Lucía raised her petite index finger. “First, I know Mr. Uffner’s jewelry is junk,” she said. She threw her three rings onto the floor and stomped on them. “He would do just about anything to bring more audiences to see me. Anything!”
“What else?”
“Two, I know my father is using my money to buy more and more land in Mexico to convert himself into the new patrón in town.”
Zoila didn’t comment on Señor Zárate. It was one thing for a daughter to acknowledge her parent’s weaknesses, but Zoila knew it would be insensitive to add her very negative observation of Señor Zárate’s many fatal flaws.
“Three, I know my mother misses me, but she’s afraid that if I go back to Mexico, our money well will surely dry up and then my family’s future will be bleak.” Lucía sighed. “So, I’ll probably never go back home.”
Zoila shook her head vigorously. “Oh no, please don’t say that. I want us both to go back to Mexico soon. I want you to witness the vanilla orchids and—”
“Four,” Lucía interrupted, clearly holding back her tears, “four, I was not in love with Francis, but I did love the idea of being in love.” She let out a sob. “I’m just so tired of this life.”
The sliver of silver lining in Lucía’s cloud of pessimism disappeared and she reverted to her depressed state. She folded her hands in her lap, done counting the life lessons she’d learned; she was preparing herself for a lonesome life on the endless road of low-class show business. She heard Zoila ask her more questions, felt Zoila sturdy hands massaging her shoulders, and even smelled the cured vanilla beans Zoila removed from her chest and placed in Lucía’s hands. Lucía appreciated such a spontaneous and stirring gesture, but her mind clouded over with sadness and resignation. All she managed to whisper to Zoila was, “Thank you, madrina.”
Zoila would not let Lucía drown in sorrow. Even in her disconsolate state, Lucía still called Zoila madrina, godmother, a sacred title Zoila would always cherish. For ten years she’d served as Lucía’s protector and caregiver and she knew that Lucía needed absolute seclusion in the sunshine of her family back in Mexico. She needed an organic old-world cure, an antidote for the poison of the hurried, harried life she’d been forced to live. Since 1876 she’d performed like the sun in the iciest of atmospheres, and her energy was now obviously diminishing.
Zoila saw Lucía for who she was: a delicate hand-crafted being who could not endure the rigors of the all-consuming power-driven show-business machine. Events such as the 1876 Philadelphia Centennial Exhibition, with its modern monorail and its 14,000 horsepower Corliss engine running all the machinery exhibits, attested to the way of the future. Neither Lucía nor a small-time promoter like Frank Uffner were a match for the big top impresarios such as P.T. Barnum. Lucía’s 20-inch frame and quivering, squeaky voice couldn’t compete for audiences magnetized by the sight of a 15,000 pound elephant, or the sound of a roaring lion jumping through fire in the ring of a massive circus.
In the same way Zoila had recognized she needed to escape the wrath of the vanilla traders back in Papantla, she realized her time in the seedy world of freak shows was up. Frank Uffner had never paid her the full amount of money owed to her for her services to Lucía, she’d never parlayed her language skills into a more lucrative job in New York or London, and, most significantly, she had not protected Lucía from the harm inflicted on her by living the life of a freak working for the profit of others.
By accepting her own failure, Zoila no longer felt Felipe’s pulsating guidance. All she heard was the urgent tick-tock of her father’s gold watch telling her it was time to flee. Accept your losses, grab your remaining chips, and leave Lucía at the poker table, her father would have said. Every man for himself: that would be his advice. He would thump his knuckles on her forehead and call her a fool; she should abandon the Lucía sinking ship. But Zoila couldn’t leave Lucía behind. She could not leave Lucía trapped in England in the clutches of two unreasonable and opportunistic men who continued to fight over her like junkyard dogs snarling over a tiny morsel of meat.
Zoila stepped out into the pea-soup fog of London, determined to buy forged travel documents for Lucía. Señor Zárate had reluctantly agreed to keep an eye on his daughter for a few hours while Zoila was away. She walked the disorienting side streets of London’s seediest neighborhoods, rehashing her plan over and over so she was ready to persuade the bureaucratic Englishmen she was sure to encounter. She would pretend to be a mother returning with her sickly child back to Mexico. Only in Mexico could Lucía recuperate.
