“That man was just plain nasty. I read a lot of books as a boy, and the more I read, the more disagreeable he seemed to become. He wanted more than blood; he wanted to beat the spirit out of me, and that’s the worst beating of all.”
We were silent for a moment, but then Marvin’s thoughts turned a corner, and a sly grin appeared on his face. “That’s when things changed. From the second I learned that the circus was coming to town, life looked brighter to me. I always wonder when I see the kids in the big top, watching the show, their eyes big as saucers… How many of them feel the way I did, as if they’ve found a whole new world?
“Donatella, you wouldn’t have believed how excited I became. My every waking thought turned around the circus. It became a ritual. I stopped by the store every afternoon to make certain that the poster hadn’t disappeared, and every day I bought an orange soda and left my bottle cap as a marker somewhere close by. It became almost religious for me, like paying homage at a shrine. And each time I did, I felt a rush of blood through my veins, and I felt stronger than I had the day before.
“It had been such a long time since I felt alive. Maybe not before my papa had died.” In Marvin’s voice, I could hear the wonder and relief, as if he was again experiencing the lifting of the pain as he had years before. Overwhelmed, he stopped to pull himself together.
“The entire town was getting ready for ‘The Big Event, Under the Big Top.’” Marvin lit his pipe, and a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke drifted over us. I nestled up closer to him and waited for him to go on.
“Every night, all my brother and I could talk about was the circus. He must have carved at least five toy horses while we waited for the circus to arrive. I’d sneak into our backyard when no one was looking, when I was certain I was alone, and tell jokes to the audience who filled the imaginary bleachers. I’d announce the imaginary performers who would steal the show, with all the drama I could muster.” Marvin laughed at the memory.
“Finally, the day arrived. First, there’d be a circus parade that afternoon. Everybody in town would be there. My brother and I hurried to finish our chores. We didn’t want to be late.
“I’d never heard a circus band. When we got to Main Street, the windjammers were playing a waltz, and then they switched to an up-tempo march. I wanted to grab one of the brass players’ instruments and start marching with them, I was so entranced.
“We wiggled through the crowd until we found a perfect spot to watch. I remember the elephants—they seemed so kind. You would have loved them, Donatella. I doubt they were as pretty as Bess or as sweet as Emily, but they made a big impression all the same. Then the horses came prancing in all their glory—I couldn’t take my eyes off them. They were the most beautiful animals I had ever seen. I was spellbound.
“It seemed as if just breathing the circus air had transformed everything, every moment in my life that came before. By the time the riders passed, I’d made a decision. It had been brewing for some time, the need to leave, though I had no idea when I awoke that today would be the day of do-or-die.”
Marvin stopped, as if in his mind’s eye those glossy horses were dancing past him, so close he could reach out and touch them, their shoes striking sparks on the paved street. “Go on,” I said finally, when the silence had stretched too long. “Don’t leave me dangling.”
“When the parade had gone past, and everyone was leaving, I found a scrap of paper on the ground, a flyer announcing that the circus was in town. While my brother was talking to a few school friends he’d run into, I found a place to sit on a bench outside the hardware store, just long enough to compose a letter on its back. Then I put it in my pocket as if it were a coin of gold.
“When we got home, our mother was frying something for dinner—I think we had pork chops and black-eyed peas that day. I remember while we were eating, even with all the excitement I felt, no one spoke more than three words. I tried to tell a joke to break the silence, but I guess it wasn’t funny, because no one laughed. I kept putting my hand in my pocket to make sure my note hadn’t disappeared.
“My stepfather was too drunk to join us for dinner—he was lying passed out on the couch. Our mother had our younger brother to care for. I felt guilty about what I was about to do, but it was as if I had no choice. Before my older brother and I left the house for the circus, I gave my mother a squeeze, my little brother a kiss, and my stepfather not even a nod.
