Love, Let Me Not Hunger

by Paul Gallico

  It was all that Marvel could do not to explode a “Christ Almighty!” but he suppressed it. The Spiggoties were sensitive about the use of the name of the Lord. He said, “Stay here! Can’t I post a bond for the compensation?”

  Dr. Perrera nodded. “That would be most acceptable and is generous of you. At the same time there must be the examination.”

  Marvel felt himself slipping backwards again. He said, “Hell, there ain’t hardly nothing left to examine!”

  “We will sift the ashes. Perhaps there we will find an answer. The remains will be sent to Madrid for analysis. Perhaps one of the miracles of modern methods of detection will occur.”

  “But that may take weeks or even months!” Marvel cried.

  Dr. Perrera nodded agreeably. “It usually does.”

  Marvel said, “But I’ll pay the widow out of the insurance.” He produced his papers from his hip pocket. “Here, you can see. I’m insured for that. They’ll pay.”

  Dr. Perrera whipsawed him neatly with the same gracious and winning smile. “Compensation is one thing,” he said, “criminal negligence is another. We must be satisfied on both scores, must we not?” He motioned to the little clerk who had been taking notes all the while to put away his book; he turned once more to Marvel and said, “I am most beholden to you for your intelligent and gracious co-operation. I regret the unnecessary arrest. You are all bound over to remain until further notice. The guardias will see that this order is carried out. They will collect your passports.”

  With the clerk and the two policía armada he climbed into the command car and, doffing his panama once more, was driven away.

  Yet eventually Sam Marvel was able to work out a compromise with the strict but well-disposed judge, Dr. Perrera, which satisfied his stern application to the laws of his land, and at the same time gave the circus man and the performers some leeway. From the point of view of the proprietor and the personnel, it left much to be desired but was a great improvement over the original threat that hung over them to be committed to Zalano while the slow mills of the Spanish police, which did not promise to reach any accurate conclusion anyway, ground on through the summer and goodness knows how long after that.

  It was that after a week of preliminary on-the-spot interrogation, during which time Cotter and his three tent hands were to give their depositions, Sam Marvel and any of the artistes who wished to would be free to leave, but all of their living wagons, physical props, etc., as well as the menagerie which included the elephant and the horses, must remain in Zalano as hostages for the return of the proprietor. In addition, a stiff bond was to be posted by Marvel guaranteeing adequate compensation for the Widow Alvarez. At such time as the insurance company paid and if Marvel was cleared of negligence, the circus owner would be free to move beasts, lorries, cages, and caravans back to England by any route he chose.

  Actually, Dr. Perrera told Marvel privately that he did not think the investigation would take all that long, and that he personally held to the theory that poor Alvarez was undoubtedly slain by God’s mercy via one of His thunderbolts, and that this could have happened anywhere, as indeed it had in Zalano where two people, a boy and a woman, had both been killed by lightning. And just as privately, the alcalde had told Marvel that he himself would see that the enquiry did not last too long and would end with the proper verdict of Death by Misadventure.

  The situation, as Marvel saw it, called for his presence in London as quickly as possible to file his claims, not only for the physical loss of the tent, equipment, props, seats, etc., but also for losses suffered due to the abrupt ending of what had been proving a lucrative tour. With himself there to get behind them, the insurance company would be inclined to despatch their adjustors and estimators more rapidly to the scene, and if there were any arguments over his claims he would be present to push them.

  The release of his personnel was a relief as well. If they had been compelled to remain in Zalano, as had been threatened earlier, he would have been forced to support them there in idleness and feed them. But once he had them out of the country and back in Britain he could stall them legitimately on the payment of their contracts until the insurance money came through. Being back home also, they would be on their own and have to feed themselves, while those who wanted to or were lucky might still connect with late summer jobs. Circus people were notably generous to their brothers in difficulties, and the Walterses would have no trouble in borrowing some ring horses or even combining temporarily with another act.

  Someone would have to remain behind to feed and look after the livestock, and their daily ration would really be the only current expense eating into Marvel’s exchequer, and this he would likewise bill eventually to the insurance company.

