Entwined

by La Plante, Lynda

  Ruda fixed herself a salad in the trailer, and then changed into her practice clothes. She was just about to leave when Luis returned. He shook his head, his hair soaked. “It’s really coming down, maybe going to be a storm. The forecast isn’t good.”

  “Did you try and sort out the pedestals?”

  Luis had totally forgotten. He nodded, and then lied, saying he expected a return call at the main box office. She watched him in moody silence as he unlocked the wooden bench seat and checked over his guns; he rarely had a gun when watching out for her, but it was a habit from the past when his watchers had always been armed. Out of habit he checked his rifles, but never took them out of the box.

  “I’ll need you in the arena. Can you get the boys ready? We’re due to start in an hour.”

  Luis sat on the bench, picked up the towel Ruda had used to dry her hair and rubbed his head. “Ruda, we need to talk, maybe after rehearsal.”

  Ruda was already at the trailer door.

  “Which tart was it today?”

  Luis laughed, tossing the towel aside. “It’s been the same one for months and you know it—it’s Tina, she’s one of the bareback riders.”

  “You’ll be screwing them in their diapers soon, you old goat.”

  Luis laughed again; he had a lovely rumbling laugh, and it relieved her: Maybe it wasn’t as serious as she had thought.

  “See you in the ring then! After, we can go out for dinner someplace.”

  Ruda paused by the door. “Maybe, but I’ve got a lot to do, we’ll see.”

  He gave a rueful smile. “I’m sorry about the mixup with the plinths, I’ll get onto them and see you in the ring.”

  The door clicked shut after her, and Luis lifted his feet up onto the bench, his elbows behind his head, and stared at the photographs along the top of the wall. Some of them were brown with age. They were of him in his prime, standing with his lions, smiling to the camera; there was such a powerful look to him, such youthfulness…Slowly his eyes drifted down, he watched himself age from one poster to the next; it was as if his entire life was pasted up in front of him. He stared at the central poster, Ruda’s face where his had always been. The side wall was filled with Ruda. He eased his feet down and stood, slowly moving toward the pictures that showed he was a has-been.

  He opened a bottle of scotch, drank from the bottle, and looked at a photograph brown and curling with age. The Grimaldi family. There was the old man, the grandfather, his own father, with Luis beside him no more than ten years old. Luis’s father had taught him everything he knew, just as his father had done before him. Three generations of big game trainers.

  Luis downed more scotch as he stripped to shower. He bent to look at himself in the bathroom mirror, staring at the scars across his arms—warrior scars his papa used to call them—scars from breaking up the tiger fights. But there was one, deeper than the others, a jagged line from the nape of his neck to his groin. His fingers traced it, and he started to sweat, as his mouth dried up. He could never go back into the ring. She had done that to him. Ruda had made him feel inadequate, but it had been Mamon, her favorite baby, that had almost killed him.

  The cold shower eased the feverish sweats, and he soaped his chest. He had been mauled so many times; how often had he stepped between two massive tigers, more afraid they would hurt themselves than him? Only the terrible scar on his chest made the fear rise up from his belly.

  Mamon had lunged at him, dragged him like a rag doll around the practice ring, and Luis had been overcome with a terror he had not believed himself capable of. It had frozen him. He had no memory of how he had been dragged from the arena, no memory of anything until he woke in the hospital, with the wound already filling with poison, a nightmare wound that opened with pus every time he moved. The anguish and the pain had kept him feverish for weeks. In his dreams the scar opened and oozed and suffocated him.

  Luis Grimaldi had almost died. To be incapacitated physically was hard enough for him to deal with, but harder still was the relentless fear. A fear that he could tell to no one. At first he had tried hiding it, making excuses, so many excuses, why months after he was healed, he had still not been near his cats. It was during those months that Ruda had begun working solo. He had said that he wasn’t fit enough, that he needed more time to regain his strength. But Ruda knew he was afraid. Ruda had encouraged him—half-heartedly, he realized now—because she didn’t want him back in the ring, she wanted the act for herself.

