Death of A Clown

by Heather Haven

  “I’m just giving you some friendly advice. Think about it.”

  “Thank you.” He relaxes again and smiles. “I know how to handle this.”

  I narrow my eyes on him and my voice carries a possibility that goes through me like a shock wave. “Is this why you said I can go as far as I want to? You think I might try to blackmail you with this?”

  Now it’s his turn to look shocked. “That hadn’t even crossed my mind. You’re not the type, Jeri, and I’m a good judge of character.”

  “No, I’m not the type. As you say, the past is the past. So for the moment, let’s drop it.”

  “Gladly.” He opens the top drawer of his desk. “I’ve had a check cut for you for five hundred dollars and one for Tin Foot, as promised. Constantin may have committed suicide, but that doesn’t alter the fact that you knew it was him, and you were close on his heels. In fact, you may have been one of the factors that caused him to do what he did.”

  I stay motionless and look at him with what I hope is a blank face.

  “Here you go.” He leans forward with the two checks in his hand.

  I take them from him, directing my eyes to the large checks with the circus name and logo written colorfully at the top. I push mine back across the desk. “I’ll give Tin’s to him but I want you to take my share and have a new check made out to Ioana Baboescu. I think she could use a leg up right about now. Tell her aunt it’s a departing gift from the circus, anything, but don’t tell her it’s from me.”

  “That’s pretty generous. Why? Why would you do this?”

  “You ever read Virginia Wolff’s A Room of One’s Own?”

  He shakes his head, puzzlement written all over his face.

  “Then you might not understand, but do it, anyway.”

  He shrugs and picks up the check. “Whatever you say, Jeri.” Looking down, he taps the check on the desk several times, leans back in his chair, and studies me.

  “You’re an old softy, you know that? You like to come across tougher than you are, but you always lead with your heart.”

  “I have to go,” I say and get to my feet. “If you think I’m soft, you cross Doris. You’ll see how soft I am.” I walk

  awkward and stiff to the door, Tony’s voice follows me every step of the way.

  “I love her, Jeri. I would never hurt her. And I’m going to think seriously about what you said. Things do have a way of coming out when you least expect them to. For the record, I want to marry her.”

  I pivot around to see a pensive look on his face. His mood changes and he drops the subject.

  “You start rehearsals in three weeks so you’d better be in shape. Don’t spend that time laying around, reading those books you’re so fond of. Keep in shape, you hear? And forget about all of this. The past is the past.”

  “Not always.”

  He flashes me a hesitant smile and waves. All in all, Tony is a good guy. I return his smile.

  “Just see that Ioana gets that check,” I say and close the door.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  10:45 am, Wednesday

  Listening to the music coming from inside the Big Top, and John Murray Anderson’s amplified commands, I head toward the First Aid Tent. My stride is slow, almost a saunter, so it’s not so painful. Doc’s voice keeps coming back to me, wrapping me in his words. Or smothering me; I can’t tell.

  ‘Do what your heart dictates.’

  The words reverberate again and again inside me like the lyrics to a song I can’t stop humming. I veer off, crossing the lot back toward the train. Not yet, I think, not yet.

  I shade my eyes from the sun’s reflection off the steel of the train, fifty-five cars gleaming like a giant’s charm bracelet. A yellow and green taxicab speeds down a narrow path that runs beside it, bright and colorful against the silver backdrop of the train.

  From the distance I can barely make out the words ‘Sam’s Taxi Service.’ It stops at the “C” car. Suspecting I know what the cab is doing there and who it’s taking away, I move closer, slowly at first and then as fast as I can.

  The cabbie honks his horn twice, then twice again. A beautiful woman, tall and well dressed in a light gray suit, complete with hat and gloves, emerges from the train and comes down the platform stairs carrying a small suitcase. She’s followed by Ioana, also carrying a small suitcase. I scoot behind one of the prop trucks and peek around the smoke stack that helps shield me from their sight.

