Marcele Gudauskas approached the bishop, kissing his ring. “Your Eminence, we are so honored by your presence. I am Marcele Gudauskas, the general’s daughter.” She smiled, pausing for her credentials to sink in. “I live in that blond brick two-flat over there, the one with the row of neat evergreens.” She proudly pointed across the street and then she bent conspiratorially to the bishop’s ear. His lips tightened. This woman’s gossipy familiarity was getting on his nerves. When the bishop stepped back, the officious woman pushed forward again. “Frankly, this is a curse, and I know who did it.” She smiled and nodded knowingly at the dripping crowd.
“Who would curse us?” Mrs. Vitkus scowled as she spat three times to ward off the evil eye. This provoked a whole flock of spitters behind her.
“Who, in heaven’s name?” The bishop was losing all patience.
“It’s Antanas Balys across the street,” said Mrs. Gudauskas. Those close enough to hear turned to look at the accused, while Antanas, baffled by their sudden attention, stood holding his umbrella, smiling uneasily.
Marcele Gudauskas continued. “Imagine, the miser never gives a penny for the Free the Captive Nations Fund when I come around to collect.”
Regina Vitkus snorted dismissively. “No, no, it isn’t Mr. Balys. The poor man’s whole family was left behind in Lithuania. The Germans took him to the forced labor camps. He has a right to be miserable. Personally, I think it’s Aurelia Norkus on the corner there.” She motioned with her chin. “That no-good hussy flirts with all the men with her huge bosom.” She stopped, blushing visibly as she realized whom she was addressing. “Excuse me, Bishop.”
Soon the women were arguing among themselves as to who had caused the unholy rain while the bishop felt a migraine starting. He finally shut them up with a Latin prayer. The whole group prayed, sang hymns, and danced, and everyone got soaking wet, including the bishop. Even the Irish had to admit it was a great show.
Ona and her mother watched the procession from their front stoop. Ona was hardly eating these days and her mother worried that she was wasting away. With each passing day, her clothes got looser as Ona replayed the misery of that jump rope day over and over again. At night, she dreamed that she was back at her old school where everyone still called her Fat Ona. She couldn’t bear to repeat that misery.
As she padded down the front stairs, curious to see how Bishop Petraitis was faring, Margis waddled behind her and, seeing the crowd, emitted a half-hearted bark. Ona could see Connie standing on her porch next door, but she ignored her.
Out of nowhere, Magda Vitkus walked across the street and pointed to Ona. “She’s the one.” Everyone stopped, momentarily surprised that Magda had voiced an opinion. Al crossed the street to drag his sister back home but seeing Ona, he stopped. “Hey, I’m sorry I called you Fat Ona. I didn’t mean for you to trip and fall. I was only teasing.” Because she hadn’t expected the apology, Ona didn’t know what to say, but her smile started slowly, then spread like the dawning sun. Al flashed a quick smile, then quickly pulled his sister back home where his father waited on the front porch, carefully scrutinizing the bishop’s every move.
The soggy crowd stood there waiting for a miracle, more resignation than hope on every face. It seemed as if the rain had finally defeated even the indefatigable Bishop Petraitis. The procession dejectedly dispersed, each member going home to dry off.
Once the group disbanded, Ona saw that Connie’s naturally curly red hair had exploded into a kinky mess in the rain. She was about to go back inside when she heard Connie call. “Hey, I’m sorry too,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean it.”
Ona stood as still as a monument.
“God, you sure lost weight, huh?” Connie smiled. “You’re looking great, no kidding.”
Ona almost smiled at the compliment.
Connie persisted. “You wanna come over and play?”
Ona didn’t say a word. Her grudge was an iceberg, but it was slowly starting to melt.
Connie watched the receding procession. “This rain is driving me crazy. Please, come over. I can’t stand it anymore. I’m bored to tears here.”
Ona let out a tiny sigh.
“We can watch the Roy Rogers Show,” offered Connie. “How ’bout it?”
