The Bright Unknown

by Elizabeth Byler Younts

  My hand shakes when I reach for the metal knob. It’s locked. And I tremble as I try all seven keys. None of them work. The disappointment is greater than I expect. I lean my forehead against the door and breathe in this old familiar air. What I’ve seen so far is enough, right? Maybe this is all the closure I need. Maybe this is all I can handle.

  I don’t waste time but walk back the way I came. Now I’m on the other side of the dormitory. The side with the smaller infirmary. I peer inside the infirmary window. There’s a stretcher inside and a corner metal medication cabinet lies facedown, the glass shattered around it.

  But there are no memories for me to exhume here, so I force myself to move on. I come to the solitary rooms. I won’t look at them, having spent some of the worst hours of my life inside. I don’t need to revisit those rooms—where I last saw Grace. Was she still inside?

  I turn away and toward the second dormitory door at this end of the hall. It’s open.

  I am supposed to go inside, I conclude.

  I am supposed to see the room where I’d been born and where my mother had lain in her death. The room that had for a short time looked like a real bedroom because Joann had tried so hard to make a home for me. Books lining the walls. Curtains on the windows. Even wallpaper when I was very young. A cozy rug on the floor. But Dr. Wolff didn’t allow that for long, so then the books were pushed under beds and in closets. The curtains and the rug were taken away, and eventually the wallpaper peeled off.

  “You’re going to learn if it’s the last thing I do,” I can hear Nursey say. Her voice echoes against these ancient walls, and instead of strangling me as they would have a few days ago, they warm me. The dorm rooms line both sides of the hall. Every room welcomes me to peek inside and promises to show me what they remember. I only sneak a glance at most of them, afraid their memories will take me captive. I’d walked too many corridors and peeked through too many doorways in my life and seen things no one wanted to see—but those things will remain in my memory, unstirred. What I need to see is my room.

  I step slowly past the rooms and their broken-down doors. Bed frames leaning against the walls. Broken windows. Several medical books, some equipment, and even a stethoscope are tossed about. Then I get to it. I turn toward my room and stand in the doorway.

  It is nearing sunset now, and light is streaming through the broken and busted window. The tumbling of light comes through like a small rainbow against the floor. There is only one bed frame in the room. The paint is entirely chipped and one of the legs is broken, putting it at an awkward angle.

  All I can think to do is sit and be here. I lean my back against one side of the wall that faces the window and slide down to the dirty floor. I sit cross-legged and watch as the light shifts across the room and just let time pass. The orange glow eventually falls toward the bedroom door. I stare at the side of the room where Mother had been and remember that last day when she’d died while we tried to cut through the fence. The desperation is painful to remember, and I choke on my breath and tears.

  The series of events plays out—the realization of my birthday, the race back with Angel at my side. The way Joann met me at the door and told me that while I was busy running away Mother had fallen to her death. Angel cocooning me to let me grieve. Oh, the pair that Angel and I had been in those clashing years and how things had changed so much after that day. In the days to follow and in the weeks as we journeyed. That sacred path that bonded us so tightly to the other also divided us.

  1941

  Stay

  What was I supposed to do? Angel was caged like a prisoner. How would we leave? And worse yet, would he want to leave now that he had Gabrielle? Considering this and considering what Lazarus had done onstage, how he knew so much about me, I knew we needed to leave before Angel was too deeply entangled in this life.

  We did not belong here. But it wasn’t because of the oddities of the members of this troupe. It was Lazarus’s malicious strength over them that frightened me. It was more like he owned them than fathered them. It reminded me of the power the doctors had over the patients at the hospital.

  I would not stay. But I could not leave without Angel.

  Would I have to convince him to leave with me? I swallowed down the force of panic that wanted to fill me up.

