Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, Salvo lay on the metal decking of what he had come to consider hell. He’d just completed retching his insides into the sea and knew he’d probably have to do so again any moment. Etel sat beside him, quietly smoking, reasonably sure that no one had ever died of seasickness. The motion of the ship didn’t bother her, nor did it seem to bother András or Margit, who were asleep in their bunks. Salvo seemed to be the sickest person on the boat, so sick that most of the other passengers had trouble believing that he was the same Salvo Ursari that walked on a wire high above the ground.
Etel knew who he was, though, because she recognized herself in him. She knew that Salvo did not know this, that he even thought she did not like him, which was not true. She held Salvo in awe, his ability on the wire worthy in her eyes of such reverence.
Pushing her thick black hair out of her eyes with long, tobacco-stained fingers, she tossed the butt of her cigarette into the ocean and lit another. She inhaled, savouring the smoke as it entered her. Margit often complained that Etel reeked of smoke, even after she bathed, and she knew it was true, but she didn’t care. Etel loved smoke far more than she loved Margit.
She exhaled sharply. Salvo seemed a little better. “What will the Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza be like?” she asked him.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled weakly.
“Will there be animals? And many other people?”
“Probably.”
Etel frowned. She did not think she would like such surroundings, and she knew that Salvo wouldn’t. “How do you feel?”
Salvo didn’t answer her. She pushed a cup of water towards him, but he made no move to drink it. She picked it up and drank some herself, then pushed it back to him. He managed a feeble sip.
It felt strange to Etel to be going to America. Though she had moved from place to place her whole life, somehow having something as large as the ocean between where she was and where she was going made this different. And though no one had ever said as much, Etel knew they would not be returning.
“Do you know what today is?” Etel asked.
“No.”
“It is my nineteenth birthday.”
“Congratulations,” Salvo said. Then his stomach contracted and he spilled a little more of himself into the ocean. Etel shook her head, silently willing the five days that must pass before they would reach land to go quickly.
TRAVELLING ON A MUCH FASTER SHIP and without particular misery, Cole Fisher-Fielding reached New York a full week ahead of the Ursaris. He used this time to prepare for the upcoming tour.
It was a circus born of the imagination of Cole Fisher-Fielding, and to a lesser extent, his brothers and sisters. They were not a circus family; their parents had looked down on such pageantry, even after the achievements of their children. The siblings who had chosen to make their living in other professions were shown an obvious favouritism; even those who managed to fail spectacularly at mundane aspirations were preferred over the circus children. Though far less successful than their siblings, they were in respectable professions, which mattered greatly to their parents, who held aristocratic ambitions. Following the deaths of the Fisher-Fielding parents, the families of the original seven founders rarely spoke to the families of the seven who spurned the big top. Instead of healing, the rifts grew wider.
The Fisher-Fielding big top was the largest there was. It could seat ten thousand people in relative comfort, along with animals and performers, rising sixty feet in the air at its apex. The outer circumference was supported by numerous minor poles, each twenty feet high. Oval in shape, the big top was ringed by bleachers on the shorter sides and seat wagons on the longer lengths. These wagons consisted of twenty rows of seats ascending from the ground, higher at each consecutive row. The seats folded out from the wagons, requiring minimal set-up. Inside the wagons performers waited for their cues, and attendants kept a watchful eye out for people, mainly children, trying to sneak under the side walls of the tent. Down the centre of the big top ran a line of sixty-foot poles, each topped with a flag, forming the high point of the tent. Guy wires, ropes and sub-structures made up the rest of the skeleton of the big top. Over all this stretched the canvas, made by sail makers specifically for the F-F for a sum that few circuses could afford. It fit together in sections laced and unlaced at each venue by expert hands.
Once the big top was up, the animal menagerie was erected and the seat wagons and bleachers were unfolded. The rigging for the various aerial acts was checked and rechecked. Outside, the midway began to be assembled, and preparations commenced for the “spec,” a free parade designed to entice people into the big top.
By the time the Ursaris arrived in New York everything was set to go. The F-F was opening the season with an indoor show at Madison Square Garden, as it always did. Salvo couldn’t believe the scale of the F-F. It made the Wintergarten look like a tavern. There had to be at least a hundred clowns. Two trapeze acts. Wild lions, tigers, panthers. Elephants. Sword swallowers. Equestrian acts. Anything and everything the circus could dream up, the Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza had. It frightened Salvo beyond belief.
Salvo had revamped the entire act for the North American audience. In the big top they were much higher than they had been before. They would use balancing poles whenever possible. Also, the tricks had to be more complex; it was harder to sell a wobble, because it was harder for people to see one. The biggest change was the use of bicycles. None of them liked using bicycles, but other high-wire walkers used them and audiences liked them, so they didn’t have much choice. Salvo resolved that if they were going to use bicycles, they would use them spectacularly. And they wouldn’t use a net.
András was furious when Salvo told the rest of them that there would be no net. “Who are you to decide this for us?” he said, slamming his hand on the pole that supported their rigging.
“It is better this way.” Salvo did not allow András to scare him. He knew he must win this argument.
Etel looked at András, then at Salvo. She said nothing, knowing there would be no changing either of their minds. Both ways were the same to her.
“Better for who?”
“For all of us. If you have a net, your mind will know that you can fall. But you can still get killed if you fall. You bounce out, maybe a bicycle falls on you—anything can happen.”
András shook his head. “A net can save you.”
“No.” Salvo put his hand on András’s shoulder. “The only way is never to fall. A net makes falling more likely. So we will use no net.”
Salvo turned and walked away. He didn’t look back. He wanted to, but even more he wanted to appear strong. He and András had had this discussion before, and Salvo wanted the issue settled once and for all.
When his brother was gone András swore in Romany, uttering a phrase that Etel understood but Margit did not, though she could tell as well as Etel that he was upset.
“He is wrong,” András said.
Etel shrugged. “Maybe he is. Or maybe he isn’t. If we ever find out, it will be too late to do anything. He knows more about the wire than any of us, though.”
“So you’re taking his side?”
“No, I’m taking no side.” She pushed a coil of hair out of her face.
“You can’t do that.”
Etel looked András square in the eye. “Yes, I can.” She held his stare for several more seconds, then left. There was no talking to him when he was agitated.
András watched her leave. There had been a time when she would have sided with him. He did not want to feel betrayed, but he did.
Margit had moved and was standing next to him. “You are with Salvo on this?” he asked her.
Margit smiled at him. “Take me for a walk,” she said.
“But what do you think about the net?” András knew what she thought, but he wanted to hear her say it.
“I think it is a nice night and I would like to see the stars.” She took his hand. “I think we spend far too much time talking about what we do on the wire.”
András sighed. Maybe she was right. He was beginning to wonder if he cared that much about whether they used a net or not, or if he wasn’t more concerned with not losing an argument. “All right,” he said.
As soon as they stepped outside they realized no stars would be visible from the depths of the city. Margit was disappointed.
“This has happened before,” András said.
“No stars?” She leaned closer to him.
“Yes. There was a time once when a giant fish leapt out of the sea, high into the air, and this fish swallowed up all the stars. People everywhere were very unhappy, as they had grown to love the stars, and without them the sky seemed empty. They searched the world for someone who could catch the fish and put the stars back in the sky, until finally they found a Rom who was said to be the most clever man ever to live. This Rom missed the stars as much as anyone, so he agreed to help.
“He went to a great king and begged him to loan him a diamond. This king was not a fool—one does not just give every Rom who comes to their door a diamond—but when he found out what it was for, he agreed.
“So the Rom took the diamond and tied it to a line, and one night when the moon was right he cast it into the sky above the sea. Sure enough, the fish leapt up and swallowed the diamond. When the fish realized it was snared, it put up a fight that lasted the whole night and the next day and the next night. After three days the fish had no more fight left in him and he gave up the ghost.
“The Rom sliced open his belly and the stars floated out, back to their proper places in the sky. The Rom told the king that his diamond had been lost in the struggle, but the king was so happy to have the stars back that he did not mind. The Rom gave the diamond to a beautiful girl, and she fell madly in love with him. From then on things have been as they are.”
Margit laughed. “That’s a good story. Where did you hear it?”
András’s shoulders lowered. “My father told it to me.”
Margit stopped laughing. “Do you miss him?”
“Yes.” András did not tell her that there were times when he had trouble seeing the faces of his parents in his mind.
“And Salvo. Does he miss your father?”
András nodded. “He does.”
“He never speaks of him. He never speaks of anything that has happened to him.”
András thought about this. “He was on his own. Etel and I were together, but he had no one. That’s why he’s different.”
“I’m glad you’re not like that.” Margit smiled again.
I could get used to that smile, András thought. He took her hand and they continued walking. They had no destination in mind.
WHEN SALVO INFORMED COLE FISHER-FIELDING of his decision not to use a net, his reaction was mixed. The pure circus enthusiast in him loved the idea. And he knew audiences would go for it. But the F-F was known as a safe circus; no one had ever died while performing in the Extravaganza. He expressed his safety concerns to deaf ears. In the end Cole relented.
Their first night was a sell out, as most of the dates were that year. They would be in Madison Square Garden for another week, and then they would take the big top on the road, playing dates across the continent for the summer and early fall. The Ursaris followed the cat act, waiting nervously on the platform as the crowd marvelled at the animals’ surly obedience. Finally the cats were directed back to their cages, and the band played the Ursaris onto the wire.
For the first trick, Salvo and András each rode a bicycle across the wire. Salvo handed off his bicycle and they crossed back on András’s bike, Salvo doing a handstand on the handlebars. Next, Etel and Margit made a crossing on foot, stopping in perfect synchronicity to lean forward and place their poles on the wire, simultaneously executing handstands. As they did this trick, Salvo and András each strapped on a harness that secured a six-foot pole between them. When Etel and Margit arrived at the platform, Etel boosted Margit onto the pole, where she balanced as Salvo and András crossed. Etel rode the bicycle back across the tightrope then, so that both bicycles were on the same platform. Next came their final trick, by far the best one.
Without removing the harnesses, Salvo and András took to the bicycles, András in front, Salvo behind. Etel, an eight-foot balancing pole in her hands, stood on the pole between the bicycles. Margit stood behind her, without a balancing implement, holding on to Etel’s shoulders. On Salvo’s cue, the bicycles started forward. After they were in motion, Margit leapt up onto Etel’s back, her feet resting first on her hips, then under her arms, then on her shoulders. With what looked like minimal effort, she paused in a squat. Then, with no more hesitation than if her feet were firmly planted on the ground, she stood.