  But when he sat down in his office to budget this compromise, Marvel realised that his actual cash on hand was far from adequate to take care of all the items pencilled in.

  There was the bond for the widow; the fares, even at the cheapest rate, for the circus personnel and himself back to London; there was the present for the alcalde which Marvel shrewdly saw must be forthcoming. It had been Dr. Perrera who had actually smoothed their path but Marvel was also smart enough to know that the alcalde could damn well block it.

  This would leave him short on funds to feed the animals. Yet he had no doubt but that before they were used up the claim adjustors would have made their report and the big Birmingham insurance company, which had a sound reputation, would have paid off, enabling him to return and bail out his valuable beasts.

  Thus, one week later, Sam Marvel called a final meeting of the 1962 summer tour through Spain of Sam Marvel’s Marvel Circus.

  “And so,” concluded Marvel, having outlined the situation to the assemblage, “what about some volunteers to stay behind and keep an eye on things until I can get back from London?”

  The performers looked at one another, but in the back row Mr. Albert raised an arm, and the circus people parted and made an aisle for him to pass through.

  From his eminence atop the elephant prop, Marvel looked down at the old man coldly and said, “You were going to have to stay anyway. Half-pay. You’ll have nothing to do but feed the animals and loaf around the rest of the time.”

  The cynicism of it had a chilling effect upon the rest, and nobody said anything for a moment. Then Fred Deeter lounged forward.

  “O.K.,” he said, “I reckon I might as well stick around. I wouldn’t want Marlene to get lonesome.”

  No one was surprised. Everyone knew of the bond between the man and the gloriously blond and intelligent mare.

  Marvel nodded. “You can look after the Liberties too, then.”

  Deeter drawled, “At half-pay? You can kiss my ass!”

  Marvel’s savage, mirthless grin flashed for an instant and he said, “Okay. Full pay.”

  “I stay to my dogs.” This from little Janos. His accented pronunciation of dogs came out as “doks.” No one could even see where the voice had come from until the performers again parted somewhat to reveal the bandy-legged figure in trousers and jacket, with the inevitable white silk scarf at the neck upon which the grotesque and full-sized head sat like a hen on a nest.

  “Okay,” Marvel assented, “no pay. You’re not needed. Albert can look after the dogs. Stay if you like.”

  Tom Drury, the Auguste, ruffled the thinning hair of the little man—Janos was over fifty—and said, “Good old Janos. No pay! How did you manage to put that one over?”

  Janos made an obscene gesture by slapping the muscle of his upper right arm with his left hand. He had been afraid that Marvel might not have been willing to let him remain on any terms, and he could not bear to be parted from his pets.

  Rose whispered, “Couldn’t we stay too, Jackdaw?”

  He replied, “What the hell for?”

  Rose looked up at the big black bird perched, as usual, upon his shoulder. “They won’t let you take him.”

  Williams tipped Rose a wink, gestured, and the bird fl
ew off and alighted on the ridge pole of the horse tent. He made a slight movement with his head and the bird took off, wheeled into the sky in circles, and then plummeted down upon his shoulder again, where it set up a pleased-with-itself chatter.

  Williams said to Rose, “Nunti. There’s a man in Amsterdam that runs a permanent circus. Said I could have a job with him any time I came through. We’ll live in digs.”

  In Rose’s mind the word “digs” triggered off all the old memories, and she glanced over to where Jackdaw’s living wagon stood at the side of the tober where it had been hauled. She had worked upon it all week, scrubbing, polishing, washing, airing, and, except for the scratches on the paint where it had lain on its side, had restored it to its former neatness. And from thence she looked to Toby standing with his family, his arms folded, a curious expression on his features. He would be leaving with his own troupe. In one disaster she was losing everything she loved—her home, the animals, and the boy. And yet she supposed she ought to be grateful. Jackdaw Williams had said “we.”

  “Well,” Sam Marvel added, “that’ll be enough.” But before the gathering could break up, Toby Walters stepped away from his family, his hand raised.