  A breeze pulled through me and the sheer dress I wore, and I shivered. My arms wrapped around myself, and all I could think of was the time I’d been restrained and my hair had been shaved. My fingertips moved to touch the ends of my short hair and my wrists ached remembering. Standing in the open air, with no walls and with no restraints, the invisible boundaries tightened.

  “Why did you run off?” Conrad’s voice sounded from behind, and his presence gave me a greater chill than the evening breeze. My mind carried a mixture of fear, anger, and curiosity toward him. A man treating me like a beautiful thing was new—but he knew what Lazarus was going to do onstage and had forced me to endure it. “We wanted you to see how welcome you are. How much we want you here. How much good you could bring to our show. Everyone needs a job. Remember?”

  His breath smelled like something strong and ripe—I couldn’t place it. Part of me enjoyed his presence—I had to admit it. But I despised myself for it. His betrayal toward me didn’t keep my body from responding to his closeness as he drew nearer. And while he had angered me with how he had held me in place as we stood before the stage, there was also something about him that stirred me.

  He ran the back of a finger down my arm a few times. His eyes drilled into me in a way that no man’s ever had. I opened my mouth to tell him I didn’t need a job, because we were leaving, but he interrupted me.

  “I know you don’t want to cause problems—especially for Angel.”

  “What?” I questioned.

  “We owe the audience a good show.” His hand continued to graze my forearm, shooting a sensation through my stomach. The expression on his face wasn’t alarming or frightening, but it was soft and reminded me of how Dr. Woburn looked at Joann when they were alone. “You lied to us about who you are and now you owe us, right? We didn’t call that wretched place, and we have kept you safe from being sent back.”

  “Owe you?” Was he threatening me? I swallowed in sudden nervousness. He was so close, and it made it hard for me to think clearly. The air stirred around us and tightened and tightened as he got closer and closer.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t call that asylum.” He rubbed his hands down my arms. “Listen, we healed your Angel, fed you both, gave you shelter. Those things aren’t free. He told us everything because he trusts us. You should too.”

  His finger grazed my jawline.

  “I’m not the girl you think I am.” Could he see through my lie? “Why do you think I belong here?”

  “Because you’re like all of us. None of us belong anywhere. I wanted you to see tonight how much we want you to stay.” Then Conrad leaned in and whispered in my ear, “With me.”

  My body warmed and I felt embarrassed. Had anyone heard the desire in Conrad’s voice as I had? I held my breath.

  Then Conrad pulled me toward the painting the armless woman had created using her feet. I saw at once that it was a painting of me standing among the crowd of people. Everyone else was a shadow but me—I was the bright spot in the painting, with my pink dress and glowing face.

  Conrad squeezed my arm and left me to stand alone. He walked toward a long table that had been set up where the troupe and workers were eating, the show now over. The townspeople had returned to their homes.

  The boy with extra arms walked around with a chicken leg in his hand and the sauce all over his face. He was smiling, and even though he wore a coat that covered his extra arms, I knew they were there. The giant woman, whose name was not really Golithia but Norma, carried Bitsie around and they ate off the same plate. All of the people who had been in those dimly lit curtained rooms were suddenly around me. They didn’t seem strange or unusual, just like people who could be my friends
—maybe even my family. But I thought of my aunt. That was where I wanted to go.

  “Why do you let him touch you like that?” Angel asked, moving close to me.

  “You saw?” was all I could say as he turned me toward him, putting his hands gently on my shoulders.

  I wanted to ask him why he did it. Why did he tell them about us and why did he agree to go in that cage? But all I wanted in that moment was to be in his arms and to feel safe and to be away from here. Like he knew, he pulled me close and nestled his head in the crux of my neck.

  “I’ve missed you, Brighton,” he said, and I could feel him breathing me in.

  It felt good to hear his voice say my name, and I wanted to cocoon inside his arms and stay there.

  “I’ve been looking for you all day.” We parted to look at each other. “How did you get well so quickly?”

