All along these new blocks, stone foundations emerged from the earth. They resembled ruins, he thought, except for the masons bending over them, placing brick after brick, layer upon layer, creating this new city. He shivered. The entire block was under construction. A couple of apple trees stood in the midst of upturned dirt. Had they been part of the orchards he remembered? Murray Hill was just ahead, and he saw its greenery with relief.
In the next block only one house stood, and it looked like it had been there for ages. A wooden farmhouse, but now surrounded by the diggings for new construction. Strangely, the cobble was smooth under his feet. New. But ahead he saw the end of it.
He stepped off the last cobblestones onto packed and dusty earth. In the distance was a bend in the road, where the track disappeared between two grassy slopes. All his life, he could duck into a grocery, a cobbler, a restaurant, at any given moment that he walked the street. The ease, the brisk efficiency, and the people, everywhere people, had simply been the way things were, the point to work from. The bend in the road struck him as vaguely menacing after so many years lived in the sharp angles and straightaways of the city, but it also pulled him strongly. Behind him, the dog whined.
“Come on, then. Let’s go!” He stopped and waved the dog along. The creature stood at the edge of the pavement, sniffing the air and growling. Guillaudeu returned to it, but as he approached the dog kept its distance.
“For heaven’s sake. I’m your friend!” Guillaudeu called. “Can’t you see that?”
He wanted it for company, but the dog would not leave the cobbled street. He tossed it some more bread and a bit of the cheese, but the dog would not be bribed. When he finally set off northward, the unmoving dog barked after him. Looking back, just before he disappeared around the bend, the dog was still there, pacing the line where the city ended.
She Stands Up Again
Twenty-one
Maud was babbling about the gaff again. All morning I’d been posing for the lithographer’s sketch artist and my neck hurt. After the sitting, I had given the lithographer’s assistant the pages to publish for my True Life History pamphlet. It would encompass only six pages, but instead of the jungles of Surinam, the setting was our old farmhouse in Nova Scotia. It was a crude sketch, but it was true. Would it sell? Was it ridiculous? These thoughts distracted me, and if I’d known Maud would be so talkative I wouldn’t have stopped at her booth on my way up to the roof for lunch.
“I’m just not certain whom I should report it to. Straight to Barnum? Maybe one of the scouts? I would like him to know I was the one to discover it.”
“Why are you making so much out of this?”
“It’s a fraud, Ana. It doesn’t belong here.” Maud coiled her beard into a braid as she huffed up the stairs beside me.
“Them, Maud. Them, not ‘it.’ ”
“Last night they woke me up. I swear. I never heard conjoined twins make so much noise. And I heard definitive evidence: two sets of footsteps.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I heard it.”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Because it’s not real.”
“You don’t seem to have a problem with the mermaid. Or that wretched pickled arm.”
“The arm is real.”
“Of course it’s not.”
“This is different.”
“I don’t see how.”
The rooftop garden was bright and quiet. Voices seemed to fly away in the wind, which was an agreeable effect. Barnum had never designated a separate area for employees. It was an oversight, certainly, but no one complained. There was a group of five tables slightly apart from the rest of the restaurant where the employees usually gathered. Thomas sat at one of them. He waved when he saw me and I could see his feet tapping the floor.
“Ah, your friend the nervous pianist. Shall we join them?” Maud walked toward them. “Who’s that he’s talking to, an usher?”
I recognized Beebe’s curly ledge of hair. He’d taken his little red hat off and had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The two of them looked so much like schoolboys that I smiled. I had seen Beebe three times since we met. Twice he was strolling through the galleries. He consumed the museum exactly as it was designed to be consumed: staring for minutes in front of the catoptric room, shaking his head as he passed the small horn extracted from a woman’s forehead in Italy. He represented the quintessential customer, but somehow it did not repulse me.
“Miss Swift. Miss Kraike. Please, sit down.” Thomas and Beebe rose, and Beebe bowed slightly.
