Touch of the Clown

by Glen Huser

  Livvy is squirming on her watermelon chair. I know that if we don’t move fast, she’ll have an accident. “Can we use your bathroom?”

  He nods and points to a door down the hall. We are only a little bit late. I put Livvy’s soiled clothes into a plastic bag from the survival bag and help her into the change of clothes I’ve brought along. She wants to touch all of the things in the bathroom. There’s a basket of sponges of different sizes. Not little square ones made out of plastic, but ones that look like they may actually have lived somewhere. There’s soap shaped like seashells, some glass prisms hanging in the bathroom window.

  “Come on, Livvy,” I say. “We can’t stay in here forever.”

  “Aah, metamorphosis,” Cosmo says as we return to the kitchen.

  I know he means Livvy’s change from her Batman top and yellow shorts to her Jurassic Park top and pink shorts.

  There are tall drinks for us on the table with ice and slices of lemon and lime and some little sandwiches on see-through plates sitting on placemats that look like big slices of watermelon.

  “Mmmm, yummy,” Livvy says in her baby-talk voice.

  Cosmo dances over to the fridge and brings out three glasses of lemon-colored ice cream. The glasses look like they should be for champagne or some fancy drink, and when he puts them on the table, I see that it’s not really ice cream in them.

  “Sherbet,” Cosmo says, reading my mind again. “The good news,” he says, “is you can have seconds. The bad news is the office was all out of brochures for the clown workshop. They’re supposed to get some printed in the next couple of days. I think it’ll still give you time to get an application in.”

  At the park, Cosmo and I play ball with Livvy for a few minutes before she decides she needs to test Bingo out on the curly slide. Cosmo and I slip into swing seats, side by side, just barely moving.

  “You spend a lot of time looking after Livvy.” He says it more as a statement than a question.

  “Daddy and Grandma aren’t very well.”

  “So you’re chief cook and bottle-washer.”

  “Daddy used to do more and, when he was working, Mrs. Van Vurstenfeldt used to come in and help. But then we couldn’t pay her anymore, and Livvy was getting older, so she could do more things for herself.”

  “And what happens when you refuse to chief cook or bottle-wash? Or do you ever?”

  “Cosmo, look at me!” Livvy shouts from the roof of the little lookout tower by the slide.

  “Keep an eye out for pirates,” he calls back.

  “I just do it,” I say. “One time when Mrs. Van Vurstenfeldt first left us, I got mad and went on strike. I hate washing Livvy’s clothes. They’re always just…yucky. I left them and they rotted and we had to throw most of them out, and then Livvy hardly had anything to wear for awhile. Daddy got really mad…”

  I can tell that Cosmo would like to ask some more questions, but I begin pumping my legs to make the swing go higher. There’s no easy way to stop a swing once it’s in motion, and I close my eyes, letting the sweep up wipe out the image of Livvy’s clothes submerged in smelly water in the soaking sink, the plunge down erase the pot of Kraft dinner getting gluey on the stove. I pump away the sound of Daddy being sick when he’s drunk too much, and Grandma’s rambling conversations with the ghosts of her past. Higher into the sun, the air fresh against my face, and then I let the swing slow down, the arcs getting smaller.

  “I want to swing, too.” Livvy has wandered over from the curly slide and the monkey bars.

  The three of us swing back and forth, and Livvy begins singing her Bingo song. Soon we are all singing it, singing and laughing and pumping our legs, except Cosmo’s are too long and he has to just get going and then hold his legs out straight, his green shoes making a path through the air.

  “Check it out with your dad,” Cosmo says when we reach the gate on the way home. “Day after tomorrow they should have some more brochures. I have a late afternoon meeting, so maybe you can come over just after supper for a little while. Say seven o’clock.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Where are you off to?” Daddy wanders into the kitchen just as we are about to leave for Cosmo’s. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He has been sleeping since the middle of the afternoon.

  My voice tries to make a sound but nothing comes out. I can’t believe I didn’t leave five minutes earlier, just after I’d looked in on him and Grandma. But that would have made us a bit early at Cosmo’s and I don’t want to look over-anxious.

  Livvy starts to open her mouth.

  “Friends.” I find my voice. “Just for a little while.”