Ona hesitated. “Can I wear your Dale Evans outfit?”
“Sure,” she said, “just come over, please.”
Like melting ice, the anger that had held Ona finally gave way.
The next morning, Jurgis Vitkus, dreaming of sunny, arid landscapes, felt the sun creep in through his window, warming his face so that he woke with a smile. As it turned out, he was the first person on Talman Street to wake and see the sun. He quickly put on his robe and grabbed a bottle of cognac to celebrate the event with his new best friend, Pranas Janulis, across the street. In fact, all of Talman Street celebrated on that day.
Bishop Petraitis even declared a holiday to celebrate the end of the rains. Everyone called him a miracle worker. Even the Irish.
The Carnival
Al Vitkus, 1954
In Chicago, you could always tell what neighborhood you were in by the smell. In the Lithuanian neighborhood of Marquette Park, when the wind blew from the east, the sweet-sour smell of the Kool-Aid factory filled the air. When the wind blew from the west, they were blessed by the just-baked-cookie smell from Nabisco, but other neighborhoods were not so lucky. Whenever Al Vitkus rode by the Bohemian neighborhood, it smelled so bad he’d gag and stick his nose in his coat. He didn’t know what their factory made, but the smell made him dizzy. One of the worst neighborhoods was the “Back of the Yards,” a Polish and Lithuanian neighborhood with the misfortune of being downwind from the Union Stockyards. Al felt sorry for the people who had to live there, but his father always said a person could get used to anything, and Al figured his father was right since he worked there.
Once a year, the Union Stockyards sponsored a night at the Back of the Yards Free Fair on an old baseball field on the corner of 47th and Damen Avenue. Though it was called a free fair, you had to pay to get on the rides except for the night designated for the stockyard staff and their families. This year the carnival fell on the Fourth of July, one of the hottest days of the summer.
Al and Magda waited with their father for the Archer Avenue bus until it finally glided up to the corner. Magda sat down in the middle of the bus, and Al plopped down next to her, their father sliding in behind them. Outside the sooty window, the sun glinted off the broken glass in the street, the air was wavy, thick enough to swim through, and the asphalt so soft that shoes would stick.
The morning had gone badly for Al. Before his mother went to work, she had yelled at him for getting in trouble again with the nun. Yesterday morning, Al and his best friend Pete Matas had served as altar boys at Mass and were caught laughing during Holy Communion. As Maureen O’Malley raised her chin to receive communion, Al, who held the communion plate to catch any crumbs, studied the boogers in her nose and couldn’t keep from laughing. He tried to cover it up with a cough, but that made Pete look over and snicker. The priest turned to give them both the fisheye, but it only made them shake harder with silent laughter. From her pew, the nun saw them, and later she called their mothers. As a result, Al’s mother almost hadn’t let him go to the carnival. He had to apologize to the nun and the priest and to agree to wash dishes for a week before she let him out the door. And since his mother had to work at the factory, he was going to the carnival with his father and sister.
Al sat on the bus brooding about his punishments, yet relieved to be allowed to go to the carnival. The mugginess of the day had glued his starched white shirt to his back, and his long pants felt itchy, making him squirm. He loosened his collar and stood up to open a window, but it was jammed. Someone had leaned a greasy head there, leaving a fuzzy round spot that made him queasy.
Next to him, Magda sat quietly with her hands fo
lded on her full skirt, as if she were sitting on a block of ice. Al loved his sister, but sometimes he wished she were more like other girls, instead of always embarrassing him by acting strangely. When she wandered around the neighborhood, his mother sent him out looking for her, even though she was fourteen and he was only eight.
He pointed to the greasy window. “Hey, Magda, would you lick that window for a million dollars?”
Magda looked at the greasy stain and shook her head, frowning.
Al laughed. “How ’bout the gum that’s stuck to the bottom of my chair? Chew it for a million?”
“That’s icky.”
Al loved the million-dollar game. There were endless variations that he usually played with Pete.
