Down the Road to Gundagai

by Jackie French

  ‘I used to play the violin. I haven’t played since … since the accident.’

  ‘Your hands are not scarred?’

  Blue had forgotten Madame was blind. She glanced at Ebenezer. He is the ringmaster, she thought. He should be in charge. But he was scraping up his second helping of goulash as calmly as Ephraim, content to let Madame decide.

  ‘No,’ said Blue. ‘They’re not scarred. I could be a clown.’

  ‘No, you couldn’t,’ said Ephraim. ‘Takes more work than you think, getting folks to laugh. A clown needs to move his whole body too, arms and legs all over the place. That’s what makes it funny.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Not saying we couldn’t work you into the act, but it might take months to get it right. Nothing has a crowd throwing tomatoes faster than a dead-fish clown.’

  ‘Dead fish?’

  ‘A stinker,’ said Ephraim.

  The group was silent, apart from a burp from Ginger, and the slow munch of Sheba at her hay.

  There’s nothing I can do, thought Blue. If I had a whole body, I could learn. But not with the tops of my legs fused together.

  ‘A mermaid,’ said Mrs Olsen abruptly, out of the darkness.

  They all stared at her.

  ‘Makes sense, don’t it? Can’t move her legs much, and pretty as a picture in the blonde wig.’

  ‘We can’t have a mermaid in the harem dance!’ objected Gertrude. ‘The punters’ll recognise her.’

  ‘Time we changed the wigs for the dance anyhow. I’ll dye them dark as soon as I can find some walnut husks. Belle’ll be blonde as a mermaid — mermaids have golden tresses —’

  ‘And bare breasts,’ added Fred wickedly.

  ‘None of that language here,’ said Ebenezer.

  ‘It is a good suggestion,’ said Madame. ‘No,’ as Blue began to object, ‘the circus must always be most respectable. You will be covered, but in silk, the same colour as your skin. The long wig will cover anything that should not be seen. No proper clothes, just the tail up to your waist, and the silk to the top of your neck. You can do this?’ she asked Mrs Olsen.

  Mrs Olsen nodded. ‘I can use that old sequinned evening dress to make the tail. Stuff it with straw.’

  ‘Not too much.’ It almost seemed as though the blind woman could already see the costume. ‘They must see the shape of her hips. She has good hips, does she not?’

  ‘Too right,’ said Fred.

  Madame ignored him. ‘The tail must fit tightly about the hips, but padded just enough to hide that she has legs.’

  ‘Some geezer’s going to try to get his paws on her first town we come to.’ Fred suddenly sounded protective. ‘She ain’t used to that. Why don’t we —?’

  ‘She will sit on a rock, in a tub of water — Ephraim, you will see to that.’ Madame’s tone did not allow for discussion.

  ‘Yes, Madame.’

  ‘And if anyone tries to reach across the tub to touch the mermaid, the bearded lady will push them in.’

  ‘That’d be good for a laugh,’ said Ephraim.

  Fred grinned. ‘Or a punch-up.’

  ‘Either,’ said Madame comfortably, ‘as long as it pleases the punters. Belle, you will also help Ginger wash the Queen of Sheba each morning. He will show you how. You will help Mrs Olsen with the sewing. You can sew?’

  ‘I’m not any good making patterns or embroidery, but my hemming and blanket stitch are all right.’

  ‘As long as you can sew a seam and put back a button or repair a hem. That will save Mrs Olsen’s eyes by lamplight. And that is enough for tonight.’ She turned to Blue. ‘Off you go to bed.’

  ‘Please, one more thing. Could I write a letter? It’s to someone who might be worried about me. A girl called Mah. I should have thought of her last night, but I felt so sick.’ She tried a smile. ‘My brain turned into marshmallow. She’s a maid at my aunts’. She saved my life during the fire.’

  Ebenezer shook his head. ‘Your aunts will see any letter afore it gets to one o’ their servants.’

  ‘I’ll write it,’ said Fred. ‘I’ll tell her what she needs to know, but make it look like it comes from me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Fred grinned. ‘How about this then? Dear Mah, Just to say the work is going bonzer. Never thought I’d like growing cabbages and spuds, but it’s the life for me all right. Even the rose bush you gave me is looking good, pretty as a picture. I’ll sign it, Your loving brother, Daniel, no address. If she’s got any sense, she’ll know the rose bush means you.’ He winked at her. ‘You’re pretty as a rose too.’