  Daddy holds his head as he gets down to look in the bottom cupboard where he and Grandma keep their sherry. “Don’t be late,” he mumbles.

  I give Livvy a little push.

  “Hey, quit it, dodohead.”

  “Shh.” I hurry ahead of her out of the yard.

  “What friends?” Livvy asks.

  Good question, I think.

  At the start of grade six, when Mr. Graydon came to our school, he matched everyone up with a buddy. Buddies kept track of assignments when you were home sick, gave you a birthday card on your birthday, spent time with you on the playground. If parents agreed, buddies visited each other’s houses.

  I had three buddies in grade six. Tatiana, my first buddy, was at school for only three weeks and then her family moved to Fort MacMurray. Jaycee was my buddy for about six months but she missed more days than she came to school. Mrs. Femeruk told Mr. Graydon it wasn’t fair for me to be spending so much time keeping track of Jaycee’s homework. Then Jaycee got placed in a foster home and started going to a different school.

  Mabel Wong was my last buddy, but we didn’t spend much time together. Her grandmother walked her to and from school and showed up at the playground at recess time with little snacks for Mabel. When Mabel tried to share her snacks, her grandmother talked really loud in Chinese and kept waving her hands at me.

  By the next fall, when I started grade seven, we didn’t hear anything more about the buddy system. I guess it didn’t work that well for most people. I felt kind of sorry for Mr. Graydon.

  “Do you spend much time with your friends?” he asked me one time when he got tired of asking me about Daddy and Grandma and Livvy. “You have friends, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I could see he was waiting for me to name names. “Tatiana. Jaycee. Mabel.” Mr. Graydon gave me a funny look.

  Livvy jumps like a rabbit along the sidewalk. “Goodee. Friends,” she chants.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, be quiet. We’re not going to see friends. We’re going to Cosmo’s house.”

  “Cosmo’s my friend.”

  “Okay. But just be quiet.”

  “You be quiet.”

  “Grow up.” I can see the time on the funeral home clock a block away. It’s nearly ten after seven.

  “I want lemonade,” Livvy sings. “I want green sherbet.”

  “Don’t you say a word about anything to eat or drink, or…” I struggle to think of a good threat. “Or I won’t ever bring you with me again.”

  “Have to”.

  “Have to what?”

  “Have to bring me with you. Daddy says.”

  She’s probably right but I can’t let her believe that. “We’ll see,” I say as mysteriously as possible. “But don’t say anything about eating or drinking. Promise.”

  “But I’m tired of macaroni.” It’s true. We’ve been living on macaroni for days. The last of the check money went for a cab to the liquor store. A case of sherry and six previously viewed videos that were on sale for $9.99 each at the video shop.

  “Pasta,” Daddy says as I cook up pots of macaroni, “is the staff of life in many parts of the world. I could eat it three times a day.” At first there was cheese spread to mix into it and, later, a can of tomato soup, but at lunch today it was macaroni and margarine. When Livvy complained, Daddy mixed some ketchup into hers. “There
,” he said. “Pasta with tomato sauce.” Livvy made horrible faces and said “yuckee” a lot, but eventually she ate it.

  “Daddy’s and Grandma’s checks will be in soon, and then we can get some groceries,” I tell her. We are in front of Cosmo’s house, looking up at the stairs leading to his doorway far above us. “Come on, Livvy,” I whisper. “Beat you to the top.” She squeals and we clatter up the steps. We are breathless when we get there, and I let Livvy tap on the door.

  When Cosmo opens it, I see he is wearing some kind of robe, like a priest might wear in some religion far away. It seems to be made of the colors of sunlight and sand, and it’s filled with designs that are a maze, patterns interlocking with other patterns.

  “You’re wearing a dress!” Livvy exclaims.

  “Well, sort of,” Cosmo laughs. “It’s called a kaftan.”

  Kaftan. I love the sound of the word. I say it softly to myself.

  “It’s pretty,” says Livvy.

  Cosmo has ushered us into his green kitchen and gestures to the watermelon chairs. “I’m just finishing up the dishes. It’ll only take a couple of minutes and you can keep me company while I do them.” He pulls dishes out of his sink and puts them into a draining rack. The dishes are mostly see-through, and those that aren’t are brightly colored yellows, greens, and blues–the colors of the balls he uses for juggling.

