Sideshow

by Amy Stilgenbauer

  Billy, however, was more cynical. “Yes. They do it all the time, you know. I read about it.”

  Abby opened the tent. “Is someone looking for some aliens?”

  The pair, neither of whom looked much older than five, both gasped. “A communist!” Rebecca cried out, and the two raced away as fast as their small feet could propel them. Abby couldn’t help chuckling.

  “Oh, now they’re going to tell their parents.” Suprema was laughing as well, but a twinge of guilt prickled Abby’s spine.

  “I didn’t think,” she said apologetically. “I used to scare my little brothers and sisters like that all the time.”

  Suprema waved a hand as if to dismiss Abby’s concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Abby felt the worry settle in her stomach like a rock. “I suppose I should get back to work, try to bally my red aliens.” She tried to tease, but the joke sounded forced.

  “Yeah, and they’ll need me back on the ten-in-one.” Suprema kissed her quickly before turning to go. “Meet me after. It’s my last show of the day. We can have a drink before the athletic show.”

  The kiss goodbye was soft and perfect, and Abby felt warmth spread through her. She forgot about the guilt. She didn’t even hear Suprema say the words, “athletic show.”

  AT THE BACK OF THE show tent, Abby found Boleslaw, Alejo Lambrinos, and Mrs. McClure in intense conference.

  “We cannot just keep fleeing every time there is a whisper,” Mr. Lambrinos said confidently.

  “That’s easy for you to say. They’ll cart me off to hear me talk,” Boleslaw protested.

  “Now, now, Mr. Wolski,” Mrs. McClure said, sounding so even-keel she could soothe the most anxious soul. She looked as poised as she ever had, but a small vein pulsed in her forehead. “People on the midway talk. We cannot stop them from doing so. This is not the same as Chicago, though. There, Thomas had concrete evidence that we were to be investigated. I personally found the whole matter silly, as we have nothing to hide, but who’s to say what sort of things can be made to look a certain way in a certain light—”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to say!” Mr. Wolski shouted.

  “Miss Amaro!” Alejo interrupted. Boleslaw and Mrs. McClure stopped speaking and looked at her.

  “Abby!” Mrs. McClure said, walking toward her, arms outstretched like a society woman who had just seen an old friend about to commit a faux pas. “Abby, I haven’t seen you in some time. Della hasn’t brought you by the girl show.”

  “No,” Abby demurred, having no desire to discuss how things had fallen out with Della.

  “I was hoping you could talk to her for me.”

  “Well, I—”

  Before Abby could protest, Mrs. McClure had wrapped her arm around her shoulder and begun leading her away from the show tent. “Della is troubling me,” she said as they walked. “Her act has been getting more and more dangerous. She has done double somersaults without rehearsal and attempted triples; it’s as if she—” Mrs. McClure cut herself off and took a deep breath. “I care a great deal for her, Miss Amaro. I knew her mother well. I fear she is trying to harm herself. I do not know why. I tried to speak with her, but she will not listen to me; perhaps you can get through to her.”

  Abby frowned, remembering how dangerous Della’s act had seemed with only one somersault. “I don’t know, Mrs. McClure,” she whispered. “Have you tried to talk to the other girls? Vivian?”

  “Unfortunately, they had little information for me. I was hoping that since you are her traveling companion—”

  “Not since Chicago,” Abby admitted.

  Mrs. McClure pursed her lips. “Oh, I was not informed.” She studied Abby, then said flippantly, “Well, do you think you could get over your little spat so she stops trying to break her own neck?”

  Abby could not speak. She stared at Mrs. McClure in stupefied silence. Then, when words finally returned, she shouted, “How dare you put that on me!”

  “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Yes, you did.” Abby shook Mrs. McClure’s arm from her shoulder and stormed back to the show tent. Alejo and Boleslaw watched with wide eyes as she marched past them and slipped into the back without another word.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU TOLD off her highness McClure,” an astonished Vinnie muttered as he sat down with Abby and Suprema at one of the beer garden’s picnic tables.