  Ioana wears a light blue frock, almost too small for her, and carries a pink and white striped giraffe, one of the stuffed animals I remember seeing on her bunk. She says something

  in Romanian, her face tear-stained but with a small light of happiness upon it.

  The woman turns, bends over and hugs her. When she releases Ioana, she replies in a voice with a hint of an accent and fragrant with love,

  “Ana, you must speak only English now. We are in America and soon you will be going to an American school with other American children. You will like that, yes?”

  Ioana looks up with outright adoration and smiles. “Yes. I will have my own room and we will stay in one place all the time? No more traveling?”

  Her aunt’s laugh is low and musical. “Not unless you want to see Yellowstone Park next summer. Or the Grand Canyon. Wherever you’d like to go. You’re going to be our daughter now, just like your mama would have wanted. Your Uncle Gerd said to tell you that he loves you very much.”

  She envelopes the girl again, one arm wrapping around the child’s body while the other cradles the small head to her bosom. She rocks back and forth almost crooning.

  “He would have been here with me but he needs to be at the factory. He has to be there every day to supervise, sometimes even at night and on the weekends. Otherwise, he would have come with me.” She releases Ioana and touches her face, tracing a cheek with gloved fingers.

  “That must be a very important job,” says Ioana.

  “It is and that is why you and I will be company for one another. Sometimes I get very lonely in that big house all by myself. Now I will have you to look out for and to take care of.”

  “I will take care of you, too, Aunt Flori. You wait and see,” Ioana says solemnly.

  “Yes, Ana. We will take care of each other,” the woman agrees, standing tall and looking down at the girl.

  Ioana looks up at her. “Do you think we could have a dog someday? They’re good company, too.”

  The woman laughs just as the taxi driver, impatient to get going, toots his horn again. He gets out of the car, opens the trunk and put the two suitcases inside. Then he opens the back door of the cab and stands looking at his fares.

  “We should go,” says the woman. “It is time to go to the train. Do you have anyone you want to say goodbye to?”

  Ioana thinks for a moment then shakes her head.

  The aunt moves toward the door of the cab saying, “We already have a dog, Ana. You’ll love her. Her name is Penny and she is a….”

  The rest of her words are lost to me, as they move to the other side of the car. Ioana gets in first, followed by her aunt. The cabbie shuts the door, gets in himself, and starts the engine. I step out from behind the tractor and watch the brightly-colored car turn around on the narrow path, tires protesting with a crunching sound on the gravel. Ioana is now on the side of the car nearest me and sees me out of the corner of her eye. I lift a bandaged-covered hand and give a fleeting wave goodbye. Our eyes lock for a moment but neither of us smiles. She raises her hand in more of an acknowledgment than a wave, and the car darts off.

  I hear a voice behind me say, “She’ll be all right. That man her aunt married is rich. He’s got the monopoly on all the buttons made for the army’s uniforms. Runs two factories. They don’t have any kids, either.”

  I turn to look at our reinstated general manager. “You missed your calling, Vince. You should have been a detective. You seem to know everything about everybody.”

  “Like they say, knowledge is po
wer.” A half-smile steals across his face. “Thanks for helping prove it wasn’t me

  that killed Eddie. That could have followed me around for the rest of my life. I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me, Vince. But walk with me for a while. I’m on my way to have these bandages changed.”

  “Sure.”

  He falls in step and we stroll together in the sunlight, both silent, absorbing the sounds of the rehearsal inside the main tent, animal noises, and passersby. This is the most companionable I think I’ve ever been with him.

  “I’m curious about something, Vince.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Why did you keep that empty envelope in Rosie’s file, the one from Napa?” I stop walking and look at him.

  He faces me, with a grimace. “The truth? Insurance. I knew she was a nut case from the beginning. Met a lot of people like her in Juvie Hall, just plain mean. She’d slice you open as soon as look at you if it served her purpose, pretty as she was. One day about three years ago, I saw her drop an envelope. She didn’t know. I picked it up and gave it back to her the next day but I read the letter inside first.” He look at me sheepishly. “I know, I know. I’m a nosy son of a bitch, so what else is new?”

