An extraordinary calm and clarity overcame Lucía on the transatlantic voyage back to New York: it was as if the choppy waters had shaken the pervasive gloom out of her and the salt air had dried her tears for a lifetime. She missed Zoila’s tender care, but she also reveled in the freedom afforded by Mrs. Uffner’s negligence and she gloated about the fact that her father was traveling in steerage, forbidden from her shipshape accommodations above.
For the first time in her life, Lucía was without a chaperone. She asked her steward to carry her into the elegant teak tea room where she chatted with the ladies traveling in first class. They became quick friends and, within days, each one of them was openly competing for Lucía’s attention. By the time their ship passed the French steamer Isère on their entry into New York harbor on June 17, 1885, the ladies couldn’t wait to tell her all about the disassembled Statue of Liberty that the Isère carried on board. They applauded Lucía when she relayed to them facts about the Statue of Liberty, learned from her godmother Zoila, and she awed them by saying she’d seen the statue’s torch-bearing arm in 1876 when it was displayed at the Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia, where she made her American debut.
Lucía liked the sound of her voice opining on adult matters such as these. She was mining a fortune of information that Zoila had imparted during ten years of her tutelage. Zoila had not only given her a high-caliber education that enabled Lucía to hold her own among the ladies; she’d also taught her to read people’s intentions with a degree of suspicion. Consequently, when Mr. Uffner seemed overeager to please her as soon as they returned to his ramshackle house in New York, she trusted her cautious instinct.
“Lucía, you know your act has to change now that you’re solo, right?”
Lucía nodded and waited for the other shoe to drop.
Mr. Uffner cleared his throat. “What would you say about pairing up with a giant?”
“Please tell me what you mean by pairing up?”
“I mean exactly that. I’m gonna pair you with a giant”
“I heard you clearly, but what am I and this giant going to do in the show?”
“You’re going to be your chirpy self and we’ll see how the big guy responds.”
Lucía shook her head. “I’m not comfortable with your loosey-goosey direction this time.”
Frank Uffner’s face flushed and he clamped his jaw. “See here, girlie, you don’t be telling me what we’s gonna do. I’m your manager.”
“And I’m your only talent,” Lucía snapped back. “Everyone else has deserted you and you have many lawsuits pending, am I not correct?”
“What the hell does that have to do with the price of tea in China?’
Zoila had taught Lucía dozens of the American idiomatic expression because she’d always felt at a disadvantage when others stumped her with one of them. So Lucía not only knew what he meant by the tea in China: she knew that she had the upper hand in their revised relationship.
“Frank, you’re …”
“Did I hear a gnat call me by my first name?”
“Yes, Frank. I am now an adult and we are equals. Now, listen to what I propose we do with the giant.”
Frank cupped his ear and leaned in.
“Do you still have contacts with the American press?”
Frank nodded.
“Have them meet us at the museum and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Lucía and Frank arrived early at the museum. Henry Cooper*, the English giant, and his manager were waiting politely. When Frank pulled the manager aside, Lucía asked Henry to stand her on a table so they could talk before the press arrived. Zoila had taught her to always ask people about their families and so she did. Henry beamed, and told her to call him Harry.
“Thank you for asking about me wife and me, luv,” he said. “We’re the proud parents of a seventeen-pound lad.”
“How wonderful! Congratulations, and may your baby live a happy and healthy life.”
Harry smiled and leaned down to whisper. “Beg your pardon, little miss, but my manager says that Mr. Uffner is offering a big amount to have you and me pretend to be engaged. This would hurt my wife’s feelings—but we could use more income. Is Mr. Uffner a man of his word?”
Lucía shook her head. “I am unable to break my contract with Frank; otherwise I would have nothing to do with him or show business.”
“So very sorry to hear that, luv. What do you suggest we do?”
Lucía remembered Zoila telling her about the tactics of the Totonac vanilla growers. They’d approached several of the vanilla traders simultaneously and pitted one against the other until they were offered a higher price for their vanilla pods.
“Why don’t we pretend that we are sweet on each other and then quickly announce we are engaged?” she said. “Then when I ask you if you love me, simply say no. Can you do that? You can tell your wife it was a prank, but the press will report it as if I was left at the altar again and the dime museums will offer you more money… Speak of the devil.”