The effect took the audience aback. Fifty feet above them, a woman stood on the shoulders of another woman who stood on a pole supported by two men riding bicycles on a wire. And there was no net. As they reached the middle of the wire, more than one gasp involuntarily escaped from the audience. The woman on top had placed her hands on the shoulders of the woman below her and inverted her body in a handstand. She wobbled slightly as the performers moved to the end of the wire, and a woman in the audience screamed. The crowd was otherwise so quiet that people on the opposite side of the ring heard her husband’s admonishments. They reached the far platform, finally, after what seemed to those watching like hours.
At first people were too shocked to know what to do. After several seconds, they stood, almost in unison, clapping, yelling and cheering wildly.
Up on the platform, Salvo completely misread the audience. To him they sounded angry, and many were whistling loud, shrill whistles, which in Europe was dangerously unlucky and a sign of extreme disapproval.
“Come quickly,” he said to the others, and he slid down the rope ladder as fast as he could and retreated to their corner of the performers’ area. There they huddled, András and Etel and Margit all agreeing with Salvo’s impression, believing that the crowd had hated their act and was calling for their heads.
A stagehand ran towards them, looking confused. “What are you doing? Get back out there,” he said, pulling on Salvo’s arm.
Salvo refused to budge. “Are you crazy? They’ll lynch us.”
“You’ve got it wrong, Ursari,” the man said. “They loved you. They want a bow. This is an ovation.”
It began to sink in. As they climbed the ladder to the wire and looked at the faces of individuals in the stands, they saw that indeed they were not angry, that they had thoroughly enjoyed the act. From the platform they gave a bow, waving, the enthusiastic crowd responding with a crescendo of applause.
Later, as they sat in their railcar, the others chided Salvo.
“They’ll lynch us,” Margit laughed, mimicking Salvo.
András said nothing, but smiled.
“Can you believe them?” Etel said. “They were crazy for us.”
“We’re a good act,” Margit said. “Maybe the best in the circus.”
“Be careful where you say that,” András said. He had already seen firsthand how jealous some performers could be.
Salvo sat off to the side, not joining the conversation. He was exhausted and worried. The act had not been as tight as he felt it should be. He could feel during the last trick that their timing had been off. They would have to practise harder. “We get up early tomorrow,” he said. “We have much to work on.”
Margit, her back to Salvo, made a face, which made András laugh, but no one said anything. There was a knock at the door, and before anyone could answer it, the door swung open.
Cole Fisher-Fielding, immaculately groomed and tuxedoed, strode into the railcar. “Congratulations, Ursaris,” he said. He presented Etel and Margit each with a bouquet of flowers. Salvo and András received cigars similar to the one protruding from the corner of his mouth. An attendant followed with a tray bearing a bottle and five glasses, which he set on the small table in the middle of the car before being dismissed with a casual wave of Fisher-Fielding’s hand.
Cole poured a golden brown liquid into the glasses and passed them out, two fingers for the women and three for the men. He raised his glass. Everyone followed his example. “To a long and happy partnership between the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company and the Magnificent Ursari Troupe,” he said, downing the contents of his glass.
Salvo drained his glass too, rye whisky burning his throat and stomach. “Thank you, sir. We’ll do our best.”
Fisher-Fielding laughed. “I have no doubt of that. Carry on.” And as quickly as he had come, he was gone.
Cole was more than a little preoccupied that evening. His control of the F-F was now threatened by a group he had christened “the Spouses.” Originally, no official agreement of partnership had been made among the Fisher-Fieldings. When their brother Trevor, the third oldest, had died suddenly in 1920, lawyers were able to convince them of the need for a formal documentation of ownership. Since Trevor had never married and had no known heirs, they agreed to split the F-F’s ownership seven ways, Trevor’s former share being split between “the Respectables,” the siblings that had not been involved in the circus. It was a point of contention, and Cole had argued against it, but the others won out. Now it was coming back to haunt him.
His eldest circus brother had produced one child, Martin Fisher-Fielding, who was a firm ally of Cole’s. The second circus sibling, a sister named Mary, had borne two children, neither of whom had any interest in the circus whatsoever and had been content to sell Cole their share of the business. Here was where things got tricky for Cole. His sister Evelyn, his favourite sibling, two years older than him, had married a real-estate baron named Phillip Barnes against the advice of Cole, a fact that Phillip knew. His next oldest sibling, Winston Fisher-Fielding, had married a southern belle named Rebecca, and they’d had a son, Norris Fisher-Fielding. Following first Winston and then Evelyn’s death, Phillip Barnes and Rebecca Fisher-Fielding married. Though it reminded Cole far too much of Hamlet for any degree of comfort, Norris didn’t seem to mind his mother and uncle engaging in matrimony; in fact, he seemed enthusiastic about it. Rebecca, who had never much cared for Cole, and Phillip, who still begrudged the fact that Cole had advised against his marriage to Evelyn, now controlled two-sevenths of the F-F.
Cole’s brother Peter had died nearly twenty years earlier, leaving his wife, Charlotte, with half his interest, and his son John with the other half. John, in an attempt to spite his mother, whom he deeply resented for an unhappy childhood, had always sided with Cole in the past. Charlotte was great friends with Rebecca Fisher-Fielding-Barnes and always voted with her interests.
As a result, Cole, between his shares and the support of his nephews Martin and John, controlled a fifty per cent share of the F-F, which was enough to swing any vote. A stipulation of the one-seventh share that the rest of the family controlled was that they didn’t have any vote unless there was a tie, in which case they cast the deciding opinion.
Three days earlier, John Fisher-Fielding had been killed in an automobile accident. He was unmarried and hadn’t left a will, and as a result his share of the F-F Circus Company would revert to his mother, his closest living relative. Now things had swung into uncertainty: Cole Fisher-Fielding controlled three-sevenths of the company, as did the Spouses. This meant that any vote would be tied, and the Respectables had the tiebreaker.
In the past, the committee of ten or so varied relatives that made up the Respectables had shown a complete inability to grasp the business of circus entertainment, concerned with nothing else than the financial rewards of their collective one-seventh interest. Cole was relatively certain that in the event of a tie, they could be easily lured into the Spouses’ camp by the promise of larger profits. They neither knew nor cared about the intent or the feelings of the original siblings. Few could even keep straight in their heads who was who.
Fortunately, Cole had been elected to a five-year term as president of the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company in 1937 and would have four more years before he’d be in any real danger. Still, there would be a fight ahead, he knew.
The wire walkers, at rest in their railcar, knew nothing of the circus’s politics. As they lay down for the night, they fell asleep: first András, then Margit, then Etel. Salvo, kept awake by fears of the dark, elephants, the future and the past, did not know that elsewhere Cole Fisher-Fielding was awake as well, with fears of his own.
ONE OF THE FIRST PEOPLE SALVO MET in the Extravaganza was a dark-skinned man named Emil Narwha. He might have been from India, or he might have been French, or he might have been from just down the road from wherever they were on a given day. Salvo had never asked Emil about his past and Emil had never asked Salvo, an unspoken arrangement that seemed to serve them both. For the first few weeks neither man spoke much. They stood and leaned against the side wall of the main tent, watching the bustle of the F-F pass them by, giving no indication of what they thought about it all. It was only after quite a while that Salvo discovered Emil was the head elephant wrangler, an exceedingly important position. He had held this post for over thirty years, long enough for the elephants to regard him as one of their kind, to look at the leathery old man as their father.
Salvo watched him work with the elephants, wondering how anyone could place his trust in a beast so large, something that could kill him without effort. Emil Narwha did just this, however, to Salvo’s continual amazement. Gentle and patient Emil trained the elephants to do his bidding, and the elephants responded with their nearly complete cooperation.
After months of nods and abbreviated hellos, Salvo decided to ask Emil about what had been bothering him since he’d first discovered Emil’s occupation.
Emil looked at him in surprise. “Afraid? That is an odd thing for a man like you to ask.”
Salvo smiled and shrugged, feeling a little foolish. “I would walk the highest wire in the world before I would let an elephant touch me with its nose.”
“Trunk,” Emil said. “And you would never get me on any wire.”
“But you are not afraid at all?”
Emil thought before replying. “Some people believe all animals are good. I do not believe this. I have seen an elephant stalk a man, always watching him with one eye, waiting for him to make a mistake, to get too close. And I have seen that elephant crush his enemy, and I would swear that the elephant enjoyed the man’s screams and the crunching of his bones beneath his feet. I see that an animal can hold evil within it, and I’ve no doubt of that. But most are not this way; certainly none of my elephants. I treat them well, and they treat me well.”
Salvo frowned. “How do you know if an elephant’s evil?”
“Same as people. Easy to tell if you look properly.”
Yet it seemed to Salvo that a great amount of evil was very well hidden. It could hide anywhere, in the hearts of strangers, loved ones, even in his own heart. It also seemed to him that hidden evil was the worst kind, and he envisioned it stalking him, huge and grey and shadowy. There was no escaping it, no running away.
“Cheer up, Ursari. Maybe one day you can ride on one of my elephants. Then you’ll see.”
Salvo shook his head no, and Emil chuckled as he walked back towards the menagerie. “You’ll see one day. You will change your mind.”
I doubt that very much, Salvo said to himself, but as he walked away he felt a certain kinship with Emil, a new admiration for the things he did not understand. As he passed the elephants, though, he could not bring himself to even look at them. He still remembered Good Bear the Bear, and to catch the gaze of a sorrowful camel or giraffe could move him near to tears. But the elephants were different, somehow. Salvo hated them. He felt that they were assessing him, plotting against him, and that if they ever got the chance they would do him whatever harm they could, a suspicion that had just been unintentionally reinforced. Sometimes on a certain cue from Emil, the elephants would join trunk to tail to trunk, marching wherever directed, and more than once in his endless moments before sleep, Salvo had visions of an endless train of elephants rushing towards him, relentlessly seeking to grind him into the earth, to tear him limbless. There were times when Salvo thought he might like to kill them.
