The Fortune Teller's Fate

by Audrey Berger Welz

But one night, when he started beating up on Mama something fierce, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had the sense to get little Jimmy out of the room, and then I rushed back. He looked like he was going to kill Mama. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the hammer I’d been using earlier that afternoon. I don’t know what overcame me. It was as if my body were following someone else’s orders. But I ran and grabbed the hammer off the counter, and I hit him three times on the head, each time a little harder, and I watched him fall to the floor.

  I stood over him in disbelief. He still had some breath left in him, and he gave me a look. Actually, his lips turned up oh so slightly, and a small smile appeared. It was as if he was telling me that all this time he had been waiting for me to have the courage to hurt him back. He’d wanted to be beaten. It felt so perverse.

  I sent little Jimmy next door to get help, but there was nothing to be done. Both Mama and I were shaking. Undoubtedly we were in shock. Little Jimmy didn’t fully understand the gravity of the situation.

  Our stepfather suffered for three days until he died. They said it was probably from a blood clot in his head. I was arrested, and I had to stand trial, but I was acquitted of any wrongdoing. I’d clearly been defending myself and our mother. Sadly, Mama died soon after this—from sorrow, I think. Her heart had shriveled up from the drought of love for so many years. She had no more forgiveness left in her, for herself or anyone else. I was sad for Mama, but I celebrated the death of our stepfather, and I don’t think that God blamed me—Lord have mercy on me.

  The court made me little Jimmy’s legal guardian. Luckily, he was young and doesn’t remember much. With me, he grew up safe. Little Jimmy has a good nature, and I think he was happy in the home we made together. He lives up north in Buffalo now and has a wife and daughter, so you are an uncle.

  There have been times I have cursed your name, though now I’m glad one of us was spared some of the pain. It took a lot of courage for you to leave. I want you to know I don’t hold any bad feelings now, and if possible, I’d like my brother back in my life. I’m not certain if you’ll see me before I go to California. If not, I will hold you in my thoughts, just as you looked the day the windjammer band carried you away. No matter what, I promise to stay in touch.

  Your brother who loves you,

  Tyler

  On another slip of paper he left a short note to me:

  Donatella,

  When Big Jim was bragging, he mentioned an elephant. He said that he tricked her owner because the owner deserved it, and because he could. He said the owners, a Russian nobody named Vladimir, and “the not-so-marvelous Marvin,” think they are big shots. Keep an eye out for him. He’s nothing but trouble for you and I think his manager is, too.

  But if this elephant means anything to you, which I think she must, I get the impression—that if the price is right—he might consider selling.

  I hope this is helpful. Be well, and take good care of my brother.

  Tyler

  After I’d read the letter, I told Marvin not to expect Tyler; his emotions were too overpowering. I think Marvin didn’t want to face his brother in person either; he was afraid of the pain that could rise to the surface. But he was happy, Marvin told me. He finally knew his family story, and that both Tyler and his little brother Jimmy were well. “For years,” Marvin said, “I wished horrible things on my stepfather, but little did I know he was already dead.” He laughed at the irony. “How absurd it was to harbor so much anger for so long. It’s time to let it go.”

  ¯¯¯

  Day in and day out, month by month, the team of workers I assembled worked alongside Marvin and Harsita, turning over the rich earth. The more they planted and sowed, the more the farm became a part of me. Despite all the manpower we had, by 1934 we were beginning to prosper once again and needed to expand our workforce. This happened to coincide with Vladimir’s tightening of the reins, which displaced even Roman. Vladimir by now had sold most of the animals except for a few horses, Ali Baba among them, and Roman’s father had retired to New Orleans after donating his lions to the zoo. Without a lion to care for, I cleared out another bedroom so that Roman could join us for as long as he needed or wanted. Poor Colonel Butler would have been appalled to see the motley assortment—myself, Marvin, Harsita, Roman, and Polly—that had taken over his once grand home.