The journalists stood in front of the giant and released a barrage of questions. Harry froze in front of the press so Lucía rose to the occasion. She sat on the giant’s palm as she’d done in London, only this time she held tight to his sleeve with her right hand.
“As you can see, we are very much in love,” she said, and blew Harry flamboyant kisses with her left hand. “And we have agreed to wed in a couple of days.”
The reporters elbowed each other and snickered at the thought of the giant and Lucía sharing a marital bed. Lucía shook her index finger at them.
“You naughty boys! I know what you’re thinking!”
The reporters burst into laughter. One of them shouted: “You always fall in love, don’t you, Lucía?”
She batted her eyelashes. “Yes, I am a red-blooded señorita. Harry and I are in love and this time will be different. I will not be left at the altar. I will not always be the bridesmaid and never the bride.” She looked up at the giant and winked at him, giving him the clue to the question coming up.
“Don’t you love me, Harry?”
Harry blushed and looked down to the floor.
Lucía’s crocodile tears streamed down her face and she repeated the question, this time pinching the giant’s arm to remind him of his line.
“No,” he said.
The reporters gasped at the giant’s callousness, but rushed out to make their deadlines. People couldn’t read enough about other people’s misery; it was almost as good as witnessing a train wreck. Frank Uffner had witnessed Lucía’s wink at the giant and realized her strategy: he couldn’t wait for the free publicity from the press.
The following morning, newspapers reported the scene:
Mr. Cooper, the Yorkshire giant, broke the heart of Miss Lucía Zárate. This little atom was born in Mexico, January 2, 1863, and weighs four and three-quarter pounds. The little lady is bright and interesting and is inclined to flirt. She at once fell violently in love with the giant, who measures eight feet four in his stockings. The mite first engaged in a fan flirtation, at which she was as adept as a Spanish señorita, but the Yorkshire man proved obdurate. Passionate osculation was next resorted to, but the lymphatic mountain did not respond as cordially as desired and the midget angrily turned away, vehemently protesting in voluble English, which she speaks fluently, that he was “no good.”
Frank Uffner raved about his manipulation of the press. “I’m a genius. I had Fleet Street eating out my hand, and now the New York press is putty in my hands!”
“Frank, don’t forget it was my idea,” Lucía reminded him. “Now tell me where my levée will be held.”
Frank Uffner shuffled his feet. “Uh, actually we’re taking the train to Cleveland right away. We have a month long contract there.”
“But I’m still tired from the Atlantic crossing—”
“Well, you shouldn’t have been rubbing elbows and jabbering away with them rich old ladies on the ship. You shoulda rested.”
“I’m still tired, Frank!” Lucía stamped one little foot.
“Don’t be putting no airs with me, midget!”
Lucía looked over at Señor Zárate, eager for him to intervene on her behalf. “Papá, please tell Frank that I need to rest a few days before we leave for Cleveland. Can’t you think about my health for once?”
Señor Zárate grunted and growled, but said nothing. He was thinking of the money the Cleveland gig might bring him and he could already envision the big hacienda he could soon afford to have constructed on his lands in Mexico.
Mrs. Uffner found the whole exchange hilarious and laughed uncontrollably. “Now that your big guard dog is back in Mexico, you ain’t got nobody, do you Lucía?”
Lucía almost backed down at the sting of Mrs. Uffner’s words, but she soon remembered one of Zoila’s pep talks. Zoila would often say: “You’re tiny but mighty! You’re the star in their sorrowful midst and they can’t live without you!”
Lucía glared at Mrs. Uffner. “You’d better remember that I am the star in this sorrowful midst and that you live…uhm…that you live off of my earnings.”
Now it was Frank Uffner’s turn to laugh. “You’d best do as Lucía’s says, woman. Pack our suitcases and let’s get ready for Cleveland.”
On the train ride to Cleveland Lucía trembled at the whistle she kept hearing, long after the train had left the station. She nudged her father.
“Papá, I hear whistles. Do you think the brujo is following us?”
“What brujo?”