“We should have brought our sun hats,” Maud said to the men, extending her hand to Beebe. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” They were introduced and we sat with the cold April sun in our eyes. Thomas ordered lemonade.
“We were just discussing the Human Calculator,” said Beebe, smiling a bit too eagerly. “And how it is that he can solve such … extravagant mathematical formulas entirely in his head.”
“I was just saying that it couldn’t be possible,” Thomas said. “He must have a system of codes, perhaps through gestures, or even voice inflection, to communicate with the professor moderating the show. I’ve heard that’s a common practice.”
I would have been more interested in their conversation if they had been speculating on the shapes of the passing clouds. The weather, the meal, anything other than opinions about the contents of the museum.
“He has a sickness of the mind,” Maud corrected. “Ah, good. Our soup is coming.”
“What do you mean?” This from Beebe, the Innocent.
“Part of his brain is diseased, which allows him to calculate numbers at an abnormally fast rate.”
“Seems like a good sickness to have,” said Thomas. “Useful.”
“Except that he has some rather strange habits,” said Beebe. “He clutches things, spoons, mostly, while he’s onstage. His pockets are full of them. And he doesn’t seem to ever stop moving.”
A man set bowls of chowder before us.
“You know who is the strangest of all? Who gives me chills every time I think about him?” Maud paused for a dramatic scoop of chowder. “Tom Thumb.”
“What?” said Thomas. “He’s just a little boy!”
“I find him fascinating,” volunteered Beebe.
“He’s terrifying,” Maud declared. “Think about how young he is.”
“But there are other children,” I added. I didn’t know where Maud was going with her argument and I felt an urge to undermine her confidence. “The albino twins are here. There’s a Martinetti child younger than Thumb.”
“But they have their parents here. I heard from one of the bookkeepers that the parents gave him up. My point is, can you imagine if the only life you’ll ever know is here?”
“Sometimes I feel that way,” I said.
“But you had the farm, and your family. Thumb will know only Barnum. Horrifying.”
“I didn’t take you for a sentimentalist, Maud.” Her words chilled me. Not because I pitied Thumb; it was my own life that I suddenly abhorred.
“Our sanity is in our perspective. I participate in this way of life for a specific reason: money. But this will be the entire scope of his life, where he looks for all types of sustenance.”
“Like Caligula in the Roman army,” Thomas murmured.
“How is Thumb so different from us, Maud?” It seemed to me that her argument was based on a false pretense. “You’re speaking from the luxury of your particular situation. You could shave your face and walk outside into anonymity.”
“Why don’t you?” Thomas blurted.
“That’s none of your business,” she snapped. “But Ana, you’ve experienced normal life with your family. It’s in you somewhere. He won’t have that, ever.”
“He won’t be with Barnum forever, surely?” Beebe interjected.
“But by the time he’s done he’s not fit for society. He’ll be done for.”
In the silence that
followed, Mr. Olrick lumbered into the restaurant from the stairwell.
“Oh, look!” Maud was about to raise her hand in greeting. “He’s still wearing that military suit.”
“Maud, please. Don’t call him over.” I could not stand the thought of the forced formality, the implied camaraderie, of having another giant at the table. Don’t make me a fool, Maud.
Maud shrugged and lowered her hand. “I don’t see what you have against him. Oh, no!” Maud suddenly became very intent on her soup. “It’s Mr. Archer,” she whispered. “He’s coming this way.”
I looked over my shoulder just in time to see Archer, in a black overcoat and hat, overtake the towering Olrick, who was walking uncertainly toward our table. Archer reached us first, and that was enough to dissuade Olrick from following. He went instead to an empty table on the other side of the restaurant.
“Ah, yes. Good. Just the people I wanted to find.” The ad man took a chair from another table and squeezed between Maud and me. “I’ve just seen an interesting sight. Hello, Mr. Willoughby.” He nodded toward Thomas and ignored Beebe completely.
