Entwined

by La Plante, Lynda

  Ruda turned and saw him, and at the same time Sasha and Roja lost concentration, coming down onto all fours. Ruda gave the command to move out, and signaled for the watchers to get the trapdoor open—fast. One of the boys hurried to Grimaldi’s side and helped him to his feet.

  Ruda turned all her attention on Roja, dominated him, knowing that if he went into the tunnel the others would follow. As he hesitated she never took her eyes off him, then he wheeled around to head back down the tunnel. After a moment, the others followed him out. Ruda clamped down the trapdoor, shouting for Mike to hold the rest of the act.

  She moved like a cat, but she didn’t go for Grimaldi; instead she went for the boy who had helped him to his feet and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You watch out for me. Were this place to go up like an inferno, you watch out for me!” She swiped him with the back of her hand, so hard that he fell to his knees.

  Still ignoring Grimaldi, Ruda turned to the watcher to her left, and snapped for him to put the rest of the act on hold.

  “Now. Do it right now, get to Mike, tell him to keep the cages shut!”

  The boys ran, leaving the drunken man alone, his face flushed a deep red. Then slowly she removed her thick leather gloves and spoke to her husband, her voice low.

  “Get out of here, Luis, get out before I have you thrown out.”

  Grimaldi held his own. Swaying slightly, he glared at her.

  “I’m sorry, I fell, you know I’d never…”

  Ruda snapped the glove in his face. “Get out of my sight, you drunken bum!”

  Luis touched his cheek. “I want a divorce, you hear me, bitch? I want a divorce…I want you out of my life!’”

  The show continued for those performers still hanging around. Ruda gripped her husband by his shirt and hauled him to the exit.

  She pushed him out, and he fell facedown in the mud. She turned on her heels and strode back into the tent. Seeing a sweeper standing with a wide long-handled broom, she ordered him to get the drunk out of there, and not to let him near the arena until she was through.

  By the time she had finished the rehearsal, got the cats back into their cages and fed, it was after six. She hoped Luis had passed out so she wouldn’t have to confront him, but when she returned to the trailer he was remarkably sober, and waiting for her.

  The windows of the trailer were thick with condensation from the steaming coffee pot. She switched on the air conditioner. Without saying a word, Luis handed her a mug.

  “I’m sorry, I should never have done that, I was drunk, I am ashamed, I’m sorry.”

  Ruda threw her coat over the heater and began to unbutton her shirt. “You know how dangerous it was. You don’t need me to tell you that, dangerous and stupid, and from you of all people.”

  Grimaldi nodded glumly and held out his hand, but Ruda didn’t take it. She unzipped her trousers, and kicked them off. He picked them and her shirt from where she tossed them, and took them to the laundry basket. She wore a silk one-piece bodysuit with dark green stains under the armpits. She didn’t strip completely; after all the years they had been together, she was still self-conscious about her body. She put on an old robe, and wrapped it around her before she took a sip of the coffee. She uncoiled her hair, the nape of her neck still damp from the workout.

  “Did you mean it, Luis? About the divorce?”

  Grimaldi looked at her sheepishly and sat down. He held his big hands between his knees.

  “I guess so, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it for a while now, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Well, why not? We don’t have a marriage, we haven’t ever really had one, you know that…and she’s, Tina’s, going to have a baby.”

  “You’ve got kids all over Europe, what’s one more? Anyway, knowing that little tart, how can you be sure it’s yours!”

  Grimaldi cocked his head. “It’s mine, I may be worn out and past it, but my dick works, it’s about the only thing that never lets me down.”

  “What about the act?” She tried to keep her voice casual, but she was shaking. He still wouldn’t look at her. “Luis, what about the act? We’re partners—if we divorce do you still want me to run the show?”

  He turned to her then. “You can do what you like with it, it’s not mine anyway, but…I’ll still retain my fifty percent—half the animals are mine.”