  “How did you hear about that?” Abby asked, panic rising in her throat. Suprema put a hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze, which helped, but didn’t completely alleviate Abby’s anxiety.

  “Are you kidding? Everyone’s talking about it. You’re more interesting than speculating over whether or not we’re gonna get run out of town for harboring communists again.”

  “Oh, God!” Abby dropped her head to the table and covered it with her arms.

  “Vinnie,” Suprema pleaded. “Be nice, please. She’s really embarrassed.”

  “Hey, all of us have wanted to do it from time to time. Sofia can be a little… abrupt. It’s probably why she gets on so well with your Della.”

  “I wish everyone would stop calling her my Della. It’s not my job to keep her from being a nosebleed.”

  “What’s she on about?” Vinnie asked.

  Suprema sighed and gently touched Abby’s hair. “Nothing, Vinnie.”

  “Look, pint-size,” Vinnie voice was no longer teasing, but entreating. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll get the next round?”

  When Abby still didn’t lift her head, Suprema kissed the top of it. “We have to get going to the athletic show. Unless you’re not feeling up for it.”

  “I can’t. No,” Abby said, lifting her head.

  Suprema nodded her understanding. Abby hadn’t told her that she had no interest in ever seeing an athletic show again, but she greatly appreciated the fact that Suprema hadn’t pushed her. “Well, be ready for the jump after. Uncle B’s raring to go.”

  “I will.”

  As Suprema disappeared into the crowd, Vinnie hummed. “Well, well, well, isn’t that cute?”

  “You writing a book or something?” Abby asked him with narrowed eyes.

  “She’s rubbing off on you already. That is something she’d say to me—has said to me, come to think of it, more than once.”

  “Vinnie…”

  “Let me have this. It’s not every day that something I set up actually works out. This would be the first time, in fact.”

  Abby shook her head. “It’s new, okay, but it makes me happy.”

  “I’m glad, pint-size. I really am. I only tease because you blush.”

  “It’s not like it was with Frank at all.”

  “From you’ve told me, that’s a good thing.” Vinnie took a long sip of his beer as he watched her.

  “How do I know it won’t end up the way it did with Frank?”

  Vinnie shrugged. “Well, they weren’t all like that, were they?”

  “What all?” Abby asked with a laugh. “The only person I ever dated was Frank!”

  Taking a long, deep breath, Vinnie sighed. “You can’t think so many steps ahead all the time. That’s how you end up like me. I ran from everyone because I thought they’d leave me like Gianni did, and now?”

  Abby sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “If something makes you happy, it makes you happy. Experience it.”

  “I think I’ve heard that somewhere.”

  “Speaking of which, do you want to sing a folk song? I brought my accordion.”

  Abby glanced around furtively, blushing when she saw all the people milling about, but then she grinned.

  THE JUMP WAS LONG, AND they did not arrive in the next town until well after three in the morning. Abby drifted in and out of sleep as they traveled. Her dreams were strange and unsettled. She dreamt of Della standing on a bridge, threatening to jump, and when Abby raced to stop her, a crowd of people said, “It’s all your fault.” She dream
t of everyone in the carnival from Mrs. McClure to Jimmy the haunted train ride operator being arrested and taken away for wearing red clothes at least once in their life. When her dream-self chased Suprema, she heard Frank saying, “Now, now, don’t you think this all could have been avoided?” She woke shivering. The caravan had stopped, and it was time to get some real rest before setup. Abby didn’t know if she could.

  “Hey,” Suprema whispered. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Abby hissed, as Suprema got up and began digging in the storage area beneath the bed. “Please come back, it’s cold without you.”

  Suprema raised an eyebrow. “Are you really that much of a romantic, or are you actually cold-blooded?”

  Abby simply smirked at her sleepily. “Why don’t you come back and find out?”

  Suprema plugged in an electric blanket and pulled it over the two of them. It was small and required some strategic cuddling, but neither seemed to mind. Suprema kissed her neck as the warmth of the blanket kicked in, and Abby drifted off into a blissful sleep.