“I’m hoping you can help shed some light on a certain matter. You see, I was just working in my office, and I happened to observe Mrs. Charity Barnum and her little girl leaving the museum. With numerous trunks and boxes.” Mr. Archer looked back and forth between Maud and me. “It looked like they were moving out.”
“I’d forgotten that was going to be today,” I said. I had wanted to say good-bye to Caroline. To Charity even. “Are they gone?”
“Yes,” Mr. Archer went on. “They packed all of their luggage on one cart and disappeared into a carriage. I’m wondering if you could help me understand … I’ll put it simply: What’s going on?”
“The Barnums lived here?” Beebe furrowed his delicate brow.
“I never saw him on the fifth floor,” said Maud. “But Charity and the girls did.”
“The youngest daughter died, Mr. Archer.” I lowered my voice. “Here. In the museum.”
“And you were there.” Mr. Archer leaned in. “What happened?”
I told him the story of Mrs. Barnum’s strange entrance to the whist game, and the whole scene that followed.
“She was already dead when you got there?”
“Yes. There was no doctor present,” Maud chimed in. “I tried to get one of the Indians to come to the bedside. Once in Philadelphia, we had an Indian who could treat fever. I thought it couldn’t hurt, but the Indian wouldn’t come.”
“So it was you, and you, Miss Swift. Who else was there?”
“Only Mrs. Martinetti. And Mr. Olrick. That one, there.” I pointed.
“That’s a terrible shame.” Mr. Archer shook his head. “Truly awful. Now I understand why they left in such a hurry. Do you know where they will go?”
“Mrs. Barnum was not in the habit of confiding in us,” I said. Archer was already eyeing Olrick. He rose to leave.
“Well, thank you, ladies, for filling me in on the details. I’m much obliged.”
Archer took his leave and made his way to Mr. Olrick’s table.
“Did you see the advertisement he wrote in yesterday’s Atlas?” Beebe asked, tipping his bowl for the last of his soup. “There were so many adjectives you could hardly keep track of what it was you were reading about. I didn’t know we had a sewing dog.”
“Cornelia,” said Thomas. “Remarkable animal.”
“Mr. Olrick really is a nice person,” Maud said, watching the two men at the other table. “No matter what you say, Ana. Quite self-conscious, really. Almost humble.”
“He’s just embarrassed because he’s been wearing that suit for two weeks.” The waiter served us plates of beef and steaming carrots. “But the truth is, I’ve become tired of pretending that giants really have anything in common. And Olrick is so nervous.”
“Perhaps his awkwardness belies his true feelings,” Thomas suggested.
“We’re both tall. That doesn’t mean we’re linked by fate,” I spat. “I don’t believe that similarities, especially on the physical level, are the basis for friendship. I have a hard time believing that you might think so, Maud.”
“Yes,” said Beebe. “It’s often the unlikely couple who turn out to be the most well suited.”
“Unlikely. I’ll drink to that!” Maud said, lifting her lemonade. “I like to be reminded of my late husband, the unlikeliest of all.”
“You had a husband?” I could not hide my surprise.
Thomas asked, “Was he a performer?”
“Of course. But not made to last long in this world.”
We drank lemonade and amused ourselves with observing ladies’ hats, absurdly festooned with ostrich feathers, taxidermied doves, even flags, and all solemnly worn by the female museum patrons strolling the rooftop promenade.
That evening I returned to my apartment with a basin of steaming water to soak my feet. I found a note outside my door from Caroline Barnum. I set down the basin. Dear Miss Swift. We are leaving. Papa has found us a new house. It is not near the museum. It is in Connecticut. But Papa says I will visit often because the Happy Family will miss me. Do you think animals miss things? I think they must. I’m sure I will see you very soon. Good-bye. Your Humble Servant, Caroline Barnum. My humble servant. Where in the world had she learned that?
“Miss Swift?” Beebe walked down the hall toward me as I picked up the water. It was strange to see him here, among the apartments, and he appeared a bit nervous about it as well. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all, Mr. Beebe.”