Leaning over, Al whispered into Magda’s ear. “Would you walk to Mass on Sunday naked?” He laughed so hard he snorted. “For a million bucks?”
“Stop, Al,” she pushed him away.
“But just think, one horrible moment and then imagine what you could do with a million dollars.”
Magda looked at him blankly. He scanned the bus to see what other horrible things he could tempt her with when the bus stopped to let in a huge woman wearing a well-worn red evening gown. She waddled down the aisle, her many bracelets clinking, and stopped next to Al with a smile that revealed three silver teeth.
“Hello sweeties,” she said in a rough, gravelly voice, standing over them, even though there were other seats available. “Can you let me know when we get to Damen? My eyes aren’t so good no more.”
“We’re getting off there too,” Al said politely, but inside he was horrified. Was this woman going to stand over him the whole trip?
“You going to the carnival?” she asked.
“Yes,” he nodded.
“Me too. I’m the palm reader there. Let me sit down here and I’ll read your palm for nothing.”
“Sure,” Al said, standing up to be polite though he didn’t really want to. The lady in red sat down heavily next to Magda, while Al stood over her, holding onto the rail. With a shock, he looked down to see that her low neckline revealed three breasts instead of the customary two.
“Let me see your palm,” she said, taking his sweaty hand. The bus was getting hotter, and Al felt like a fly stuck to flypaper. Her hot, sour smell rose up to him, and he didn’t know where to put his eyes. Every time he tried to look away, his gaze kept returning to her two huge breasts and the small one in the middle.
“A long life,” she said, tracing the line near his thumb with her thick yellow nail. It made him squirm because he didn’t want her to touch him.
“You will marry late in life.” She examined his hand closely. “But first comes heartache.” Al glanced back at his father, who smiled indulgently and rolled his eyes. The lady continued, “I see war for you, a terrible war. I’m sorry.” She finally let go of his hand and turned to Magda. “You’re such a dark beauty,” she said, taking Magda’s hand. “Hmmm, what happened to you as a child?” she asked Magda. “I see war, but not your brother’s war. This war was in the past, you poor dear.”
Magda jerked her hand away. “No war,” she said too loudly, clearly upset by the woman’s words.
Their father stood up. “Here is carnival,” he told the lady in broken English. “Excuse, please.”
“Well, I’m going, too,” she said as she pulled her bulk out of the seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset her. Sometimes I see things, you know?”
Al’s father nodded but looked annoyed. The woman slowly stepped off the bus with grunts and groans. Behind her, Al got off, and the smell of the stockyards hit him right away, making him gag.
His father leaned toward him and whispered, “I didn’t like the way that pushy Gypsy upset Magda.”
“How did you know she was a Gypsy?”
“It was obvious.”
Not to Al. Maybe all Gypsies had three breasts—was that how you knew? He wanted to ask his father but was too embarrassed to speak of breasts. He remembered the wild Gypsies who lived in their old neighborhood, but, of course, they were too young for breasts. When he glanced at Magda, he saw two small mounds under her summer dress. He frowned. Did she already have breasts too? It was all too much for him.
Standing on the corner, Magda was doing that embarrassing flapping of her hand that she did whenever she got upset or excited. His father quickly grabbed her hand as they crossed the street, entering the gigantic gate of the carnival full of tents, rides, sideshows, games, and raffles. Magda eagerly pointed to the double Ferris wheel turning alluringly beyond the tents. Though excited by it all, Al swallowed hard, trying to fight his nausea. The usual stockyard smell was bad enough, but mingled with the smells of popcorn, cotton candy, and hot dogs, it had become completely unbearable. Al thought about all the poor animals being killed at the stockyards and turned into steaks and hot dogs. His father told him they used the whole animal; nothing was wasted. They even used the leftovers for dog food, and they boiled the bones. Al remembered the deli case with the cow tongue that his mother sometimes bought. It made him feel sick to his stomach. He looked around, trying to get his mind off the smell and there it was—a sassy red Corvette on a round platform, slowly turning as it shimmered with carnival reflections. This was the car of his dreams, the car he would own someday. He stood, worshipfully staring at the Corvette the way old women stared at statues of saints. If he had this car, everyone would respect and admire him, even Joey Cicero who called him a dirty DP. Displaced person didn’t sound so bad, but when kids shortened it to DP, it sounded like a cuss word.
