“How did Rebecca feel about this?”
“Oh, she couldn’t do anything about it. I locked her up, you see, I shut her away.”
Franks began to try to pinpoint dates and times, discovering that the change of name or personality occurred when Vebekka was seventeen. Subsequently, she did not want any connection with her old self, and as she became successful in her career, she started to travel on assignments, eventually securing work in Paris.
“When did Rebecca start to come back?”
Vebekka turned on the sofa, wriggled her body, her face puckered in a frown. “She started to get out. You see, she wouldn’t stay locked up.”
“I understand, but when did she become difficult to control?”
She held her hands protectively over her stomach. “My baby…she said there wasn’t enough room inside me, not enough room for the two of us, she kept on trying to get out, but I fought her, she said terrible things, terrible things about the baby, she said it would be deformed, it would be deformed…”
♦ ♦ ♦
Franks spent over an hour with her, and then decided he needed a break. He did not wake her because he wanted her to rest. He tucked the blanket around her, checked her pulse, and told her she would sleep for a while.
Helen poured a black coffee for the doctor. He sipped it, sighing with pleasure.
“Let me explain something to you, Baron. What you have heard may seem extraordinary to you, but it is quite common. At some time or other everyone’s mind undergoes something akin to a split.
The easiest way to understand this is by way of an example: Let’s say you’ve had a near-miss car accident—a voice will begin calming you, talking your fear down, telling you it’s over, that everything is fine, that it was a narrow miss, et cetera, et cetera…Your wife created Vebekka because Rebecca was as she described, moody, bad tempered, fat. In other words, she was someone she did not like, did not want to be associated with. We do not know as yet the reasons for Rebecca’s moods, or why she needed to split her personality. All we know is that for Vebekka to be able to survive, to live normally, she had to lock Rebecca away. There will be a reason, it will surface, but it will take time. I will begin taking her back to her childhood, perhaps something occurred with her parents that instigated this dual personality.”
The baron drained his coffee cup. “You mean she could have been mistreated?”
“Quite possibly. Often the safety barrier is created to shield the memory of sexual abuse. We shall find it out, but as you can see, it is a slow process, a step-by-step process to get at the truth.”
Helen was excited. “If Rebecca began to resurface during her pregnancies, this ties in with what Louis has said, that her breakdowns began when she was three to four months pregnant.”
Franks nodded. “We shall see…”
Helen looked to the baron, then told Franks about the meeting with Vebekka’s mother’s sister, and that she was sure that Vebekka was adopted.
Franks shook his hand. “You must keep me informed, I have asked you to report any information, since everything could be of value. Did you receive the newspapers—the ones I asked for?”
“Not yet,” said Louis.
“Please try and contact whomever you have working for you in New York to send you copies. And now I would like to be alone for a while. Do go out and have some lunch; when you return, you may go straight into the viewing room.”
Franks walked out, and went to lie down in his office. But he did not sleep. He replayed slowly in his mind his exchanges with Vebekka. He was sure this was a case of severe child abuse, that had taken place over a period of years. What amazed him was that none of the many therapists and doctors who had seen Vebekka had diagnosed such a common trauma. However, he felt that there were more layers to be uncovered, he sensed that it was about something deeper—if not, he hated to admit it to himself, but he would be disappointed.
Vebekka slept deeply, totally relaxed. Maja checked her pulse, and drew the blanket closer around her. She emptied the ash trays from the viewing room, and then went to have a quick lunch, peeking into Franks’s office to tell him she was leaving. He was fast asleep on his couch.
♦ ♦ ♦
Grimaldi slept like a dead man. Ruda had opened the trailer windows, thrown out the empty bottles, but he had not stirred. She prepared for the afternoon’s rehearsal. In the evening there would be the dress rehearsal: in full costume, lights, ringmaster, and all. She still needed more time to get the cats used to the new plinths. She took out her costume, and got the ironing board ready to iron the jacket. She opened the blinds and looked skyward. The sun was still trying to break through, but more rain clouds had gathered. She crossed her fingers, hoping the forecasted storm would hold off, and then she left to feed the cats.
