Salvo put on a brave face and left the railcar, heading towards the big top. He kept an eye out for Etel, who hadn’t been in the railcar that morning. He wanted to tell her about a new move he had thought up, but he saw no sign of her. She was probably well hidden, he decided, knowing that she tried to avoid the hustle and bustle of the F-F as much or more than he did.
Salvo was halfway to the big top when he remembered that he had forgotten to ask András to double-check their rigging for that night. They usually took turns doing so, but Salvo wasn’t sure if he would have time between the reception and that evening’s show, and it was very important that someone confirm that the rigging was as it should be. Admonishing himself for forgetting, Salvo turned and jogged back to the railcar.
As he burst through the door, he caught a brief glimpse of naked flesh before it was covered by bedding. András peered up at him, his face red, and from under the covers Margit’s voice called out. “What do you want?”
Salvo hesitated. He had suspected for some time that Margit and his brother had become enamoured of each other but had never been so boldly confronted with proof. “Can you recheck the rigging for me?” he asked András, who was now smiling.
“Sure.”
Salvo nodded, backing out of the railcar. As he walked to the big top, he wondered how Etel would feel having to compete for her brother’s affections, especially a brother like András who had raised her single-handedly and was not particularly generous with affection. On the other hand, Salvo decided, his brother was thirty-five years old, after all, and Margit was an obvious and, it seemed, willing partner for him.
ETEL WAS NOT JEALOUS OF MARGIT AND ANDRÁS. At least this is what she told herself over and over. She knew there was no way Margit could ever take her place in András’s heart, and she derived a certain satisfaction from this knowledge. But on another level she was broken-hearted by the realization that András needed more than she could provide for him, that even a perfect sister has limitations. Etel spent long hours trying to fit things together, attempting to reconcile her emotions with her mind. She was most concerned when she understood that if an opportunity presented itself, she would in all likelihood be unable to resist taking steps to remove Margit from their lives.
Margit did not care what she thought, Etel knew. Margit was overwhelmed by András, and to a larger extent overwhelmed by the F-F Extravaganza. There was nothing about it she did not love. She loved the freedom, she loved the unspoken boundaries, and she loved the people, especially the dancers. In a candid moment she told Etel that their costumes made her dizzy, all the glitter and silk and colour. They made her think of glorious birds.
Etel thought this was silly. She did not understand how someone who had lived as hard a life as Margit’s could be so easily swept away by glitz. She did not understand how it could be seen as anything more than a sham.
A TRUE SHOWMAN, Cole held his reception in the centre ring, under the big top. Fresh sawdust was laid, food and drink were plentiful, and spirits were high. Cole worked the crowd of Respectables, aware that he had enemies among these relatives, these nephews and nieces and second cousins. The de facto leader of the Respectables was a Canadian, the husband of Cole’s deceased sister. Now in his seventies, Arthur Simpson had been five years younger than his Fisher-Fielding bride, something which had caused quite a stir at the time but now seemed quite irrelevant. His wife died giving birth to their third son. He remarried and his second wife also died, although the two had produced a daughter. Simpson went on to achieve a level of wealth and social standing that did not seem likely when he had first married. He had been the Canadian ambassador to Washington for some years and, now retired, was several times a millionaire. That it was rumoured his wealth was in large part derived from Prohibition did nothing to diminish his appeal to the Respectables. Cole felt fairly confident that if he could win Arthur Simpson to his cause he would prevail.
It would be no easy task. Simpson was not known to be a particular fan of the circus, or of entertainment in general. The only things that would interest him were the profitability of the circus and an assurance that he would not have to even think about the Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza for another five years. Working in Cole’s favour was Simpson’s respect for tradition. Cole hoped that the fact that he had made the F-F what it was and that he was one of the original seven would go at least some distance for him. He scanned the ring for Simpson and, after locating him, straightened his suit, put on his best smile and approached the man who owned his fate.
Salvo stood orphaned on the other side of the ring, feeling very unpopular and wishing he didn’t have to be there. None of the other performers seemed interested in talking to him, and his English wasn’t good enough to engage strangers in meaningful conversation, or so he thought. In reality, though he hadn’t consciously tried to learn, Salvo’s English was the best of any of the Ursaris, more than passable.
He took a sip of his iced tea, having refused the champagne the others were drinking on the grounds he was performing that night. In truth, the only time he ever drank was immediately following a show, and then only when Cole Fisher-Fielding, with his bottle of rye whisky, stormed into his railcar, which was fairly frequently. It was hot under the top, and the tea was good—bitter and refreshing. Several feet from him stood a very good-looking woman, maybe twenty-five years old. She was talking with a man whom Salvo did not immediately recognize, a man who was obviously one of the Respectables. After a second glance, Salvo realized that the man was Norris Fisher-Fielding. Salvo took several steps to his left, in the opposite direction. The woman, her back to Salvo, pushed Norris away with one hand, firmly, then turned and walked towards Salvo. Norris watched her for a moment and shook his head, before beginning a conversation with the person next to him.
The woman’s eyes scanned the vicinity, looking for a familiar face and, finding none, rested on Salvo. Her eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and she appeared to assess Salvo for a moment before she approached him.