Zoila beamed at the cleverness of her scheme, certain that it would work out. Once she purchased passages for mother and child on a ship bound for the Canary Islands, a ship that would then continue south to Veracruz, Zoila felt emboldened by her own daring. She whistled happily as she continued to accumulate the paperwork she would need to travel abroad. She recalled that Antonietta Gonzalez and her clever brother Enrico had been able to escape their captivity in Italy and had spent their rest of their lives whistling jubilant tunes along the shores of Lake Bolsena. She was certain that the coincidence of a port stop in Tenerife, the ancestral home of Antonietta Gonzalez and her clan, was an omen of the good fortune sure to come to her and Lucía.
But after meeting with several shifty document sellers, Zoila ceased her lively trills. She bumped into one dead end after another trying to locate the crooks who would sell her believable forged, travel documents. Her outing took hours longer than she’d thought.
Frank Uffner had also seen the writing on the wall. He had his wife pack only one suitcase, and told her to get ready to bolt at a minute’s notice. When the hotel manager banged on their door demanding payment, followed by the theatre manager also demanding payment for the rental of the stage, Frank Uffner calmly accompanied them to the front desk, assuring them that he’d left his cash in the hotel’s safe. Señor Zárate understood the English words “cash” and “safe” and he immediately followed Frank Uffner to the hotel’s reception. As soon as Lucía was alone, Mrs. Uffner grabbed her, threw her into the now-weathered market basket and caught the first train to the port of Liverpool. Her wily husband, Mrs. Uffner knew, would find his way to Liverpool in record time.
An extraordinary calm and clarity overcame Lucía on the transatlantic voyage back to New York: it was as if the choppy waters had shaken the pervasive gloom out of her and the salt air had dried her tears for a lifetime. She missed Zoila’s tender care, but she also reveled in the freedom afforded by Mrs. Uffner’s negligence and she gloated about the fact that her father was traveling in steerage, forbidden from her shipshape accommodations above.
For the first time in her life, Lucía was without a chaperone. She asked her steward to carry her into the elegant teak tea room where she chatted with the ladies traveling in first class. They became quick friends and, within days, each one of them was openly competing for Lucía’s attention. By the time their ship passed the French steamer Isère on their entry into New York harbor on June 17, 1885, the ladies couldn’t wait to tell her all about the disassembled Statue of Liberty that the Isère carried on board. They applauded Lucía when she relayed to them facts about the Statue of Liberty, learned from her godmother Zoila, and she awed them by saying she’d seen the statue’s torch-bearing arm in 1876 when it was displayed at the Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia, where she made her American debut.
Lucía liked the sound of her voice opining on adult matters such as these. She was mining a fortune of information that Zoila had imparted during ten years of her tutelage. Zoila had not only given her a high-caliber education that enabled Lucía to hold her own among the ladies; she’d also taught her to read people’s intentions with a degree of suspicion. Consequently, when Mr. Uffner seemed overeager to please her as soon as they returned to his ramshackle house in New York, she trusted her cautious instinct.
“Lucía, you know your act has to change now that you’re solo, right?”
Lucía nodded and w
aited for the other shoe to drop.
Mr. Uffner cleared his throat. “What would you say about pairing up with a giant?”
“Please tell me what you mean by pairing up?”
“I mean exactly that. I’m gonna pair you with a giant”
“I heard you clearly, but what am I and this giant going to do in the show?”
“You’re going to be your chirpy self and we’ll see how the big guy responds.”
Lucía shook her head. “I’m not comfortable with your loosey-goosey direction this time.”
Frank Uffner’s face flushed and he clamped his jaw. “See here, girlie, you don’t be telling me what we’s gonna do. I’m your manager.”
“And I’m your only talent,” Lucía snapped back. “Everyone else has deserted you and you have many lawsuits pending, am I not correct?”
“What the hell does that have to do with the price of tea in China?’