  Ruda felt drained. “I see…so my money, all the money I’ve earned and poured into it, everything, all the new cats that I’ve trained, my cats, it’s all split fifty-fifty, is that right?”

  Luis nodded. “That’s only fair, you had nothing when we met, everything you have is from me. I mean, if you want, you can pay me what the act is worth, what the animals are worth, and then, do whatever you want, but you can’t use my name.”

  Ruda snatched the poster off the wall. “Look at it, Luis—it’s not your name, it’s mine! I’ve not used your name for the past two years, I don’t want your name!”

  “Just my act! You think nobody knows? My name is still a crowd-puller, may not be on the fucking headlines, but it’s the Grimaldi Cats.”

  “It’s not your act anymore!”

  Grimaldi shook his head and half smiled. “All I want is my fair share, my cut. Anyone can take over an act. I can work in someone else.”

  “You can what? What did you say?”

  “I said, I can train another girl to replace you. If you want to take the act as it stands, then pay me—it’s as simple as that.”

  Grimaldi opened the trailer door. She snapped at him: “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going out, okay? And while I’m gone, Ruda, just sit down and remember, remember where you came from, what you were before you met me. Sit on what you made your living on and tell me how much you fucking owe me…!”

  The trailer rocked as he slammed the door. She gripped her head in her hands, wanting to rip her hair out. What did he know about pain? What could he know? She felt a burning sensation in her temples. He couldn’t stand pain, but she could. She kicked the trailer wall, punched the doors, the walls, with all her strength until she gasped for breath. It was then that she shouted, “I was tested. He tested me, I was Papa’s favorite!”

  She began to pace the confined space, clenching and unclenching her hands. First Kellerman, now Luis, both wanting to take from her everything she had fought to get. She wouldn’t let them, either of them. As she showered and changed, she tried to contain the blinding fury boiling up inside her. She forced herself to think what to do.

  Ruda checked the cats one last time, staying a moment longer with Mamon than with the others. He was restless, as though he felt her anxiety, and he pressed himself close to the bars, then lay down, submissive. She reached to touch him. Ruda let his rough tongue lick her hand. She whispered to him. “You know, you know, I won’t be kicked, I won’t take it, nobody kicks me, yes? Yes?” She loved this creature more than any other living thing. It was Mamon, her angel, who had elicited from her a love she had believed herself incapable of feeling.

  She clung to the bars. “I’m ready for him, I can deal with him, I am strong, I am strong.”

  The metal felt cold to her brow as she pressed closer and closer. The voice whispered to her, soft, persuasive, “You can do it, fight through the pain…that’s my little girl, that’s Papa’s girl. You can do it, pain is sweet, pain is beautiful, come on Ruda…give your Papa what he wants, you love me, prove it!”

  She was ready, ready to face Kellerman, ready to go to East Berlin. She pushed herself away from Mamon. “I’ll be back!”

  Ruda passed by the trailer, and through the window saw Luis take out a fresh bottle of brandy. She walked on. She caught the bus into the city center; first, she had gone to the taxi stand, but then changed her mind. She waited for a bus to take her into East Berlin.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  It was a strange experien
ce crossing the shabby Kreuzberg district, which in the old days hugged the wall, but now was home to a large Turkish population. She was shocked to see anti-Semitic slogans spray-painted on the walls of the rundown houses: “Auslander Raus” “Foreigners…get out!” Bricks were thrown at the bus as it passed through the area. The mostly women and children passengers cowered in their seats. More anti-Semitic slogans were smeared on the sites of former synagogues and on the walls of the Jewish schools. Ruda began to sweat as a group of young skinheads spat at the bus, their hands lifted, their voices screaming “Sieg Heil!” Their shouts made Ruda bow her head. She hissed under her breath, “Bastards…bastards!”

  A woman seated in front of Ruda shook her fist at the skinheads, then turned to her companion, and they began talking to the rest of the occupants of the bus. “If your skin is the wrong color, if it isn’t pale enough, if your hair is too dark, too curly, these pigs will attack. Something must be done! Why has this hatred been allowed to continue and fester? Turn the machine guns on them, fascist pigs!”