  ¯¯¯

  Diamond wrote with some exciting news about a circus musical that she had won a part in. She said it was called Jumbo and was sure to be a hit. “It’s as if the play was written for me. There’s a man in it named Jimmy Durante, who is so funny. Oh, how I wish you could see it! Some fellas called Rodgers and Hart wrote it.”

  Diamond’s letter left my brain spinning, and before long an idea had been woven.

  Chapter 46

  It was early April, and Easter was just around the corner. The shop windows were draped in pinks and lavenders, among which cavorted rabbits dressed as country gentlemen. It was hard to walk by the candy store displays of fat chocolate hens, marzipan chicks, and colorful foil-wrapped candy eggs without purchasing a bag or a box. I even tried my hand at making some candies myself. It’s a good thing Polly was around, or by evening I might have burned the house down. As it was, my fudge boiled over and clogged the gas pipe on the stove.

  We had all struggled through such trying times, I felt we deserved a little fun. The farm had almost completely recovered, and it had been too long since any of us took time out just to enjoy life and make new memories. We’d all wanted to see Diamond on Broadway. Now was the time!

  Ann Marie, with young Scarlett, needed to stay behind, and Bella of course would not leave her side. But Lucky joined us at the farm, and our little family—me, the honorary matriarch, Marvin, Roman, Harsita, and Lucky—had Ben drive us to the station.

  I’ll carry forever the thrill of excitement that appeared on their faces as the train we were about to board to take us to New York City pulled into the station. I thought their eyes would pop out of their sockets!

  The train was painted in brilliant citrus-hued stripes, yellow, orange, and green. They recognized it immediately. This was not just any train; I’d booked three sleeper compartments on the Orange Blossom Special! It was an extravagance, but considering how much I had been given, I joyfully passed on what good fortune I could.

  “Donatella, you shouldn’t have!” both Lucky and Marvin exclaimed. Once they were on the train, though, it would have taken a Strong Man and three bodybuilders to pull them off.

  The Orange Blossom Special was a luxury passenger train known also for its speed. It only ran in what was considered the winter season, and, was first class in every way. Cakes and pies were baked on board under strict supervision. Cut flowers and fish were brought in fresh at intervals along the route, and the best wines and champagne were stocked, all at pre-Prohibition prices.

  As the train pulled out of the station, I thought of my father and Russia. I wondered what he would have thought about the farm, and America. Out the train window, one Georgia shack after another flew past. Ragged clothes were strung on lines, and barefoot children played in red-dirt yards. The European paintings and Oriental rugs on the train made the shacks outside seem all the bleaker, and once again I was reminded how fortunate I was, and I had to admit I felt a little guilty.

  Lucky looked out the window too, but I think she saw the rosy visions floating in her head, dreams that were planted in childhood, stories her sisters had told her. “I hear the Cotton Club is fabulous,” she said. “We can listen to the blues and then travel to Greenwich Village for a poetry reading. I think I’m going to love it!” Most of all, I could see she wanted to see Diamond’s world for herself. Perhaps then she’d be able to move on and find the realm she could call her own.

  We each had our own vision of what New York would be like. I, of course, had been there before, but not since I was a girl. How young and naive I had been! I
had to admit I was most excited to take the tunnel under the Hudson River and see Penn Station. Neither had existed when I first arrived in 1905.

  Lucky and Roman were excited to see Diamond. I warned them, though, that she might seem to have changed, at first. “A city does that to a person. Eventually everyone does their part to blend into the look and feel of where they live, but underneath the exterior will be the Diamond we’ve always known: glittering, beautiful, and as ethereal as ever.”

  As the train bowled along, moving us closer and closer to the big city, I ate chicken cordon bleu in the dining car while Lucky and the boys had rib eye steaks and potatoes. Our waiter was a young man from Oklahoma. He’d always been fascinated by trains, he told us, and loved traveling across our big country as he worked. “This train is just about the finest of them all,” he said, and suggested we try either New York cheesecake or a French dessert with chocolate called profiteroles. Once again the odd one out, I ordered profiteroles; everyone else had cheesecake. Our waiter brought us a box of white and dark chocolate Easter eggs that we could take back to our rooms. “Like our desserts,” he said, “the candies are made in our own kitchen.”