Zoila had taught Lucía dozens of the American idiomatic expression because she’d always felt at a disadvantage when others stumped her with one of them. So Lucía not only knew what he meant by the tea in China: she knew that she had the upper hand in their revised relationship.
“Frank, you’re …”
“Did I hear a gnat call me by my first name?”
“Yes, Frank. I am now an adult and we are equals. Now, listen to what I propose we do with the giant.”
Frank cupped his ear and leaned in.
“Do you still have contacts with the American press?”
Frank nodded.
“Have them meet us at the museum and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Lucía and Frank arrived early at the museum. Henry Cooper*, the English giant, and his manager were waiting politely. When Frank pulled the manager aside, Lucía asked Henry to stand her on a table so they could talk before the press arrived. Zoila had taught her to always ask people about their families and so she did. Henry beamed, and told her to call him Harry.
“Thank you for asking about me wife and me, luv,” he said. “We’re the proud parents of a seventeen-pound lad.”
“How wonderful! Congratulations, and may your baby live a happy and healthy life.”
Harry smiled and leaned down to whisper. “Beg your pardon, little miss, but my manager says that Mr. Uffner is offering a big amount to have you and me pretend to be engaged. This would hurt my wife’s feelings—but we could use more income. Is Mr. Uffner a man of his word?”
Lucía shook her head. “I am unable to break my contract with Frank; otherwise I would have nothing to do with him or show business.”
“So very sorry to hear that, luv. What do you suggest we do?”
Lucía remembered Zoila telling her about the tactics of the Totonac vanilla growers. They’d approached several of the vanilla traders simultaneously and pitted one against the other until they were offered a higher price for their vanilla pods.
“Why don’t we pretend that we are sweet on each other and then quickly announce we are engaged?” she said. “Then when I ask you if you love me, simply say no. Can you do that? You can tell your wife it was a prank, but the press will report it as if I was left at the altar again and the dime museums will offer you more money… Speak of the devil.”
The journalists stood in front of the giant and released a barrage of questions. Harry froze in front of the press so Lucía rose to the occasion. She sat on the giant’s palm as she’d done in London, only this time she held tight to his sleeve with her right hand.
“As you can see, we are very much in love,” she said, and blew Harry flamboyant kisses with her left hand. “And we have agreed to wed in a couple of days.”
The reporters elbowed each other and snickered at the thought of the giant and Lucía sharing a marital bed. Lucía shook her index finger at them.
“You naughty boys! I know what you’re thinking!”
The reporters burst into laughter. One of them shouted: “You always fall in love, don’t you, Lucía?”
She batted her eyelashes. “Yes, I am a red-blooded señorita. Harry and I are in love and this time will be different. I will not be left at the altar. I will not always be the bridesmaid and never the bride.” She looked up at the giant and winked at him, giving him the clue to the question coming up.
“Don’t you love me, Harry?”
Harry blushed and looked down to the floor.
Lucía’s crocodile tears streamed down her face and she repeated the question, this time pinching the giant’s arm to remind him of his line.
“No,” he said.
The reporters gasped at the giant’s callousness, but rushed out to make their deadlines. People couldn’t read enough about other people’s misery; it was almost as good as witnessing a train wreck. Frank Uffner had witnessed Lucía’s wink at the giant and realized her strategy: he couldn’t wait for the free publicity from the press.
The following morning, newspapers reported the scene:
Mr. Cooper, the Yorkshire giant, broke the heart of Miss Lucía Zárate. This little atom was born in Mexico, January 2, 1863, and weighs four and three-quarter pounds. The little lady is bright and interesting and is inclined to flirt. She at once fell violently in love with the giant, who measures eight feet four in his stockings. The mite first engaged in a fan flirtation, at which she was as adept as a Spanish señorita, but the Yorkshire man proved obdurate. Passionate osculation was next resorted to, but the lymphatic mountain did not respond as cordially as desired and the midget angrily turned away, vehemently protesting in voluble English, which she speaks fluently, that he was “no good.”