  When Ruda got off she was engulfed in a strange fear. Two yards from the bus stop, she saw a huge poster of herself. The incongruity made her gasp, but the image calmed her, comforted her.

  She took out her map, and looked for the direction to Keller-man’s hotel. She hesitated, checked the dwarf’s scrawled note, and headed down a dimly lit street to a small bed and breakfast establishment that could hardly be described as a hotel.

  It was almost ten when Ruda walked into the dingy reception. There was no one around; she then turned to what looked like a guest register, scrawled all over with memos and messages. “T. Kellerman” was listed in Room 40. She waited another minute before heading to the elevator. On the fourth floor, she stood outside Kellerman’s room listening to the sound of a television, the volume turned up loud. She tapped and waited, tapped louder, then the door inched open.

  “They should have called from reception,” he said petulantly as he opened the door wider. He was in his shirt, tie loosened, and he was wearing suspenders, wide, red suspenders. Ruda closed the door and looked around the small room, dominated by the TV set.

  “Jesus, Tommy, what made you choose this dump?”

  “It’s cheap, nobody asks questions, and nobody’s likely to come looking for me, that answer enough?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so, but I’m surprised you haven’t had a brick thrown through the window, or found a turd in your bed!”

  “Got scared, did you?”

  Ruda shrugged, then after a moment: “More like sickened.”

  She put her large leather bag on the edge of the bed. As she turned, Kellerman suddenly clasped her tightly around the thighs, and buried his head in her crotch. She didn’t resist.

  “Still working the same foreplay game, are we?” she asked sarcastically.

  He chuckled, and stepped back. “Lemme tell you, that’s turned on more women then I can count, they love it, hot breath steaming through their panties. Just a taste of what is to come, because when I ease the skirt down, really get into it, no woman can resist me, not when I’ve got my tongue working overtime.”

  Ruda laughed and unbuttoned her coat, tossing it over her bag.

  “You disgusting little parasite, I thought you’d have grown up by now, but then I suppose it’s tough—not ever growing, I mean.”

  Kellerman hitched up his trousers and crossed to the mini bar. “Want a miniature drinkie? From your own miniature lover?”

  He peered at the rows of bottles in the fridge and chose a vodka for himself.

  “I won’t have anything.”

  “Suit yourself,” Kellerman said as he opened some tonic and found a glass. His stubby hands could reach only halfway around the tumbler.

  Ruda sat on the bed watching him as he fixed his drink, dragged a chair from the small desk by the fridge, moved it closer to the bed, then waddled back to get his glass, handing it to her as he gripped the chair by the arms to haul himself into it.

  Sitting, his feet hung just over the edge of the chair, small child’s feet encased in red socks to match his suspenders, his scuffed shoes on the floor.

  “Cheers!”

  Kellerman drank almost half the contents of the glass, burped, and wrinkled his nose.

  “So! You came. I was half expecting you not to turn up.”

  Ruda opened her bag and took out her cigarettes. Kellerman delved into his pockets for a lighter.

  “Did you go to the cashier?” he asked, looking at the large leather bag.

  “Yes.”

  He flashed a cheeky grin. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other. The license, all our papers, are in that drawer over there. They still look good…guy was an artist!”

  Kellerman eased himself off the chair. “You may not believe this, but I don’t like asking for the money.”

  Ruda laughed. “Asking? Blackmailing is the word I would use.”

  “You have to do what you have to do. I’m flat broke, and in debt to two guys in the U.S. It’s been tough for me ever since you left.”

  Ruda smiled. “It was tough before I left. I’m surprised they employed you in Paris. Those folks worked hard for their dough. Way I heard it you were blacklisted, you’d steal from a kid’s piggy bank, you have never given a shit for anyone but yourself. How long did you get?”