  “What did the letter say?”

  “It was from an uncle of hers in the loony bin, writing to tell her about his shock treatments and how he hoped she didn’t have to go through them when she was in the hospital. Anyway, I told her I was keeping the envelope and if she ever gave me any trouble, I was going straight to Tony with it and tell him what I knew. She stayed in line for me pretty good after that.”

  “It sounds like you’ve got yourself a dangerous hobby,” I say. “Maybe you need to find a new one.”

  His voice falters. “Tony already told me to throw out anything in the files that isn’t a clipping, brochure or legal document. No more personal comments, either, he said. Going

  to be pretty boring,” He sounds more than a little sad.

  “I’d follow his advice, if I were you.”

  “Got no choice. He’s the Boss Man. Anything else?” he says, now impatient. I guess the camaraderie is over. “I got to see about two missing saddles. They’re probably thrown

  under some bleachers, but I got to find them. Worth a lot of dough.”

  “There is one more thing that’s nagging at me. Wally, the boy who found my watch the other day, what’s going to happen to him if he's under sixteen, which I suspect he is? Will he have to go away? I hate to think of him ending up in --”

  “Hey, you think I want any kid winding up like I almost did?” Vince smiles at me, relaxed again. “I got papers that say he’s of age. I got them for all the boys. We take care of our own.”

  “Then I think that covers it, Vince. Thanks.” I watch him scuttle away and wonder if he can kick the habit of nosing into other people’s lives. I certainly haven’t.

  The Big Top has become quiet and subdued. Inside, everybody is probably on a break, sitting around alone or chatting in small groups, smoking, resting, doing all the things performers do with fifteen minutes to themselves.

  The animals are low-keyed, too, no doubt fed and watered, waiting for the first show of the day. My shoes pad on the fresh sawdust. The sound of them seems to quiet me. A bird in one of the trees twitters a greeting as I pass. It’s time, time to see Doc. I accept it.

  I go inside the First Aid Tent, a tent which had seen so much action in the last three days, but now is empty and quiet, save for the nurse. In one of the back corners, Laverne is putting an assortment of bottles, scissors, a stethoscope and other items of her trade into a small bag. Her sad, round face looks up at me when I throw back the flap, but she gives me a faint smile and resumes her packing.

  “Doc around?” I ask.

  Laverne doesn’t reply, but gestures with her head toward his office in the back of the tent.

  I try to remain calm as I pass her with a nod; I rap on the pole and push back the flap. Doc is sitting at his desk,

  reading a magazine on medical equipment, and glances up with an easy smile.

  “Good morning, Jeri. I’ve been expecting you.” He dog-ears his page, closes the magazine and sets it down. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Fine, better, sore. My hands and the inside of my legs hurt when I move but --”

  “That will pass,” he interrupts. “Is Laverne still out in the patient’s area?”

  I nod.

  “She’s leaving, retiring, giving up being a nurse, and going back to New Hampshire.”

  “She is? Why?”

  Keeping his voice low, he says, “She said she can’t continue nursing after what happened to Catalena. She blames herself. I spent hours trying to talk her out of it. I told her it was my fault, not hers. I told her the country needs good nurses but she says she’s through. Damn shame, too, leaving a profession you’ve devoted thirty-five years of your life to in this way.”

  It hits me that what happens in our lives can affect many others. I never gave a thought to the nurse and here her life has been completely changed, if not ruined, by the events of the past few days.

  “Oh, Doc, I’m so sorry,” I murmur. I look at him. “Do you think if I had a talk with her, it would it help?”

  He doesn’t reply but shakes his head, grim lines taking hold of his mouth. He gestures for me to sit down, which I do, and he begins to unwrap the bandages on my hands.

  There’s a faint rap on the wooden pole. “Doctor Williams?”

  Doc’s head jerks up. “Yes?”