ANDRÁS WALKED PAST THE BIG TOP, hoping to find a vendor who would give him a hot dog, or at worst, sell him one. A group of clowns went by, one of them a man András had seen vomiting outside their railcar several nights earlier. Today he looked miserable, his hands shaking and his walk hesitant. András noticed that several of the other clowns seemed to share this demeanour. He didn’t know that the clowns had a reputation for being drunks, or that they often got into knock-down brawls with other performers, or the circus police. The clowns he had seen in Europe were not the same as these, that much he could tell at a glance. He had no urge to speak with or get to know them.
András had the same keep-to-himself attitude about most things the F-F had to offer. He enjoyed his life there immensely, loved the energy and the excitement, the continuous crowds and the travel. But he much preferred to be an observer than an active participant. He even thought, at times, that he would rather be in the audience than a member of the circus, but knew that for the audience it was a treat, not how things were every day, and that if he were not a performer he likely would never get to attend a show, so he did not feel overly sorry about his position.
None of the vendors were out yet. András’s stomach growled dissatisfaction, but there was nothing to be done about it. He doubled back towards the big top. If he checked the rigging now, maybe there would be time for a hot dog later. He saw Etel standing beside the main entrance, smoking.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
Etel shrugged. “Margit is complaining again.”
“About what?”
“Anything she can think of.” Etel flicked the stub of her cigarette onto the ground, stepping on it. She quickly rolled and lit another.
“She does not like your smoking.” András did not tell Etel it was because the smell of smoke reminded her of Tomas Skosa.
“That is too bad for her. I do not like her griping.”
András shook his head. “It’s not so bad.”
“Why do you stand up for her?” Etel slashed at the air with her hand.
“Why do you attack her?” András’s voice was raised, and he felt the muscles in his back tense.
Etel took a long drag off her cigarette, inhaling nearly half its length. “You are in love with her.” It was not a question, but as soon as Etel said it she realized it was true.
András looked down at his feet, then brought his eyes up to meet his sister’s. “What if I am?”
Etel’s eyes were cold, her lips pursed. “You do what you like.”
András turned and walked away from the big top. He was no longer interested in checking the rigging, no longer interested in hot dogs.
Etel dropped what was left of her cigarette. As she was about to grind it into the earth, a small clump of dried grass caught fire. Etel watched it burn, knowing she should stamp it out. After more time than was sensible, she finally brought her foot down upon the flame.
WHEN WAR CAME TO EUROPE IN 1939, the troupe’s decision to come to America was rapidly validated. This was before they even knew what was happening to Roma in the camps. However, in 1941, after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into the war, they found themselves, as Hungarians, citizens of an enemy nation. Salvo, fearing persecution, contemplated shelving the act until the war was over, but he soon discovered that few people knew or cared that he was a Hungarian, just as few had cared that he was a Rom. As long as he walked the wire it seemed he could do no wrong. There were of course isolated exceptions. One man hired to help with their rigging was caught purposely slackening a guy wire during a performance. It turned out the man’s brother had been killed the month before by enemy fire, which he somehow blamed on the Ursaris. The man was sacked, and though Cole Fisher-Fielding denied it when Salvo asked, Salvo suspected that the man was beaten up by members of the circus police on Cole’s orders. Either way, András swore he saw the man being roughed up behind the menagerie. He did not attempt to interfere.
Salvo spent nearly all of his waking hours on the act, trying to devise new routines, new tricks, new techniques, anything to keep the act fresh and exciting. They were capable of performing nearly fifty separate manoeuvres and had four showstoppers, all variations on the three-level pyramid they had performed for their first crowd in America. Because they travelled to the same cities each season, Cole Fisher-Fielding insisted that the audience get to see different tricks from year to year, and Salvo readily complied. He enjoyed nothing more than the development of new feats.
The war brought increased crowds to the F-F Extravaganza. People’s pockets were full of money, their minds eager for any kind of distraction, so the big top was very nearly always full, and attendance was at record levels. Their winter seasons were shorter, and the big top stayed on the road longer, despite rationing and a shortage of manpower. Citizens purchasing Victory Bonds received complimentary passes to the show. Anyone wearing a uniform was given free admission.
Early in 1942 the F-F had a three-day stand in the nation’s capital. This stand also happened to coincide with the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company’s annual general meeting; Cole’s five-year term was up, and he would face for the first time serious competition for the top job in the form of Norris Fisher-Fielding, his nephew. The Spouses had not been idle since the balance of power had shifted in their favour. It was a toss-up as to who would rule the circus for the next five years.
On the day of the opening performance there was no matinee scheduled. Instead, the A-list performers were invited to a reception for the Respectables, an invitation that was not optional. Salvo, much to his disappointment and trepidation, was the only one of the Ursari troupe invited. He would be forced to mingle with the other performers, something he did not particularly enjoy.
Salvo never considered not attending, though. The majority of the performers respected and admired Cole, even if they didn’t always like him, and most were more than willing to show their support for his leadership. Even those who were not disposed to like him had to admit that he was a better boss than Norris Fisher-Fielding was likely to be. Cole had built the F-F from nothing, whereas Norris was an Ivy League snob with a lazy eye and a voice that seemed to come through his nose. The choice was an easy one for most.
Salvo put on a brave face and left the railcar, heading towards the big top. He kept an eye out for Etel, who hadn’t been in the railcar that morning. He wanted to tell her about a new move he had thought up, but he saw no sign of her. She was probably well hidden, he decided, knowing that she tried to avoid the hustle and bustle of the F-F as much or more than he did.
Salvo was halfway to the big top when he remembered that he had forgotten to ask András to double-check their rigging for that night. They usually took turns doing so, but Salvo wasn’t sure if he would have time between the reception and that evening’s show, and it was very important that someone confirm that the rigging was as it should be. Admonishing himself for forgetting, Salvo turned and jogged back to the railcar.
As he burst through the door, he caught a brief glimpse of naked flesh before it was covered by bedding. András peered up at him, his face red, and from under the covers Margit’s voice called out. “What do you want?”
Salvo hesitated. He had suspected for some time that Margit and his brother had become enamoured of each other but had never been so boldly confronted with proof. “Can you recheck the rigging for me?” he asked András, who was now smiling.
“Sure.”
Salvo nodded, backing out of the railcar. As he walked to the big top, he wondered how Etel would feel having to compete for her brother’s affections, especially a brother like András who had raised her single-handedly and was not particularly generous with affection. On the other hand, Salvo decided, his brother was thirty-five years old, after all, and Margit was an obvious and, it seemed, willing partner for him.
ETEL WAS NOT JEALOUS OF MARGIT AND ANDRÁS. At least this is what she told herself over and over. She knew there was no way Margit could ever take her place in András’s heart, and she derived a certain satisfaction from this knowledge. But on another level she was broken-hearted by the realization that András needed more than she could provide for him, that even a perfect sister has limitations. Etel spent long hours trying to fit things together, attempting to reconcile her emotions with her mind. She was most concerned when she understood that if an opportunity presented itself, she would in all likelihood be unable to resist taking steps to remove Margit from their lives.
Margit did not care what she thought, Etel knew. Margit was overwhelmed by András, and to a larger extent overwhelmed by the F-F Extravaganza. There was nothing about it she did not love. She loved the freedom, she loved the unspoken boundaries, and she loved the people, especially the dancers. In a candid moment she told Etel that their costumes made her dizzy, all the glitter and silk and colour. They made her think of glorious birds.
Etel thought this was silly. She did not understand how someone who had lived as hard a life as Margit’s could be so easily swept away by glitz. She did not understand how it could be seen as anything more than a sham.
A TRUE SHOWMAN, Cole held his reception in the centre ring, under the big top. Fresh sawdust was laid, food and drink were plentiful, and spirits were high. Cole worked the crowd of Respectables, aware that he had enemies among these relatives, these nephews and nieces and second cousins. The de facto leader of the Respectables was a Canadian, the husband of Cole’s deceased sister. Now in his seventies, Arthur Simpson had been five years younger than his Fisher-Fielding bride, something which had caused quite a stir at the time but now seemed quite irrelevant. His wife died giving birth to their third son. He remarried and his second wife also died, although the two had produced a daughter. Simpson went on to achieve a level of wealth and social standing that did not seem likely when he had first married. He had been the Canadian ambassador to Washington for some years and, now retired, was several times a millionaire. That it was rumoured his wealth was in large part derived from Prohibition did nothing to diminish his appeal to the Respectables. Cole felt fairly confident that if he could win Arthur Simpson to his cause he would prevail.
It would be no easy task. Simpson was not known to be a particular fan of the circus, or of entertainment in general. The only things that would interest him were the profitability of the circus and an assurance that he would not have to even think about the Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza for another five years. Working in Cole’s favour was Simpson’s respect for tradition. Cole hoped that the fact that he had made the F-F what it was and that he was one of the original seven would go at least some distance for him. He scanned the ring for Simpson and, after locating him, straightened his suit, put on his best smile and approached the man who owned his fate.
Salvo stood orphaned on the other side of the ring, feeling very unpopular and wishing he didn’t have to be there. None of the other performers seemed interested in talking to him, and his English wasn’t good enough to engage strangers in meaningful conversation, or so he thought. In reality, though he hadn’t consciously tried to learn, Salvo’s English was the best of any of the Ursaris, more than passable.
He took a sip of his iced tea, having refused the champagne the others were drinking on the grounds he was performing that night. In truth, the only time he ever drank was immediately following a show, and then only when Cole Fisher-Fielding, with his bottle of rye whisky, stormed into his railcar, which was fairly frequently. It was hot under the top, and the tea was good—bitter and refreshing. Several feet from him stood a very good-looking woman, maybe twenty-five years old. She was talking with a man whom Salvo did not immediately recognize, a man who was obviously one of the Respectables. After a second glance, Salvo realized that the man was Norris Fisher-Fielding. Salvo took several steps to his left, in the opposite direction. The woman, her back to Salvo, pushed Norris away with one hand, firmly, then turned and walked towards Salvo. Norris watched her for a moment and shook his head, before beginning a conversation with the person next to him.
The woman’s eyes scanned the vicinity, looking for a familiar face and, finding none, rested on Salvo. Her eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and she appeared to assess Salvo for a moment before she approached him.
“Hello,” she said, her voice and manner confident.
“Hello.”
“Look, I don’t really know many people here, and my cousin over there’s having a problem grasping the parameters of the fact that we’re sort of related, so can I stand here with you for a while?” She flashed him a smile.
