by Carol Birch
Marjorie bobbed an ill-at-ease curtsy, snatching a look at Julia as she backed out of the door.
“Sherry for you, Julia?” Theo was already pouring.
“Yes. Thank you, Theo.”
He set down a small sherry on the table beside her. “My dear,” he said softly, stepping back. She lifted the veil, setting it back over her head with a practiced gesture, nodded her head forward gracefully with a gentle smile, then took a sip of sherry. Theo, his high forehead furrowed, looked at Barnum looking at Julia. Then he looked at Julia herself. Now there’s a sight. Her sipping daintily from a small crystal sherry glass with those huge horrible lips. Even now he could be struck anew with amazement when he looked at her, as if she were a ghost, something walking that should not.
“Tell me, Miss Pastrana,” said Barnum, “how are you enjoying the life of an entertainer?”
“It suits me very well for now,” she said. “I do like to see all the different places.”
“And how do you like England?”
They’d been in London a few days and she’d seen very little but the gallery, her room in the hotel and the streets between Covent Garden and Regent Street from a carriage window. England was porridge and geraniums and bacon and those streets rolling by, there and back, avidly studied from behind the veil and the window. “I like the porridge,” she said.
“Excellent, excellent,” Barnum chuckled. “Well— I’ve heard wonderful things about your talent.”
“Why don’t you come to one of the shows?” she said.
“I for one certainly will,” said Van Hare enthusiastically.
“So will I, if I can.” Barnum shifted heavily about in his chair, the cuffs of his wide black trousers perfectly pressed, a gold chain straining across his stomach. “We’re preparing to leave for Paris very shortly,” he said, “but I shall try and make time.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to seeing Paris. We’re going to Paris, aren’t we, Theo?”
“Of course.” Tough year the old boy’s had, he was thinking. Money troubles. Wonder if he read the piece in the Gazette? Go see Julia Pastrana and wonder at the ways of God. Or some such. Does he know we’re sold out every night? “Paris will be pleasant this time of year,” he said.
“Do you think so?” Barnum looked doubtful. “Damn hot and scratchy, I would say.”
“I like hot weather,” said Julia, “reminds me of home.”
There was a knock on the door, and Marjorie came in with a huge jug of lemonade and four glasses on a tray.
“We don’t need all that,” Theo said.
The girl looked confused. “I thought—”
“If you drink all that, Taylor, you’ll get hell from your bladder all night.”
“I very well might.” Barnum appeared unconcerned.
“I’m sorry,” said the girl, “I thought—”
“It’s such a warm day,” said Julia. “I’ll have some too. Thank you, Marjorie. Put it down here on this little table and I’ll pour.”
Marjorie looked even more confused but set down the tray quickly and left. Julia got up, poured lemonade and handed a glass to Barnum.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “Excellent.”
“When we go to Paris,” she said, sitting down again, “I want to go to the ballet.”
“The ballet?”
“Something grand,” she said, “something magnificent.”
“Paris is the place for the ballet,” said Theo. “Paris or Vienna. You’ll see both.”
“We should whisk you off to Paris!” Barnum smiled paternally. “This very second!”
Theo knocked back his drink. Look at him. All over her with his eyes. And the other one. He poured some more and spoke. “Business has been, I think I can say, pretty damn marvelous—” regretting the sound of his own voice immediately, thinking it high and nervous, but plowing on as if compelled by a man holding a gun to his head, boasting with eyes downcast and nose turning up, how so-and-so had said, and they’d had to turn away, and everyone’s saying, and the newspapers, as I’m sure you’ve seen, have talked of little else…
“What you need, Lent, is an elephant,” said Van Hare.
“What are you blabbing on about?” Barnum asked, turning ponderously to his friend.
“An elephant.” Van Hare accepted another drink. “Walk it ’round town with a sign saying…”
“I’m afraid I’m not in the menagerie business,” Theo said.