“When we arrived, the circus band was playing ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy.’ The clowns were joking with the announcer, and in the next ring, dogs were jumping through hoops of fire. Everyone was looking up, so I did too. Twenty-five feet in the air, I saw a girl walking across a wire.
“One act ended, and another seamlessly began. I couldn’t get enough. After the show, we made our way through the crowd. This might be the best day of my life, I thought. In just two hours’ time, the world had gone from miserable to sublime.
“I looked at my brother, who had no idea what I had planned. For a second I thought about not doing it. But instead I jumped in the air, threw up my arms, and welcomed my make-believe audience. When I finished playing ringmaster, my brother and I laughed so hard we fell to the ground. That’s when I pulled out my note and told him I would not be going home. He looked in my eyes, Donatella, and he could see there was nothing he could do but say goodbye. It was one of the hardest moments of my life.”
I took Marvin’s palm and turned it over as if to read it. “See this line? This is your destiny. There was nothing else you could have done.”
“Thank you, Donatella, but it wasn’t easy. I handed my brother the note I had written and asked him to give it to our mother. I didn’t want either of them to feel guilty. My brother and I hugged each other, and I turned around and started walking in the opposite direction. I don’t know if my brother ever looked back.
“I can still recite that note. I had written it in my head many times before I set it down on the back of the circus flyer. I had practiced saying it, hoping that someday I would actually use it. In it, I told my mother that I did not know what the future would hold, but if I didn’t leave home, all the dreams inside me would shrivel and die, and I would not survive. I didn’t want to cause her pain. It wasn’t her fault; it was just how things turned out.”
By now, tears were falling down my cheeks, and Marvin wiped them away with his handkerchief. “But look where it led me,” he said, and I smiled.
Marvin’s first circus job was mucking out the horses’ stalls—not exactly glamorous. “But when I felt discouraged, all I had to do was think about my stepfather. After him, anything was tolerable. Besides, I wanted the time to learn everything I could about the circus. I can’t quite explain the feeling that I had, but it was as though the circus called to me, and I simply followed.”
Handsome, with a quick wit and a good sense of humor, Marvin was a fast learner. He made up in determination what he lacked in formal circus education. He could talk his way into any job, and he took the time to learn from anyone willing to share a word or an hour. Before long, it became apparent that Marvin, like Bess, could draw a crowd, and hold its attention, too. He had a strong work ethic, and he lived by a code.
“What was it?” I asked.
“That’s easy, Donatella. I just do the opposite of what my stepfather would do, and it’s bound to be right.”
¯¯¯
Marvin’s story was really not so different from that of any other boy who joined the circus. What made him exceptional was that he had a vision, and he loved what he did.
Given his background, his kindness, and his aspirations, it didn’t surprise me when he decided to extend a helping hand to another young boy with a talent and a dream who displayed a remarkable intuitive ability when it came to elephants.
Chapter 30
Emily kicked over a bucket, making a tinny jangling sound. I went and picked it up. “Frère Jacques, Frère Jacq
ues,” I sang, hoping this simple French song would soothe her. A storm was blowing in, and she’d begun to panic. She still associated a hose and water with the poachers who dragged her away.
“Don’t be afraid,” Spade told Emily, but the elephant kept pacing in her stall. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to stay in it or kick her way out. “We need to keep singing, Aunt Donatella.”
Emily sounded a fearful trumpet. “Frère Jacques…” Spade and I began to sing together. By the fourth round the soft, monotonous sound of our voices had calmed Emily down.
Emily had become more trusting as time passed. She and Bess were rarely apart, and I was happy that she had found such a good friend.
Bess reacted to water in the exact opposite way. Rain seemed to invigorate her. Bess loved to get wet. “Look how she catches the drops running down her face.” In the time it took for me to say this, Bess had stuck her trunk in a bucket and splashed Spade and Emily. It was the kind of joke she liked to play on us.
Emily had begun to take jokes like these in stride. Even the nervous twitch above her right eye had disappeared. But not until Harsita arrived did she really begin to sparkle.