  Blue blushed. ‘That would work,’ she said hurriedly to cover her confusion. ‘Mah doesn’t blabber either. Thank you.’

  He grinned. ‘Any time, princess.’

  ‘By the way,’ Ebenezer reached into his pocket, ‘here’s your nine pounds, fourteen shillings.’ He smiled at her. ‘Didn’t charge you for the Big Top show, seeing as you only saw half of it.’

  How could she take money? ‘No, really —’ she began.

  ‘Take it,’ advised Fred. He flashed his grin at her again. ‘You ain’t gunna see no wages.’

  Mrs Olsen nodded. ‘What we have we share. Or as Madame thinks best.’

  ‘Quite right. And now to bed.’ Madame, as ever, expecting obedience.

  Blue stood, suddenly an outsider again. ‘What do you all do now?’

  ‘Wash up and go to bed too,’ said Mrs Olsen. Her smile was kind across the firelight. ‘Ephraim stays awake, in case any locals come looking for trouble. Ebenezer takes over the watch at two o’clock.’

  ‘You put the fire out too?’ The question was spoken before Blue could stop herself.

  Ephraim looked at her steadily. ‘The fire goes out each night. It’s cold tea for us in the morning, and no porridge neither, just cheese and damper.’

  ‘I have not allowed a fire to burn all night since my Monsieur died,’ said Madame. ‘And that is also why we use an expensive generator to light the Big Top now, and not acetylene gas. No flames will hurt anyone in my circus. Now go to bed.’

  Blue went.

  Chapter 12

  She woke in the night, half in a dream at first. She was at home, with Willy in the nursery next door, the scent of toasted crumpets and honey lingering from Nurse’s supper, shared with her charge and his older sister.

  No, she was in the hospital; no, in the bed in the small hot room at the aunts’. She could hear the footsteps as the poisoner grew closer. If she could open her eyes, she’d see their evil gloating, see the spoonful of white powder …

  She wrenched her eyes open and lay still. Madame snored on the floor below her, a high-pitched whistling sound. Someone else snored too, lower and louder.

  The elephant, sleeping on her hay.

  A light shone through the boiled-lolly windows. Ebenezer’s watchman’s lamp?

  No, it was starlight. A million tiny pinpricks of light. Suddenly the tiny caravan seemed roofed by the universe.

  Tomorrow she’d help wash an elephant, dressed somehow as a boy. Blue didn’t know how Mrs Olsen would manage to get trousers over her scars, but if her make-up magic could turn Fred into a harem dancer and a bearded lady, she’d be able to make Blue look like a boy.

  She reached for the medicine and took a swig, quietly, so as not to wake Madame. But the whistling snore suddenly ceased. ‘You are in pain?’ The voice was as composed as ever.

  ‘Not too much,’ said Blue.

  ‘You will sleep again, when the medicine takes effect.’ Again it was a statement, not a hope. ‘I dreamed,’ Madame added. ‘It was a good dream.’

  ‘I’m sorry I woke you. What was it about?’

  ‘Monsieur. The dead come often in dreams. At my age only the wicked have nightmares. I dreamed of the day we met.’

  Outside, the rumbling snores ceased. A vast creaking of joints and then a quiet chomp announced that Sheba had woken and considered it time for a midnight snack. ‘How did you meet him?’ asked Blue softly.


  ‘Because he was a gentleman. Gentle and a man, but more than both of those. I was with the Empire Circus then, on the trapeze, as the Boldinis are now. We forded the river at Gundagai. Gundagai gave him to me, and then took him away …’

  Madame’s voice faded. For a moment Blue thought she might have gone to sleep and then she said, ‘The river rose in the night. When we woke up that morning, the sky and ground were water. The men of the town helped drag the animal cages to dry ground while we waded to safety. But the water kept on rising. I was strong back then, but the current grew far stronger. It tried to claw me under. I climbed a tree as the water eddied around me. And that is where Monsieur found me, in my damp nightdress.’

  ‘Did he carry you to safety?’