“You should be. Put the lady on a horse.” Van Hare winked at Julia. “That’ll pull ’em in. A horse or an elephant.”
Theo laughed.
“I’m already pulling ’em in,” she said.
“Would you like to work with animals?” Barnum asked her.
“I’ve never thought of it.”
“You enjoy traveling, you say?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Wish I could say the same.” Barnum’s brow was shiny and he took out a large white handkerchief to dab at it. “I have been far too much upon the road in my lifetime. Do you ever think of Mexico?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “Sometimes. But, Mr. Barnum, there’s something I’d like to ask you. What was Jenny Lind like?”
“Jenny Lind! Oh, a very pleasant woman indeed. Wonderful voice. And shrewd. Very shrewd woman. Nice eyes.”
“I’d love to have seen her,” Julia said. “I heard she gives a lot away to the poor.”
“Remember Jenny?” said Van Hare. “Not Jenny Lind, Jenny the elephant. Walked the tightrope. Beautiful creature.”
“That’s Lalla,” said Barnum.
“Aha, but she started out called Jenny Lind. They changed her name three times.” Van Hare turned to Julia. “You ought to have seen that superb elephant walk the tightrope.”
She laughed. Her laugh could be alarming, the protruding crooked confusion of teeth suddenly appearing. But Barnum and Van Hare were pros and never flinched. “How does an elephant walk the tightrope?” she asked.
“Very carefully, I should imagine,” said Theo.
“She could do anything, old Lalla,” Van Hare said. “Stand on her head. Steady as a rock. Marvelous animal and gentle as a babe. Have you ever worked with elephants, Lent?”
“No.”
Theo was watching Barnum. He’s interested, he thought. If he offers…but no, let him want.
“Lent, was it your uncle had a share in Old Bet?” Van Hare persisted. “Or your…”
“Uncle,” Theo said. “Two uncles, in fact.”
“Now,” said Van Hare, “Old Bet you can see to this very day, and she looks just as good as new.”
“What are you whiffling on about elephants for, Van?” said Barnum, “Miss Pastrana doesn’t want to talk about elephants.”
“I don’t mind,” said Julia.
“Now horses,” Barnum said. “I could see Miss Pastrana on horseback.”
“Do you ride, Miss Pastrana?” Van Hare asked.
“I have ridden,” she said, “but not for a long time.”
“Imagine,” Barnum said, “Miss Pastrana on a white horse. White plumes, a partner, someone like Tom Neville…”
“Oh, but I couldn’t do all the clever things,” she said. “Standing up, riding two at a time—”
“You wouldn’t need to.” Barnum drained his glass. “Come and see me in New York when you get back from Europe.” She wasn’t sure if this last bit was for her or Theo so she said nothing.
“Who knows when we’ll be back in New York,” said Theo genially. “If business turns out as good elsewhere as it is here…Now—gentlemen. Miss Pastrana needs some rest before tonight’s event.”
I end the viewing, he thought. Not you, Barnum. I do.
When they’d gone, he poured them both another drink.
“Now that I have so much money,” she said, “I think I should give some of it away. I’d like to do that, Theo. It’s a nice thing to do when you’ve got such a lot of money. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.”
Hasn’t got a clue ab
out money, he thought. Only knows she’s got it. No idea. Good thing she’s with me. Some of these vultures—
“Can you get me an atlas, Theo?”
“Of course.”
“So that I can mark out all the places I’ve seen.”
“Good idea.” He was scarcely listening. “Funny Van Hare mentioning Old Bet,” he said. “I was just thinking about her only the other day. Did you ever hear of Old Bet, Julia?”
“Not till now.”
He stood with his legs apart on the rug, rocking on the balls of his feet. “My uncle Ben took me to see her in the American Theatre. No higher than this.” He patted the air. “Can’t have been more than six but I’ve never forgotten it because my uncle Ben burst into tears when he saw her.”
“Why?”
“Well, by this time she’d been dead ten years or so, you see.”