“Yes.” Salvo’s palms began to sweat.
“You’re in the circus?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what do you do?” she asked.
“I walk the wire.”
“Really? I’ve never seen the circus before. Is your act dangerous?”
Salvo shrugged. “Only if I fall.”
The woman laughed at this, a sound pleasing to Salvo’s ears. He hardly ever laughed. “You have an accent. Where are you from?”
“Transylvania. Hungary.”
“You’re Hungarian?”
“I am a Rom.”
The woman paused. Salvo expected her to ask him if he was from Rome, which many Americans did. But she surprised him.
“Your people are not doing very well right now,” she said.
Salvo nodded. “That is how it always is.”
The woman took a drink of her champagne, Salvo of his iced tea. Someone passing by bumped into the woman, and she brushed against Salvo. As the person apologized, Salvo felt a buzz of electricity run up his arm where their skin had met.
“Will you be performing tonight?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then I will see you.” She made a move as if to leave.
“My name is Salvo,” he blurted out.
The woman smiled. “Nice to meet you, Salvo. My name is Anna. Good luck tonight.” She walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Salvo looked away from where she had been just in time to see Norris Fisher-Fielding glaring at him. He looked down at his feet, and when he looked up Norris was gone.
At the other end of the ring, Cole concluded his conversation with Arthur Simpson. The man was hard to read, and from what he could tell, it didn’t appear that he had made up his mind either way. Cole was relieved that at least he hadn’t decided to throw his support to the Spouses and was somewhat confident that upon viewing the Extravaganza that evening, Simpson would lean towards Cole. The circus could move even the most stoic of souls, he knew.
In the time before he would have to walk, Salvo tried his best to put Anna out of his mind. It was obvious that she was of a different class and from an entirely different world. He had to concentrate on that night’s show, not think about some girl he’d probably never see again. On his way back to his railcar he passed the elephants, and he swore that one of them was glaring at him the same way that Norris had glared at him. He suppressed a shiver but was unable to relax in the hours that followed.
It was another sell-out night, the big top packed to bursting. Salvo waited outside with Margit and Etel while András checked the rigging on the opposite side of the tent. Etel smoked three cigarettes in rapid succession and was in the process of rolling a fourth. Margit’s hands fidgeted with the folds of her costume, and Salvo rhythmically clenched and unclenched his fists. András returned only moments before the cat act went into its final movements, and together they silently entered the big top and ascended to the wire.
Cole watched from his seat as the Magnificent Ursari Troupe began their act. On his left was his loyal nephew, Martin, and to his direct right sat Arthur Simpson, his daughter, Anna, from his second marriage, and then Cole’s nemesis, Norris Fisher-Fielding. The Spouses and various Respectables rounded out the row, everybody pretending that this was simply an amiable trip to their beloved circus, no one openly stating the animosity that flew back and forth between the two camps. Feeling his nerves begin to race, Cole discreetly popped one of the glycerine tablets he had been prescribed for his heart into his mouth and resolved to appreciate the rest of the performance. If the vote tomorrow didn’t go his way, this would be his last show as F-F president. If that was the case, he didn’t want his last show to pass unenjoyed.
With the rest of the audience he craned his neck skyward as Salvo stepped onto the wire. As usual, the Ursaris started with a simple crossing, building gradually in sophistication. But this time something different happened. When Salvo was three-quarters of the way across, he noticed a moth. There was nothing special about it; it was one of many that attempted to eat away at the untreated side walls of the canvas. But it didn’t matter. Even though it was never within five feet of Salvo, it was as though he’d been confronted by the angel of death, and he backed up, visibly frightened. For a moment it looked as though he would fall, his back foot missing the wire, his balance lost. The audience gasped, fearing the worst. But then, and he didn’t know why, his mind told his head to turn, and he found his gaze locked into that of the woman Anna. She returned his gaze, and unlike everyone else in the big top, she was not the least bit alarmed. She was calm as a newborn, her face serene and reassuring. He could see that she knew he would not fall, and so he did not. As if he had total control over the laws of physics, he easily regained his balance. Everyone, including Cole Fisher-Fielding, breathed a sigh of relief. Salvo tipped his pole in salute and continued to the end of the wire. Arthur Simpson glanced at Cole and smiled approval. Cole believed that Salvo’s salute had been intended for him, and he felt a rush of pride. He was certain the vote would go in his favour.
When Salvo reached the platform András shot him a look of fright. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Salvo answered. “I’m fine. Let’s get on with it.”
András knew he was lying, but now was not the time to go into any detail. Salvo didn’t doubt that he could continue with the act, but he knew he would feel the full weight of his mistake once he was on the ground.
Anna Simpson had never seen anything like Salvo’s act before, and he was unlike any person she had ever met. How he walked that wire she didn’t know, but she suspected it was magic. When he had looked down at her she’d felt as if he had looked right into her, through her clothes and her skin and flesh, all the way to her spine, to the marrow in her bones. She wondered what his life was like, what he looked like when he slept, what he smelled like. She had stood next to him that very afternoon, and she could not remember if he had smelled of anything. Anna resolved to find out.
To Salvo, the rest of the act passed in a daze. It was only after they were back in their railcar that he snapped out of his stupor.
“What was that?” Margit asked, angry.
András was equally upset. “You almost fall on an easy crossover and then you expect us to trust you with our lives?”
Etel stayed quiet, but he could see she was disappointed in him.
“Nothing happened. I didn’t fall. I wasn’t even close. Leave it alone.”
Etel got up and left the railcar.
“Don’t tell us nothing happened,” András said. “We have eyes, we see.”
“It won’t happen again. I worry about myself. You do the same.”
Margit threw her hands in the air. “He’s like a stone,” she said to András. “I need some air.” She too left.
András followed her, pausing as he exited. “We need you to be the best of all of us,” he said. “We cannot put ourselves on the wire if you can’t be trusted.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Salvo rubbed the back of his neck.
András nodded slowly, then followed after Margit. It was still quite warm, even though the sun had gone down hours ago. Etel and Margit stood together at the edge of the rail area, Etel smoking furiously, Margit’s arms folded across her chest. Neither spoke until András approached.
“That was bad, there,” Margit said.
“It has passed. He’s good now,” András said.
“Can you guarantee it?”
András paused. “No.”
“Yes, you can,” Etel said. “He will not fall, and he will not make us fall. If you can’t see that, you should not go on the wire.”
“I saw him nearly fall,” Margit said, “and that’s more than enough to make me nervous.”
“You saw nothing. He was not even close to what it would take for him to fall. If it were one of us, we would have fallen, but not him.”
“What makes him different than us?” Margit asked, her tone mocking.
“He is better on the wire,” András said.
“He is more than that,” said Etel. “We are wire walkers, it is our job. Salvo lives for the wire. Salvo and the wire are the same thing. We will never be like that.”
No one spoke, both András and Margit knowing Etel was right. Etel threw out the nub of her cigarette, heeling it into the earth. “We should not be so quick to judge him.”
In the railcar, Salvo was being far harder on himself than any of the others ever could have been. He knew that he would not have fallen, that he was nowhere near falling, but that did not matter. His concentration had been shattered on the wire, and that was something that must never happen.
But what perplexed him most was how, when he should have been focusing all his attention on restoring equilibrium, he looked to the audience instead, straight to the one thing he had told himself to ignore, straight to Anna. How he’d known where to look he had no idea.
There was a knock at the railcar. Expecting it to be Cole Fisher-Fielding, Salvo didn’t answer, knowing the door would fly open without any effort from him. But the door didn’t move, and after several seconds there was another knock. Salvo answered it. Anna stood there, accompanied by a nervous-looking porter.
“Hello again, Salvo Ursari,” she said.
“Hello, Anna.” Salvo became instantly aware that he smelled of that night’s performance.
“Thank you for your help,” she said to the porter, dismissing him with a tip. She looked at Salvo, who stood dumbfounded. “Would you like to take a walk?”
Salvo nodded and stepped out of the railcar. They walked towards the midway. In an attempt to behave like a gentleman, Salvo offered her his arm, which she accepted.
“I enjoyed the show tonight.”
“It has gone better.”
“No, it was good. The people loved you.”
Salvo stopped, turning towards her. “You knew, after I saw the butterfly, that I would not fall.”
“I didn’t see a butterfly.”
“Maybe it was a moth. I can never tell the difference. But you knew I would not fall.”
Anna turned her head to one side. “Of course.” She took a short breath. “If you fell, the world would fall with you. And I knew the world would not fall.”
They continued walking. Later both of them would remember this as the moment they fell in love.
THE NEXT DAY ANNA WAS IN THE STANDS to see Salvo walk in the matinee, a walk that passed without incident. Neither her father nor Cole Fisher-Fielding were sitting with her, however. Both were in attendance at the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company’s annual general meeting.
The financial officer reported that profits were up since the war, that record crowds were coming in, and that, in short, the F-F had never been in better shape. Nevertheless, Rebecca Fisher-Fielding-Barnes insisted on challenging Cole’s leadership, attacking his character, his business sense and his ability to run the show. It was a speech for the Respectables; everyone else knew how they were voting. When a vote was called, Cole and his nephew Martin voted for his continued presidency, and Rebecca, her husband, Phillip, and Charlotte Fisher-Fielding voted for Norris Fisher-Fielding. Because Cole’s vote counted as two, the result was a tie. The Respectables would, for the first time in F-F history, control the fate of the circus.
As Arthur Simpson stood to cast a vote on behalf of the dozen or so assembled relatives, Cole tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat. Arthur Simpson calmly winked at Cole, then cast the deciding vote in his favour. He would remain in charge until 1947, at which time there would have to be another vote. Cole had dodged a bullet for now. He thanked the Respectables for their support, promising them that the F-F would continue to thrive under his direction. Norris sulked in the corner, not appearing at all pleased with the token position he was elected to later in the meeting.
That night, as they watched the show, Martin and Cole were in high spirits.
“Did you see the little weasel’s face?” Martin said, laughing.
Cole snorted but said nothing.
“Shot you a look that could kill. God help us if he ever gets his greedy hands on the F-F.”
