and other times he disregarded the opinions he’d heard about the circus. He kept procrastinating until there was only one performance left in his town. So he finally made up his mind to go, taking bold steps as if on his way to fight in some decisive battle.
S. greatly enjoyed the circus. In fact, after just a short time, this shy introvert was unable to stop himself from howling with laughter. Not a moment had passed before he was clapping loudly along with the rest of the audience in the bleachers. He decided it was the best production he’d ever seen. He didn’t regret the time he’d spent at this wonderful circus.
When the program was about to end and the troupe presented its final act, S. felt a pang of sadness, wishing the show would go on and on. For the first time he understood people’s interest and enjoyment in the circus, forgiving the types of people who went to the circus two or three times, and sighing to himself that he hadn’t been until now. He would have gone again, and he secretly thanked his colleagues for their recommendation. Their advice was sincere, and they no doubt wanted the best for him.
The audience clapped for a long time when the performance ended, and so did S. Then they hurried toward the exit, but S. decided to wait before leaving. He hated being jostled by people, and he also wanted to enjoy one last look at the circus. So he stayed put for a while, until the crowd thinned out and exiting became easier. This was his custom whenever he was in a crowded place.
He didn’t know how the circus director spotted him amid the crowd. The director shot S. a glance, but he thought at first that the director was looking at someone else, so he didn’t return his gaze. But the director repeated the glance several times, and then gestured with his hands, motioning for S. to stay. S. hadn’t been in a hurry to leave, so he stayed where he was, getting up to stand when the bleachers emptied. He found the director was approaching him, a broad smile on his face.
S. was very surprised and thought there must be some mistake. But he was wrong: there was no mistake, and now here was the director, slowly making his way toward him. S. wanted to give in to his desire to escape. But he felt this was impossible now, so he stayed fixed in place, rebuking himself for his slowness and for deciding to stay these extra moments at the circus.
“I should have left along with everyone else,” he said to himself. “How long will I keep behaving so strangely and differently?” He regretted not having gone to the circus with his colleagues, and then leaving with them. He realized then that his behavior had always been somewhat unique and abnormal. How else could one explain his slowness to leave, and not wanting to exit along with everyone else? How else to explain his fear of these people jostling him? Wasn’t he also a person like them? And so why not act like the rest of them? He started feeling full of anguish, but the director’s voice rescued him from these feelings, and S. found the man standing in front of him.
“Good evening, sir.”
“A good evening to you as well, sir,” S. replied, in his characteristically polite tone.
He imagined the director would ask him his impressions and thoughts about the circus. He anticipated something positive, telling himself: “My appearance must inspire confidence and respect, and the director will probably try to make use of my opinions.” S. had many opinions, and often wanted to share them with people. But nobody ever asked for his opinion. After long experience with this, he withdrew, dwelling in his office, where he worked diligently and shrank into himself. He didn’t mingle with other people or live with anyone else.
The director shook his hand warmly, as if S. were a friend he hadn’t seen in a long time. “We’ll discuss the job,” he whispered to S. in confidence. The director didn’t expect an answer to this, instead taking S. by the hand and adding: “This isn’t a suitable place for conversation. Let’s go to my office.”
Surprised, S. followed him obediently, not uttering a word. When they entered the director’s small office behind the circus, S. sat and looked all around the room. He contemplated the walls, which were full of mounted animal heads, and imagined that the heads were staring at him passionately and smiling. So he nodded and smiled back at them out of politeness. He quickly chastised himself for this frivolous behavior, but consoled himself that the room was empty but for the director.
“My intuition never fails me!” the director said assertively. S. didn’t understand what he meant by this, but he nodded his head gratefully as the director continued. “I’ve been all over the world with this circus and its troupe, and I have great expertise when it comes to people and animals.”
S. smiled broadly at hearing these words, nodding his head gratefully again.
“I don’t know how to start, because the subject is awkward and a bit delicate . . .”
S. interrupted him, saying: “No, no, just the opposite. You can speak freely and frankly.”
“I have a very strong sense that you’re in need of work,” said the director, who then fell silent for a moment.
“Me?” asked S., surprised. “In need of work?”
“Yes. And why not? Everyone needs work.”
“This is true,” S. said to himself. “Everyone needs work. But I already have a job that supports me. Yes, it’s an awful job, but . . .”
“No, no,” the director said, shaking his head. “I know you have a job. But one should be ambitious and never content with one’s work. Isn’t that right?”
“You’re absolutely right, no question about it.”
“So, are we in agreement?”
“Absolutely.”
“Don’t you see how my intuition never fails me?”
“Perhaps, but I still don’t understand the heart of the matter here,” replied S.
“Wait a bit and you’ll understand everything.”