  The bottle was almost empty, and the drunker he became, the more embittered he felt. He did not consider to what lengths Ruda had gone to salvage the act, how she had worked herself to exhaustion, keeping him and his cats at their winter quarters. Luis had forgotten that he never lifted a hand to help her, never asked how she had managed to finance them. All he could recall was her humiliation of him.

  It was all Mamon’s fault, he had decided. He could not get back into training with a cat that had mauled him, a cat that no longer showed him respect. Luis had entered the arena, and a cold sweat had drenched his body. He felt it as if it were yesterday, the terrible fear as Mamon’s cage was drawn closer to the gate. A number of people at the winter quarters had gathered to watch. They came to see the famous man face his attempted killer, and they stood in silence as the cage drew closer and closer.

  Mamon was motionless, his head lowered, staring at Grimaldi. Ruda had spoken calmly, softly, asking Grimaldi when she should release the cat. Grimaldi took another gulp of scotch as the heat of his humiliation made him shake.

  Alone in the arena, he could not stop his legs from trembling, his breath felt tight in his chest. He looked from Mamon to Ruda. He wanted more than anything to give her the signal. But he froze, and she kept on watching him, her eyes like the cat’s, and she was smiling. It was her mocking smile that finished him. The great Grimaldi walked out of the arena and back to their quarters. That moment finished his career.

  He began to cry as he remembered the way she had held him close, later that night. He recalled every word she had said.

  “It’s not the scar on your body, Luis, but the ones inside; they are always worse. I understand more than anyone else, I understand.”

  Luis had pushed her away from him then, shouting that she did not understand, there was nothing wrong with his mind, and he had pulled his shirt open to display the raw, ragged scar. Mamon, he said, was dangerous, should be shot. He had then tried to get his gun, pushing Ruda out of his way. Ruda’s physical strength had stunned him, she had almost lifted him off his feet with a backhanded slap that sent him sprawling. Standing over him, her eyes as crazy as a wild cat’s, she had virtually spat out the words.

  “You touch Mamon, and I swear to God I’ll kill you!”

  Luis had dragged himself to his feet. “You shoot him then, it’s him or me, Ruda.”

  Ruda had taken his whip, the whip Luis’s grandfather had used, and, for a second, he thought she was going to use it on him. Instead, she laughed in his face.

  “Watch me! Just watch me, Luis.”

  From the trailer window, he had seen her stride to the practice arena. Luis heard her shrill voice instruct the old hand who had been with Grimaldi for thirty years, heard her give the order for Mamon to be released into the arena.

  Ruda had wheeled the old, well-worn plinths into the center of the ring, and then stood waiting, hands on her hips. The massive lion moved slowly and cautiously through the makeshift barrier tunnel from his open cage. Luis inched open the window to hear her. Her voice rang out, a high pitched call: “Mamawwwwwwwwww, Mamawwwww UP…YUP YUP…Mamon…come on, angel…good boy mama’s angel.”

  Mamon swung his massive black-maned head from side to side and then, to Luis’s astonishment, reared up onto his hind legs and walked toward Ruda, his front paws swung toward her. He kept on walking toward her and then, as she called out to the animal, he turned, as if dancing for her. Her high-pitched voice called out a rolling ‘Rr’ sound—“REH!
rey, REH…REH…”—and then Mamon jumped onto the red plinth. After steadying himself, he cautiously tested the plank, a thick wooden board balanced between the two plinths. Carefully, cautiously, right front paw patting the plank, he still balanced himself, and she now called: “HUPPPPPPPPPPPP! BLUE…BLUE…M’angel!”

  The animal trod the narrow board toward the blue-based plinth. He eased himself into a sitting position, his thick tail trailing the ground as he perched.

  Ruda moved closer and closer to the blue plinth, until she was close enough to be within the lion’s territory. Only another trainer would know this was, in actual fact, reasonably safe. The animal sitting on the plinth, needing all four paws to give him balance, is unlikely or unable to attack, his hind quarters overhanging due to the position of his tail. If he attacked from a seated position, he would automatically lose his balance.