An Indian boy of seventeen, Harsita came from a family that lived with and for elephants. His father was a mahout, an elephant trainer, and had slept next to his elephant in India for twenty years before he died, when a boulder came crashing down a hill and hit him on the head.
A British businessman employed Harsita’s aunt Lilu as a housekeeper. After the accident, Harsita’s mother agreed to let Harsita work for him, too. The businessman had holdings in the States, especially New Orleans, and when he decided to move, he brought Lilu and Harsita.
The businessman had invested a small portion of his money in a circus. Unfortunately, it went belly-up, but several of his past employees found work with Vladimir, and he took note of this. When he heard that the Circus of the Queens was coming to Lafayette, he decided to see what he could do.
“I asked a few of the fellas if they would arrange an introduction for Harsita the next time you came to Louisiana,” he told Vladimir. “You see, I’ve come to like the boy, and I feel bad for him. His aunt Lilu says that he misses his father and their way of life. I thought coming here might cheer him up. But mostly I’m hoping that with your permission, he can visit your elephants, Emily and Bess.”
“Where is the boy?” Vladimir asked.
“He’s over there by the fence, trying to be patient. I’m told he has an abundance of that quality when it comes to those giant creatures.”
Vladimir motioned for the boy to come over. “I hear you like elephants.”
“Yes, sir,” Harsita said. Then Vladimir led him to Emily and Bess. He wanted to see what this boy was made of, and whether the businessman was on the up and up. Since Big Jim, Vladimir had become less trusting.
Harsita walked into the elephants’ stall by himself. Vladimir expected the boy to do something, but he just stood still. “I kept checking my timepiece—three minutes, five minutes. Still he didn’t move. Seven minutes, and that’s a really long time to do nothing but wait,” Vladimir told Bella and me that evening and I wished so much I had been there. “Emily took a step toward him, and next Bess did the same. Emily nuzzled her trunk against the boy.” I would have loved to see this. “Then he pulled out a piece of fruit from his coat pocket,” Vladimir continued. “I swear, Donatella, they took to this boy immediately, as if they had known him all their lives. I have never seen either of them happier, and you know how I feel about Bess.”
After the visit, Vladimir took the man aside. “If it’s all right, and the boy is willing, I’d like to hire him to look after these elephants.”
“Where would the boy live?” the businessman asked.
“I have someone special in mind,” Vladimir replied.
Two weeks later, Harsita was bathing and cleaning up after Emily and Bess, and not long thereafter, Vladimir anointed him their trainer.
Marvin took the boy under his wing, just as Vladimir had hoped. I was pleased to see Marvin’s affection and concern for the boy. Marvin did not verbalize his feelings easily, but when Harsita reported his daily progress with the elephants, Marvin would gently slap the boy on his shoulder and tell him, “Good job.” It seemed fitting, Marvin observed, that Harsita reinforced the elephants’ good behavior using the same words. “Like Bess,” he told Vladimir, “the boy has a natural talent.” I must admit, Spade and I were a little jealous. Harsita had won Bess and Emily’s hearts so easily. However, I knew there was much to learn from him, and he would hold a prominent place in our lives.
“Would you like this cube of sugar? If you’re really good”—Harsita would make a funny face and wink at Emily and me—“I’ll give you an apple.” Emily was making tremendous progress. “Good job!” Harsita would say.
Harsita constructed a sturdy post to which he attached a harmonica and led Emily right up to it. Then he took her trunk in his hand and helped her cover the harmonica with it. Emily took a breath, and a sound came out. Surprised, she turned her head, but a few minutes later curiosity won out. She walked up to the post by herself, wrapped the end of her trunk around the mouth organ again, and started breathing in and out. Fascinated by the different notes, she repeated them. Pleased, Harsita pulled out a piece of fruit to reward her. Emily kept on playing.
