Threadbare- The Traveling Show

by Alexandra DeMers

  “Save me a front-row seat,” she said, and Glorious hugged her fiercely.

  Marmi descended from her tent with Baji Rao padding along by her side. “This is for you, darling child.” She held something out to Amandine wrapped in her purple sash. “So that you will always remember this parting with fondness.”

  Amandine opened the little bundle and revealed Marmi’s copper wind chime. She didn’t recall ever telling anyone how she felt about bells, but she soon remembered that when it came to Marmi, she didn’t have to.

  “Oh, Marmi!” Amandine cried, throwing herself into her long arms. “Thank you for taking me in and looking after me. I will never forget this grand adventure I’ve had with all of you.” She looked up at the towering woman to see black kohl pooling under her eyes. “Could I trouble you for a favor before I go?”

  “Anything,” Marmi said warmly, sunlight glinting off of the gold in her mouth.

  “Could you give me a vision?”

  Marmi blinked and everyone around them fell silent.

  “No one here has ever asked for a vision before, child.” She pulled away with a dry chuckle. “I don't think anyone believes it's real.”

  Rene frowned from where he was listening a little ways outside of the crowd.

  “I would like one all the same,” Amandine said firmly. “Right now.”

  “Surely there is something else I can do for you.” Marmi was beginning to sound nervous. “Something that would better show my gratitude for such beautiful costumes than a silly old parlor trick.”

  “No,” said Amandine. “If you won’t do it as a favor, then do it as repayment.”

  Coronado plucked his cigarette out of his mouth. “Repayment?”

  A murmur went up in the group surrounding them.

  Marmi hesitated. She looked to Coronado, who’s dark glare demanded an explanation. Even her kind and loyal René wouldn’t look at her. She searched every face for a way out of Amandine’s request, but nobody offered her an escape. She sighed and reached into her sleeve for her pipe. “As you wish, child.”

  Marmi took her time packing fresh tobacco into the bowl. Once it was lit, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and let a fragrant stream of smoke tumble out of her mouth. She shuddered and took Amandine's hands in hers.

  The camp was completely silent. It was nearly two minutes before Marmi finally spoke.

  “I see a shining object in a black hand,” she said in a strained voice. “Bright white, like a diamond or a mirror. I hear something. ‘Kah.’ A name… It’s a name that commands fear and respect. Now I see fire. I am engulfed in fire and two people are standing right in the middle of it. We’re all burning alive.”

  Coronado exchanged a worried look with Glorious across the crowd.

  Marmi began to tremble. “There are loud noises. Whining. Thunder, too? No, explosions. Gunshots!”

  Amandine's eyes went wide as Marmi's hands crept back up her arms and clamped down around her face. Her grip got so tight that Amandine cried out and tried to peel her hands away, but her fingernails only dug deeper into her skin.

  “It's... it's fireworks. Blood, gunshots, and fireworks. I see...”

  Coronado and Glorious reached Marmi's side at the same time and ripped her hands away.

  “The NAR!” she said hoarsely, shaking so hard she lost her balance. “NAR agents are here!”

  Glorious wrapped her in a bear-hug, pinning her arms to her sides. “Hush, now. Ain't nobody here, baby.”

  “That Inquestor! The one who has been following us!”

  Coronado gave a false chuckle and guided Amandine away. “Don't listen to her. All of that stuff is made up. It comes from her pipe just as much as it comes from her colorful imagination. I don't think she meant to frighten you.” He steered her towards the truck, giving her shoulders a squeeze that was supposed to be reassuring.

  Glorious led Marmi back to her tent with some difficulty. Marmi was still shaking so violently that she could barely stand without his help, and Rao, sensing that something was wrong, kept butting the back of their knees with his broad head. Once Glorious managed to get her back inside, everyone turned to stare at Amandine.

  “I don't suppose that changed your mind about going, did it?” Sangria asked while she played with the buckle on her bag.