  “I’m leaving now,” Laverne says through the canvas. “I’ve left the name of my replacement and an address where you can mail anything I’ve forgotten.”

  He doesn’t stir, but looks in the direction of her voice. His tone is careful and professional. “Very well, Laverne. Thank you for everything. Have a safe trip.”

  “Goodbye, Doctor Williams.” She hesitates. “Take care of yourself.”

  I hear her exit then wait a beat before turning to him. In a low voice I ask, “Does she know?”

  “Nobody does but you, Jeri.” He smiles at me. “You’re my own personal whispering tree.” I look at him bewildered. “That’s a tree with a small hollow in it, a hollow you can go and tell all your secrets, knowing full-well your words will never go any further.”

  “Some secrets aren’t meant to be kept, though.”

  “That’s true,” he says. “As I told you last night, a person has to do what their heart dictates.”

  He applies the ointment and bandages while I sit still. My eyes begin to tear and I brush at them with the back of a newly bandaged hand.

  “Doc,” I say, in more of a croak than a whisper, when he was done. He looks up at me. I clear my throat and go on.

  “May I come and see you? When you go to the hospital? I could bring you some Tootsie Rolls. I’m willing to share.” I give him a shy smile.

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Jeri. It will be something to look forward to.” He kisses me on the forehead. This time I don’t pull back. Doc gets up and pats me on the head, before crossing to his desk.

  “I’ve got to go,” I say brusquely. “I’ll see you this evening to change the bandages.”

  “This evening, Jeri. See you then.” He turns back to me and says in a louder voice, “Have you read Dante’s Inferno?”

  “Most of it.”

  “I’m rereading it now. Food for thought, don’t you think?”

  “Not really. It’s just one man’s opinion, Doc.”

  A broad grin creases his face. “Ever the pragmatist, Jeri, that’s what I love about you.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  11:30 a.m., Wednesday

  I leave the First Aid Tent needing time to myself. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to talk, listen, feel, mourn, but mainly, I don’t want to think.

  I cross the lot and go between two of the railway cars, into the large and open field. I can hear the breeze rustling thr
ough the tall weeds nurtured by the sun and recent rains. Some are two or three feet high, now beautiful in their mature grace, unfettered by interfering, human hands.

  I feel more at peace than I have in three days. My lungs rake in great gobs of air; my heart rate slows to normal.

  Near a clump of trees at the far end of the field, I notice Harold and Old Kirby. Backs to me, the man sits in the grass, the big cat lying down beside him, each leaning against the other. Harold has one arm around the lion’s bulky neck and shoulders in a companionable, protective, friend-for-life way.

  They are so still, it might have been a photograph. Not even the cat’s tail flicks the air, as they so often do. You can tell a lot about relationships, I muse, by how the captured subjects are touching one another.

  A realization slams itself into me, so intense it’s as if someone punched me in the stomach. I physically double over, then fall to my knees on the hard ground, jarring my injuries. The pain is excruciating, but nothing like the pain of seeing the truth that was staring me in the face since the beginning.

  Why hadn’t I seen it? I should have suspected Constantin’s abnormal feelings for Catalena from the crumpled photo I returned to him. He was holding her more

  like a possessive lover than a doting father. The photo bothered me from the first, but I never saw why until now.

  My mind goes back to the locked door between the two compartments. On the day I stole into them searching for Catalena’s diary, the first thing Constantin did when he returned was to try the connecting door. I thought it was odd, but still wasn’t suspicious. And the isolation in which he held the two girls, almost prison-like. Why didn’t I see this? There were signs everywhere and I overlooked them all.

  I find myself bawling like a baby into my bandaged hands, sobs so deep I feel them wrack throughout my body, so loud, I don’t hear Whitey calling my name until he is upon me.

  “Jeri, Jeri, darling!” He also drops to his knees and puts his arms around me. “Oh, my God. What is it? What’s happened now?” He cradles me to his chest and tries to comfort me, much as Ioana’s aunt did to her.