  Luis couldn’t take his eyes off Ruda as she moved in close, and then audaciously turned—leaving her back within a half foot of the animal. She never stopped talking, whispering encouragement, as she then knelt down on one knee, her head beneath the massive cat’s.

  Ruda gave a high-pitched command: “UP… UP… GREEeee GREEEE…” The green-based plinth was five feet in front of her.

  She was encouraging him to leap from one pedestal to another, from the red to the green.

  Mamon lifted his front paws and balanced himself on his hind legs on the pedestal. All his muscles strained as he made a flying jump, right over Ruda’s head, onto the green pedestal.

  She ran to him and gave him a tidbit, rubbing his nose. She then looked to the trailer window with a small, tight smile on her face. Finally she lifted both her arms, giving the final command for Mamon to head out of the arena.

  Ruda gave a mocking bow to the small group of onlookers who applauded her, as Luis slunk away from the trailer window.

  The word spread fast that the great Luis Grimaldi had lost his nerve. They joked that his wife had taken it from him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Grimaldi staggered slightly as he left the trailer now. The rain had not ceased and the ground was muddy. He made his way toward the rehearsal tent. The cashier who had talked with Ruda earlier that morning called out to him. He turned bleary-eyed toward her large brown umbrella.

  “I can give you the advance, Mr. Grimaldi, if you come over and sign for it.” Luis had not the slightest idea what she was talking about, and stumbled over to her.

  “Your wife w T anted an advance on your salary. If you need it, I’ve come back from the bank, I just require your signature.”

  Grimaldi mumbled incoherently, and she passed on, turning to see him slither and slide against one of the trailers. The cashier shrugged, disinterested; his drinking problem was well known.

  The big man mumbled to himself. Not content with taking over his act, Ruda was trying to steal his money! He was going to face her, and nothing was going to stop him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Ruda had made the boys dismantle the cage arena twice, and re-erect it. She timed them to the last second, and even bolted and heaved two of the walls herself; the whole operation was to take less than two minutes. This was tough going, the arena cage was very heavy and unwieldy, the tunnel sections even heavier. As they took it all apart for the third time, they moaned and muttered to one another, out of “Madame Grimaldi’s” earshot.

  Mike asked if they were to use the new pedestals, stacked outside the ring. Ruda pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, I’ll do that first thing in the morning when I’m fresh. Let’s just do the easy routine today, give them some exercise, and tomorrow we’ll have a real crack at it. So for now, it’s the herd, then the leap, followed by the roller roll.”

  Ruda called up to the electrician. “Can you give me a few spotlights, in the usual places, just to keep them on their toes, red, green, and blue formation?”

  A voice answered that he would rather have it be on her toes than his! A few spots came on and off. Ruda shaded her eyes, calling out to the technician again.

  “The most important one is directly after the leap, Joe. Last time it was a fraction late.”

  Ruda paced up and down, her head shaking from side to side as she relaxed her shoulders. There was to be no music, this was simply a warm-up to get the cats used to the new place. It also kept the animals on their mettle after a long night’s traveling; it would calm them.

  The cages were now lined up, ready to herd in the animals. Ruda gave a look around the ring and did not see Luis, but two of the boys had already placed their chairs at either side of the arena, to watch over the act. They carried no guns; they could, if needed, break up trouble by creating noise and yelling.

  “Okay, Mike, let’s go for it!” she ordered at the top of her voice.

  Ruda used the small trapdoor at the side and entered the arena, then turned back to head into the animals’ entrance tunnel. When the act was live, she always entered from the tunnel itself, straight into the ring, as if she were one of the cats.

  As she headed down the tunnel, she double-checked that the sections were bolted, bending her head slightly where the bars joined at the top. Midway she signaled to Mike to release the cats on the count of ten, to coincide with the opening music bars. She tightened her thick leather gloves, her voice hissed…one…two…three…As she reached nine, she spun around, running into the arena, back down the tunnel into the wide caged arena. She carried only her short practice stick. She wore old trousers, a shirt knotted at the waist, and the used black leather boots, caked with mud and excreta. They had not seen a lick of polish since Luis had given them to her.

