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“Madam,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind if I say you are quite the most accomplished horsewoman I have ever seen.”
“Why, thank you, young man,” she said, hardly looking at me. “Do you have a picture for me to sign?” I had intended to introduce myself, but my words died on my lips and my cheeks flamed. She didn’t wait long for me to answer, but thrust the reins of her horse into the hands of a waiting groom and left without a word.
The groom and the blacksmith laughed.
I could feel my lower lip tremble, and I turned hastily away. She thought I was a townie, and not worth a glance at that. The ladies at home had always called me a good-looking fellow, but perhaps the ladies at home were not qualified to tell. I kicked a clod of dirt, shamed by my quick dismissal of those who loved me. Still, what if I wasn’t beans compared with the sturdy young men of the circus? Was I a fool to think that romantic adventures awaited me? Was I optimistic to think I could fit in here at all?
The roustabouts were already dismantling the tent, and five of the elephants had been stripped of their fancy blankets and harnessed to chains, ready to bring down the poles. Performers packed up props left near the exit, and the clowns folded up Clown Alley. The tents in the backyard were gone.
Slowly I made my way back to my new sleeping quarters.
I felt lost and useless, with nothing to do in the midst of this hustle and bustle. For the first time in my life I was a stranger, and I hated that.
6
THE MEN IN THE DORMITORY WERE young, and all were performers. Some were clown apprentices, some were older sons who wanted independence from the family quarters, and others were part of an acrobatic act that didn’t earn enough yet to afford a compartment in the fancier cars. There wasn’t much room in the crowded carriage, but they put up with the situation with good cheer, and everyone tried to do his best to keep his belongings stowed and his elbows in. There existed a comfortable camaraderie between them that made me ache for the old friendships I had left behind.
That night, when we had all climbed into our bunks and the train rumbled under way, I discovered an evening ritual.
“It’s your turn, Georgie,” said the fellow who had settled me in. “What have you got? A story? A song?”
“Anything to drown those elephants out,” said another fellow. “They’ve been all-fired noisy lately.”
Georgie did not have a good singing voice, but he made up for that with enthusiasm as he launched into a popular song. The others drowned out his wavering voice when they joined in for the chorus:
“My Jeanne, my Jeanne, she’s my little circus queen.
She’s just seventeen, fairer you’ve never seen.
All dressed up in spangles and gold,
She’s a beautiful sight to behold.
Sweet as a dream; bright as any sunbeam,
And she’s my little circus queen.”
I sighed. I’d like to find my own little queen someday, someone like that beauty who had been popping up in my dreams lately. “Find me,” she had said in that vision in the field. I would have loved to think she was out there waiting for me, but that was foolish. There were fortune-tellers, however, who said that the objects in one’s dreams often stood for something else. What was it I was looking for when I left home? Adventure and fortune, that was what. Perhaps this dream girl was the personification of my search for adventure, luring me on to find her.
I didn’t pay much attention to the story that came next, for I lingered deep in my own thoughts, where a dark-haired woman with luminous eyes undulated in a dance full of promises. I will find you, Lady Adventure, I silently vowed. Before I knew it, I woke up to daylight and jolly roughhousing all around me. My life with the circus had begun.
The vibrations I felt through my bunk, and the gentle tickitytack I heard, told me the train was still in motion. The other train, which carried the cookhouse, the canvas, and the poles, probably sat at its destination already, and the cooks and roustabouts would be scurrying
about their duties. My stomach rumbled. By the time we arrived, breakfast would be prepared, the tent pegs hammered in, the canvas laid out, and the poles ready to be raised.
I felt fuzzy headed. Perhaps the excitement had disturbed me, or the strange bed, but many times throughout the night I had come awake in a haze where the purrs of lions turned into the rumble of metal wheels. Sometimes my unexpected surroundings blended so quickly back into dreams that I barely knew I was conscious. Once I even thought I saw a blurry face peer in at me through the window—impossible, since the train was moving. All through my dreams wafted the smell of pungent spices and a voice that called my name, only it wasn’t my name.
While I put on my shirt, I wondered if I should wear my ring on my finger now, but something told me it would get me nothing but jokes from these boys, so I left it hanging from the chain around my neck. As I buttoned the last button, the train squealed to a stop in a new town.
On my way to the cookhouse I stopped to watch the teams of elephants and men haul cables and raise the canvas of the big top. Crews of roustabouts hurried around the perimeter of the tent, tightening guy ropes and lashing them into place. Local people had come to watch. Their children ran after the elephants with handfuls of hay for them to eat. I smiled. Apollo would love to do that. I hoped he’d forgive me for leaving him behind.
In the cookhouse I lined up and received a breakfast of ham, eggs, fried potatoes, and fresh-baked bread. The cooks were squabbling with one another because the monkey on the loose had raided their stores of fruit and vegetables. I was surprised to see linen on the tables and real silverware, although the long trestles decked in checkered cotton that I glimpsed on the other side of the dividing curtain showed me the laborers had simpler accommodations.
I spotted the Arabian brothers, now dressed in jackets and trousers, and asked if I might join them. They welcomed me jovially.
“I’m Frank Bridgeport,” said the younger.
“I’m Eddie Bridgeport,” said the elder.