  The dining car helped us pass the time. “Can we have a round of coffees with a shot of Canadian Club in each?” I asked our waiter, and we got into a discussion as to whether the whiskey was better when it was made in Michigan or across the Detroit River in Windsor, Ontario, where it had been given a new home and a new name after Prohibition took effect.

  Some of the fellas sitting close by joined in.

  “Of course it was better when it was known as Club Whisky,” said a stylish man in a fine wool suit.

  “That mobster Capone didn’t care which name it had or which one tasted better,” another said. “The one he liked best was the one that turned the biggest profit.”

  Strangers became curious when they realized who we were. Many had come to our circus and heard stories about us, and they thought this a perfect time to set the record straight. “Yes, I am Russian,” I told them. “Yes, Vladimir and I once danced at the Winter Palace. No, I was not a queen, just an honorary aunt, but Lucky is the Queen of Clubs.”

  With that, Lucky pulled out a deck of Chas Goodall & Son playing cards and we played countless hands of poker with our new friends before returning to our sleepers.

  The following afternoon, we would arrive in New York City.

  Chapter 47

  I held my breath and pinched my nose as the train went under the Hudson River and pulled into New York’s Penn Station. When we emerged into the station’s grand Beaux Arts concourse, we stopped as one to gaze up, speechless, at the soaring steel-and-glass vaulted ceiling 150 feet overhead. Seemingly oblivious to this grandeur, a throng of busy commuters flowed around us with an air of importance; they all seemed to feel that the world revolved around them. I had forgotten about the city’s delightful confusion, people bustling about, each headed in a different direction, each with something to do or someplace to go.

  Soon we were walking out through the regal colonnade at the station’s entrance, the columns bearing the weight of the building and greeting the people at the same time. The late afternoon sun beating down against the pink marble almost blinded us, but soon we spotted Diamond in the crowd, standing on tiptoe to look for us. Now an official New Yorker, she’d commandeered a porter at rush hour, an impressive feat. He lugged our bags toward a waiting limousine.

  “Where did you get such a car?” I asked as we squeezed in. It turned out that the theater had given it to her for the day. It was the happiest I had seen any of us in more than five years. Roman, Marvin, and I had recently taken to playing that new board game, Monopoly, in the evenings, and I felt as if we’d just all pulled a card that read, “Go! You will be happy for the next five days.”

  Lucky, usually a bit insecure, didn’t shrink at the sight of Diamond’s beautifully styled blond curls but happily said, “Your hair looks very pretty, Diamond.”

  “I saw it in my favorite fashion magazine, Vogue,” Diamond said, looking pleased. “I can show it to you later.”

  Through the theater owners, Diamond had arranged accommodations for us at the Waldorf, not far from Central Park Zoo, where Harsita and Roman were planning to spend much of their free time. The hotel was as grand as Penn Station but more intimate, with its soft lights, dark paneled wood, tapestries, rugs, and crystal chandeliers. In the middle of the main lobby, commanding everyone’s attention, towered my favorite piece of all: the gilded Waldorf Astoria Clock, its bronze base decorated with pastoral scenes and portraits of Queen Victoria, Benjamin Franklin, and six American presidents, topped by a miniature Statue of Liberty. I couldn’t decide if I loved it or hated it, but for some reason it spoke to me every time I entered the lobby, and I ended up feeling that it became a friend, similar to the grandfather clock on the Amerika.

  Sitting in the grand lobby, you would never have imagined the hardship outside. Still, wealth was no guarantee that tragedy and heartache would pass by your door. Look at Jacob Astor IV, once a partner in this stately hotel; his money didn’t stop the Titanic from sinking and he along with it.

  ¯¯¯

  Early the next morning, Marvin climbed out of bed, kissed me, and waved goodbye.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Saks Fifth Avenue. My wardrobe is a little out-of-date.” He smiled.