  ‘Of course. What man would have done less, a pretty girl in a wet shift that showed her body? But that was not why I loved him.’ Blue could faintly see Madame’s smile in the starlight. ‘He took his big white handkerchief and he tied it around his eyes, there as he stood waist deep in the water, so he could not see my near nakedness. I had performed in silk tights before a thousand audiences, but that is not the same, and Monsieur knew it. I had to tell him where to go. Turn left, I said, turn right, watch out for the drifting log. Then when we reached the dry ground he put me down, and took off his coat. He didn’t remove his blindfold till I had put his coat on.’

  ‘He sounds … remarkable,’ said Blue.

  ‘Oh yes. Men gave me jewels quite often, for I was beautiful. They gave me passion, and once a fur coat, but the moths ate it, past Deniliquin. But Monsieur gave me respect and then he gave me love. And when the circus travelled down the muddy road later that week Monsieur came with us.’

  ‘So he wasn’t with a circus when he met you?’

  ‘No. He was respectable. Most respectable, with a shop and a good house. But he knew I needed the road, the silence of the audience before they cheer. He sold them both, the house and shop, to come with me. What other man would do that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Blue, and then, because Madame seemed to be waiting for more comment: ‘What sort of shop did he have?’

  ‘He was a taxidermist.’ Madame sounded as proud as if Monsieur had been a jeweller to royalty. Blue was glad Madame couldn’t see her smile. So that was where the stuffed bear had come from, and the two-headed calf.

  The old woman’s voice was soft from the floor below her. ‘The others have heard this story too many times perhaps. It has been most pleasant, telling it again.’ She rolled over in her makeshift bed. ‘And now you will sleep. You will dream of good days to come and wake up stronger and relaxed and happy.’

  It was not so much a command as a confident prediction. Blue lay back and looked up at the blurred stars again. Soon she would travel down the dusty road, just as Madame had with Monsieur. One day she would be well and strong. Strong enough to lift buckets of water to wash an elephant.

  Outside, Sheba reached for another mouthful of hay.

  Chapter 13

  HOPE CREEK, NEW SOUTH WALES, MAY 1933

  Hope Creek meandered past Hope Town susso camp, then through the sand hills, green at the edges, brown as it slid down the beach to the sea. Blue hadn’t been down to the waves yet. She hoped not to. The ocean still brought nightmares. A line from a poem Mum had loved seeped into her mind: Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, where the winds are all asleep. It would be good to think of Mum and Dad and Willy, living in a sand-strewn cavern, instead of struggling, gasping …

  ‘Hey,’ said Ginger impatiently, up to his ankles in the slimy creek. He held out the bucket of water. Blue took it, lifted the second bucket in her other hand, and began the long sway-stepped walk back through the dunes to the paddock where the circus had set up camp the day before. Behind her Ginger filled another bucket. Sheba loved bathing in the waves, but she needed fresh water to drink — a lot of it. Filling Sheba’s water trough was the first job of the day.

  Blue edged carefully down the last of the dunes, glad when she’d reached the flat again, despite the occasional prickle on her bare feet. The soles were tough enough to cope with bindi-eyes now, after six months of going barefoot, but uneven ground still jarred the scar between her legs. It was hidden in the cut-off, too-big trousers that hung so low they didn’t rub, for when she wasn’t being a mermaid or a harem dancer she was still a boy, in a tattered, high-collared shirt with a wide-brimmed felt hat pulled down low.

  ‘Here you go, old girl.’ Blue watched Sheba’s trunk suck up the entire bucketful, then squirt it into her mouth. Blue tried not to resent the precious drops that escaped and soaked into the dry ground. She’d already made two trips for water today, with more to come.

  Mrs Olsen looked over at her as she crossed from the Big Top to her caravan, still dressed in her Boldini costume after her early morning practice with Ginger and Gertrude. No practice hours were too long for Gertrude. Or perhaps, thought Blue maliciously, she’d rather practise on the ropes than lug buckets of water or glue clumps of fur back on Bruin.

  Mrs Olsen nodded at the buckets. ‘Don’t you go drinking that unless it’s boiled. Who knows what susso-camp muck’s got into it.’ She shook her head. ‘Whoever named this place Hope Town needs a flogging. Never seen anywhere with less hope about it.’

  Blue glanced at the shantytown across the dunes.