  THE NEXT MORNING WHEN ABBY woke, she was alone in the trailer. The air, for the first time since she had joined the caravan, was crisp and bitter. Abby didn’t want to brave the cold to find out what was being served in the food tent. Instead, she burrowed farther under the electric blanket, trying to feel warm again. She reached under her pillow where she had put Natale’s letter for safekeeping and read over the words yet again. There was still no greater meaning in them, but the hollowness in her chest abated just seeing the name Natale Amaro in his handwriting. After her third reread, the door of the trailer creaked open. Suprema carried in two mugs of coffee, which she put down on the table next to the radio before glancing sheepishly at Abby.

  “I thought you’d still be asleep,” she said, seeming surprised to see Abby at all, let alone awake. “You didn’t sleep well, did you?”

  “I only just woke up.” Abby watched her carefully, taking in each movement, even the way her hair fell, trying to commit it to memory in case what she had dreamed came to pass.

  “I brought coffee,” she said, nodding at the mugs. “And then, I have to ask you something.”

  Abby scrambled to the table, bringing the electric blanket with her, wrapped tightly around her shoulders like a cloak. “You’re a coffee angel,” she said, picked up the miraculously still piping hot mug, and took a sip. It burnt her tongue, but she had far bigger things on her mind. As Suprema sipped from her own mug, Abby wondered if it were cocoa. Suprema didn’t strike her as the coffee-drinking type. “What was it you wanted to ask me?” she asked.

  Suprema shook her head. “Not yet.”

  This puzzled Abby, but she nodded, waiting. The moment she had finished her coffee, Suprema took Abby by the hand. She kissed her sweetly on the cheek and, in a hesitant voice that Abby hadn’t heard in a while, she asked, “Will you please tell me what you were dreaming about?”

  Abby hesitated. “It was just a dream.”

  “You were crying in your sleep. I… I only want to understand. You don’t have to.”

  “No, it’s just… It’s silly, I think.”

  “I like silly things,” Suprema teased.

  Abby smiled, remembering that she had tried to make the same joke on their pizza parlor date. “Fine.” She went on to describe the choppy, disjointed dreams, and Suprema listened, her face a blank mask betraying no emotion. She looked almost analytical.

  “My Aunt Ida,” she explained, when Abby had finished, “used to interpret people’s dreams. It was part of her act.”

  “Are you going to interpret mine?”

  Suprema shook her head and took Abby’s hand. “I don’t know what dreams mean. I don’t know if they mean anything, but if you’re that worried about Della, we can go talk to her.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And we’re not going to be arrested, you know. We’re too good.”

  Abby moved closer to Suprema and allowed herself to be pulled into a warm embrace. She didn’t want to think about her dreams right now.

  ~September, 1942~

  ABBY PEEKS DOWN THE STAIRS from the landing. She has been told to stay in her room, but the men are so loud when they come in, and she can’t sleep. Instead, she sneaks down the stairs. If she stands in just the right spot, she can see the kitchen, but no one in it will be able to see her. It’s a great spot for spying on Mama and Nonna when they argue about the right way to prepare artichokes or drink anisette, even though neither of them would ever admit to Abby that they did that.

  The men have scowls on their faces and are loud when they speak. They are not yelling, but Abby can sense they are close to it. She’s heard this same tone of voice from many people, from her teacher when she threw a pencil at Jimmy Russo and her papa when she accidentally broke a fancy red vase that Nonno had brought from Sicily.

  One of them leans on the kitchen table toward Mama and asks, “And where is your husband now, ma’am?”

  Her mother, beautiful with her dark eyes, and darker curls tied up in a bandanna, sits poised and upright in a chair, sipping coffee from one of her special tiny cups. Two mugs sit on the table in front of her; they are steaming away, untouched. “You know well enough,” she replies, keeping her composure in a way that frightens Abby. She only speaks this calmly when she is angry or afraid, as when Abby refuses to run errands or when she’s talking about where Papa is or when he’s coming back. “He is in the Pacific.”

