The Final Confession of Mabel Stark: A Novel (An Evergreen book)

by Robert Hough

  He turned to one of my jailers and nodded.

  "You sure?"

  "Oh yes," Sights answered.

  The three stared for a while longer, and when the guard in charge turned and gestured that he could go Sights hesitated a little and said, "May I speak with her?"

  The two guards looked at each other, for a long time actually, as if they were inspecting each other's mouth corners for yolk. Finally, the one in charge shrugged, pulled his keys, opened the cell door and said, "Five minutes."

  Sights sat. He looked at me, stared at me, in fact, letting a wrinkly little worm-wriggle of a grin infect the right side of his lips. Was probably the happiest he'd been in years. Mostly I kept my eyes on the floor, though I kept taking fleeting glances at his smirk, true ugliness being something difficult to keep your eyes away from.

  He spoke. "I just wanted you to know something, Mrs. Aganosticus."

  Here he obviously wanted me to mutter, "Oh really, what's that?" so I didn't say boo, though I did shudder at hearing myself called by Dimitri's surname.

  "It wasn't hard figuring out how you escaped, Mrs. Aganosticus. Your blessed Dr. Levine admitted it the moment we confronted him. In fact, he seemed quite proud of it. He accused me of practising barbaric treatment methods. Of course, it's against the law to aid the escape of a lunatic so I just wanted to know what you did to persuade him, hmm- mmmm? I imagine a woman such as yourself has ways of being persuasive, hmmmmmmm?"

  Here he looked me up and down as lecherously as is humanly possible.

  "Four months in jail. Too bad. He was an educated man. Kind, sensitive, gentle. A Jew, and you know how much they enjoy the pleasures of the mind. Cerebral pursuits were more his cup of tea. Ill-suited for prison life, I'm afraid."

  He got up and crossed the cell and sat so close our legs touched. I wiggled away, and then noticed it out of the corner of my eye: a bulge in his pants the size of a banana. Sights started whispering inches from my left ear: "No one makes a fool of me. No one. Two days from now you will be back in my care. Two days, Mrs. Aganosticus. My care."

  Hearing this, I stared ahead, thinking there was no way I was going to give him any satisfaction, so even though I was trembling inside I acted like a tiger would've, meaning my eyes narrowed and my jaw muscles flexed and in a voice gone as bitter as possible I said, "Yeah well go fuck yourself."

  At this he attempted a laugh though it sounded false and in that there was the smallest of victories. Then he stood, walked to the bars and waited for the guards to spot him.

  So. What did Mary Haynie slash Mary Aganosticus slash Mary Williams slash Mabel Roth slash Mabel Stark slash Mabel the Jailbird do? I did what people always do in times of deep and grievous stress: I waited until Sights had slunk off before flopping on my knees and clasping my hands and peering up like an altar girl. My eyes were wet from pure fear.

  "Dear Lord," I started, "I know I've done some bad things in my life, but it seems to me I've been punished enough, especially consider ing I try to be a good person, I really do, you have to admit I do bring smiles to people's faces and I do make them forget about dry growing seasons and the price of feed and wars going on in Europe. Please, Lord, I wouldn't ask you except I've got no one else to turn to, I really don't, but if you could see me through this one little jam I promise I won't feel entitled to your kind deeds ever again and will work hard to make it up to you."

  After that, I got good and tired. I'd had a long day and a longer night and an even longer morning, and suddenly I'd had it. I lay down on the tissue-thin mattress and guarded my chest with my knees like a baby and had myself a long happy dream about being a normal woman. One with kids and a husband and a house and a calmness of spirit. Later I awoke and got up and looked out the tiny window at the back of the cell and saw that the shadows cast by trees had grown long. A woman looking pretty much like the woman who'd been in the night before sat on the bunk opposite, no doubt waiting to sepia her way out.

  I was still tired so I lay down again, though I was disturbed by a guard bringing me a supper of chipped beef and bone-dry potatoes. I tried to eat, couldn't, and lay down with my eyes open. About twenty minutes later a guard came by. He was more boy than man, still fighting acne and gawkiness. While unlocking the cell he looked at me and said, "Ma'am. This way please."