  Hope Town stank. Blue and the circus had passed several susso camps on their journey north, squat hastily erected villages of tar-paper and flattened kerosene tins and scavenged, rusty corrugated iron. Each one was just far enough away from a town or city to stop the townsfolk demanding the police move the squatters on. But Hope Town was the largest camp they’d seen yet, a refuge for the homeless of Sydney, with the sand and the flies and the southerly wind, a greasy creek for water and the thin soil beyond the dunes to try to grow some vegetables.

  ‘Don’t know why Madame had to land us here.’ Gertrude appeared, dressed in a pair of tights topped with a long-sleeved man’s shirt, straps around her wrists, her short hair damp with sweat. She had taken off the chalked slippers she wore to help her grip the rope; her feet were as bare and calloused as Blue’s and Ginger’s. Even in rehearsal clothes she still looked beautiful.

  Blue tried to stifle a pang of envy. No matter what Fred said, or how much greasepaint and blonde hair she wore, she’d never have Gertrude’s glamour. ‘Madame says that punters will motor down from Sydney. Anyway, the Hope Town people deserve a bit of fun.’

  Gertrude shrugged.

  ‘And Sheba likes playing in the waves,’ Blue added.

  Gertrude’s sullenness softened. She reached up and patted Sheba’s flank. The elephant gazed down, as though hoping for a carrot, apple or squished fly.

  ‘Bath water ready in the Big Top!’ called Fred. ‘Ladies first, but you’d better hurry.’

  ‘Thanks, Fred! Throw us a towel, Mum.’

  Gertrude grabbed the towel and headed back into the Big Top. In places like this, when water was scarce, one tub had to do for all of them. Gertrude got first go, as the circus star, then Mrs Olsen, Blue, Ebenezer, Ephraim, Fred and Ginger, in order of circus rank. Madame washed privately, with liberal additions of gardenia-scented ‘toilet water’ sent up from Melbourne to the various railway stations along their route, as well as her precious herbs and spices.

  Blue sighed. Gertrude would take an age. She always did, soaking till the water was almost cold. There’d be time to eat breakfast before the tub was free. She climbed the stairs to the Olsen caravan.

  The food was laid out under fly covers on the hinged shelf that covered Gertrude’s bed during the day. Everyone helped themselves to food whenever they had spare time. The only meal the circus folk ate together was dinner, a proper meal after the performance, when the crowds had trickled away, leaving the circus once more their own.

  Today’s offering included the usual damper baked in the fire’s ashes last night, the inevitable cheese under fly netting, a vast billy of cold sweet tea topped with a flyproof doily,
and a plate of squished flies. There were tomatoes too, massive and misshapen, as though they didn’t know the correct shape to grow in this coastal soil and battering wind, a jar of pumpkin chutney and a plate of sliced cucumbers.

  Blue helped herself liberally, shoving cheese, chutney, tomato and cucumber onto a vast damper sandwich. Tomatoes and cucumbers were a treat. Most country towns had few vegetables even for those who lived there, much less for a visiting circus, except for the everlasting potatoes and pumpkins, unless a Chinese market gardener had made it his business to supply the town.

  But meat was usually plentiful — no matter how far out in the sticks they were, there was always a cockie farmer willing to swap a side of elderly mutton for tickets for his family, and if that failed there were bunnies by the hundred for Ginger to trap. Flour was bought by the sackful, tea in a chest, and jam and golden syrup in the largest tins a general store might stock.

  But they kept no sugar, as it dissolved each time the caravans had to cross a creek or when the roof leaked, which somehow it always did no matter how often the cracks were plugged. Both the billies of tea and the squished flies were sweetened with golden syrup. Big slabs of damper with an ooze of golden syrup across the top, combined with mugs of tea strong enough to dissolve a spoon, gave energy before a performance.

  Blue took a big bite of sandwich, enjoying the crunch. At least autumn in a shantytown meant tomatoes and cucumbers, as well as potatoes and pumpkin and maybe a cabbage or two. Blue closed her mind to how they might have been fertilised. She took the sandwich outside and sat on a bale of hay to eat the rest of it, watching Sheba shove trunkfuls of fodder into her mouth, careful not to disturb the teddy bear that sat watching them all.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts, princess?’

  ‘Not worth a penny.’ Blue moved over to give Fred room to sit too. ‘I thought you were off to get Madame’s package from the station.’