  “Their doctor had Gabrielle give me a tonic over and over through the night, and it didn’t take long before I started feeling better.” He was smiling and the worry lines across his forehead were gone. “I still feel a bit weak, so Gabrielle said I still need a lot of rest.”

  He moved closer to me and whispered, “Isn’t she incredible?”

  I didn’t answer his question. “Why did you do it, Angel—the cage and wings?”

  “After all their help, I couldn’t say no. And it felt nice not to hide myself.”

  I could only imagine the relief he had in that, especially after what happened with his mother. But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal.

  “Why did you tell them everything about us? Did you see what they did to me? That man, Lazarus, pretended to talk to Mother’s spirit.”

  “I didn’t know Lazarus would do that. I was just so glad to be feeling better, and they kept asking me questions and I got caught up in my excitement over Gabrielle.” Angel tucked my hair behind my ear, then rested his hand back on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  I would forgive him, of course.

  “They really do want to help us. They aren’t bad people.” Then he smiled and drew a little closer. “I hardly recognized you at first.”

  “Don’t say that. I’m just a made-up doll.”

  “You’re beautiful, Brighton.” His eyes roamed my face in a new way, and when I opened my mouth to tell him we needed to make a plan to leave, he caressed the curve of my jawline. His touch against my skin radiated through my whole body. “We could stay, you know. Start a life together with them. It really does seem like a family. They don’t care that I’m albino. And they don’t care where we come from.”

  I looked around, then pulled him farther from the crowd. I told him about the girl in a bed and how the woman said we needed to leave. “She said we should get away from Lazarus right away. They’ve lied to us and to the audience. We don’t belong here. And what about my aunt?”

  Angel scoffed and shook his head, then stepped back.

  “But I’m free for the first time. I can be albino without hiding. Out there—” He pointed toward the town. “That’s not free. That’s me hiding and pretending to fit into a world that will never see past my skin.”

  “So we give up on my aunt and a life out there?” I said a little too loudly.

  “Think about it. I can be myself here. Out there is where I’m caged.” He paused for a moment. “Give it a chance—for me. Gabrielle is like a mother to me.”

  “Hey, Nell.” Conrad strode up. “Is he upsetting you?” He put his hand on my arm, and before I could pull away Angel grabbed Conrad by the coat and threw him to the ground, away from me.

  “Keep your hands off of her.” Rage burned from his tightened muscles and bared teeth. The last time he’d done this he was defending me from asylum aides.

  Conrad didn’t appear rumpled over his fall. He smiled up at Angel.

  “Sure, pal,” he said and got up and walked right back to me. “Remember what I said.” Then he walked away.

  “What does he mean?” Angel said, breathing hard.

  “He wants me to stay too.” I looked up at Angel. “To be with him.”

  “What?” Angel scoffed, his jaw and fists still tightened. “But you barely know him.”

  “No less than you know Gabrielle.” I hated that we were arguing in the few minutes we had together. I wanted to take his hand and run as fast as we could, not caring if we left everything behind. I wanted to leave with him and not look back. Conrad meant nothing to me in the ways that mattered, in the way Angel did.

  “Angel.” A woman’s stern voice spoke. It was Gabrielle. “Come.”

  At first he didn’t move. He swallowed hard and moved toward me and put his hand on the back of my neck and gently pulled me close. He lowered his gaze and our eyes met. “Please, Brighton, don’t let him—”

  “Angel.” Gabrielle’s voice cut through.

  “I have to go,” he whispered in my ear before delivering a quick and unseen kiss to my cheek.

  Then he jogged over to Gabrielle and she linked her arm through his and led him away from me.

  1941

  Invisible Cages

  The troupe was on the road again by morning. I felt trapped. I didn’t want to be there, but I didn’t know what to do about Angel. Part of me understood how he felt. In our short time outside of the hospital he’d been stared at, called a freak, and rejected by his mother. Then last night he was considered beautiful.