  “I’m staying too,” he said.

  “What’s that? Who said you were?” Harry Walters scuttled up to his son and took him roughly by the arm.

  “I say I am.”

  “Bloody hell you are! I’m running this outfit.”

  “I’m staying. I’m looking after Judy.”

  “You’ll do as I say. The old fart there can look after the pig. We’re keeping the family together.”

  Sam Marvel looked down upon the two angry men, almost with satisfaction as he said, “Let me know when you’ve made up your minds.”

  Toby said, “Who’s to look after our own horses?”

  Harry Walters gagged on that one. The insolent rebellion of his son had driven all thoughts of his own stable out of his mind. He said, “Fred there.”

  The American laughed genially and said, “Up your creek, old boy. I’m a horseman. I don’t bother with your kind of cattle.”

  Toby reiterated stubbornly, “I’m staying. Ted knows my stuff if you land anything. It’ll only be for a short time anyway. Judy’s got used to me now.”

  Harry Walters turned his anger upon Sam Marvel. “You’ll pay the boy,” he said.

  Marvel laughed. “Groom’s wages. If he turns any flip-flaps he can pass the hat.”

  “Suck!” said Harry Walters, and stalked off.

  “That’s it then,” Marvel concluded. “Mr. Albert, Deeter, Janos and Toby. Come to my wagon and we’ll fix up for what you’ll need. It’s going to be slim pickings for a while, but you’ll have to make do.”

  On the way to Marvel’s caravan, Toby passed Rose who was standing outside her living wagon, looking. That was all she was doing, simply standing there and staring at it. And he wondered, for there was nothing to see but the clown face of Williams painted on the side, now somewhat scratched and rubbed, and a bit of yellow and blue chintz curtain showing at one of the windows. What was there for a girl to stand goggling at?

  He stopped by her and said, “So you’ll be going, I suppose.”

  She seemed not to hear him and then, aware of his presence and suddenly startled, said, “What?”

  Toby repeated, “I said, I suppose you’ll be going. Will you?”

  “Yes,” said Rose, and turned her face from his for she did not want him to see her tears now that she knew that he would be staying and she would be leaving her hearth and her heart behind her.

  If that was the way she felt! Toby turned away without another word and walked on to Marvel’s quarters.

  There was an end, then, to that dream never to be realised; nightmare by darkness, craving by daylight. She would leave with Williams and in all likelihood he would never see her again, and never know with her what it would have been like, those desires realised. He wondered what she would have said had he pleaded, “Don’t go, Rose. Leave him. Stay here with me.” He realised that it was only still a part of the dream, a remnant left in his imagination, that never in a million years could he have brought himself to do it.

  Jackdaw Williams came by and found Rose still standing looking at the wagon. He stopped too, and regarded it, saying, “Wants a bit of paint. Better start packing up.”

  Rose asked, “What are we taking?”

  Williams said, “My make-up. Whatever we can.” He nodded with his head in the direction of his van. “Christ knows when we’ll see that again. I know Spaniards.”

  Rose said suddenly, “All those poor animals. Will they be all right?”

  Williams said, “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “They’ll miss me,” Rose half whispered.

  Williams gave a snort. “They won’t close an eye.” He went up the steps and into the living wagon. Rose knuckled the tears from her eyes and followed him.

  The big bus, Madrid—Barcelona, made a special detour from the station in the plaza to halt at the tober to pick up the circus crew.

  Many of the townspeople of Zalano had come down to see them off and wish them well. Dr. Perrera was there and the alcalde, but there was also the ominous note of the police. In addition to the guardias civiles, there were four of the tough policía armada and their orders were to see that none of the livestock went.

  The departure was in a sense gay, in another sad. The townspeople, of whom some hundred were now gathered by the abandoned zoo, were glad the artistes were escaping and sad to see them go. The performers were relieved to be boarding the bus and to know that soon they would see England again, and yet reluctant to be leaving their mobile homes behind them.