Grimaldi heard the door close, as if from some great distance. Slowly he opened his eyes, and moaned as the light blinded him. He lifted his head and fell back with a groan. His body ached, his head throbbed, even his teeth hurt. He let his jaw hang loose; his tongue was dry and rough. One hand gripped the edge of the bunk seat and inch by inch he drew himself into a sitting position. The room spun around and around; his heart hammered in his chest. He needed another drink. He looked around bleary-eyed, but could not see a bottle within reach.
He got to his knees, and then pushed himself upright. He fumbled in a cupboard for a bottle, knocking over glasses, sauces, cans of food. He began to retch uncontrollably and staggered into the shower. Turning on the cold water he slumped again onto his knees, and let the cold water drench him.
Grimaldi peeled off his soaking shirt and pants. He had such a pounding headache that he was seeing tiny white sparks shooting, dancing in front of his eyes. He moaned and swore, but now he eased off his pants and propped himself up under the shower, turning on the hot water. He began to feel the life coming back into his limbs, his chest, but his headache felt as though unseen hands were pressing his ears together. He could not remember how he had got into such a state and did not begin to piece it together until he sat down hunched up in a towel with a mug of black coffee. He hung his head and sobbed, but the movement made his head scream, so he gulped more and more coffee and a handful of aspirin. The pills stuck in his gut and he burped loudly. Weaving unsteadily to the sink, he looked at himself. His eyes were bloodshot; his face yellowish, unshaven. “Dear God, why do I do this to myself? Why?”
He began to shave, fragmented memories of the previous evening making him feel disgusted. Poor little Tina, he had to talk to her…and then he saw Ruda’s face smiling at him, and saw Tina huddled half-naked against the wall, and he bowed his head with shame. He remembered now he had left her in the club, so aptly named the Slaughterhouse. In fact, he had led her like a lamb to the slaughter.
He got himself dressed, and the effort exhausted him. He sat morosely trying to find the strength to get himself out of the trailer and across to Tina’s. He put on a pair of dark glasses, and, still unsteady, he crossed the trailer park, knocked on Tina’s door and waited. He knocked again. A voice inside yelled for whoever it was to wait. Tina’s girlfriend opened up, she was wearing jodhpurs and pulling on a sweater over a grubby bra. She looked at Grimaldi and tugged her sweater down.
“What do you want?”
“Tina in?”
“You must be joking…”
“Where is she?”
The girl went back into the trailer, and came out again carrying a rain cape. She slung it around her shoulders while he stood there like a dumb animal. The girl looked at him with disgust. “She’s gone, packed her bags and gone, you bastard!”
He tried to reach for her arm, to stop her from leaving. “I don’t understand, what do you mean she’s gone?”
“Ask your wife, shithead, ask your bloody wife!”
“Gone where?”
“Home. She’s gone back to the States.”
“Did she leave a letter?”
“What
you want? A forwarding address? Dickhead! She’s gone—left, understand? You’ll never see her again.”
His mind reeled, and he leaned against the side of the old trailer. The girl sauntered off, calling out to two guys leading a couple of horses through to the ring.
Grimaldi walked a few paces and then stopped. He turned back to the trailer, sure the girl was lying.
“Tina?…Tina?!”
He kicked at the set of steps in a fury. He felt impotent, angry, unable to believe she would go away, leave him without a word. He turned toward the big tent and began to weave his way toward it, cursing loudly, striking out at the sides of trailers as he passed.
♦ ♦ ♦
Mike ran into the meat truck looking for Ruda. He was told she was feeding the cats. Mike took off, calling her name, dodging animals as they were being led into the ring.