  Marvin had always taken such pride in his clothes. “Harsita and Roman are going with me, too. We’ll be back in about two or three hours.”

  I lounged around our room, then I went downstairs to the restaurant. “I’m here to see my niece Diamond on Broadway,” I told the waiter who brought me my tea. Diamond had just come to say goodbye on her way to the theater. I was both excited and nervous about seeing her in this play, but I was also a little concerned about the glint in her eyes every time she looked at Roman. I hoped she’d outgrown the urge to stage an accident just to see whether Roman would rescue her.

  Then, like Marvin and the boys, Lucky and I headed out to Fifth Avenue. Recently soybeans had been fetching a good price, and the farm had turned quite a profit. Before we left, I’d given a present of cash to everyone, with the stipulation that each of us would buy something that would normally feel out of our reach. Then we would wear our new finery when we went to see Diamond on Broadway. After years of frugality, we all felt a little uncomfortable about this one little extravagance, but I thought it important that we reward ourselves for all our hard work.

  I bought a sequined lavender dress at a store on Fifth Avenue. It lent a certain glamour to the silver streaks now showing in my hair. Marvin, Harsita, and Roman each purchased brand-new Italian suits. Lucky, who had borrowed an elegant seafoam-green dress from Ann Marie, splurged on a set of gold chains for her neck. They made her skin glow—she truly looked like royalty. In the short time since we arrived, Lucky seemed to have transformed into the person she had been waiting years to let out. This was her chance to be more than a queen and she knew it. I couldn’t have been more pleased. She stood taller, radiated a new confidence, and sparkled with wit when she spoke. She left the jealousy that had stifled her behind at the farm. New York was a big city; and she could see, there was room enough here for both her and Diamond to shine.

  Still, there was no doubt in any of our minds as to who would be the queen that night. The theater vibrated with the excitement of all the people waiting to see the performance. It was hard to stay seated. Marvin pointed out Diamond’s name in the program, and we each turned to the same page with pride.

  The play Jumbo—a story about a financially strapped circus family—hit a little too close to home. Even more bizarrely, woven into the tale was the story of an irresistible elephant named Jumbo who ended each performance by resting his foot on Jimmy Durante’s head.

  For most of the audience this was a fantasy, with beautiful music and songs like “My Romance.”
But for us it was a piece of reality. Our Diamond didn’t need to play a part; she needed only to be herself. Still, it was exciting to see her on a stage in New York City, surrounded by some of the greatest actors alive. Besides showing off a few tricks on the trapeze during the show, she did some singing and dancing.

  Diamond had developed a wonderful poise. When we accompanied her out the backstage door, people lined up, holding out programs that she autographed graciously and asking questions about the play: “What’s it like to be in Jumbo? Does the elephant scare you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Diamond answered serenely. “I grew up with elephants.” Diamond’s background had gotten her a lot of publicity, and the producers took it straight to the bank.

  ¯¯¯

  If I’d worried about the ghosts that this trip to New York would stir up, the anxiety didn’t last long. The last time I walked down Broadway, I’d been a distraught young dancer with a board tied to my leg, a lonely girl who didn’t know what to do with herself. Today I was a mature, confident, accomplished woman with Marvin and my circus family at my side.

  When the rest were eager to go to the top of the Empire State Building, I didn’t let on that I was afraid of heights for fear the others might change their minds. At first I pinned myself against the inside wall of the observation deck, afraid to move, but the enthusiasm of the others became contagious. I asked Marvin to take my hand and gingerly stepped across to look out at the cityscape spread all around, and then at the people down below on the streets, with a distinct sense of magnificence. To see how small I really was and what a minute amount of space I took up in the universe put my world into perspective but left it no less meaningful to me.

  After dropping Marvin and me back at the hotel, Diamond took Lucky, Roman, and Harsita to a poetry reading in Greenwich Village. Along the way, she pointed out Catherine’s brownstone and told them that Catherine had relayed that my favorite little dog, Woof Woof, was buried in her backyard, and I asked them to tip their hats when they passed in remembrance.