  Kellerman shrugged. “Five years. It was okay, I survived, the cons treated me okay…the guards were the worst, bastards every one of them, called me monkey or chimpy.”

  “You must be used to nicknames by now…”

  “Yeah, haw haw…sticks and stones may break my bones but…”

  He leaned forward, a frown on his face. “I’m shrinking, Ruda, do you notice? Prison doc said it was something to do with the curvature of my spine. I said to him, Jesus Christ, Doc, I can’t get any smaller, can I? I said to him, if this goes on I’ll be the incredible shrinking man, and he said…”

  Kellerman shook his head as he chortled with laughter. “He said, that was done with mirrors! They built giant chairs and tables, then…fuck it! How could he know, eh? How could he know!”

  Kellerman was referring to his obsession, a fun-house mirror he used to haul everywhere he went. The mirror distorted a normal human being, but it made Kellerman look tall and slender—normal. One night in a fit of rage he had smashed it to pieces, and wept like a child at his broken dream image. He turned now to peer at himself in the dressing table mirror, his head just reaching the top of the table. The effect was comical, even funny, but Kellerman was not a clown. He was a man filled with self-hatred, and convinced of the fact that if he had grown, he could have been recognized as handsome as a movie star, a Robert Redford, a Clint Eastwood.

  He cocked his head, grinning. “You know they got drugs now to prevent dwarfism? If they detect it early enough, they pump you with steroids, and you grow. Ain’t that something?”

  Kellerman loathed his deformity; when drunk he was always ready to attack anyone he caught staring at him. The circus was his only employment, his short body rushing around the ring, being chased and thrown around. He opened another vodka and drank it neat from the small bottle.

  “Did you work with the Frazer brothers in Paris?”

  Ruda asked the question without really wanting a reply; her heart was hammering inside her chest. She had to get him into a good mood, she didn’t have the money.

  Kellerman nodded. “Yeah, the Frazers had bought my electric car just before I went to jail. So when I turned up and told them I needed a few dollars they put me in the act. My timing was right—you know little Frankie Godfrey? He had joined the act about four years ago. Well, he’s been really sick, water on the brain maybe, I dunno. Some crazy woman a few years back got up from her seat and attacked him, she just hurtled into the ring and began knocking him around. The audience thought it was all part of the show, but she was a nut case. Ever since the poor sod’s had these blinding headaches; still they paved the way
for me to earn a few bucks. Then the management found out about me—gave me my walking papers, they told the Frazers to get rid of me. Cunts all of them.”

  “Serves you right, if you steal from the people who employ you, and virtually kill a cashier, what else do you expect?…I did that show, Monte Carlo, wasn’t it?”

  “I borrowed the dough, I was gonna pay it back. Yeah, Monte fuckin’ Carlo, I only went there to date Princess Stephanie!…haw haw!”

  Ruda laughed. “Oh yeah, where were you going to find two hundred thousand dollars? From Prince Rainier?”

  Kellerman chortled, and pointed to her handbag. “I’m looking right at half that amount now! You know something, we made a good team, we could do it again, I’m good with animals.”

  “Fuck off… you hate anything with four legs.”

  He shrugged. “No, I’m serious. You hear what that high-wire act got paid for a stint in Vegas? I mean the real dough is in cabaret. And there’s a double act with big cats, you know, mixed with magic—they make their panthers disappear. I dunno how the fuck they do it, but it’s got to be a con. You ever thought of trying the Vegas circuit? I got contacts there, I mean maybe to have me in the act might not be a good thing, but I could manage you. I mean Grimaldi’s washed up, or filled up with booze, I hear, and you were shit hot with that magic stuff.”

  “The day I need you to manage me, Tommy, I’ll be washed up.”

  Kellerman continued talking about acts he had managed, and she let him carry on, only half listening. There had been a time when Ruda had felt deeply sorry for him, because she had been in the same dark place. In retrospect, she had made herself believe that that was the reason she had married him, it united them. Earlier, he had been the only connection to this past, now he was the reminder.