Ruda was coming out of Sasha’s cage and wheeling the feed trolley on to the next cage. Mike shouted for her; she turned to look in his direction. She entered the next cage and put down the food, talking softly to the tigers as they approached her. She rubbed their heads, tossing chunks of meat to them. Mike was still calling her. She let herself out, bolted the cage, maneuvering the trolley. “I’m here, Mike!”
He ran toward her, his face flushed. “It’s the boss, he’s screaming and yelling over at the main ring, you’d better get him. Mr. Schmidt is walking around, and a party of school kids has just arrived.”
Ruda muttered, “I have to finish the feed.”
“He looks kind of crazy, Ruda, he’s breaking up chairs. No one can get near him.”
Ruda picked up Mamon’s big bowl and unbolted his cage. She stepped inside. “Be right with you…Ma’angel…come on, dinner time, come on baby.”
Mike leaned against the bars. “He’s thrown a punch at Willy Noakes, kicked a hole in his trailer.”
Ruda’s attention wavered from Mamon to Mike, and the big cat snarled, swiping a paw at her, demanding her full attention.
“Get back…No…don’t you dare! Here—eat.”
She tossed another hunk of meat, and Mamon caught it in his jaw, then lowered his head to rip it apart.
“Rudaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…Ruda!” Grimaldi bellowed.
Mike turned, startled. Grimaldi was heading toward them, carrying a pitchfork, dragging it along the cage bars. “Ruda!”
Ruda moved further into the cage. She faced Mamon, and tossed out more meat. She rested her back on the bars, turning to her right. She could see Grimaldi staggering along with the huge pitchfork.
“Mike, get him away from the cages!”
Mike, terrified of the big man, stuttered out to him to keep back.
“You want to make me?”
Grimaldi shoved the boy aside and came to Mamon’s cage. “She’s gone, she’s left me, she’s gone!”
Ruda threw another chunk of meat, but Mamon lowered onto his haunches, no longer interested in eating. He let out a low, rumbling growl. Ruda was trapped in the small cage; the exit door was behind Mamon. “Good boy, back…back off… GET BACK!”
Grimaldi banged the bar. “What did you do to her? You bitch! What have you done?”
Mamon hurled himself against the bars, trying to slice through with his paws, snarling and snapping at Grimaldi. Ruda went around him and out of the trapdoor. She bolted it shut and ran to the front of the cage. “Get away from the cages…Get away from the cages!”
Grimaldi vented all his pent-up anger at the snarling and snapping lion. He pushed the pitchfork through the bars and caught him on the rump: The cat went crazy, lunging at the bars and roaring with rage.
Ruda struggled with her husband, trying to jerk the pitchfork out of his hands. They fought like two men, pushing and shoving each other.
“Let go, Luis, let it go…!”
“She’s gone, she’s left me. You did it! You did this to me!”
Ruda brought up her knee and slammed it into his groin. He gasped with pain, let go the fork, and doubled up in agony. She took the fork and pointed the sharp iron prongs at Grimaldi’s chest. “Get back…Get out of here!”
He tried to grab at one of the prongs with his bare hand, but Ruda yanked it free—as she did, the prong sliced into his palm. He stumbled back, blood streaming from his hand.
Ruda tossed the fork to Mike and shoved Grimaldi with her hands. “Get out…go on, go back to the trailer—back, get back.”
He stared at her, yet moved back a couple of steps. “I’m not one of your lions, one of your cats…You pushed too far this time, you pushed too far!”
Grimaldi turned on his heels and stumbled away. Ruda turned on Mike.
“What the fuck are you gaping at? Get that fork back onto the truck, and bring the feed trays—go on!”
Not until she had fed every cat did she take off for her trailer, but halfway there she was stopped by the administrator. Mr. Kelm asked that she go over to the offices immediately. The chairman wished to speak to her. Ruda followed, the sweat still dripping off her.
The big man was standing, his coat draped over his shoulders, his silver-topped cane propped against a large oval table. As Ruda walked in, he snatched the cane and brought it down with a crash on the highly polished table.