S. waited a bit, and decided he’d smoke a cigarette, since he realized the conversation would be a long and important one. But as soon as he started to put his hand in his pocket, the director beat him to it, offering him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Please, smoke as much as you want,” he said. “I only smoke a little.”
S. took a long drag on the cigarette, feeling full of eagerness and curiosity as the director began speaking in a calm, confident tone.
“I have a keen eye when it comes to people. I was able to recognize you among the thousands of spectators in the crowd, and my intuition didn’t fail me. I saw you were waiting for me to come and talk to you, and so I did.”
He tried to interrupt and tell the director he was wrong in all his assumptions, and that he was just waiting to avoid being pushed by the crowd. But the director didn’t give him room to speak, and went on: “No, you know I’m not mistaken. I know people and animals very well. Now, what’s your opinion?”
S. didn’t register anything he heard, and asked the director to clarify: “My opinion about what?”
“The job, for God’s sake!”
“But I have a job!”
“I know you do, but what is its value? And where’s your ambition?”
S. thought a bit about his irritating job, his colleagues’ harassment, his misery and lack of advancement, and his straitened circumstances . . . The mention of the word “ambition” stirred vague emotions in him. Where had his ambition gone? He recalled that on the day he started his position, years ago, he wanted to become an important person, a high-ranking official in the department. He wanted to continue his studies and become powerful in his department. He would spread his clout and influence to the other departments, and then, his ambit would expand to include the entire town. But his ambition waned with time, then wilted and dried up, like a dead, yellow leaf in a windless fall. He’d become content with the writing he did at work, hunched from morning till afternoon over a dilapidated desk with faded paint.
The director’s voice snapped him out of his distracted state. “Don’t you see we’re in agreement?”
S. nodded, saying nothing in reply.
“You’ll work with us,” the director said in a firm, confident voice. “We’re in need of people like you!”
“Work with you?”
“Yes.”
“In the circus?”
“Yes, yes.”
S. smiled a little. “Who knows—perhaps my luck has finally turned around,” he said to himself. He thought he’d be able to do many tasks for the circus, like drafting letters, typing them up, doing accounting work, and selling tickets. He was pleased that he possessed all these skills.
“You have many skills,” the director told him.
S.’s mouth formed a wide smile that came from the depths of his heart. This may have been the first time in his life that he’d heard such an evaluation of his abilities. He felt like the decisive moment had arrived, so he looked seriously into the director’s face and asked him: “Which kind of work would you like me to do?”
The director flicked the pen in front of him on the table. Then he said, very calmly: “Listen to me. The circus is losing animals, day by day. Especially monkeys. We don’t have any explanation or solution for this. We’ve sought help from doctors and veterinarians, and many types of specialist professors, but didn’t have any success. So we decided to employ some talented individuals to take on their roles.”
S. gaped at him in surprise.
“Don’t be taken aback. Most of the monkeys you saw a while ago were in fact just normal people. They play the role with the utmost precision. Then after the show, they go rest and do whatever they want. We’ve done things this way for a long time.”
“So, these . . .”
“Haven’t you ever heard of staging a show?”
“ . . . ”
“I won’t conceal that it’s difficult to do, but over time . . .”
It appeared to S. that the director didn’t understand, either.
“We’ve found the perfect way to preserve monkey skins, and those of other animals. We’re able to preserve them and shape them to the bodies of our people who play the roles. Every outfit has a secret slit that the person can open and then close. You can’t tell it’s not a real monkey.”
S. felt his blood boil. This director was clearly making fun of him and injuring his dignity. S., who had never hit anyone in his entire life, was on the verge of standing up and striking the director. Yet instead, all he did was raise his hand to hold back a tear. He didn’t know how this tear had sprung from his eye.
“I thought you would offer me some other type of work,” he said, upset. “But this . . .” The words stuck in his throat, and he was unable to finish his sentence.
“It’s alright, my friend. Some people assigned this job were angry at first, just like you are now. Over time, though . . .”
“But I don’t want to do this kind of work . . . I thought there would be another job.”
“Yes, but this is the best job. Anyhow, I’ll be open with you: we have two types of jobs, animals and clowns. To realize your dreams, to emerge from your shell, to fulfill your ambitions and become an important person, you’ll need to choose one of these two.”
“What do you mean?”
“Either become an animal or a clown. You’ll achieve great success by doing so, though I will note that being a clown is harder. True, clowns earn a higher income and they provide more value, but I think you should start with the other role. That said, I should remind you that all jobs in life are the same. If you show some talent, you may be able to play the parts of several wild animals, and you’d wear those animals’ skins when necessary. This will make you very valuable in the circus.”
“But I . . . But I don’t want to. And I don’t know how to be a monkey.”
“It’s not as difficult as you imagine. And I promise that if you succeed, you’ll have the option of joining the troupe of clowns.”