Cole hardly heard Martin. He was busy noting Anna Simpson’s rapt attention to the Ursari act, Salvo in particular. He knew she had been to the matinee and that this was the third consecutive show she had attended. From the way she looked at Salvo, he could tell why she was there. Cole was grateful that the vote had already happened; Arthur Simpson would more than likely not have thrown his support to Cole if he had known that his daughter was swooning over one of his performers. Even so, he could sense trouble brewing.
His feelings proved correct. When the circus pulled out of Washington late the next night, after a third sold-out evening performance, Anna Simpson was aboard the Ursaris’ sleeping car. Cole received a furious call from Arthur Simpson the next day, but there was little he could tell him that was of any relief to the man. Both Salvo and Anna were adults, after all, and Cole knew from experience that when a person decided to run away with the circus there was nothing anyone else could do.
Salvo could not believe what Anna had done. That he was in love with her was no surprise, but that she could love him back baffled and amazed him. When her father threatened to disinherit her, he told her she should go back. She refused, saying she would only leave if he didn’t love her, and he could not tell her that, so she stayed. It was hard for them at first; the circus was not a place that afforded young lovers much privacy, and it seemed that András or Margit or Etel were always around, which they were. But they managed somehow, and nine months after they were married in the ring, Anna gave birth to identical-twin daughters. For a long time after that, Salvo would sleep soundly.
By the time the 1945 edition of the F-F Extravaganza pulled into Boise, Idaho, it was already dark. It was the middle of summer, and though the sun had been down for hours it was still hot enough that windows of houses were left open in hopes of catching some of the faint breeze that blew listlessly across the empty streets. The big top went up quickly and relatively silently; everyone was tired and wanted to get to sleep. Corners were cut where they could be, and no time was wasted. Even the elephants, who always seemed tired, appeared more languid than usual. It had been a long, hot tour, and the summer was nowhere near over.
Forecasters had predicted rain for the last week of July, but it was already the third of August and no rain had fallen. It didn’t look as if any was on its way, either. No one much minded; it was summer, after all, and things were good. The war was all but won, people had jobs, loved ones overseas would be home soon. And the Fisher-Fielding circus was in town.
As performers, the Ursaris were not required to help with the set-up of the big top, but with the shortage of labour that the war had brought, Salvo and András preferred to do their own rigging rather than trust it to someone who might not know what they were doing and make what could be a costly mistake.
Anna stayed in the railcar with their daughters, Mika and Elsabeth. They were two and a half years old now, and though each had her light skin, auburn hair and small mouth, Anna saw more of Salvo than herself in her children. They looked back at her with green Ursari eyes, eyes that could melt and infuriate her in the same instant. It secretly pleased Anna that she was the only one who could tell them apart without any effort whatsoever, though she knew it bothered Salvo that he could not. Fathers and daughters, she thought, shaking her head.
The fact that she and Salvo had been formally married meant little to her father. She knew how it infuriated him to see his only daughter run away with an immigrant circus performer, turning her back on the life he thought should have been hers. Arthur Simpson had forbidden her half-brothers to have any contact with her upon pain of disinheritance, a punishment she had already suffered. Her brothers were not pleased, but there was little they could do; Arthur controlled their money, and thus controlled them. When her middle brother’s RCAF fighter plane had a mechanical failure and spun into the Atlantic, Anna’s eldest brother had defied their father and telegraphed her the news. Anna had refused to attend the funeral in Ottawa, seeing for the first time how she was not unlike her father.
After this estrangement she began to wonder if she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. She could not deny that she loved Salvo, or their children, but she also knew that she did not love the circus. She tried to push these thoughts to the back of her mind, attempting to focus on other things.
Gradually, Salvo had taught her the wire. She had hesitated at first, not sure if she wanted to learn or not. She had eventually capitulated to Salvo’s eagerness and her own curiosity. There was not much opportunity for Salvo to teach her, however; most of their time was taken up with the show and the girls. But what little time that remained was spent on the wire.
GREEN EYES SEEMED TO INDEED BE a dominant Ursari trait. Though they had not married, Margit had become pregnant and, in the final year of the war, gave birth to a child, János. No one had to ask who the father was, and the boy bore the Ursari name with no shame. As far as András and Margit were concerned, they were married. Neither was very religious, and they saw no reason to engage in the bother of a civil ceremony.
It was Etel who picked up whatever slack needed reigning in between the two couples and their children. She dealt with the children quietly and efficiently, never missing a beat, never making a mistake. Margit often complained that János smelled horribly of smoke after spending any amount of time with his aunt. Though it also bothered Anna, she never said as much out loud. She tried not to be dragged into Margit’s jealousy. It took her a long time to understand how a person could be jealous of a sister-in-law, yet there was something about Etel that Anna could never quite get comfortable with. She had a silent, severe way about her that made Anna wary. When Etel did speak, her words were often harsh, and usually correct.
Since the Pearl Harbor attack, the government had restricted the number of people the circus was allowed to employ, and the labour shortage had driven wages through the roof. Where before the war the F-F employed over fifteen hundred men and women and drew trains of 130 cars, they now employed barely nine hundred people and drew eighty-five cars.
Because of their late arrival and the extra work necessary to erect the big top, both András and Salvo were exhausted for the next day’s matinee. They spent the hours before showtime attempting to sleep, but the bustle and noise of the circus proved too much, and they emerged from the railcar bleary-eyed and irritable.
It was going to be another hot day. The lot they were playing in was smaller than usual, size having been sacrificed for proximity to rail lines. The big top stood in the back of the lot, enclosed by woods on three sides. On the street side of the main tent was the midway and the sideshow tents, as well as various hot-dog and soda tents. The red wagons that sold tickets were parked in various strategic locations. Directly beside the big top was the animal menagerie, where beasts of all ilk resided.
For this season the F-F had mounted a modified three-ring circus. In the middle of the big top was a large ring, floored with sawdust, flanked on either side by stages raised three feet off the ground. Here the clowns and riders and various other earthbound acts performed. On the far ends of the performance area were two caged rings, where the dangerous-animal acts took place. These animals were brought in and out of the rings through two barred chutes that ran from each ring to the exterior of the tent. The elephants, camels and other more docile performing animals were brought in through the main entrance.
The matinee was a sell out, and many were turned away, told to come back for the evening show or the next day. It was stifling inside the big top, people everywhere fanning themselves with programs. To squinted eyes, the stands looked like the fluttering feathers of some giant bird. Some people bought Cokes or lemonade from the vendors, others smuggled in their own drinks. In the front of one of the bleacher sections, a group of nurses had bought a block of tickets and the women came fresh off their shift, white uniforms standing out amongst the crowd.
The show started late, there being some confusion between the general manager and the ringmaster regarding the order of the acts. Normally the cat act was near the end of the show, directly before the Ursaris went on, but their trainer had asked to have the act moved up, claiming that the heat made it difficult for him to get his cats to respond. As a result the cat act and the elephant ballet were switched, much to Salvo’s consternation. He avoided the elephants as much as possible and usually didn’t have to see them while in the big top, but now there would be no way to miss them. He hated the elephant ballet. It was ridiculous, he thought. Elephants in giant tutus were paraded around the ring, appearing to dance, when in fact it was the band who was playing to the elephants’ movements. People didn’t seem to mind; the elephant ballet was one of the more popular acts in the F-F show that year. Salvo could not understand why Emil would allow his beloved elephants to be presented so foolishly.
The Ursari troupe climbed to the platform as the ballet started, and Salvo tried to ignore both his fatigue and the elephants below, wishing hard to be on the wire soon. Salvo was the first to the top, followed by András and Margit. Anna was next, though she would not be going on the wire today. She was not ready to perform in public, and Salvo felt she would learn more on the platform than she would on the ground. Besides, her hands were needed to help with harnesses and bicycles and balancing poles. The girls and János were on the ground, being looked after by one of the other performer’s wives. Though it took him to a moment to figure out what was wrong, Salvo realized that Etel was not on the platform.
“Where’s Etel?’ he asked András.
He shrugged, looking down the ladder. “There’s a little time. Maybe she had to use the toilet.”
Afraid that she would not make it back in time, Salvo began revamping the act in his head. He dismissed his efforts moments later; as the elephant ballet ended, he spotted Etel beginning the climb to the platform. He picked up his balancing pole and waited for the band to play him onto the wire.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glint, a streak of light, but he had by then achieved the rapt concentration needed for walking and paid it no heed. As he stepped onto the wire he heard a commotion from the far end of the tent, and behind him he heard András shout to him.
“Come back, Salvo. The big top is on fire.”
Salvo turned his head and saw a line of fire shoot across the canvas, travelling fast. He pivoted around and leapt back onto the platform.
“My God,” Anna said. “This can’t be happening.”
Below, the audience seemed stunned. People sat in their seats, as if refusing to believe that they were in danger. A few got up and ran to the exits, mainly those in the direct vicinity of the fire, but most people stayed where they were, as though they expected the fire to be put out and the show to continue.
The fire spread with a terrifying speed. What the crowd did not know was that the canvas of the big top was waterproofed with a mixture of gasoline and paraffin. It kept the rain out, but it burned fast and hot.
Etel was the first down the ladder, followed by Margit, András and then Anna. Salvo was last, having debated whether to try and save one of the bicycles. He too had underestimated the fire’s speed. Once on the ground he looked up and saw flames on the portion of canvas directly above the wire. He felt as though standing in front of an oven door.
The fire had started on the side wall of the tent, an area not waterproofed. It had been slow to spread, and several ushers had attempted without success to beat it out. In their haste to finish the job the night before, no one had set out the fire extinguishers. Once the ushers realized that the fire could not be subdued, they set about pulling down the side wall so that the fire would not spread to the rest of the big top. They were not quick enough. A small spark of flame had ignited the treated canvas and all was lost.
It took precious minutes for people to realize that the big top was burning. All at once they swarmed towards the exits, finding them clogged with like-minded individuals. Panic ensued. Salvo saw one man fighting his way through the crowd, punching men and women and children indiscriminately until he lost his footing and went down under the throng. Some people, knowing they were trapped and unable to go forward, instead went up the bleachers and jumped the fifteen feet down to the ground, only to find their escape thwarted. The bottom of the tent was staked firmly into the ground to prevent people from sneaking in. No one had ever considered people getting out. Those who had pocket knives sliced slits in the tent. This worked for some, but not all; in certain sections the side walls were supported by a grid of iron rails that were nearly impossible to squeeze through.