  I stood, fighting sniffles. As far as I knew a bus was waiting to take me back to Hopkinsville and whatever horrors Sights was having fun thinking up for me. I kept my head down as I shuffled, trying to shut everything out and muster courage. The daylight, though it was waning, made me feel worse for I knew it'd be the last I'd see in a while. For a moment I thought about bolting, or hollering for mercy, or crying like a girl, none of which would've helped. The guard trailed behind me, steps matching mine. At the front of the station he pushed open the door and said, in a way practically made me swallow my tongue with surprise, "I'm a big fan, ma'am."

  He pushed open the door, signalling I was going out while he was staying in. I suppose he saw the confusion scribbled all over my face, for he said, "You're free to go, ma'am" and nodded toward the street. There, parked at the curb, was a car. A nice car. Plus a man was holding the door open with his left hand. In his other was a bouquet of white tulips he handed over when I approached.

  "Good evening, Miss Stark," the man said, smiling and holding out a gloved hand. "My name is Mr. Ewing. Albert Ewing. I'm the Ringling Brothers' accountant. John and Charles Ringling asked me to deal with this matter personally. I can assure you they were incensed. Enraged, actually. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

  I took his hand. Was the handshake of a man who'd never gripped anything tight in his life, and given the last hand I'd felt on my body it was a welcome change.

  "On behalf of Mr. John and Mr. Charles and myself I'd like to apologize for any, er, discomfort you might have experienced while a ward of the city. I assure you we did everything in our power to secure your release as soon as was possible. Would you care to join me?"

  He stood aside and I got in. After closing my door he walked around the car and climbed in and asked the driver to go. Then he turned to me and said, "I'm afraid the circus has left Bowling Green, so we'll have to catch up to them in Nashville."

  I leaned back, enjoying the feel of soft leather. The whole car smelled unused.

  "You know," lie said, "if you don't mind my saying, you might want to secure yourself some management. Such a move might prevent these sorts of occurrences in the future."

  "Will these sorts of occurrences occur again?"

  "Probably not. There were some negotations. They went rather smoothly, all things considered."

  "What about Sights?"

  "I suspect he won't be bothering you again."

  No doubt the Ringlings had bought his co-operation as well. Mind you, there was a possibility that Sights had refused, given his thirstiness for revenge, so I asked what happened. This caused the accountant to go a little quizzical about the mouth and eyes.

  "Well, of course, I don't know. I wasn't there. Apparently there were discussions. At first Mr. Sights didn't understand that a Ringling star is, well, beyond reproach."

  "What kind of discussions we talking about, Mr. Ewing?"

  Here his face broadened into the grin.

  "As far as I understand it they were, well, discussions."

  Funny how sometimes a euphemism can be like music to the ears. A deep contentment took root, the kind that comes from feeling powerful. Was as though I was friends with gangsters or politicians or people with money, and that's a sensation everyone should have a least once a lifetime. I closed my eyes and thanked God for helping me out. I rode this way for quite a while, not sleeping but relaxing, and when I opened my eyes again I had a good long look at the side of Mr. Ewing. He was a medium-sized man, with freckled baby-soft skin, thin curly hair and some mild lumpiness around the jawline. On the plus side, he had dimples and high cheekbones and green eyes. Even though he was slightly younger than me, thirty at th
e most, he carried himself with the weight of a fifty-year-old, and if the truth be told weariness is something I've always thought looked good on a man. Plus what was left of his curls was a pleasing shade of marigold.

  All of this I mention because when I opened my eyes he was in the process of taking a good long gander at the tightness of my leather costume, particularly as it pertained to the length of my left leg. (I always did have nice gams-comes from chasing after tigers all day.) Had he known I was watching he no doubt would've pretended he was fascinated with the floor of the car or the workmanship of my boots. But seeing as how he didn't know I was watching there was no denying a simple fact, one I could either do something with or leave completely alone.

  All eyes, he was.