“The brujo from Veracruz who followed us on the first boat to New Orleans. Even Zoila thought she saw him. I swear, Papá, I hear his whistle on this train.”
“It’s probably just the train whistle announcing a stop at the next station. Let me go check.”
After a week of levées in Cleveland, the St. Paul Daily Globe reported a shocking story:
LITTLE ZARATE, THE MEXICAN MITE, STOLEN AND RECOVERED AT CLEVELAND.
A desperate attempt was made last night to abduct Lucía Zárate, the midget now on exhibition at the Dime Museum. Among the recent improvements to the museum building is a stairway leading from the rear of Curiosity Hall to the alley below, intended as a fire escape. From the upper landing of the stairway a door opens into the dressing-room of the midget. Just following her introduction at 8 o’clock and her return to her dressing-room, Manager Frank Uffner stepped out for a cigar. Her father had gone to the Theatorium below. Lucía was alone. When Uffner returned, ten minutes later, he noticed his charge was missing, but felt no uneasiness until he looked out into the hall and saw she was not there. He then noticed that the outside door leading to the fire-escape was open.
Hurriedly throwing it open and looking below he saw two men just leaving the foot of the stairway. Divining they had stolen the Mexican mite, he rushed down and along the alley after them. Before they had gone more than a half a dozen rods the pair of daring abductors dropped a basket in which Uffner found the frightened little Zárate. Two strangers, one a black-whiskered man of thirty-five or forty years of age, with a gypsy countenance, and a younger, smooth-faced, sickly looking man, who were seen in the Theatorium on Monday and Tuesday, are suspected. Zárate commands a salary of $600 per week, and it is supposed the object of her abduction was to secure a heavy ransom for her speedy return. This is the third attempt of the kind to abduct Zárate. An attempt was made to keep the matter quiet, but the facts leaked out to-day.
Frank Uffner could not have asked for more national press about Lucía’s attempted abduction. However, within a matter of days following the event, the crowds stopped coming to her levées. Frank Uffner blamed her low attendance on the fact that now, whenever she appeared before an audience, Lucía seemed nervous.
“Now, look here, Lucía. You cain’t be no scaredy-cat about what happened in Cleveland. Pull yourself by your raggedy, boot straps, girl!”
“I know you put those men up to harming me,” Lucía whispered. “How could you stoop so low and scare me like that?”
“Anytime I deal with you, I gotta stoop real low,” he teased Lucía in an attempt to make her laugh, but she showed no emotion. “First of all, I wish I could’a thought of that stunt, but I didn’t. Second, I thought you and your father hatched the plan to demand a ransom for you from ME.”
Señor Zárate’s ears pricked-up at the mention of “ransom,” and he forecasted that if Lucía were abducted again, Frank Uffner would be forced to pay her kidnappers— namely himself. Señor Zárate salivated as he calculated how he could orchestrate such a devious double-deal.
The silence was deafening among the three. And Lucía knew why. By now, Lucía understood the men’s pathologically egotistical personalities, and she perceived they were both thinking that a fourth kidnapping attempt on her life might somehow be the final solution to her dimming spotlight in the moribund world of sideshows. They were focused on extracting the last bit of money out of her, while she panicked that the brujo had come too close to capturing her for his evil intentions. Neither one of her abductors had uttered a single word; they’d covered her body and thrown her in her basket, so she couldn’t see their faces. She thought she had screamed for help as they descended the fire escape stairs with the agility of a coquero climbing up and down a tall, coconut tree, but no one came to her rescue. As her abductors reached the street level, she heard one of them hum the repetitive refrain from the famous Veracruz song: bamba-bamba, bamba, bamba.
On the journey back to New York for a long stay at the Grand Museum, Menagerie and Moral Theatre, Lucía comforted herself by inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla pods. After their dismissal of her attempted abduction, Lucía had stopped talking to the Uffners and to her father weeks ago. Now she concentrated on how she could ditch them both in New York, while also continuing to earn money to remit to her mother back in Mexico. Lucía had finally reached her breaking point in Cleveland. She was disgusted with the inane schemes Frank Uffner had put into action in the shows in Ohio. She’d particularly objected to his failure of a ploy to give away a diamond ring to anyone whose fingers could fit one of Lucía’s rings. Even the most gullible of yokels figured his chances were nil. Some brought their babies in an effort to win the faux-diamond ring, but as she’d heard a drunk shout out in Cincinnati: “Ain’t nobody gonna fit the diamond ring. Don’t you know Lucía is the smallest woman in the world?”