  Cosmo has opened his refrigerator door. Livvy is hopping from foot to foot and she has grabbed hold of Cosmo’s kaftan.

  “You two just had supper? Or could you eat some gingerbread and whipped cream?”

  “I could,” says Livvy before I can stop her.

  “How about you, Barbara Stanwyck?”

  I feel a flush coming to my face, but I nod. On top of the squares of nut-brown cake, Cosmo spoons a swirl of whipped cream and adds a maraschino cherry to the top of each. Livvy cannot contain herself. She is off her chair, hopping from foot to foot.

  “Livvy, do you need to go to the bathroom?” I ask suspiciously.

  “No, no, no,” she sings. “I love, love, love cherries!”

  “Then you shall have two,” says Cosmo, adding another to each dish.

  “Come into my parlor,” he chuckles, a dish balanced in each hand.

  We trail through the photomontage arch into his living room. The living room is as white as the kitchen is green. There is no furniture except for large cushions lapping the edge of a rug, and a sound system that covers most of one wall. There is a window seat built into a small bay, and I sit there, tucking the folds of Mama’s crinkled cotton skirt around my legs. The skirt is all shades of pink and red, and I feel that it is one Cosmo will like.

  Livvy makes herself a little floor chair by propping one cushion against another.

  “Don’t you spill anything on those cushions,” I tell her while Cosmo ducks back into the kitchen. He comes back with three glasses on a little tray.

  “Lemonade,” Livvy shrieks.

  “You got it.”

  The gingerbread is soft and moist, and each forkful sends up a flight of spicy smells to my nose. Never in my life have I tasted anything so good. Not even the Oreo cookie blizzards Daddy treated us to on the last day of school when Livvy and I brought home our report cards.

  Livvy is making small, contented sounds like a puppy. While we are finishing our plates, Cosmo puts on a CD and presses a couple of buttons on his sound system. The room is filled with soft guitar music. He sits on the floor, cross-legged, his kaftan enveloping his feet.

  “So, what have the Kobleimer girls been up to?”

  “Not much,” I say. “Daddy and Grandma haven’t been feeling very well, so I’ve just…” I search for words, “been kind of looking after things.”

  “Are they really sick?” Cosmo asks.

  “Daddy’s having a nervous breakdown,” Livvy says.

  “Livvy, don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about,” I scold her.

  “He is, too. He’s this far way,” she retorts, holding her fingers the way Grandma does.

  “Sorry to hear it,” Cosmo says, and there is a little twinkle in his eye.

  I don’t want to talk about Daddy and Grandma anymore. “We’ve been reading a lot,” I say. “I finished all the books we have from the library. I’ll get some new ones tomorrow.”

  “I want Charlotte’s Web” says Livvy.

  “No, not again,” I moan. “Charlotte’s died three times already since school let out.”

  “I love Charlotte’s Web.”

  “Well, there are a few thousand other books there as well. We could maybe just see what’s in some of them.”

  Cosmo leaps up suddenly. “I’ve got it,” he says, kind of like Professor Higgins in the My Fair Lady movie Grandma and Daddy watch about once a week. “I’ve been trying to think how I could make amends in some way for running over you, Livvy.”

  “What! What!” Livvy is clapping her hands.

  “I just happen to have a whole boxful of books that my mother sent me when she was cleaning house the other day. All the books I had when I was a kid. You and Barbara shall have them.”

  “All of them?” Livvy’s voice is struck with awe.

  “All of them. I’ll get them for you before you go and you can take as many as you can carry. And somewhere…” Cosmo is searching here and there, the ledge on top of the fireplace, nooks and crannies of shelves alongside his sound system, the kitchen cupboard counter. “Somewhere I have all the information and the forms for the clown workshop.”

  “I’ll probably have to keep an eye on Livvy,” I sigh, pleating Mama’s skirt with my fingers. I’m wearing her pink beads as well. They wink at me in the oval mirror on the wall opposite.