The ringmaster pleaded over the PA for people to leave their seats in an orderly fashion, but if anyone heard him no one heeded his words. The band didn’t move and had begun to play “The Stars and Stripes,” a circus code for disaster.
Cole Fisher-Fielding had not been under the big top when the fire started. He was out at the red wagons checking on the day’s receipts when the alarm was raised. Once he realized the big top was on fire, he ordered the side walls torn down. Workers rushed to comply but were prevented by the crowd. The pressure of people against the rails made it impossible to lower them, and the people in front were being crushed by those behind. In a few places they finally succeeded, but it was not enough.
Salvo held Anna tightly by the arm. He knew that if he let go of her they would be separated by the crowd, and if one of them fell they would be trampled. He did not know where Etel and Margit and András were. He had lost sight of them as soon as they reached the ground.
It was obvious to Salvo that there was no way to get out of any of the main exits. To even attempt it was out of the question. Directly in front of them, people were being ground into the bars of the animal chute. The noise was deafening, and he could feel the full heat of the fire. He looked at Anna and saw that the exposed skin on her neck had blistered.
They forced their way through the throng to one of the steel rings and climbed up the bars. A few people saw what his idea was, and some of them followed him. They made their way towards the chute, intending to crawl along its roof and out of the tent. Salvo hoped that there were no cats in the chute.
They reached the chute, and pushing Anna ahead of him, Salvo looked towards the exit. It was mayhem; people were screaming, pushing, shouting, and the roof of the big top was nearly completely engulfed in flame. The big top had become a furnace, sucking cool air in the sides of the tent and up to the roof, where it became superheated.
András had pulled Margit and Etel in the opposite direction. He briefly considered scaling the other animal chute, but the fire had burned hotter there and the bars were too hot to touch. He opted instead to try for one of the exits near where the fire had started. When people had seen the fire, they had instinctively gone in the opposite direction, which was partly why they were being crushed over where Salvo was, but this impulse afforded András, Margit and Etel a greater chance of escape. If they could run the gauntlet of the flames, they would be able to pass through the exit relatively easily.
They ran as fast as they could, first Etel, then Margit, then András. When they were halfway to the exit, one of the sections of bleachers collapsed, sending chairs raining down on them. András was knocked to the ground, and when he got up he saw Etel lying in front of him, unconscious. He picked her up and continued towards the exit. He did not know that his shirt was on fire, and he could not see Margit.
Outside, Cole Fisher-Fielding could tell that the big top was about to come down. The canvas itself had not burned through yet, the fire still feeding on the flammable waterproofing. Once the support rigging that held the canvas aloft burned, the canvas would fall as a sheet of fire. Then Cole heard someone shout that the fire had spread to the menagerie. The animals were trapped. He knew the trainers would rush to the menagerie right away, but he himself did not budge from his task of trying to help people through the side walls. People came before animals.
Inside, the fire had spread to the ground. The chairs and seat wagons, thick with years of coats of paint, ignited quickly and burned hot. Salvo and Anna were nearly out, three-quarters of the way down the chute. Its barred roof was seven feet off the ground, and they scuttled across it as though climbing a horizontal ladder. The cries of those pressed against the bars of the chute were drowned out by the roar of the fire and the commotion of the crowd. Salvo wanted to help those trapped, but there was nothing he could do. If he tried to pull them up onto the roof, he himself could be pulled down.
A hand grabbed his foot, he shook it free. Then, suddenly, a child’s face was in front of him. He looked down to see a young woman, trapped against the bars, holding the child up to him. Without thinking he took the child, a boy, maybe five years old. There was nothing he could do for the mother. He continued, close behind Anna. He was slowed by the boy, losing the use of one hand, and Anna got further ahead of him, and then she reached the end of the chute. Here the canvas was secured to the metal of the chute with rope-ties. Anna loosened the knots and squeezed under the canvas to freedom. Salvo was seconds behind her. Holding the boy like a sack of potatoes he breached the tent and fell to the ground.
He got up and ran away from the tent, catching up to Anna. He collapsed to the ground beside her and looked back, just as the fiery canvas descended upon those still inside. The boy in his arms was crying. The menagerie must be on fire also, he thought, mistaking the screams of humans for the trumpeting of elephants.
András had emerged from the tent, moments earlier, and he quickly saw that Margit had not made it. He carried Etel to safety and, finally realizing that his shirt was on fire, dropped to the ground and rolled, tearing the shirt from his body. He smelled burning flesh, unsure if it was his own. People ran by, some trailing flames, others untouched by the fire. Ten feet from him a man lay unconscious, smouldering.
András struggled to his feet, summoning strength to go back into the tent. He suspected that Margit had been felled when the chairs toppled on them, and that she could be lying just inside, maybe under a chair. People were streaming out of the exit, and as he attempted to go in someone bumped into him, sending him flying. When he got up he saw Margit being helped out by a man in a sailor suit. He ran up to her, helping the sailor lift her to a safe distance.
“I called to you,” she said, “and you ran past me.” She passed out, her ankle jutting to one side, broken.
Cole Fisher-Fielding was still trying to get more people out when the big top had collapsed. A shroud of flame descended on those still inside, intensifying and then silencing the cries of the trapped. It had been only twelve minutes since the fire had started, and it was all over. A singed giraffe ran by him, falling down awkwardly. Cole ran over to the menagerie, hoping something of use could be done there.
Most of the animals were still locked in their cages. Elephants, zebras, camels, lions, panthers, giraffes, gnus, deer, ostriches, horses, apes—they were all still inside. The elephants that were in the ballet had been saved, and the giraffe Cole had seen had somehow managed to jump out of its enclosure, but the rest were trapped. Handlers worked furiously to get the animals out. Some of the elephants obeyed their trainers and went through the flames, but many of the other animals refused to be moved, stubbornly afraid. One old elephant, startled and disoriented, ripped the arm off a man who was trying to lead it to safety. The beast remained in the elephant pen, its trunk wrapped around the dismembered limb, and not even Emil Narwha could convince it to come out. Several of the dangerous cats were pulled to safety, their cages mounted on wheels and easily rolled free of the fire. A pygmy hippopotamus knew enough to submerge itself in its pool, and if the water didn’t boil, Cole thought, she would probably survive.
Cole and the animal handlers worked as fast and as long as they could. When scraps of canvas began to fall, igniting the straw on the ground, he ordered everyone out of the menagerie. One man who worked with the apes wept without shame as his animals burned. Emil Narwha had to be forcibly restrained to prevent him from going back in after his remaining elephants, but he broke free of his captors and bolted into the tent. He never came out.
Anna Ursari’s first thought after escaping the big top was for Mika and Elsabeth. She was so concerned for their safety that it was a long time before she even noticed that Salvo carried a wailing boy in his arms, and even then she didn’t pay this much heed until they had located the girls, safe in the care of their circus guardian.
When fire crews arrived there was little they could do to save anyone. Later they began the grim task of recovering bodies. This fire was not like a normal fire. Usually, people died of smoke inhalation. Here, they were roasted alive. More than one veteran firefighter could be seen retching at the edge of the woods. It was even worse in the makeshift morgue; people attempting to identify the bodies of loved ones were forced to hold perfumed handkerchiefs to their faces.
In total, 112 people and fifty animals died. The sound of gunfire could be heard from the area where the animals had been moved. Salvo saw one elephant, its skin half peeled from its flanks, being led in the direction of the shots, and several minutes later he heard three successive blasts of a rifle. He felt sorry for the creature and would never again look at an elephant with hatred in his heart. Salvo did not yet know that his friend Emil was dead. When he found out hours later, he would collapse to the ground, his hands beating futilely at the trampled earth.
András and Etel were at a ramshackle infirmary, receiving treatment for their wounds. Margit had been taken to the hospital to have her ankle set, and would undoubtedly wait there for quite a while, as her injury was not life-threatening. Etel had a large bruise on her head, and she, András and Anna all had minor burns and blisters. Salvo was the only one of them who had managed to escape unscathed; not a hair on his body was harmed.
The same was true of their rescued boy. After seeing that the others were being attended to, Salvo took the boy around to the various aid stations and meeting places that had sprung up. He hoped he would be able to find someone who knew the boy’s family. He had little hope of finding his mother. Already they had begun to bring bodies out of the area where the chute had been.
The boy could be of little help. Aside from his name, which was Daniel, he didn’t or couldn’t say much. He didn’t appear to know the names of either of his parents, or his last name, or where he lived. Salvo supposed the boy was in shock and assumed that he would remember this information later. Either way, he was unsuccessful in locating anyone who knew the child, and he didn’t want to take him to the police. He had saved this child, and it was his responsibility to see that he ended up in the proper place. Where that was, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t trust the police here any more than he had in Budapest, and he wasn’t about to just hand the boy over. This was, however, exactly what Anna thought they should do.
“He is not our child,” she said, when he returned.
“What would you have me do?”
“He must have parents.”
Salvo looked at Daniel, who was fast asleep on the floor. “I think they are not alive.”
Anna swallowed. “He is not our responsibility.”
Salvo nodded, but they both knew that he was.
Elsewhere, Cole Fisher-Fielding was attempting to ascertain the extent of the disaster. He did not yet know exactly how many people had been killed or injured, but he knew that there had been nearly ten thousand people under the big top that afternoon, and he knew that a significant number of them hadn’t got out. So far, he hadn’t heard whether anyone from the circus had been killed in addition to Emil Narwha. Not everyone was yet accounted for, but many were, a consolation that did little to alleviate his worry. He knew that there would be tough questions in the days ahead, and that things were going to get worse before they got better. He also knew this was very likely the end of the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company.
THE F-F WAS IMPOUNDED—neither performer nor equipment nor animal permitted to leave town. After extensive interviewing and an exhaustive investigation, the cause of the fire was still unknown. Arson was suspected, and the women’s toilet area was assumed to be the starting point, but investigators had no solid evidence and no suspects. Soon their questioning turned to those who ran the show. Where were the fire extinguishers? Why weren’t there sufficient exits? Most importantly, why had the big top burned so quickly?
When they learned that there had been no extinguishers, the men whose responsibility it was to set them out were arrested on charges of criminal negligence. When they learned that the canvas of the big top had been waterproofed with paraffin and gasoline, they arrested Cole Fisher-Fielding on the same charge. He protested; the F-F had applied to the army for permission to use non-flammable waterproofing and had been refused. Materials were in short supply, and military needs took precedence over the circus.