“We pride ourselves…understand me, Mrs. Grimaldi…we take pride in ourselves…in the fact that everyone working here is the best. The best in the world! We have millions riding on this show, millions in advertising—we have school groups coming through…I want every child to go home and say they want to come to the show, that’s parents, sisters, brothers. And today those children witnessed a brawl—a brawl!—involving one of my top acts…Now, if you and your husband have domestic problems, sort them out in private—not in a disgusting public display. You may be a top act, Mrs. Grimaldi, but I will not have the name of this circus damaged, even if it means ending your and your husband’s contract. Do I make myself clear?”
Ruda nodded, furious at being spoken to like a child. She turned as if to leave.
“Every act is replaceable, Mrs. Grimaldi—remember that!”
She faced him. “Not every act. You show me one cat trainer, one act on a par with mine…”
“Yours?”
“Yes, mine, my husband no longer works in the ring.”
“I see…If your husband has a problem—get rid of it! Do I make myself clear?”
She nodded, and glared at him. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She turned and walked out, carefully closing the door behind her.
Schmidt turned to Kelm. “That woman is trouble! Any more problems and they both leave. We can hire the lion act from the Moscow Circus. Keep your eyes on the pair of them and let me know what’s going on!”
♦ ♦ ♦
Ruda tore back to the trailer in a rage, only to find Grimaldi, his hand wrapped in a towel, clumsily loading one of his rifles. As soon as she saw what he was doing, she slammed the door shut and locked it. “Put that away. Luis, put it away!”
He turned, sneering, cocked the gun and released the safety catch. He then pressed the barrel to his neck. “I was going to shoot that beast, that crazy fucking animal. Then I decided I should kill you…now, I think I’ll blow my own head off, because that’s what you want, isn’t it?…Isn’t it?”
She sat on the bunk, forcing herself to stay calm. “If that’s what you think, then do it—go on, shoot.”
He wavered, but did not put down the gun.
“Why do you think I want you dead?” she snapped.
“Give me one good reason you don’t?”
She shrugged. “That might be tough, but if pressed I’d have to admit that maybe I need you.”
He lowered the gun. “You haven’t needed me for ten years.”
She watched the gun being lowered, with relief. She couldn’t deal with one more scene, not after that lecture. “I don’t need you for the act, that’s true…but maybe I need you.”
He slumped down,
the gun loose in his hand. “Bullshit, you don’t need anyone, you never have—unless you want something, then you pretend to need.”
Ruda stared at him. “Why don’t you give me that gun and stop playing around? Come on, give it to me.”
He cocked his head to one side, asked why she had done it.
“Why did I do what?”
“Make Tina go away.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I made her?…I made her? You don’t think maybe you had something to do with it?”
“I loved her, I loved her.”
“You left her, without money, without anything. Left her in the middle of the shittiest place in Berlin, and now you tell me—you loved her? The only thing you love is booze, she came here crying her heart out, all I did was comfort her!”
“Comfort? You filthy whore!” He lurched to his feet. “I saw you together, I saw what you were doing to my little girl!”
“She wasn’t your little girl, and don’t think for two seconds that baby was yours—she told me it wasn’t. She came here asking for money, threatened to tell that fat slob Schmidt about you, about you screwing all the young kids, and you know what he just told me? He told me that if you play around with any more teenagers then you and I will be out, contract or no contract.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Ask him, go ask him. Kelm was there, he heard, I just got a lecture from the fat-assed bastard. Tina was a little tramp. I am telling you the truth, the baby was not yours—she admitted it to me.”
Grimaldi leaned back, closing his eyes. “I don’t believe it.”
Ruda moved quickly, grabbed the gun from him, and put the safety catch on. He made no effort to stop her. He held his face in his hands, saying over and over she was lying to him, then he looked up. “I could have had a life with her, I could have started again.”
“Doing what? Changing someone else’s brat’s diapers?”
“I could have been happy with her.”
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