  “Why the Pacific?”

  “Because that is where he was sent.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s in the Navy. Do you honestly expect me to know?” She sips casually from her cup as Abby’s heart beats wildly. She’s afraid the sound of it will give away her hiding place. “Loose lips sink ships.”

  The man paces the length of the room. He looks back at her as if trying to pretend that a question had just occurred to him. “Ma’am, let me just ensure that my information is accurate. You are Italian?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And are you naturalized?”

  “Excuse me?” Mama asks without looking up from her coffee.

  “Are you naturalized?” he repeats. Abby doesn’t understand what the word means, but it seems to offend her mama.

  Abby’s mother inhales deeply of the steam from her coffee mug. As small as she is, Abby recognizes this gesture. This was a trouble-is-about-to-begin gesture, a steeling-herself gesture. She usually only does it before an argument with Nonna or before little Abby and Natale need to be disciplined. It makes Abby uncomfortable to see it now. Mama opens her eyes and meets the man’s. “I suffered through that godforsaken island of yours, is that not enough for you?”

  The two men exchange a glance. Then the second man drops a collection of envelopes on the table. “And can you explain these?”

  Mama reaches for the envelopes. Her hands are still young and nimble. They have not yet grown weak from the disease that would take her ten years later. She carefully removes sheets of crisp white stationery from the envelopes and examines their contents. “Yes, these appear to be letters to my sister in Chicago. No wonder she seemed so perturbed on the telephone.”

  “Letters?” the man asks, his eyebrow raised. “And what do they say?”

  Mama begins to read the letter in her hand. “Teresa, Spero—”

  “English, please,” the man interrupts.

  She takes a deep breath and begins again. Abby notices that her words are slow and stilted as though masking an anger she wants to unleash on the man who is leaning on her brand-new table. “Teresa, I hope you are well. I struggle here as I am alone. I must find ways to pass my time. The children do not occupy me as they should—”

  “That sounds coded.”

  “It’s awkwardly worded, yes. It flows better in Italian.”

  The man ignores her. He takes another envelope off the table and roughly pulls out one of the papers. “And what is this?”

  Mama blinks
, turning the paper to examine the sequence of circles and dashes. After a moment, she begins to laugh. ‘It’s a knitting pattern,” she says, her expression clearing. “All this trouble is about a knitting pattern?”

  The men are not laughing. “Ma’am, this is serious,” the one leaning on the table says.

  “Yes, deadly serious. Lord knows what my sister would do with a pair of woolen stockings. She could take down the whole of Chicago.”

  The men exchange a glance and nod. “Ma’am, you are under arrest.”

  Color drains from Mama’s face. She looks suddenly ill. “Excuse me?”

  “You know well enough that an enemy alien such as yourself is not be caught in possession of, or disseminating—” The first man says as the second helps her out of her chair.

  “Knitting patterns?” Mama is angry now. Her voice thunders through the house in a way Abby has never heard before. “This is absolutely ridiculous. We’ve done everything we were told. We got rid of the radio, for God’s sake! Do you know how quiet it is without a radio?”

  Abby can’t help herself. “Mama!” she calls out, racing from her hiding place

  Mama’s eyes close tightly for just a moment, another gesture Abby knows well. Her mother is afraid, but she has trained herself too well to let it show. Bella figura. She is disciplined. She does not show her fear. Abby stops. She wants to run to her mother, to comfort and protect her the way her mother has always done for her, but she cannot move. If her mother is afraid, something terrible must be about to happen.

  She smiles at Abby and whispers. Somehow Abby manages to hear. “Be good for your grandmother.”

  But there is no calming her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THAT NIGHT, ABBY SAT IN the food tent watching yet another sideshow versus ride jockeys euchre match. While the tent was drier than the last time, it was much colder inside. The temperature had dropped to about forty degrees, and Abby had wrapped herself in a wool blanket as she peered over Suprema’s shoulder and examined her cards. “Play that one,” she hissed.