The Ursaris could not believe what was happening.
“I do not understand,” András said, “how these Americans can drop bombs like that on Japan and hold no one responsible, but for this accident they will put an old man in jail.”
“It is as always,” Salvo answered. “People want someone to blame.”
“Cole Fisher-Fielding did not start the fire,” Anna said.
“People are angry,” Salvo said. “Their anger will lessen, and they will let Mr. Fisher-Fielding go.”
Etel looked up from her seat on the floor of the railcar. “It burned so fast.”
No one spoke. After a while Anna picked up Mika and Elsabeth and left for the cookhouse. Salvo and Daniel stayed behind for a bit, then followed.
Etel stayed in her place on the floor, saying nothing. No one had yet noticed that she hadn’t smoked a single cigarette since the fire. András was lost in his own thoughts, János asleep on the bed.
When Anna and Salvo returned to the railcar, Margit was back from the hospital. She had been there a week with her broken ankle. She was packing her suitcase, hastily throwing her meagre belongings into it.
“Margit, be reasonable,” András implored.
“There is no reason to you. You left me to die. I want no part of you any more.”
“I did not know you had fallen.” András tried to place a hand on her arm, but she pulled it away.
“You never looked to see. I watched you. You fall, get up, look only for Etel, run right by me.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“I called out. I screamed loud as loud can be. You did not turn.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“No, you did not want to see or hear me. You made your choice, András. You left me to die. You are dead to me.” She threw her suitcase out the door and hobbled past him.
“Margit—” Salvo began.
“I will go with you no more, Salvo Ursari. Thank you for all you have done for me in the past, but I go with you no more.”
“What about János?” Anna said. “He is your son.”
Margit looked at the boy, appearing as though she might soften or even break her resolve. Then her face hardened. “Very little of him has anything to do with me. He is his father’s son. Let him bear this.” She continued out the door.
“Go after her, András,” Anna said.
András did not move.
“András?” Salvo said.
“Yes.”
“She is leaving.”
“Yes.” András’s voice broke.
“Aren’t you going to go after her?” Anna asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she is right.” András turned to face the wall. “I did not see her. But if I had, I would have done what she accuses me of.” He would not look at them. His shoulders shook, but he made no sound. Salvo and Anna backed out of the railcar, children in tow.
They went to a shady section of grass and let the four children play. Salvo sat leaning against a tree, and Anna rested her weight on his side, her head on his shoulder.
“If I went, would you come after me?” she asked.
Mika laughed as Daniel threw a handful of grass into the air. Elsabeth was sniffing the earth like a dog, and János the baby lay on his back staring up at the sky, gurgling contentedly.
“You would never go,” Salvo answered, finally.
“No,” she said, “I wouldn’t.”
They learned the next day that Margit had gone to Los Angeles with one of the vendors. They were both charged with obstruction of justice, as performers were under orders not to leave town, but the charges were eventually dropped.
TWO MONTHS AFTER THE FIRE, the trial of Cole Fisher-Fielding began. Three others, the men whose responsibility it had been to set out the fire extinguishers, had already been found guilty, receiving jail sentences ranging from six months to two years. It seemed certain that Cole would be acquitted; he had papers proving that his request for the non-flammable waterproofing had been refused, as well as a certificate of inspection from the city’s permit office. He had broken no laws, his lawyers asserted, and therefore was guilty of no crime.
It had taken a month for officials to complete their investigation, at which time the F-F was permitted to leave town. Some people wanted to disband to winter quarters, to lay up the show, but Cole knew that if this happened, the chances of it ever starting up again were slim to none. It would be difficult to keep going; they had no big top to play under, and many of the acts had lost some if not all of their equipment. The reputation of the F-F was severely tarnished, and the only way to repair it was to show people something good.
Cole called in every outstanding favour owed him, made some promises of his own and managed to scrounge up enough gear to keep the show touring. There was no time to get a new big top made, and even if there was, there would still be no adequate way to waterproof it, so Cole booked the F-F into arenas and halls in a much-scaled-down version. The important thing was that the show stay on the road. He only wished he could accompany it. He left his nephew Martin in charge, instructing him to watch out for Norris. If the Spouses could, they would use the tragedy as an excuse to seize control of the circus.
The first two days of his trial went well. There was no real evidence against him, and it was fairly clear to those in the room that some scapegoating was taking place. On the third day, however, things took a turn for the worse.
Added at the last minute as a witness for the prosecution was Norris Fisher-Fielding. Reporters scribbled furiously, and people whispered to each other. Cole’s lawyers looked at each other, puzzled.
Norris took the stand calmly. When he spoke his voice was soft, and for the majority of his testimony he came across as a reluctant witness, offering nothing incriminating against Cole, let alone damning.
The prosecuting lawyer chose that moment to make it clear why he had called Norris.
“Mr. Fisher-Fielding, let me ask you this. To the best of your knowledge, had the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company made any inquiries with any private companies concerning the availability of non-flammable waterproofing?”
Norris swallowed, appearing nervous, and mumbled, “Yes.”
“Could you speak up, sir?”
“Yes.”
“And what was the result of this inquiry?”
“It was determined that it would be possible to purchase this waterproofing from a private interest.”
“And was this done?”
“No.”
“Why is that?”
“It was determined to be too expensive.”
Cole’s lawyers scrambled, demanding that Norris provide proof of this statement, which he could not, but the damage was done. Closing arguments were made, and the jury went into deliberations. The trial was over.
Free on bail, Cole returned to his hotel. He was freezing cold but sweating profusely, and had been experiencing a shooting pain in his arm all day. As he climbed the stairs to his room, he keeled over, clutching at his chest.
He was rushed to the hospital in one of the ambulances that had removed the injured from the circus lot. Doctors worked frantically to save him, and though he was twice pronounced dead, he managed to survive. He had suffered a massive heart attack and would be in the hospital for some time.
The next day the jury delivered a guilty verdict. Cole was sentenced to three years’ imprisonment. Because of his health the sentence was commuted, but nonetheless Cole was now a convicted felon. He knew that his days of running the F-F were over; the Respectables would never vote him in again.
He was correct. An emergency vote was held, and Norris was elected interim president of the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company. When Martin told him the outcome, Cole wept openly. Three weeks later he died.
The Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza was playing in Sacramento when they received the news. Norris refused to allow the flags to be lowered to half mast, and forbade the ringmaster to announce his uncle’s passing. He could not silence the performers, however. The Ursaris performed in black and carried an empty chair across the wire. The band played Cole’s favourite songs. The whole circus came to a halt for an entire three minutes, paying silent tribute to the passing of the last of the original Fisher-Fieldings and the last great showman of the American circus. Then the show went on.
IT BECAME CLEAR TO ANNA that if Daniel had any memory of his life before the fire, it was not going to resurface any time soon. Beyond his own name, the boy seemed to have little awareness of anything. He was a good-natured child, kind to Elsabeth and Mika, who had taken to him immediately. It was not that Anna did not like this boy; she simply didn’t feel that he belonged with them.
“He isn’t our child,” she said, many times.
“Whose child is he?” Salvo answered.
“That’s not the point. Someone might be looking for him.”
“No one is looking. His picture was in the paper. No one came forward.”
“We aren’t responsible for him.”
“I took him from his mother’s arms. I am responsible.”
“We cannot keep him.”
This was how this discussion ended every time they had it. But they never gave him away. Anna knew Salvo would never agree to it, and Salvo knew she would never do it without his agreement. Anna pronounced judgment knowing nothing would come of it. Daniel was soon as much a member of their family as anyone.
An orphan in the circus was never an orphan. Children ran in packs like dogs, toddlers were herded like sheep. So it was with János; when Margit left, János was not allowed to suffer his mother’s absence. Etel picked up the majority of the maternal duties, but while the troupe performed, the children were in capable hands. The Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza could be a lonely place for adults, but it was never such for children.
If Norris Fisher-Fielding could have found a way to keep the performers’ children at home, he would have done so. He felt that there was no place for children in the circus, a view seen as antithetical and tyrannical by most, if not all, of the F-F staff. In addition to this affront, Norris set about removing many of Cole’s signature acts, a seeming attempt to erase his nemesis’s mark upon the show.
One of the first acts to get the axe was the elephant ballet. Though Salvo had never liked it, he was sorry to see it go, knowing that the people who came to the show had enjoyed it, and having reversed his position on the loathsomeness of elephants in general. He had seen them in pain during the fire, just as people had been, and somehow their mutual pain had made them less threatening. He missed his friend Emil Narwha, who was perhaps the only real friend he had ever had, and so did the elephants. Their grief was shared. Even Salvo could tell.
Had Salvo thought more about himself and less about the elephants, he might have realized that the Ursari act was in jeopardy. They had been discovered by Cole, championed by Cole, and Salvo had been a good friend to the man. In addition, Anna’s roundabout relation to Norris and spurning of his romantic intentions, only to marry a lowly performer, had left him with little love for her.
Anna had seen this fallout coming and had tried to warn Salvo, but he had not listened. He believed that the act was all that mattered, and he knew people still loved it, so he was disinclined to fully appreciate how precarious their situation was.
Then, just when the indoor dates were beginning to draw crowds again, Norris made a move that surprised everyone and likely made Cole roll over in his grave. With a full month and a half left in the season, Norris ordered the Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza back to winter quarters in Florida. They were done for the year. This was in reaction to a recent court decision ordering the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company to pay restitution to the victims of the fire, a sum totalling nearly five million dollars. Norris argued that it would bankrupt the circus, a claim no one believed. In an effort to back up his claim, Norris ordered the circus off the road.
Salvo hated Florida. He hated the heat, hated sitting around for weeks at a time without performing. The others looked forward to the break, but for Salvo it was like going to jail.
In an effort to talk Norris out of an early hiatus, he went to see him in his private railcar. Norris beckoned him in, his face cold. “I’m afraid I have no choice,” he said after hearing Salvo’s request. “But I’m glad you came. I was going to send for you anyway.”
“Why?” Salvo asked, not liking the tone in Norris’s voice or the slow sneer that had crept across his face.
“Mr. Ursari, it is my unfortunate task to inform you that the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company is releasing you from your contract at this time.”
Salvo was stunned. “We’re fired?”
“If you want to put it that way, then yes, you’re fired.”
“What for?”