“Hello,” she said, her voice and manner confident.
“Hello.”
“Look, I don’t really know many people here, and my cousin over there’s having a problem grasping the parameters of the fact that we’re sort of related, so can I stand here with you for a while?” She flashed him a smile.
“Yes.” Salvo’s palms began to sweat.
“You’re in the circus?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what do you do?” she asked.
“I walk the wire.”
“Really? I’ve never seen the circus before. Is your act dangerous?”
Salvo shrugged. “Only if I fall.”
The woman laughed at this, a sound pleasing to Salvo’s ears. He hardly ever laughed. “You have an accent. Where are you from?”
“Transylvania. Hungary.”
“You’re Hungarian?”
“I am a Rom.”
The woman paused. Salvo expected her to ask him if he was from Rome, which many Americans did. But she surprised him.
“Your people are not doing very well right now,” she said.
Salvo nodded. “That is how it always is.”
The woman took a drink of her champagne, Salvo of his iced tea. Someone passing by bumped into the woman, and she brushed against Salvo. As the person apologized, Salvo felt a buzz of electricity run up his arm where their skin had met.
“Will you be performing tonight?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then I will see you.” She made a move as if to leave.
“My name is Salvo,” he blurted out.
The woman smiled. “Nice to meet you, Salvo. My name is Anna. Good luck tonight.” She walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Salvo looked away from where she had been just in time to see Norris Fisher-Fielding glaring at him. He looked down at his feet, and when he looked up Norris was gone.
At the other end of the ring, Cole concluded his conversation with Arthur Simpson. The man was ha
rd to read, and from what he could tell, it didn’t appear that he had made up his mind either way. Cole was relieved that at least he hadn’t decided to throw his support to the Spouses and was somewhat confident that upon viewing the Extravaganza that evening, Simpson would lean towards Cole. The circus could move even the most stoic of souls, he knew.
In the time before he would have to walk, Salvo tried his best to put Anna out of his mind. It was obvious that she was of a different class and from an entirely different world. He had to concentrate on that night’s show, not think about some girl he’d probably never see again. On his way back to his railcar he passed the elephants, and he swore that one of them was glaring at him the same way that Norris had glared at him. He suppressed a shiver but was unable to relax in the hours that followed.
It was another sell-out night, the big top packed to bursting. Salvo waited outside with Margit and Etel while András checked the rigging on the opposite side of the tent. Etel smoked three cigarettes in rapid succession and was in the process of rolling a fourth. Margit’s hands fidgeted with the folds of her costume, and Salvo rhythmically clenched and unclenched his fists. András returned only moments before the cat act went into its final movements, and together they silently entered the big top and ascended to the wire.
Cole watched from his seat as the Magnificent Ursari Troupe began their act. On his left was his loyal nephew, Martin, and to his direct right sat Arthur Simpson, his daughter, Anna, from his second marriage, and then Cole’s nemesis, Norris Fisher-Fielding. The Spouses and various Respectables rounded out the row, everybody pretending that this was simply an amiable trip to their beloved circus, no one openly stating the animosity that flew back and forth between the two camps. Feeling his nerves begin to race, Cole discreetly popped one of the glycerine tablets he had been prescribed for his heart into his mouth and resolved to appreciate the rest of the performance. If the vote tomorrow didn’t go his way, this would be his last show as F-F president. If that was the case, he didn’t want his last show to pass unenjoyed.
With the rest of the audience he craned his neck skyward as Salvo stepped onto the wire. As usual, the Ursaris started with a simple crossing, building gradually in sophistication. But this time something different happened. When Salvo was three-quarters of the way across, he noticed a moth. There was nothing special about it; it was one of many that attempted to eat away at the untreated side walls of the canvas. But it didn’t matter. Even though it was never within five feet of Salvo, it was as though he’d been confronted by the angel of death, and he backed up, visibly frightened. For a moment it looked as though he would fall, his back foot missing the wire, his balance lost. The audience gasped, fearing the worst. But then, and he didn’t know why, his mind told his head to turn, and he found his gaze locked into that of the woman Anna. She returned his gaze, and unlike everyone else in the big top, she was not the least bit alarmed. She was calm as a newborn, her face serene and reassuring. He could see that she knew he would not fall, and so he did not. As if he had total control over the laws of physics, he easily regained his balance. Everyone, including Cole Fisher-Fielding, breathed a sigh of relief. Salvo tipped his pole in salute and continued to the end of the wire. Arthur Simpson glanced at Cole and smiled approval. Cole believed that Salvo’s salute had been intended for him, and he felt a rush of pride. He was certain the vote would go in his favour.
When Salvo reached the platform András shot him a look of fright. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Salvo answered. “I’m fine. Let’s get on with it.”
András knew he was lying, but now was not the time to go into any detail. Salvo didn’t doubt that he could continue with the act, but he knew he would feel the full weight of his mistake once he was on the ground.