Frank Uffner raved about his manipulation of the press. “I’m a genius. I had Fleet Street eating out my hand, and now the New York press is putty in my hands!”
“Frank, don’t forget it was my idea,” Lucía reminded him. “Now tell me where my levée will be held.”
Frank Uffner shuffled his feet. “Uh, actually we’re taking the train to Cleveland right away. We have a month long contract there.”
“But I’m still tired from the Atlantic crossing—”
“Well, you shouldn’t have been rubbing elbows and jabbering away with them rich old ladies on the ship. You shoulda rested.”
“I’m still tired, Frank!” Lucía stamped one little foot.
“Don’t be putting no airs with me, midget!”
Lucía looked over at Señor Zárate, eager for him to intervene on her behalf. “Papá, please tell Frank that I need to rest a few days before we leave for Cleveland. Can’t you think about my health for once?”
Señor Zárate grunted and growled, but said nothing. He was thinking of the money the Cleveland gig might bring him and he could already envision the big hacienda he could soon afford to have constructed on his lands in Mexico.
Mrs. Uffner found the whole exchange hilarious and laughed uncontrollably. “Now that your big guard dog is back in Mexico, you ain’t got nobody, do you Lucía?”
Lucía almost backed down at the sting of Mrs. Uffner’s words, but she soon remembered one of Zoila’s pep talks. Zoila would often say: “You’re tiny but mighty! You’re the star in their sorrowful midst and they can’t live without you!”
Lucía glared at Mrs. Uffner. “You’d better remember that I am the star in this sorrowful midst and that you live…uhm…that you live off of my earnings.”
Now it was Frank Uffner’s turn to laugh. “You’d best do as Lucía’s says, woman. Pack our suitcases and let’s get ready for Cleveland.”
On the train ride to Cleveland Lucía trembled at the whistle she kept hearing, long after the train had left the station. She nudged her father.
“Papá, I hear whistles. Do you think the brujo is following us?”
“What brujo?”
“The brujo from Veracruz who followed us on the first boat to New Orleans. Even Zoila thought she saw him. I swear, Papá, I hear his whistle on this train.”
“It’s probably just the train whistle announcing a stop at the
next station. Let me go check.”
After a week of levées in Cleveland, the St. Paul Daily Globe reported a shocking story:
LITTLE ZARATE, THE MEXICAN MITE, STOLEN AND RECOVERED AT CLEVELAND.
A desperate attempt was made last night to abduct Lucía Zárate, the midget now on exhibition at the Dime Museum. Among the recent improvements to the museum building is a stairway leading from the rear of Curiosity Hall to the alley below, intended as a fire escape. From the upper landing of the stairway a door opens into the dressing-room of the midget. Just following her introduction at 8 o’clock and her return to her dressing-room, Manager Frank Uffner stepped out for a cigar. Her father had gone to the Theatorium below. Lucía was alone. When Uffner returned, ten minutes later, he noticed his charge was missing, but felt no uneasiness until he looked out into the hall and saw she was not there. He then noticed that the outside door leading to the fire-escape was open.
Hurriedly throwing it open and looking below he saw two men just leaving the foot of the stairway. Divining they had stolen the Mexican mite, he rushed down and along the alley after them. Before they had gone more than a half a dozen rods the pair of daring abductors dropped a basket in which Uffner found the frightened little Zárate. Two strangers, one a black-whiskered man of thirty-five or forty years of age, with a gypsy countenance, and a younger, smooth-faced, sickly looking man, who were seen in the Theatorium on Monday and Tuesday, are suspected. Zárate commands a salary of $600 per week, and it is supposed the object of her abduction was to secure a heavy ransom for her speedy return. This is the third attempt of the kind to abduct Zárate. An attempt was made to keep the matter quiet, but the facts leaked out to-day.
Frank Uffner could not have asked for more national press about Lucía’s attempted abduction. However, within a matter of days following the event, the crowds stopped coming to her levées. Frank Uffner blamed her low attendance on the fact that now, whenever she appeared before an audience, Lucía seemed nervous.
Lucía Zárate: The odyssey of the world’s smallest woman Page 15