by Robert Lax
The sun was blazing white outside the tent. The silence was almost too perfect to enter. Then at a moment which seemed foreknown, a stir of wind went through the tent. The monteurs roused in their rolling barracks, a child ran out of one of the wagons, and Fritz came stepping over a rope to say that we ought to take a walk by the sea.
We walked out on a long pier decorated with little triangular banners, looked out at the slate blue horizon, then sat on a wooden bench to wait for the boating regatta to begin. It was good just to sit there and look at the sea. Occasionally, a wildly decorated boat would cruise by to join the others at the inlet, and crowds began to gather on the pier. Occasionally, too, a breaker would roll in and I would notice (without great interest) that the water had cleared, but that now the sky was slightly overcast, the air once more a little cool, and the notion of even slightly offending the fisherman saint by swimming was unthinkable. But sitting on the rough bench and watching the sea was all I suppose I had hoped to do when I first heard that the circus would go to Pescara.
At about half past six in the evening, we hooked up the amplifying system and began to play music to call in the crowds for the after supper performance. A couple of accordion waltzes from Marseille, an Italian “paso doublé,” and an old bit of American jazz, too scratched and obscure to recognize.
Then Fritz said, “This is my favorite song,” and played a blue-labeled record he had of Gounod’s Ave Maria. People of Pescara began to drift toward the tent for the performance.
I went to the same restaurant for supper and again ran into Le Deuff. We talked a little about the circus, and then, after drinking a beer together, he bicycled and I walked back to the lot. When I got back I found him dealing with the major problem of the day. Thirty gypsies (men, women, and children) all brightly dressed, had stood at the main entrance for almost three hours demanding admission. Le Deuff let them in for 50 lire (about 10 cents) apiece, which was also a tenth of the usual price. Later everyone said it had been a joy to perform for them.
Fritz was already stretched out on the sleeping bag, behind the electric wagon, when I got back and sat down on mine.
“This is a good life,” he said, “out under the stars.”
“Everyone ought to know what it’s like,” I said.
“Funny,” he said, “everyone wants to be rich. I like to be poor.”
“Fritz?” I said
“Qu’est-ce que c’est, Robert?”
“Rien.”
I was wondering what it was like when the circus went into winter quarters. Did he sleep on the floor in a cold room?
“There go the fireworks!” said Fritz. “Do you see?”
A rocket raced up through the sky (spitting a trail of red sparks) then exploded in a fountain of blue and white lights and drifted back down into the dark. Another rocket of green and red; another of blue and green.
The slow waltz they played for Maryse Begary on the high trapeze rose too in the night. After it, carried on a breeze from the sea, ascended the music of the festival.
In the morning I got up with all the others, shook hands with Fritz, George Wong and the Le Forts and told them I didn’t know whether I could go on to San Juliana or not. I wanted to spend the morning quietly in Pescara.
The caterpillar line of trucks circled the field, as it always did, with Fritz’s truck again in the lead. They would have to take a long turn through the town and circle back to the road by the sea. I watched them go, my eyes cast down to the mark of the ring on the field.
Then I decided that at last I could swim. The fisherman saint’s days were both past, and the sun was coming up bright on the beach.
As I crossed the road toward the ocean, I saw the circus trucks rounding the corner and heading north toward me and San Juliana. Fritz was first, he honked and waved. Then the red truck of Robert the chauffeur; Nono the dwarf rode in it and leaned out of the window and waved. Then one, then another, until they had all passed. Then I walked toward the shore and looked out at the sea where the sun, slowly rising, laid down a white path of light.