Recalling that day, Lucía came up with a last-ditch effort to rid herself of the Uffners. She would still need her father’s assistance, but he had never been the alpha dog, and she knew that once she offered him his reward, he would follow her command.
She approached Frank one afternoon as he sat silently reading his newspaper.
“Frank, do you think you could read me the article about Mr. P.T. Barnum from last week?”
“Now, why would I do that?”
“I heard your wife read it aloud to you last week, and you yelled at her to stop reading because your ideas are far superior to Mr. Barnum.”
“Damn right, they is.”
Lucía knew she had to taunt him gently, to make him want to read the article. “Didn’t Mr. Barnum lead his Jumbo elephant across Brooklyn Bridge to prove the sturdiness of the bridge’s engineering?”
“That was a few years back, girl. Why don’t you keep up with the news? That Barnum is saying that the dime museums is dead. Damn liar.”
Lucía found an unlikely ally in her scheme in Mrs. Uffner, who knew how to inflict pain and craved to get even for the years of abuse at the hands of her husband. She hurried off to find the newspaper in question, the New York, Sun article dated March 21, 1886, then stood to read it, word for word and as loud as possible:
Madison Square Garden is quite ready for the opening of P.T. and Co’s. circus. To-day most of the menagerie stock will arrive from the winter quarters at Bridgeport, Conn. The performers have been coming in from all direction during the past week, and there seems to be no reason why the first exhibition, March 29, should not be complete. As usual, the torch-light parade will occur on Saturday night preceding the—
“So the hell what!” Frank Uffner shouted at his wife. “Whoopee, he’s gonna have a torch parade and some jackass beasts …”
“Let me get to the good parts, Frank.” She continued reading:
In the museum department much diversion is expected from an “international congress of giants and giantesses,” in other words, a grouping on platform of all countries, and including such majestic men as Chang, the Chinese giant; Shields, the Texan big fellow; Pat O’Brien, the Celtic; and—
Frank jumped off his chair. “And he has no midgets. Do you hear me, woman?
“I do.”
“P.T. Barnum has zero midgets. That’s my specialty, ain’t that right, Lucía?”
Lucía nodded. “Only you know about little folks, Frank. But let your wife read the rest of the article. You deserve a good laugh.”
“Damn right, I do.”
Mrs. Uffner droned on and on. “It says here: A novelty for American audiences will be the thrilling flying trapeze exhibition by three people who have been startling European circus lovers …”
“I’s been to Europe,” Frank Uffner growled, “and there ain’t nothing startling there, ain’t that right, Lucía?”
Lucía nodded. “You’re so right, Frank, but let’s enjoy hearing the rest of the silly article?
“As I was reading before I was rudely interrupted,” Mrs. Uffner said.
Juan Caicedo, the Spaniard, in his strange promenades on the high wire; the Julians in a very elastic contortion exhibition; Tatalin, with the flying rings, and J.T. Carrier in a showing of dancing barrels. There will be no fewer than eleven clowns—
“You should sign up and make it twelve,” Frank Uffner said to provoke his wife, who continued reading facts only she found fascinating.
All winter long agents have been dispatched abroad to secure novelties and attractions for this year. When the circus train travels it will use 80 railroad cars, and have nearly 800 people on the pay-roll—
“Boring, it’s putting me to sleep,” Frank Uffner groaned.
“Says here it represents a capital of more than four million dollars,” his wife persisted. Frank waved her away and soon fell asleep, but Lucía stayed awake, plotting how she would approach P.T. Barnum and offer her services.
On the opening day of the circus, Lucía Zárate’s name appeared on the day’s program as: The diminutive Lucía Zárate will be used to contrast the huge people.
It was a triumphant day for Lucía. P.T. Barnum had taken a look at her contract with Frank Uffner and had torn it up.