“Oh!”
“And they’d had her stuffed. And he’d been very fond of her, you see.” He smiled. His eyes were far away. “ ‘Marvelous beast!’ he used to say,” imitating his uncle: “ ‘Should’ve seen Old Bet drink a bottle of beer. Sucked the cork right out and tossed it away, then up with it and down in one. Marvelous!’ ” He laughed.
“Did she get drunk?”
“I don’t think so.” He shook his head and focused. “Oh, yes, Old Bet. She was by all accounts a very clever animal.”
Clear as day. Standing with his uncle in front of the beautiful stuffed beast. They were all down for his mother’s funeral, because he remembered that she’d not been long gone. He didn’t know she’d drunk poison then. It’s only stuff, he thought, trying to put this dead thing together with the images of his mother so recently here, cooking in the kitchen with his aunt Losey, hiding in corners, giggling behind her hands, asking if he could see the man with purple eyes who stood in the corner.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “a legend, Old Bet.”
“Let’s go out tomorrow night,” she said. “Isn’t there anything we can go and see?”
“Won’t you be tired?”
“Not at all.”
“There’s a horse show,” he said, “as it happens.”
“Ooh, a horse show! Oh, let’s go!”
“Well, I’ll see what I can do. But all the best seats may have gone by now, and I’m not having you down with the mob.”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t be able to see a thing.”
“It’s not that, but it can get rough. What if you lost your veil?”
“I wouldn’t.”
She was trembling very slightly, he thought, but maybe it was his imagination. Not a full shivering, more of an unseen taut humming within the bone. It struck him that he had it too.
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.
“I feel excited.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Sometimes,” she said, “when you’re excited, it feels like fear.”
He got them a box for the second performance. Someone he knew. It was always the way; he knew many, many people, mostly on first-name terms, but no one close and no one for very long. She was beginning to see that he had no real friends. But he could usually pull a string, call in a favor. They went to the show, and she wore bangles that jangled up and down and attracted far too much attention, he thought. But no one cottoned on and they had a good time. A man rode four horses at once, standing up as if in a chariot, and a beautiful girl danced and leapt back and forth between eight black stallions as they cantered ’round the ring.
Going home in the carriage, Julia said, “Mr. Barnum thought I should ride.”
“So he did.” Theo rubbed the window. “It’s an idea.”
“I need to practice more,” she said. “It’s important.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “If you really want to ride a horse, I’m sure I could arrange it,” he said.
“Really?”
“Why not? Not now, but soon. I know people in Berlin.”
“You know people everywhere!”
“Lent the Almighty,” he said, smiling. “I’ll buy an atlas tomorrow. You know what I’m thinking, Julia? Russia.”
“Russia!”
“We’ll go east. Your Russians are some of the best horsemen in the world.”
“You’ve been there, haven’t you, Theo?”
“Twice.”
“Really? What’s it like?”
He gazed out of the window. “Spring and summer are beautiful. Winter’s freezing.”
“Horses,” she said happily. “Russia.” As if these words were charmed. Again he noticed the barely perceptible trembling. “Get me a nice Russian novel to read,” she said, “please.”
Theo laughed. “If you like.”
When they got back, someone had pushed a copy of a French theater rag under his door, folded open at a particular page, on which someone had circled a particular item. It was accompanied by a note: “Lent—if you are considering Paris, you should be aware of this. Pays to be prepared—Van Hare.” He saw Julia’s name, but couldn’t understand a word so took it to her room and asked her to read it for him.
“ ‘Curiosities from London,’ ” she read. “It’s a review. Let me see. It’s—” She frowned and read on. As she read, her face changed.
“What’s the matter?”
After a moment she looked up at him but he couldn’t read her eyes.
“What’s the matter?”
“What a horrible thing to say.” She looked away.
“What? What does it say?”