  Amandine shook her head. “No. After all, it's just an act. Just a parlor trick.”

  Her optimism was becoming harder and harder to maintain. Amandine reached down deep within herself and summoned up what memories she had, but all she could think about was Marmi’s premonition of blood and fire. She forced herself to think of René— and that only reminded her that she was leaving him forever.

  A dim smile was all that Amandine could muster. “I'll bet she was just trying to scare me into staying.”

  “That's right,” Coronado said, with no sense of belief in his voice. “Well? Shall we?”

  Amandine picked up her suitcase. It felt so much heavier this time. “Goodbye, everyone. I will always watch for your posters.” They all moved in for one last hug before Amandine, Coronado, René and Sangria climbed into the cab of the illusionist’s truck and rolled out of camp.

  The trip went by mostly in silence as the truck rattled across town. Predictably, Coronado smoked and listened to the radio. René polished the thimble Amandine gave him and attached it to his hat. Sangria tried to lighten the mood by talking about all of the fine stores she would have to visit once they won the prize money for their show. She admired the nice houses, remarking upon one in particular that resembled her own childhood home.

  Soon the homes and stores gave way to fields again and they came upon a bizarre structure looming in the late afternoon light. An enormous black concrete block sat in the center of rolling green fields, like a giant die on a gaming table. There were no signs, but there was also no question that they had come to the right place.

  Sangria stared up at the high walls that surrounded the building. “Is that it?”

  “I think so.” The sight made Coronado’s skin prickle. “It's much bigger than I imagined.”

  There was an office building outside of the prison wall and some space for parking. A group of officers were consulting with the gatekeeper, so no one noticed when Coronado pulled in and parked amongst some other black trucks. Everyone piled out, and Sangria went first to her friend.

  “You take care,” she said firmly. “Be strong, and if it doesn't work out… well, I won’t let anybody else take that extra bunk in my trailer.”

  “Thank you for letting me live with you, Gia.” Amandine held her tight. “And thank you for being my friend. I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Raggedy Ann.”

  She turned to Coronado. He gave her one of his rare smiles, and for the briefest moment, Amandine could see what Sangria found so attractive about him. “Señor, thank you so much for looking after me and pushing me to do my best. You remind me of my father... in a dark, angry sort of way.”

  He seemed pleased by this compliment, and he embraced her, kissing each cheek in farewell.

  “Sweet Amandine, you have been a treasure,” he said sincerely. “We will enjoy our new success thanks in great part to your incredible talents. God go with you, muñequita.”

  Amandine turned to René at last.

  “We’ll wait in the truck,” Coronado said, flicking away his cigarette butt and ushering Sangria back inside.

  Standing alone in the parking lot of a federal prison, Amandine and René reached for each other one last time. Amandine pressed her cheek to his soft, warm shirt and struggled to find the words to tell him everything she wanted to say.

  I don’t want to leave you.

  I don’t want this to be over.

  I’m scared, René.

  She stopped trying to put her feelings into words when he pulled her just far enough away so that they looked into each other’s eyes: hers dark, his silver-bright, both brimming.

  Hot tears streamed down
both cheeks. She finally managed to say, “Is it crazy to hope that one day we can find each other again?”

  René smiled gently and brushed her tears away with rough fingers. “I’m optimistic.” He drew her in and slowly their lips met in a painful kiss goodbye.

  When at last they parted, she lifted her suitcase and moved towards the office building, letting her hand stay in René's until it could no longer reach. Her heart ripped to pieces when her fingers finally slipped from his.

  Amandine’s throat locked. She wanted to look back. She wanted to run back. She dug as deeply as she could for a glimmer of hope, but her eyes were fixed on the terrible, black tomb before her.

  Maman is in there. Maman is waiting for me.

  She pushed through the squealing steel door into a reception area. Concrete benches were lined up before a long clerk’s desk which was manned by officers in blue uniforms. There were no other civilians this late in the day, and everyone looked up at Amandine's arrival. Plucking up her courage, she stepped up to the desk.