  But this wasn’t just about him being accepted. It was about being under the thumb of the deceitful man and what he expected of the people he seemed to have a strange power over.

  I was comforted that at least we were still going toward Michigan. The second night I was put in the same house truck as before, with the Sirens and Alima. The next morning, however, I was determined to find the girl with the tattoos. I wanted to know why the other woman had warned me. And who was the girl in the bed?

  Were we actually in danger?

  We were in a new town in Ohio before noon the next day. And as we settled into an open space, everything was built again like it was before. Conrad was directing the assembly. He caught my eye briefly and winked.

  “You look a little different,” he said when he approached me.

  I looked down at my clothes. My pink dress had been taken away from me sometime during the night and a pair of slacks, a shirt, and shoes had been left in its place. Men’s clothes. Alima said the clothes I came in weren’t suitable or practical for me since I needed to work. These new clothes were for workers.

  I was consigned to more kitchen duty, but as soon as I wasn’t being watched, I went to see if I could find the tattooed girl.

  When I found the truck with the green door, I put my ear to it. I couldn’t hear anything, so I knocked quietly. The door cracked open. It was the small doctor. His face and large nose protruded from the door.

  “What do you want?” he asked in an abrasive whisper.

  I stepped back for a moment and asked myself the same question. What was I after?

  “I have questions for the woman in there,” I said with a strange sense that I was breathing for the first time in my life—making the next move on my terms.

  The doctor’s eyes darted around.

  “Quick, before anyone sees you.” He widened the door.

  I scurried inside.

  The scene looked the same as it had the day before. The sleeping girl and the red-haired woman sitting by her side with tired eyes. She didn’t even look at me when I entered.

  “Why did you tell me to run?” I said, knowing I was asking too much for her to focus on anything but the girl.

  She waited so long to look at me I wondered if she’d heard me.

  “This is my daughter.” She offered a weak smile as she gently moved a strand of hair off her daughter’s forehead. “Lazarus’s daughter. I am his wife.”

  “And she’s unwell?”

  “Why do you think she’s lying there like that?” the small man said, rolling his eyes. He looked at the woman. “I’ll be back in a l
ittle while to check on her.” And then he left.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said when we were alone. “I am trying to find a way to make my friend leave with me.”

  “The angel?”

  I nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  This was a hard question for me, but I knew how I needed to answer it.

  “Nell. What’s yours—and hers?”

  “I’m Cara. This is Becky.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked quietly and sat next to Cara.

  “One of Barnum’s biggest crowd-pleasers is his tattooed man—George Costentenus. Laz said that he was going to outdo him and have a tattooed woman. He picked Becky—his own daughter—to fill that role. It became an obsession. To be the best at any cost.”

  She paused and I decided to wait until she was ready to speak again.

  “The doctor says she has a blood infection from the tattoos. He’s never seen that happen before.”

  Cara uncovered Becky’s arm from under the sheet. The underside was a bright red, swollen tattoo surrounded by cracked skin.

  “This is just one of the infections.” She retucked the girl’s arm before speaking again.

  “She didn’t want to do this, but I convinced her. She wanted to leave and have a normal life. She’s never been a greedy girl—she just wanted the life she saw the townsfolk living, not what we have here.” She brushed her daughter’s hair away from her face. “He knew if she was tattooed, she would almost certainly have to stay. And I didn’t want her to leave me, so I didn’t stop him.”

  She choked on tears before speaking again. “She hasn’t woken up in over two days.”

  We watched Becky’s chest rise and fall in the sacred stillness of the small space.

  “You’re next.” Cara broke the quiet.

  “Next?”

  “He has a plan for you—to be his tattooed woman.”

  “But I can tell him no.”

  Cara shook her head. “He won’t accept that. You owe him because he’s fed you and cared for your Angel. Leave while you can. Even if you have to leave Angel behind, you need to go,” Cara said, her eyes darting from the window to the door behind me. She kept her voice no greater than a whisper.