  “There’s a bunch of little bunnies her age doing things at the art gallery. Maybe she could get into a program there while you’re in the workshop. I could talk to my friend Bella, or maybe I could convince our director to let her tag along and do some things with us.”

  “Yes, I want to,” Livvy whines.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Daddy doesn’t like us to go very far from home. Livvy’s problem, you know…” My voice trails away.

  “Problem?” Cosmo asks.

  “I want to be a clown,” Livvy continues whining.

  “It’s kind of a bathroom problem.”

  “They do have bathrooms at the theater and the art gallery,” Cosmo says. “Just bring along some extra clothes. And here we are.” He finds the papers he’s been looking for on a telephone table in the hallway between the living room and his bedroom. “If your daddy can’t afford it, there’s special funding we can ask for. He’ll just need to fill out this part of the form.”

  “Can I go, Barbara? I want to.” Livvy has turned this into a chant.

  “I don’t know, Livvy. Be quiet.”

  Cosmo perches some glasses on his nose and sinks back onto his cushion as he reads the form over. The room has darkened a bit and a floor lamp with a shade pleated like a fan casts a soft light on Cosmo’s head. It makes his hair look like spun gold and turns the kaftan an even deeper sun-drenched color. The many shades of gold move as he shifts his position, takes the glasses off, rubs his eyes. For an instant he holds the glasses up against the light, and the long kaftan sleeves fall back, revealing his bandage and the dark bruises on both arms.

  “Are those bruises sore?” I ask.

  “What, these?” He looks at his arms. “Oh, they’re not from the bike accident. It’s a kind of skin cancer I have.”

  Cancer. I can’t believe I’ve made him think about something so awful. I think of the lady at Mama’s funeral saying there was cancer running all through her. Sometimes, I guess, it runs along the outside. Is it going to kill you, I want to ask Cosmo, but I can’t make my voice say anything.

  “I’ve had it for quite awhile,” he says. “It’s uncomfortable and sometimes painful, but you get used to it.”

  I don’t know what to say. Livvy has found some little mechanical toys on a she
lf and is winding up a pink plastic pig that does a little jig when you set it down.

  She squeals with delight.

  “Wilbur! Wilbur’s dancing!”

  “I’m glad you’re giving him some exercise,” Cosmo laughs. “He likes to dance and he doesn’t do it nearly enough.”

  “Can I have him?” Livvy asks suddenly.

  “Livvy!” I scream at her. “That’s rude!”

  Cosmo puts his index finger across his lips and smiles at me. “You could, Miss Olivia,” he says, “if it hadn’t been given to me by someone very special. But, tell you what. Whenever you come to visit, you must remember to set him out for a bit of a jig.”

  “All right,” Livvy chuckles.

  I want to ask him who gave him the pig, but it’s safer to say nothing.

  I just listen to Livvy’s happy squeals as she sets the pig dancing again, and the CDs of guitar music, and now a lady singing sad songs in a soft, scrapy voice. God bless the child… I look more closely at Cosmo’s living room. Against the white walls there are shelves with books and knickknacks. Not the china birds and bouquets of flowers and old-fashioned plaster ladies that Grandma has all over our house, but African animals carved out of wood, oiled and polished, and little boxes of all shapes, some carved, some inlaid with metal and something shiny and white.

  One wall is covered with photographs that have frames decorated with patterns of triangles and circles, leaves and flowers. There’s a photo-graph of a clown–it must be Cosmo but I can’t be sure–and one of a man with black, curly hair, dressed like someone out of Romeo and Juliet. As I look from picture to picture, I realize that the man with the black hair is in most of them.

  The pig has wound down and nuzzles its snout into one of the geometric diamonds on Cosmo’s rug. Livvy yawns and pats her tummy contentedly.

  “I’d better take her home,” I say.

  “No, me wanna stay,” Livvy sighs.

  “Books!” Cosmo claps his hands together. “The Kobleimer girls shall not leave, except laden with literature.” He disappears and returns dragging a large cardboard box. “I know the perfect one for you, Livvy,” he says. “Wilbur is not the only pig to be discovered between the covers of a book. You need to meet Piglet.” He rummages and brings out a copy of Winnie-the-Pooh. Livvy loves the name. “Pooh, Pooh, Pooh.” She dances around, giggling.