  The four who were remaining—Toby, Mr. Albert, Fred Deeter, and little Janos—did not mingle with the crowd but stood over a little to one side in a line, Mr. Albert as always in his frock coat and collarless shirt. He at least was wholly happy. His home was with the circus and his animals and there he was remaining.

  Sam Marvel was everywhere, urging the artistes, the grooms, and the tent staff into the bus. Now that their moment of liberation had come it seemed as though he could barely wait, and that if they didn’t hurry and get away, permission might be rescinded in the last moment. “Get in, get in!” he kept shouting. “What the hell are you waiting for? Do you want to stay here forever?” And he was one of the first inside himself.

  Jackdaw Williams and Rose came together, as always the big, black, yellow-beaked bird perched on the shoulder of the clown.

  One of the national policemen stopped in front of him and blocked his path and spoke to him severely in Spanish. Gogo, who was behind him, laughed and said, “He says nix on the bird, Jackdaw.”

  Williams said, “Tell him to keep his hair on.” He gestured and the jackdaw flew away to the ridge pole of the horse tent. The policeman, satisfied, fell back.

  “Come on, Rose, get on with it,” Williams said, for she was standing there now staring no longer at their wagon but at Toby. Then she joined him. They were the last. The door closed with a hissing of the automatic air system. The great motor roared, and the vehicle moved off, generating a cloud of dust behind it.

  The crowd waved and cheered, but the four men who were remaining behind stood motionless. Down the road they could see a window being rolled down and an arm protrude in a “Come on!” gesture. The jackdaw rose lazily into the air, circled once to gain altitude, and flew easily after the bus.

  The policeman who had warned Williams stepped forward angrily and pulled his pistol from his holster. But the roar of delighted laughter from the spectators, in which even the judge and alcalde joined, forced him to restore it, and besides, it was too late. The bus was diminishing in the distance and the jackdaw, a tiny black speck, was nearing the open window.

  P A R T I I

  Famine

  C H A P T E R

  1 3

  Filled with gnawing and frustration, Sam Marvel sat in the shabby rexine armchair in the gl
oomy lobby of the Royal Arms Hotel in Birmingham, his eyes fixed upon the desk clock, the hands of which refused to move. They seemed to have been stalled at ten minutes to three for the last half hour. At three he had his appointment for the fifth time at the headquarters of the Granite National Insurance Company which had issued his policy on the circus. It was three weeks now since he had returned to England—a month since he had left Zalano.

  On his first visit to the company they had put him to filling in forms which took him almost a day to understand and another to answer all the questions, for he weighed each one warily to be certain that his reply would not prejudice his interests. He had always thought to himself that under circumstances this would be an open and shut case. The forms were unexpected in the detail they demanded, and the assistant chief of the Claims Department, an individual named Mr. Pollen, who had been with the company for forty years and looked it—hoary, stooped, slow-moving, slow-speaking, a fixture like the ugly oak desks, the wall calendars, and the typewriters which were models of twenty years past—had been respectful and friendly enough but non-committal. He had advised Marvel that he would be notified at such time as there was news or a report upon his claim.

  This had given Marvel his first moment of uneasiness.

  “What do you mean, you’ll notify me?” he had demanded. “It’s an open and shut case, ain’t it? Open and shut.” He was not certain of the meaning of the phrase except that he felt it had something to do with a foregone conclusion.

  Mr. Pollen, thumbing carefully through the documents, had said that the papers must go to their man in Madrid.

  “Well then, get a move on and send ’em off!” Marvel replied. “I’ll be back.”

  He had not checked in at Chippenham, his headquarters, where his wife lived with her sister while he was away. He had not checked in with anyone. He did not know whether the story of the disaster to his circus had reached England; he had not seen anything in the World’s Fair, the trade-joumal devoted to circuses, carnivals, and travelling show business. He had, as a matter of fact, no wish to encounter anyone connected with his calling, for he had thought to be cleverer than they, to steal a march upon them, outwitting them and the telly by going off to Spain, and his scheme had collapsed in failure.