  The cats were now released; any second they’d be heading in. Ruda paced herself; she bowed to the empty auditorium—she practiced every move to be performed in front of the live audience. Arms raised, she could feel the ground shudder as the animals charged down the tunnel. She felt a rush of adrenaline. She loved this moment, when the sixteen tigers hurtled into the main ring, as though frighteningly out of control, because she knew the cats understood who was their leader, which place each was to take. Ruda backed to the wall of the arena and picked up a heavy double-sided weighted ladder. The cats whirled around, forming a wide circle around her, as she stood in apparent nonchalance next to a small ladder plinth. They were loping, moving faster and faster…

  The circle tightened as she yelped a command. Her second command, hardly detectable, was a lift of her right hand to the lead tiger; she never took her eyes off him. Roja was the number one cat, and it was Roja who split the circle by breaking to his right. Now the cats gathered into two groups on either side of her. A third command, and the animals began to weave around each other.

  The circle became tighter and tighter, closing in around her. Ruda became more vocal, now calling each tiger by name. They were high-pitched calls. Then, on a signal to Roja, the cats touched, pressing their bodies hard against one another. Ruda, her back to the small ladder, slowly eased herself up the steps one by one, as the cats kept circling, like a Catherine wheel, turning and turning.

  Ruda reached the top rung of the three-foot ladder. There was total silence as off-duty circus performers watched the rehearsal. Luis entered the arena, lifting the flap aside, and stood for a moment before he began to thread his way through the seats.

  Ruda bellowed: “Down…R-OHja, down…Jajajadown!”

  Tigers are instinctive fighters; the crossing of each other’s body territory was very dangerous, accompanied by snarls and teeth-baring. But one by one they lay down side by side, until all sixteen tigers formed a wondrous carpet. Twice Ruda reprimanded two females for having a go at each other by banging the flat of her hand on the top rung of the ladder.

  Those watching were uneasy now, aware of the danger. If a tiger accidentally knocked over the ladder by brushing too close, they could all attack.

  More and more performers had slipped into the arena. But Ruda saw nothing, no one, her attention was riveted on the carp
et of cats. Satisfied they were in place, she lifted both arms above her head, never stopping talking to them. Then she issued the command: “UPO…UPAHHHHHHHH.”

  Sixteen tigers rose—all in almost perfect formation—then lowered their heads. It was a magnificent sight—as the glorious carpet of gold and black stripes lifted magically into the air.

  Ruda called out again, made it onto the top rung of the ladder and then flung herself forward, facedown, to lie spread-eagled across the cats. They began to move, carrying her around in a terrifying wheel. She then dropped to her feet, arms above her head, at the center of the seething mass. She flicked Roja with her stick and he broke the circle and spread wide at a run; the others followed, spreading wider, running around her as she gave a low bow. She held the bow for three long beats, then turned back toward the tigers who formed two lines facing her. Her voice cut through the air, high pitched, and up they reared to sit on their hindquarters. They clawed the air, Helga and Roja in a snarling match; Ruda pushed Helga aside and flicked her hand at Roja, stepping back. Facing them, she spread her arms wide, giving a small signal to Sasha, one of her females, leading the second section of the lineup.

  They were ready, and she gave the command. “HUP… HUPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP.”

  From their squatting position they all reared up to stand on their hind legs. Their growls and swiping paws denoted their displeasure. They were perfectly poised to attack—for tigers always attack from the front, never the rear. Shouting, she urged them back into a chorus line…

  Grimaldi wanted to weep. She was spectacular. Even at the zenith of his career he had never attained such perfection. Her face shone, her eyes were brilliant in the spotlight, as though risking her life was an exhilaration. Her radiance humbled him and, drunk as he was, he bowed his head, trying to steady himself on the seat in front of him. The seats had not been battened down yet; the chair was loose and it fell forward, and Luis came down with it onto the second row of seats. The bang was as loud as a shot.