“But I . . .”
“It’s a simple matter, quite simple. Just do what all the other monkeys do, and you’ll find it’s really very easy . . . And very beautiful. And the crowds will applaud you a lot.”
S. bowed his head and started to think. Was this a disaster in the making, or was fortune smiling on him?
“Excuse me . . . I . . .”
“It’s very simple, like I told you . . . You just have to act like the others do, and you’ll see how quickly you’ll succeed.”
“Act like the others do?”
“Yes, yes. People are plagued by their desire to be individuals, to act in their own way. If you want to become something great in the circus, you just have to forget yourself and become like the other monkeys.”
S. laughed at last, and stood up. “These are good jokes,” he said firmly. “Thank you . . . It seems you want to add a new segment to your program, to bring joy to my soul. Thank you. I think this farce of yours succeeded, but it’s over now.” He got up to go.
Surprise immediately registered in the director’s eyes. “No, no. You’ve got the wrong idea,” he said. “What I’m telling you is serious. I mean what I say.”
“Then I suppose our paths are going separate ways. Goodbye.”
S. shook his head in apology. “Do I want a job?” he said, as if directing his words at someone. “Yes, I want to work on something great, something fantastic. I want to work on important things. I want to serve a cause, to fight and strive as part of some mission…”
“Didn’t I tell you we were in agreement?” the director shouted joyfully.
“In agreement?”
“Yes, yes. Is there any greater mission than what we do?”
“Which mission is that?”
“Listen to me, my friend. If you’d paid close attention to what I’m saying, you’d have understood the essence of this great mission we’re working to achieve.”
“What?”
“Do you think the person you’re speaking with is a moron? I’ve seen a lot of life and have a lot of experience with people, and I’ve found that this circus is the best thing I can do for humanity. Not to entertain people, as you might suppose, but for people to participate in the circus. My eventual goal is to expand this circus, day by day, and to include so many people that it becomes a town in itself. A town where people wear various animal skins, and perform their roles in partnership with the clowns. Then, once I’m satisfied with how things are going, I’ll move to another town, and set up another circus, growing bigger every day and expanding . . . You’ll see that, in the future, people will throng to join the circus. They won’t hesitate like you’re doing now . . . And who knows? Maybe you’ll have the chance to help me succeed in this glorious mission.”
“But what’s the point of all that?”
“Didn’t I tell you I’m working toward a long-term goal? I want to rescue humanity and make justice prevail among mankind. And this is the one and only path toward that goal.”
S. pretended to understand what the director meant.
“Think about it,” the director said. “And don’t let that be your final response. Come back in the morning, and you’ll find me here waiting for you. Don’t forget, the circus will leave tomorrow afternoon.”
S.’s stiff, cold hand shook the director’s, and he went on his way.
Sleep didn’t come to S. that night, even though he was tired. He kept turning the matter over in bed, before falling asleep at last. He was pondering the strange, important subject that had come up that evening. He wanted to wrap up the matter for good and stop thinking about it. But he felt himself in a daze as soon as he returned to the idea. How he had wished to be someone who could amaze an audience, and draw their applause! He had once dreamed of becoming a lecturer whom people would flock to hear speak, but circumstances didn’t permit him to continue his studies. Besides, how many people are there who listen to lectures, compared to the number who watch the circus?
He contemplated his situation. What kind of future could he expect? He wouldn’t leave this desk until he died, and he’d never be promoted, because there weren’t any open positions in the cadre. He’d remain where he was for many long years, and he didn’t have anybody in the department to support or advocate for him.
But fortune might smile on him in the circus. He might advance and become a clown. Oh, what a wonderful job! The eyes of thousands would be fixed upon him. The director had promised him that, certainly. And the travel: leaving his town, and moving around! Going far away, and doing useful, beneficial work with an important mission! He’d have the chance to travel from country to country; until now, he hadn’t even left his gloomy town. What wonders awaited him! And the circus girls—why not take them into account? They had beautiful figures and moved gracefully. Wasn’t it possible that among the monkeys there’d be a girl whom he’d have the fortune to get to know, and marry? He despaired he’d ever get married as long as he was in his current position. The director had been right to claim the circus would save humanity.
S. quickly resolved to drive these thoughts out of his head. Yet he soon returned again to muse about the splendor of the circus. Finally he grew exhausted, completely worn out . . .
*
In the early morning, S. found himself sitting at the desk in his small room, writing some letters to his friends and his manager, informing them that he would be traveling for a long time. He didn’t add any other details.
Then he went quickly to the circus. Surprisingly, the director was waiting for him before the scheduled time. The director shook his hand and greeted him. Then S. rushed into the circus storehouse, squeezing in between the people there, and they prepared to leave town . . .