  “Can I help you, miss?” the officer asked, noting her suitcase with suspicion. “Do you need directions someplace?”

  “Yes, I would like to visit my mother, please.”

  The officer blinked. “I’m afraid you'll have to wait until her shift is over. We can't allow civilians inside the prison.”

  “I’m sorry.” Amandine touched her forehead in embarrassment. “I should have been more specific. My mother is a prisoner here. I would like to visit her, please, and then look into what avenues I can pursue to secure her release.”

  The officer stared at her, and all of the others were wearing matching expressions of disbelief. “Who exactly are you trying to see?”

  “Caroline Heloise Brodeur Stewart, sir.”

  “Why, exactly, are you trying to secure her release?”

  Amandine was struck dumb by this question. “Because... she’s my mother.”

  There was a rustle of steel against leather as half a dozen gleaming pistols unholstered at once. Amandine froze and slowly raised her hands. “There's no need for that,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don't want any trouble.”

  “Why do you want Cleo?”

  “I didn’t say anything about Cleo. I said Caroline. I want Caroline!” she exclaimed. “I want my mother!” Someone reached for her elbow, and she wrenched away on instinct. Suddenly, her arms were pinned against her sides.

  Amandine screamed.

  “For goodness' sake,” Sangria growled. “Stop crying, René.”

  “I have to agree,” Coronado said. The two seemed to have returned to their old selves, sitting irritably in the cab. “It isn't dignified.”

  René wiped his face with his bandana and tried to calm down with a deep breath.

  “There you go.” Coronado patted his back. “Get it together.”

  He pushed his hand away. “Did she really mean so little to you after all?” René demanded. “How can you two be so calm? So cold?”

  “You’re a fool if you think you’re the only one upset by this,” Coronado scoffed. “And I think you’re a downright idiot for letting this happen.”

  “‘Letting this happen?’” René repeated in outrage. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Antonio! I had no choice! She wanted to leave!” His hands clenched into fists, and he struck the dashboard helplessly. “What was I supposed to do? She wanted to leave...”

  “I have experienced loss before, you know,” Coronado said evenly, reaching into his jacket pocket. “The worst kind. When Estefania was gone, I...”

  He paused and seemed to forget he was looking for his pack of cigarettes. He sat motionless, briefly lost in thought. “I thought I would never feel whole again. That I would never know anything but guilt and grief.”

  He found his box and tapped a cigarette into his waiting palm. He put it between his lips while he hunted for a match.

  “I’ll say it again, I think you're a damned idiot for letting her go. If I had any control over the matter, Estefania would still be here. I would have given my very life. You, on the other hand, wasted precious time moping about all of the ‘what ifs’ and throwing too much stock in the drug-addled ramblings of an old, fortune-telling fraud. You let poor Amandine walk straight into certain danger.”

  Coronado struck a match unsuccessfully.

  “I don't feel any sympathy for you—”

  He tried again, but it died before he could light his cigarette.

  “—Only for that poor girl.”

  Sangria's gloved hand appeared over his shoulder, and she pushed the matches down. René saw the meaningful look that passed between them, and Coronado put his cigarettes away, obeying her wordless entreaty.

  Suddenly, they heard a muffled scream from the prison office building, and all three jumped in their seats.

  “That was Amandine!” Sangria exclaimed. “Oh, misery me! We need to help her!”

  “Help? What do we do?” René’s brain seemed to be at odds with his instinct. He knew he needed a plan, but his body had already sprung into action. He kicked the door open just as they heard the shriek of tires on pavement. An Interceptor spun to a stop in front of the prison doors, and three officers raced into the building with their guns drawn.

  “That's the Inquestor.” Coronado paled.

  “What the hell’s he still doing here?” Sangria demanded.

  “They’ve been following us since South Carolina.”