  We got married halfway through the season, during a three-day stand in Portland, which I picked because my divorce happened there and I figured my divorce had worked out a damn sight better than any of my marriages. Both Ringling and Barnes troupers came, though more of the latter seeing as I'd been on the Ringling show for only six months and was having my usual trouble making friends. I wore white-cheeky, I know-but by then white was my signature colour so I figured I had an excuse bordering on legitimate. Rajah was my best man, he and I turning heads when he walked me to the altar. There I handed him off to my Barnes tunnel man, Red, who Rajah had always liked and respected and had never once tried to eviscerate. They both took seats in the front pew, Rajah for the most part behaving himself though afterwards Albert and I did get invoiced for one chewed-up Bible and one torn-to-shreds book of wedding Psalms.

  There were streamers and daffodils and a soprano with piper, all of it tasteful and sophisticated and too good for the likes of a farm girl from the ugly end of Kentucky. My only disappointment was Al G. wasn't there, though he did send a telegram expressing his condolences; thankfully, he hinted his wranglings with Leonora Speeks were the culprit so I didn't blame the weight that settled over us the last time we'd seen each other. The only other invitees who couldn't make it were John and Charles Ringling, Mr. John having gone off to Italy on an artbuying trip and Mr. Charles looking at a four-hundred-year-old violin someone had turned up in an attic in Durban, South Africa. To apologize, Mr. John sent me another gross of roses. Mr. Charles must've heard this, for the day of the event he sent a bouquet containing two gross in an arrangement the size of a Ford.

  When we got to the part where the minister asked the question answered by "I do," he had to ask it twice for my hearing picked that moment to go on the fritz. After an uncomfortable pause, I realized what everyone was waiting for, so I said, "I do," and Albert said, "I do," and we both signed the book and then we all went to the New Westminster Hotel where we had a sit-down dinner for forty, speech making and dancing and cavorting afterwards. Fred Bradna, the French-born ringmaster, was the emcee, and he made a toast wishing us a long and happy future after joking that he knew Albert would be as "tame and tractable as all the other wards of Mabel's stable." At this everyone but everyone laughed.

  Course, White Tops and Billboard were there-ravenous is the word comes to mind when I think about reporters-so to give them something good I did a quick two-step with Rajah, who I could tell had had a few sips of the hooch being brought in through the service entrance. Practically placid he was, and more in step than usual. He didn't even blink when flash pods went off.

  We danced till three in the morning, which was probably longer than Albert cared to, seeing as by one in the morning he seemed pretty eager to get up to the room. Naturally, this ran counter to my desire to stay out of the room as long as possible, seeing as I was a woman who'd never had much luck in the wedding-night department. Still, there came a time when he approached me with that look men get, half Valentino and half child wanting a cookie, and I realized I'd have to face the music sooner or later. We went upstairs. Of course there were flowers and of course there was champagne in a bucket. After a bit of prelimary kissing, I asked Albert to turn out the lights. We both undressed and climbed into bed and came together and it was:

  Fine. No inabilities or weird noises. Nothing I felt too much or not at all. Nothing made me want to break out laughing. Nothing left chafe marks or bruising. Nothing produced rank odours or odours period. Was just a good old-fashioned man-on-top roll in the hay, and without a lot of fussing or frills, so it had the advantage of not taking all night. (Sorry, Al G., wherever you are.) Albert was even gentlemanly enough to stay awake until after I'd fallen asleep, something I'd never had happen before, there being something about losing their seed that makes men as drowsy as a snake in hot weather.

  Throughout the rest of the 1921 season Albert and I settled into a life of quiet ordinariness, or at least as ordinary as a pair of circus people could ever hope for. My days I spent fussing with my Bengals and Rajah and Nigger. Albert spent his days in the red car, fidgeting with the books, as he'd been hired specifically to look for ways to trim the budget. This was no easy feat, given he worked for a circus that, each and every day, went through three hundred pounds of butter, three hundred gallons of milk, twenty-five hundred pounds of fresh meat, two thousand loaves of bread, fifteen hundred pounds of fresh vegetables and two hundred bushels each of oats, ice, coffee and loose tea. "And that," Albert moaned one night, "is just for the humans. Have you ever counted how many elephants are out in that menage? Four dozen. Four dolen. Of course, I suggested to Mr. John if lie sold off a few it would help things considerably. `Wonderful idea, Al,' he told me. `Wonderful idea. I'll get on that immediately.' The next day he bought a half-dozen more from a circus that had gone out of business and was stranded in the middle of a farmer's lot in Oklahoma. He told me he couldn't afford not to buy them."