“This is trash, sweetie,” he told her. “It’s never been any good. Besides, my lawyers can break any contract. Trust me; you’re welcome to our circus family.”
For a few days life was exciting at Madison Square Garden. Lucía felt a comradery that she’d never experienced with Frank Uffner’s antagonistic and jealous troupe, and she laughed and joked with the giants. She quickly made friends with Juan Caicedo, the Spanish high wire-artist. She found his Spanish lisp hilarious and he loved to dance with her. Together they entertained the entertainers during the lulls in their rehearsals. She confided in Juan about all her misadventures.
“My godmother Zoila tried to protect me, but Mr. Uffner pushed me too hard for too long.”
Juan kissed her forehead in a brotherly fashion.
“You’ve suffered enough, my princess. I am here to keep an eye on you. I’ll fight for you, if necessary.” Juan jokingly sparred with one of the clowns walking by to his own rehearsal, and Lucía flashed him a grateful smile.
Lucía even dared to introduce Juan to her father. Instead of shaking hands, Señor Zárate had asked Juan how much he was earning and how much more he thought Lucía could earn. Unsurprisingly Juan had an immediate aversion to Señor Zárate, refusing to respond to such crass questions. On the day Lucía received an advance on her earnings, Juan told her to insist that her father bring her a receipt for the money he’d promised to remit to her mother. Lucía clutched the receipt to her chest, remembering how Zoila kept her valuables in her bosom: the vial of Felipe’s blood, her father’s gold watch, the dagger and the vanilla pods. For a fleeting few seconds, Lucía smelled the scent of Zoila’s aromatic vanilla presence and knew that Zoila must be back in Mexico and doing well. Zoila was a clever survivor who had taught Lucía that she could also tough it out. Under her breath Lucía repeated Zoila’s words, to convince herself that she was indeed tiny but mighty.
This new life was wonderful for Lucía—until the day the dog trainer came to get her ready for her new act.
P.T.’s agents had secured a gigantic St. Bernard dog, a gentle giant whose temperament was true to the breed. Every newspaper in the country reported his impressive pedigree. The Big Sandy News of Louisa, Kentucky wrote:
The massive St. Bernard dog Plinlimmon, or Plin, as he is more familiarly known, was a deck passenger on the steamer Brittanic, which arrived today from Liverpool. He is the purest of St. Bernard breed, and traces his ancestry back to the most noble of the four-footed saviors of the Alps. He is, in all probability, one of the most perfectly proportioned dogs of the St. Bernard breed ever brought to this country.
Despite Plin’s good nature, there was a big problem with the proposed double act with Lucía. Plin towered over Lucía, his goofy, slobbery face overwhelming her when he tried to sniff his new partner. When Lucía screeched, the giant dog barked back: his innate reaction was to warn his trainer that she might be hurt and crying out for help. Had Plin been in the Swiss Alps and heard a person of any size scream, he would have rushed to help them. To him, Lucía looked like a helpless baby.
The dog trainer was impatient with Lucía’s behavior. He lost his temper when Lucía refused to walk under the dog, and when she screamed at being made to do the thing she feared. Again, Plin was a victim of his breed’s attributes. The innocent dog was soundly confused and he opened his wide jaw, lifted Lucía and delicately attempted to move her to a safe location. Had there been an avalanche in Madison Square Garden, Lucía would have survived under the care of the dog. Unfortunately, Señor Zárate walked in during the canine confusion and kicked the poor dog in his privates.
P.T. Barnum’s kindness only extended to unique, healthy, hard-working performers, and Lucía’s hysterical reactions to her benign canine partner disappointed him. He couldn’t work with reluctant performers who weren’t entirely professional, so he gave her the boot. No amount of pleading from Juan or the clowns changed his mind. He was businessman first, a showman second. When Señor Zárate threatened a lawsuit, Barnum laughed in his face.
“What contract?” he shouted. “You were in such a hurry to get Lucía into my show that you didn’t sign any contracts. Let me give you free advice, amigo. Lucía is a has-been. Nobody wants to see some miniature thing who does nothing but flounce about. The public want to see huge elephants, growling tigers, and fearless high-wire artists. Your day is gone. This is the era of the big top circus!”