Her strange eyes filled with tears, which made them shine and grow enormous. For a second, he was afraid of her. He’d never seen her cry. All this time. With all that, carrying that face around with her through life, and he’d never seen her cry. But she blinked, one great swipe of those spiky lashes, and glazed over. She looked down and read: “ ‘For one thing is certain—that—au lieu de—instead of displaying this—this—this creature, this creature—who is an insult to all bien…bien…bienséance—to all good standards—and decency—’ ”
She laughed and shook the paper.
“ ‘—this creature who’—oh, look, Theo, look!—‘who creates revulsion in all who see her—’ ”
“Oh, Julia, don’t take this kind of thing to heart.”
“ ‘She should instead be protected from all public view.’ ”
Shouldn’t be allowed out, said a pale unpleasant boy with a bulby face.
“Ha!” Theo snatched the paper from her. “Because they say so.”
“That’s nasty.” She sat down.
“Yes,” he said, “it is.”
“An insult to decency!” she said wonderingly. “Why am I?”
“You’re not. Julia…”
“Why do they say that?”
“Because they’re…”
Child scarer.
“Why am I an insult to decency?” She got up, grabbed the paper back from him and walked about the room, holding it open. “I know I’m ugly,” she said. “Revulsion though? Revulsion! What have I done?”
“You haven’t done anything, Julia.” He followed her.
“What do they mean?”
“They’re stupid. They don’t know what they’re talking about. Anyway, they don’t mean you.”
She laughed. “Who do they mean?”
“They mean the show, the whole—”
“No, they don’t,” she said, getting angry. “Weren’t you listening? ‘This creature who is an insult to all good standards and decency.’ That’s me. This creature is me.”
“Julia, please.” Oh God, he wished he’d never shown her the damn thing.
“Ugly, yes,” she said. “Looks like a baboon. Yes. Oh, yes, the nonpareil of ugliness, all of that, yes, true, true, but I am not indecent.”
“Of course you’re not.”
She deflated visibly, sinking down on the bed. “What’s it all for?” she demanded.
“What?”
“This. All this. I work
very hard.”
“I know you do.”
She wanted him to say that she was a talented dancer, a good singer. It doesn’t mean a thing to him, she thought. The music. I could be pulling pennies out of people’s ears for all he cares. I don’t think he’s got any musical appreciation at all. I could be telling fortunes or juggling. So what? He’s a manager, he doesn’t have to appreciate anything, he sees to all the stuff that makes my head ache. And he does it well.
He tapped his forehead. “Good brain, girl,” he said. “That’s why you can succeed in this business. You could have stayed at home and been a servant forever, couldn’t you? But no, you’ve got more about you than that. You’re a performer. A natural. And because of that you’ll always make a living. You don’t have to worry about the naysayers. The more they see you, the more they’ll realize what you are.”
“What I am?”
“Yes?”
“What am I? I’m the demon baby. The loup-garou.”
He smiled. “You are Julia. And I have huge ambition for you. You have no idea. Huge ambition. You mustn’t let this upset you.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” She threw the paper down. “Of course it upsets me! What do you think I am? Stone?” And then she did cry, sitting down in one of the armchairs in the alcove and hiding her face in her hands. “It’s like those children all over again,” she said.
“Those blasted children! Forget them! What d’you want to carry them around with you for?”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Oh, shut up.” She looked away.
Theo stood looking about awkwardly. Poor girl, of course she’ll cry. I would. Don’t these idiots think when they write these things there’s some poor girl on the other end of it? “Well, that’s that,” he said. “We don’t need the French. Bastards put me in jail.”
She fumbled a handkerchief from somewhere and began dabbing at her face.
“Anyway,” he said, “it’s only one review. The French are like that. It’s their loss.”
She didn’t say anything. Her head was bowed, and he was momentarily touched. “Look at you,” he said, “you and your dainty little hands.”
She muffled a sob. He put his hand lightly on her shoulder.
“Come on, Julia,” he said softly, “don’t let something as ridiculous as this spoil things for you.”