“You act is not what it once was. It has become stale.”
“That is a lie.”
“I assure you, Mr. Ursari, it is not. But, further to that, there has been some suspicion among my police staff regarding your sister’s involvement in the fire, and—”
“What?” Salvo staggered back, unable to believe what he had heard.
“We have reason to believe that she may have been the one who started the fire.”
“That is a lie.”
“Is it? She was seen in the area where the fire started only moments earlier, is known to be a smoker and has been described by others as somewhat suspicious.”
“None of this proves anything.”
“No, it doesn’t. That is why I have not passed this information on to the federal investigators, and why I do not intend to unless you provide me with no alternative. I would hate to think what an accusation of this kind would do to your family, be it substantiated or otherwise.” Norris opened a lacquered wooden box that sat on the table beside him and removed a cigar. He clipped the tip and lit it, taking a tentative puff.
“This is not right,” Salvo said, his mouth dry.
“I am afraid I have no other choice. Let me say, for the record, that your contract is not being renewed because of the poor quality of your act. The fire has had no bearing on this decision. That is for the record. Off the record, let me tell you the following: As long as I am head of the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company, no Ursari will set foot under a roof my show is in, let alone perform in one. My cousin was a fool to get involved with your kind, and I will see no more harm come to my interests as a result of you.”
Salvo was speechless. He stood there, unable to move, unable to speak.
“Our business here is completed. Please be off the lot in a maximum of twenty-four hours. Keep in mind that you are being watched closely. Good day.” Norris rose from his chair, motioning towards the door.
As Salvo walked back to his railcar, he tried to understand what had just happened. He knew that Anna had been right, that Norris was out to ruin them. But he didn’t know what to make of Norris’s accusation that Etel had started the fire.
What he remembered frightened him. Etel had been late for that performance. And she had been at the women’s outhouse, where the fire had apparently started. And how many times had he seen Etel throw a cigarette onto the ground? A sickening feeling turned in his stomach. He knew that if Etel had started the fire, it would have been on purpose. He knew that with the rapt attention she always paid to fire there was no room for accident.
Still, he did not believe she would be capable of arson. She would not have done such a despicable thing, he told himself. She had no reason to. But a tiny part of him was not sure. A fragment admitted that it was possible that his own sister had burned the Fisher-Fielding big top to the ground.
He needed to talk to Anna. She would know what to do. He quickened his pace and leapt up the three steps into their railcar. Inside, Etel and András sat huddled around Anna. Anna was clutching a piece of paper, and her eyes were wet and red.
“What is wrong?” he asked, wondering if they knew his news already.
Anna rushed to him, tears flowing freely.
“Her father is dead,” András said softly.
Salvo comforted her as best he could, but he had a hard time remaining focused on his task. Eventually, he released her and took András by the arm, ushering him outside. “I will be only a moment,” he said. Anna nodded.
“She seems very upset over a man who disowned her,” András said when they were outside.
“She loved him,” Salvo answered. He tried to think of a way to tell András what had happened, what had been said. He could think of no way to soften the blow. “We have been fired.” The words seemed alien and incomprehensible.
András said nothing. The sentence simply did not register.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes. We are fired.” András kicked lightly at the ground.
“They say the act is no good.”
András shook his head. “How can they say that?”
“There is more,” Salvo said.
“The act is good, no matter what Norris Fisher-Fielding says.” András remembered the crowds, how they had cheered for them. He knew there was nothing wrong with the act. They would find work elsewhere.
Salvo exhaled sharply. “They say Etel may have started the fire.”
András’s jaw clenched, his face hardening. “Who says that?”
“Norris Fisher-Fielding, for one. Is it true?” Salvo’s voice was tentative. He did not know if he could bear the question’s answer.
András grabbed Salvo by his shirt. His face was inches from Salvo’s. “Do not ask me that. She is our sister. She would do no kind of thing. How do you even think to ask if she would?” He could feel the blood pounding in his temples.
“I’m sorry.” And he was. But he had to ask. There had been no choice.
“You should not even think such things. She is our sister.” András released Salvo and backed away. It was all he could do to contain his rage.
“Norris says he will not tell the police what he thinks. He is a powerful man, and if he said that Etel started the fire, it would not matter if she did or not.”
“There is no if. She did not.” Like the snapping of a twig, András’s anger gave way to a sob.
Salvo knew he must be strong, or else they would both be in tears. Others were depending on them to keep things together. “Yes. But we must leave the Fisher-Fielding.”
“Where will we go?”
Salvo shrugged. “I don’t know.”
AFTER MUCH DISCUSSION IT WAS DECIDED that they would go to New York. András and Etel would go first, and Salvo and Anna would join them after attending Arthur Simpson’s funeral in Ottawa. Many people who Salvo had thought did not like them came to wish them well, many saying that they thought it was a travesty that they were being let go. No one spoke of the suspicions surrounding Etel, if they even knew of them. Etel knew nothing of the allegations; András had made Salvo promise not to tell her. He said nothing to Anna, either. She was under enough stress as it was.
Arthur Simpson’s funeral was an elaborate affair. Anna refused to sit at the front of the church with her brothers. Instead, she sat at the back by herself.
“Please, come in with me,” she had asked, nearly begged Salvo before entering the church. And though Salvo desperately wanted to help her, to be with her when she needed him, he could not bring himself to cross through the door.
“I cannot,” he said, pulling her close. “God is not welcome in my house, and I am not welcome in His. That is our arrangement.”
“God did not kill your parents,” Anna said. Salvo did not argue with her. Now was not the time. He released her from his embrace and held her hand.
“Once God came to a village. He was very tired, and a Rom and his wife invited Him to stay the night. God slept well and awoke refreshed, grateful to the Rom and his wife for their hospitality. And He said to the wife, ‘You have been kind to let me stay in your house, so when you die you will come and stay in heaven with me.’
“To the Rom, He said He would grant three wishes. The Rom chose his wishes carefully. ‘For my first wish, I want that anyone who sits in my chair has to stay there until I say they can get up. For my second wish, I want that anyone I tell to get into my iron pot must do so. Finally, I want that wherever I lay my coat, no one can make me move from that place.’
“Well, God thought these to be strange wishes, but He had made His promise to the Rom so He granted each in turn. The Rom lived a good long time, but eventually the angel of death came to take him. ‘Please allow me to say goodbye to my wife first,’ the Rom said. ‘You can sit in my chair while I do so.’ The angel of death sat in his chair, and found he could not get up again.
“ ‘Let me live until my wife dies, and I will let you go,’ the Rom said to the angel. The angel agreed, and the man lived another twenty years. Three days after his wife died, the devil came to see him.
“ ‘I have heard you are sly, Rom,’ said the devil. ‘But now you must come with me.’ The Rom smiled. ‘Yes, I will come with you gladly. But first you must get into my iron pot.’ And the devil found himself doing exactly that. When the Rom placed the lid on the pot, the devil became frightened and cried out. ‘Let me out, and I will leave you be forever!’
“The Rom let the devil out, and in another three days the angel of death returned for him. He took the Rom down to hell, but the devil refused to let him in. So the angel of death took him to heaven. But God wouldn’t let him in. ‘Just let me have a quick peek,’ the Rom pleaded. ‘My good wife is in there.’ So God opened the gates of heaven a crack. The Rom threw his coat inside, and because of His promise, God had to admit the Rom, and there he still resides with his wife.”
Anna smiled slightly. “Does this mean you’ll come inside?”
Salvo shook his head. “No. But I will not be far away. I will wait right here.”
He released her hand, and she entered the church. Salvo watched as the doors closed and the funeral began, and he wished he could have gone inside. Anna deserved that much.
ARTHUR SIMPSON HAD BEEN TRUE to his word, and Anna was not mentioned in his will. Her half-brothers, however unable to stand up to their father while he was alive, resolved to defy him in death. They each gave her a portion of their own inheritance; while it was not as large as the share she would have originally received, it was a noble gesture on their part. They presented her with a trust substantial enough to provide her with a modest annual income, as well as forty acres of land in British Columbia’s Fraser Valley that had been purchased during Prohibition for its proximity to the American border. In addition, they left her their one-seventh of one-seventh share in the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company, even though she had no Fisher-Fielding blood in her. Their share was worth little now, the circus all but bankrupt, but it was a symbolic gesture. Unlike their father, they did not look down upon Anna’s husband, or her lifestyle. In a way, they admired her. It was for this reason that Anna accepted their gift. If she had for a second thought it was given out of pity, she would have refused it.
When they arrived in New York, Salvo immediately set about attempting to find work with another circus. He found none; the Fisher-Fielding had been the biggest and best circus around, and the industry was hurting, not only as a result of the fire. Since the end of the war no one had been going to the circus, and it appeared as though the days of the big top were numbered. Where ten years ago there would have been work, now there was none.
Salvo despaired. He hated New York, hated the bustle, everyone in a hurry, everyone looking miserable. When Anna suggested that they go and live on their land in Canada, though, he initially refused.
“I am a Rom,” he said. “We are not farmers.”
“You are many things. And you don’t have to farm if you don’t want to.”
“András and Etel will not come.”
“Then they can stay here.”
Salvo was quiet. Anna took his hand. “This city is no place to raise children. We’ve always done what you wanted. But the circus is over. I want us to do this. We need a new start.”
Salvo could not refuse her. He didn’t want to go, but he would. He owed Anna that much. When he told András and Etel, they didn’t understand, and he couldn’t explain it to them. János cried as they left, and Salvo’s brother and sister waved goodbye stonily. He did not think they would see each other again soon.
After they boarded the train, Salvo began to feel a little better. He let Daniel sit on his lap and look out the window. The further west they went, the flatter things got, until they began to climb into mountains. He remembered his journey from Transylvania to Budapest twenty-six years earlier. These mountains were much higher.
They arrived at night. It was cold, and they were tired and hungry. It was all Salvo could do to get a fire started in the wood stove that would heat their small farmhouse. Daniel cried all night, and Salvo and Anna took turns forsaking the warmth of their bed to comfort him. Near dawn, on his way back to sleep, Salvo looked out the window and saw their land for the first time. It stretched around the house, a large barn on one side, the rest open field. The hayfields reminded him of the fields of his boyhood, and although he would later be unable to recapture whatever it had been that made the two places seem similar, he would always recall thinking it was very possible that he was finally home.