The steam had flushed my face and dampened my hair.
“I was just going to ask, and forgive the presumption, if you would care to join me for an evening away from the museum.”
“You mean there is a world outside the museum?” I said.
His face clouded for a moment before he smiled. “There is indeed, Miss Swift. A world of wonders.”
“I’ve heard it’s quite pleasant to be amazed by something wonderful.”
“Well, good. Tomorrow night, then?” He took a few steps back, still facing me, and tipped his hat. “Shall I meet you at the entrance at seven o’clock?”
“Seven o’clock.” I wanted to say something else, something graceful. Instead, I allowed him to open my door so I could maneuver the basin and myself inside. Unlikely, indeed.
When I stepped out in the morning, Maud was waiting for me in the hall. She held out a morning edition of the Sun, opened to the amusements page. She pointed to a headline: P. T. Barnum’s Daughter Dies in His American Museum, in the Company of Human Anomalies. Mr. Archer hadn’t even bothered to use a pseudonym in the byline. I could not believe our naïveté.
Twenty-two
I hadn’t left the museum in thirty-five days. It wasn’t so different outside, except that I wasn’t getting paid for provoking disturbances. The only relief was that I no longer had to wear a charitable countenance toward the passersby. I stood outside the museum entrance, my back against the marble façade, concerned that perhaps Mr. Archer had seen me since his office was just inside the main door. But surely a giantess dining with an usher wouldn’t be newsworthy, even to him.
Visitors streamed in for the evening performances, and Broadway was lit up like a stage. Somewhere above my head Thomas’ band emitted an insistent sonatina. I was too warm in my good gray shawl, but I kept it on. I was outside, after all. Outside. Does the street, the city, change me? Or do I change the street? This incessant dialogue between seeing and being seen exhausted and sustained me. Where was Beebe? I did not tell Maud I was leaving; she would have discouraged it. Barnum, she told me, doesn’t like us to leave without telling him. But Barnum was gone again. People said he was in Europe. Some even said California, but I didn’t believe that.
“Miss Swift!” Beebe dodged carriages across Broadway toward me. “Miss Swift. Good evening.”
I extended my hand. You’ve greased down your hair rather strangely, Beebe.
/> “Have you been waiting?”
“Only a few minutes.” I had never seen him without the scarlet uniform and the little red hat in his hand or on his head. He wore a dark blue frockcoat now, and even from my vantage point, which was rather more distant than average, I saw that it was shiny at the elbows and ragged at the lapel.
“I trust you are well.” He took a step back from me, but his eagerness flew forward. So eager, for what? You’ve shaved that feeble mustache, thank goodness. Do you have a sister, Beebe, or a mother advising you?
“Quite. Shall we proceed?”
“It’s a lovely night.” Thankfully, he did not extend his arm. We started down Broadway. I focused my gaze above the passing faces turning toward me like heliotropes toward the sun. He was poor. Of course he was. Is that flush in your cheek embarrassment at suddenly being a spectacle (perhaps for the first time in your life) or is it simply a consequence of keeping pace with me? Even the blacking couldn’t conceal the worn-out leather at the toe of his shoes. People exclaimed and whispered around us. Was it ever different from this? It was always the same, even in the distant past of my girlhood. The only difference is that when I was young I had known everyone who whispered. It was true there was a certain headiness on the streets here, from the sheer number of strangers packed into a small area. A claustrophobic freedom.
Beebe pointed out places familiar to him: the barber, a tiny establishment with a rusted sign; a public tavern, of a decent sort, he said. By the time we’d walked three blocks my heels felt as if nails were punching up through them, piercing the flesh all the way to my hips. Unfortunately, I was not made to roam the earth. If I had been, if my body were sturdy and strong, I would be somewhere in the forests of Nova Scotia, living on wild foods, traveling with the seasons to keep up with my appetite. I suppose I could still go there, in this creaking cage, this bone sculpture fragile as a house of cards, but it would be only to die.
Among the Wonderful Page 14