  I'd listen attentively and then give Albert a shoulder rub, my latest husband being a man who took things too seriously for his own good. Meanwhile, Rajah would watch, his head cocked, from the shelter I'd had built into the end of our Pullman suite. Once Rajah had nodded off for the night I'd ask Albert if he felt like burning off any excess tension. If he didn't, his usual complaints being fatigue or stress headaches, I'd shut the lights and undress so as not to dim any future appetite with my scars. If he did, we'd jump in bed and proceed, keeping as quiet as a couple with a baby in the room. After a couple months of no results, I started doing handstands afterwards, though I told Albert it was a means of strengthening my shoulder muscles. Or I'd prop my waist on my hands and sit on my shoulders, legs poking straight into the air. On such occasions I'd tell him I was practising yoga tips I'd picked up from Colombo the Indian Rubber Man.

  We finished that season on November 4 in Richmond, Virginia. Back in Bridgeport, Albert and I moved into a little bungalow in a neighbourhood filled with circus folk, meaning no one batted an eye at a couple with a Bengal tiger in place of a toddler. Soon after I checked myself into a hospital and they took pictures of the inside of my head with an X ray; afterwards, they told me an abscess of the tissue of the brain was likely the cause of my headaches and dizziness and periodic deafness. They also told me if I'd waited another three days to come in it likely would've killed me. Course, it was far from the first time I'd been told I had days to live, doctors having a habit of telling you that so you'll be happier paying for whatever costly procedure was being proposed. An hour later, they lanced the abscess with a long glass tube snaked up through my nose. When the ether hangover wore off a few days later I was fine.

  Shortly into the new year the menage caught fire and killed a bunch of animals, a tragedy that added a huge figure on the debit side of the circus and therefore caused Albert neckaches and irritability and stress-related indigestion. One of the animals who died was Nigger; though he wasn't burnt he took in one too many lungfuls of smoke, and despite my best efforts to nurse him back to health he passed from pneumonia three days later. I spent most of that morning feeling sniffly and wet-eyed, though after a can or two of beer in the blue car I marched back to our bungalow and leashed up Rajah and informed him he'd had enough coddling. That a
fternoon we went to the training barn and I let Rajah into the steel arena and a minute later I was lying prone under five hundred pounds of humping hair and muscle. When Rajah streamed over my back I felt like things were getting back to normal.

  I debuted him three months later in Madison Square Garden. You should've heard the screams, the applause, the cheering. After that, I couldn't hang a bra out to dry without some reporter popping out of the bushes and asking me whether lacy or non-lacy was better for training tigers.

  What I'm trying to say is this: Albert and I managed to achieve an ebb and flow that would've looked a lot like married life if you took the circus out of the equation. Problems came along, but I would've been nervous if they hadn't. He had his work and I had my work, and at the end of the day we talked and had dinner together and on Sunday nights we went to the pictures. There were afternoons we took walks, sometimes with Rajah and sometimes without, and in the evenings we enjoyed games of cribbage and backgammon for Albert was fond of pastimes requiring an understanding of risk and numbers. He was always polite, never raising his voice or being critical, and if he showed a less than burning interest in my tigers it was because he had more than enough problems of his own. Throughout, I was still hopeful my handstands and yoga moves might one day take effect, and when you boil it right down, hope is what we talk about when we think we're talking about happiness.

  A month later we reached Boston for the only other arena show of the season. After the evening show a bunch of the other performers were going out and invited Albert and me along. Though I didn't particularly want to go, I'd been thinking that part of my attempt at living regular should really include making some friends who weren't husbands or tigers. Plus Albert was going through a difficult time, Mr. Charles having bought himself a 200-foot yacht he named Zalophus. When Mr. John found out, he bought himself a 220-foot yacht called Symphonia. Both boats got listed as circus expenses, meaning Albert needed some relaxation and he needed it badly.