  “What?” she screeched. “He’s been following us this whole time? And you knew?”

  “Dios mio...” Coronado deflected the punch she threw at his shoulder and pointed to the Interceptor. “They've been to camp!”

  The others didn't immediately understand his meaning until they noticed long, deep scratches and a smashed out window in the driver's door.

  René knew it was now or never. “I am going in,” he shouted, grabbing his hat and sprinting for the building.

  “¡Maldita sea!” Coronado pounded his hands into the steering wheel. He whirled on Sangria. “You stay here! Don't you even think of getting out of this truck!” He slapped on his fedora and hurried after René. “Hide in the back! Use one of the covered birdcages! Don't let anyone see you!”

  Sangria watched them go, and her mouth curled into a wicked, red smile. “They won’t see a thing,” she purred, reaching for her bag.

  Inside the office, Amandine struggled as hard as she could against all of the hands that grabbed her. Carver tried to get at her himself, but not a single frenzied blue officer noticed that there was an inquestor among them in the chaos.

  “For Christ’s sake, you blue bastards!” Carver yelled, cracking one prison guard in the ear with his 1911. “Do I need to announce my own presence? Stand down, dammit! She’s mine! I said stand down!”

  He gave a cry of frustration and fired three shots into the ceiling. Everyone froze and stared at the Inquestor as plaster rained down on their heads.

  “Attention!” Carver barked and everyone snapped upright. “There’s a goddamn inquestor present, so I’d appreciate it if you’d remember your place and show me some goddamn respect!”

  He fixed his hat that had been knocked askew in the tussle and shot Amandine a calculating glance. With a gesture from his pistol, the two officers that accompanied him grabbed her by the arms.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” Carver sighed. “Now that we have order once more, we can sort this mess out.” He leaned over to the guard he had hit. “What did she do to warrant all six of you on her?”

  The guard didn’t appear to hear the question. He was swaying and staring vacantly at the “NO SPITTING” sign on the wall as red seeped from his ear. Another answered for him.

  “She asked for Cleo, Inquestor, sir.”

  “Aha!” Carver used the hot barrel of his gun to turn Amandine’s face up to his. “I’d expect nothing less from the daughter of the diabolical—” He stopped short. “Hang on. Did you say she asked for Cleo?”

  “Yes
, Inquestor, sir. She wanted to visit her and then try to get her released.”

  The gun came under her chin again, and he came close enough to look into her eyes, frantically searching them for some kind of sign. With growing incredulity, he pulled away. “You can’t be serious.” He gaped at his officers. “She can’t be serious.”

  “A trick, Inquestor,” said the one on her left arm.

  Carver frowned. “I’m very disappointed, Miss Stewart. If that’s all you wanted to do, you should have just said so when we first met and spared me all of this trouble. After what Cleo put me though, I expected so much more out of you.”

  “Who are you, Inquestor?” Amandine blurted. “Why have you really been following me?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “It might have worked on your carnie-friends, but it won’t work on me. I made the mistake of underestimating Cleo once, and she nearly killed me. I wouldn’t be surprised if this little game you’re playing— just asking for your mother— is not really just a distraction for some bigger scheme.”

  “My mother is not Cleo! She’s Caroline! She’s just a dressmaker, like me!” Desperately, she repeated, “Who are you, Inquestor? How do I know you?”

  “From the radio, I’d imagine,” he said with a peculiar, crazed expression. It was as though she were the first person he had ever encountered who didn’t already know who he was. “They’re always talking about me on ‘How We Are In The NAR.’ I’m famous now, thanks to Cleo.”

  A murmur of “Inquestor Carver!” went up around the officers, and they brightened with recognition, but Amandine still scowled. Carver tried again with slow, deliberate words.

  “I arrested your mother. I went to your safehouse and beat her into submission before the other inquestors even started their cars.” He stood back with his arms spread, like a performer awaiting applause. “I’m a national hero!”