His father interrupted Al’s adoration of the Corvette to quietly ask him to keep an eye on Magda while he went to play cards with his friends from work. That bugged Al. Why couldn’t she take care of herself? After all, she was older. He pouted, but in the end he knew he had to do it. He always watched out for her.
His father headed straight for the picnic tables, where a heated card game was in progress. All of the Lithuanians who worked at the stockyards had come for the free company night.
“Well, well, Jurgis Vitkus,” said Captain Eddie. “Sit down, my friend, we’ll deal you in.”
Al’s father loved nothing better than a good card game and some beer with friends. Sometimes when the men started their war stories, he drank too much, and it worried Al. Now, his father fanned his cards out and looked up to assess the other men. Then, each man slapped down his card like they were killing cockroaches, the whole time keeping up a running discussion on whether Nikita Khrushchev was going to be any better than Stalin.
Magda and Al walked around the carnival trying to decide what to do first. Near the arcade, he saw a tent painted with fantastic people—a snake boy, an elephant woman, and a giant, like illustrations from his old storybooks—mythological creatures, half human, half animal. If only Pete were here, he’d love this freak show. He and Pete spent hours poring over “Ripley’s Believe It or Not,” as if it were a game. As if they gave you a choice—believe it or don’t believe it. They had both believed that there could be a seal boy who had little flippers instead of arms and legs, but they’d been suspicious of the half man. Pete just didn’t buy it. He wanted to know how a man with no lower body could possibly go to the bathroom. That stumped Al all right. If Pete were here, he’d know the real from the fake.
When a mouse-faced man with a pointy mustache came out of the tent and started to bellow about the wonders of the world, Magda and Al strolled in, following the rest of the crowd. The man strutted back and forth in front of the curtain, telling the audience that they were about to see the amazing elephant lady. Al tried to imagine a woman with an elephant trunk instead of a nose and giant flapping ears, but when the curtain finally opened, he was disappointed to see an ordinary fat woman sitting in a stall with a long dress on. “This is bunk,” he whispered to Magda, until the lady pulled up her dress, and Al sucked in his breath. Her le
gs were huge and stumpy, and her feet disappeared somewhere under all that rough flesh. It was true—she had the legs of an elephant. Maybe it was possible, after all, to be half animal.
At first, he was so engrossed that he didn’t notice Magda smiling and nodding as she listened to some older boy, who was grinning and flirting. Al was stunned, not knowing what to do. He had never seen his sister with a boy before.
Suddenly, the announcer introduced the giant, and a curtain opened with a man twice as tall as the announcer, who stood next to him. The giant’s eyes darted around, looking uncomfortable. He stood there hunched over, his long arms dangling at his side. In a singsong voice, the announcer asked the giant to turn around. He was so slow and clumsy that he tripped over his own huge feet and almost fell. Someone in the audience gave him the raspberry. Then, suddenly, the giant bellowed out a song, La Donna ė Mobile, in the biggest voice Al had ever heard. Everyone clapped enthusiastically, and the giant grinned proudly as the curtain closed.
Al kept glancing uneasily at his sister, as the boy put his arm around her shoulder. Magda was starting to flap her hand, but the boy didn’t seem to notice. The curtain opened once again, and the strong man came out, but Al was anxiously watching the boy whisper into Magda’s ear. The poor wart lady came out covered in warts, and then the mouse-faced man announced that the snake boy was the next attraction. Al thought about witches’ curses and spells, but when the curtain opened the stage was empty.
“Hey,” shouted the announcer. “What are you doing down there? Get up here.” He was talking to the boy flirting with Magda. Al noticed that her hand was flapping big time now.
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