Anna Simpson had never seen anything like Salvo’s act before, and he was unlike any person she had ever met. How he walked that wire she didn’t know, but she suspected it was magic. When he had looked down at her she’d felt as if he had looked right into her, through her clothes and her skin and flesh, all the way to her spine, to the marrow in her bones. She wondered what his life was like, what he looked like when he slept, what he smelled like. She had stood next to him that very afternoon, and she could not remember if he had smelled of anything. Anna resolved to find out.
To Salvo, the rest of the act passed in a daze. It was only after they were back in their railcar that he snapped out of his stupor.
“What was that?” Margit asked, angry.
András was equally upset. “You almost fall on an easy crossover and then you expect us to trust you with our lives?”
Etel stayed quiet, but he could see she was disappointed in him.
“Nothing happened. I didn’t fall. I wasn’t even close. Leave it alone.”
Etel got up and left the railcar.
“Don’t tell us nothing happened,” András said. “We have eyes, we see.”
“It won’t happen again. I worry about myself. You do the same.”
Margit threw her hands in the air. “He’s like a stone,” she said to András. “I need some air.” She too left.
András followed her, pausing as he exited. “We need you to be the best of all of us,” he said. “We cannot put ourselves on the wire if you can’t be trusted.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Salvo rubbed the back of his neck.
András nodded slowly, then followed after Margit. It was still quite warm, even though the sun had gone down hours ago. Etel and Margit stood together at the edge of the rail area, Etel smoking furiously, Margit’s arms folded across her chest. Neither spoke until András approached.
“That was bad, there,” Margit said.
“It has passed. He’s good now,” András said.
“Can you guarantee it?”
András paused. “No.”
“Yes, you can,” Etel said. “He will not fall, and he will not make us fall. If you can’t see that, you should not go on the wire.”
“I saw him nearly fall,” Margit said, “and that’s more than enough to make me nervous.”
“You saw nothing. He was not even close to what it would take for him to fall. If it were one of us, we would have fallen, but not him.”
“What makes him different than us?” Margit asked, her tone mocking.
“He is better on the wire,” András said.
“He is more than that,” said Etel. “We are wire walkers, it is our job. Salvo lives for the wire. Salvo and the wire are the same thing. We will never be like that.”
No one spoke, both András and Margit knowing Etel was right. Etel threw out the nub of her cigarette, heeling it into the earth. “We should not be so quick to judge him.”
In the railcar, Salvo was being far harder on himself than any of the others ever could have been. He knew that he would not have fallen, that he was nowhere near falling, but that did not matter. His concentration had been shattered on the wire, and that was something that must never happen.
But what perplexed him most was how, when he should have been focusing all his attention on restoring equilibrium, he looked to the audience instead, straight to the one thing he had told himself to ignore, straight to Anna. How he’d known where to look he had no idea.
There was a knock at the railcar. Expecting it to be Cole Fisher-Fielding, Salvo didn’t answer, knowing the door would fly open without any effort from him. But the door didn’t move, and after several seconds there was another knock. Salvo answered it. Anna stood there, accompanied by a nervous-looking porter.
“Hello again, Salvo Ursari,” she said.
“Hello, Anna.” Salvo became instantly aware that he smelled of that night’s performance.
“Thank you for your help,” she said to the porter, dismissing him with a tip. She looked at Salvo, who stood dumbfounded. “Would you like to take a walk?”
Salvo nodded and stepped out of the railcar. They walked towards the midway. In an attempt to behave like a gentleman, Salvo offe
red her his arm, which she accepted.
“I enjoyed the show tonight.”
“It has gone better.”
“No, it was good. The people loved you.”
Salvo stopped, turning towards her. “You knew, after I saw the butterfly, that I would not fall.”
“I didn’t see a butterfly.”
“Maybe it was a moth. I can never tell the difference. But you knew I would not fall.”
Anna turned her head to one side. “Of course.” She took a short breath. “If you fell, the world would fall with you. And I knew the world would not fall.”
They continued walking. Later both of them would remember this as the moment they fell in love.
THE NEXT DAY ANNA WAS IN THE STANDS to see Salvo walk in the matinee, a walk that passed without incident. Neither her father nor Cole Fisher-Fielding were sitting with her, however. Both were in attendance at the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company’s annual general meeting.
The financial officer reported that profits were up since the war, that record crowds were coming in, and that, in short, the F-F had never been in better shape. Nevertheless, Rebecca Fisher-Fielding-Barnes insisted on challenging Cole’s leadership, attacking his character, his business sense and his ability to run the show. It was a speech for the Respectables; everyone else knew how they were voting. When a vote was called, Cole and his nephew Martin voted for his continued presidency, and Rebecca, her husband, Phillip, and Charlotte Fisher-Fielding voted for Norris Fisher-Fielding. Because Cole’s vote counted as two, the result was a tie. The Respectables would, for the first time in F-F history, control the fate of the circus.
As Arthur Simpson stood to cast a vote on behalf of the dozen or so assembled relatives, Cole tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat. Arthur Simpson calmly winked at Cole, then cast the deciding vote in his favour. He would remain in charge until 1947, at which time there would have to be another vote. Cole had dodged a bullet for now. He thanked the Respectables for their support, promising them that the F-F would continue to thrive under his direction. Norris sulked in the corner, not appearing at all pleased with the token position he was elected to later in the meeting.
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