Bess had a more artistic nature, so Harsita taught her how to paint. He would pick out the colors, dip the tip of a brush in the paint, and then wrap her trunk around the brush. Bess would delicately apply flowers all by herself, adding more color where she thought it was needed. No one was more amazed than me. An elephant that paints—what a novelty! The people applauded both Bess and Harsita generously, and it gave Vladimir one more reason to brag. However, Harsita didn’t teach the elephants to paint and play music merely out of altruism; he did it because it was smart. He could still hear his father’s voice: Keep an elephant busy and engaged. Never forget this, my boy. There is nothing worse than a bored elephant. So he took Emily and Bess on walks and played games with them, always challenging them with something new.
I watched Harsita masterfully slip into the elephants’ skin. “I live inside the elephant, Donatella,” he’d say. Several times I even caught him imitating their sounds. “Each elephant’s trumpet has its own unique quality,” he explained. He studied how Emily and Bess behaved with each other, how they quarreled and resolved their conflicts. This, I believe, is the difference between a good and a great animal trainer. It’s no wonder Harsita earned everyone’s respect.
Emily and Bess’s favorite food was watermelon. Children found this funny. They loved watching Emily and Bess eat as much as they liked watching them do tricks. Emily’s finale, after gobbling up a meal, was her satisfied trumpet. She sounded almost as sweet as one of the most popular singers of that time, Marion Harris, who sang with a soulful Southern dialect. And it didn’t matter that Em’s eyesight was poor, or that she might not see you clearly; she remembered those who were kind, and she never forgot a friend. And when the audience thought they couldn’t adore her any more, Harsita would lead Emily to her harmonicas—by now she had several in different keys. Emily would choose which sound suited her mood and play until she was through.
Bess learned how to shake hands and put her foot in Harsita’s palm. No elephant was better at playing dead than Bess. Women would shriek, and children would poke their fathers’ arms and ask anxiously if she was all right. By the time she rolled on the ground and stood to take her bow, the audience was both relieved and satisfied, and so was she: Bess never tired of the attention. After the show, Harsita would take her into the crowd, and she would extend her trunk to all who would shake it. Bess was the star, another queen, folks said.
Lately, when Spade and I visited Emily and Bess, we found the tables turned; now they were the ones inspiring us.
Harsita’s name meant “full of happiness,” and we
believed that to be true. Spade sometimes felt giddy after being around him. “Harsita and the elephants make me want to strive for something higher,” she said to me on one of our walks.
¯¯¯
Spade was seventeen now, and indeed she was burning with ambition. Awed by the Great Wallendas, a famous circus family whose skills and talents she admired, when I learned that they would be performing nearby, I asked if she’d like to go see the show. There weren’t enough words to describe her thrill.
“Aunt Donatella, the Great Wallendas perform their act without a safety net. Can you imagine? Papa would just die if I were ever to try that.”
Spade found it hard to contain her excitement. The Great Wallendas’ superhuman abilities seemed to be all she could think of. She hardly ate. At one meal, she took out Vladimir’s playing cards and began counting the spades in each deck. Then she pulled out the four queens, one of each suit—heart, diamond, club, and spade—and did a double take. The queen of spades turned her head to the right, while the other queens all faced left. “Why am I different from the rest?” she asked, and I didn’t have an answer.
It was March, and it had been raining hard for days, lashing against the canvas of the tents. The Farmers’ Almanac had predicted a sunny dry spell—but what use did a Russian girl have for that book, anyway?
We had come to Atlanta for our last vacation before the circus season opened the following week. Ann Marie and Diamond were going shopping with their mother, no matter how torrential the rain. Lucky went out with Vladimir to hunt for new decks of cards and to help keep him from thinking of his last visit to Atlanta. Vladimir had given up gambling, but he was always on the lookout for another rare deck to add to his collection. He had no interest in seeing the Great Wallendas’ death-defying stunts. He thought it unwise not to use a net. “The Vronskys have been circus royalty for generations,” he told us. “We don’t need to prove ourselves to anyone.”
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