Stuart Kaminsky: Catch a Falling Clown

“I mean to take this man,” said Nelson, his voice cracking rather like Jean Alvero, the prostitute of the night before, but there was nothing charming in Nelson’s statement, nor was there anything forceful. I looked at Alex, who showed only a twitch of annoyance. There was no backing down in Alex, but he and I and everyone including Nelson could tell that Nelson meant the opposite of what he was saying.

Alex, Nelson, and I were now circled by the circus chorus, and Elder kept getting more and more polite. Nelson’s hat came off, and the sheriff found that it needed immediate attention and cleaning with a soggy handkerchief.

“The charges are?” said Elder.

“Assault, disorderly conduct, damage to public vehicle, drunk and disorderly,” said Nelson, whose grin was gone.

Elder advanced to within three feet of Nelson and showed an incredibly lined, weatherbeaten face over his mustache. “I’d really like to know who brought the charges.”

“A respected member of our community,” screeched the sheriff.

“Well,” said Elder, looking evenly at Alex and then at the sheriff. “We are shorthanded, and I’m afraid if you take our man here it might mean we couldn’t do our show tonight, might have to pack right up and not play our second night in Mirador. Now, I understand some important people in this country plan to bring their kids tonight, you know, take their minds off the war. I think they need a little entertainment, and they’d be awfully damned angry if the circus pulled up and left. They’d like to know who was responsible, and I’m afraid we’d have to tell them about this.”

Nelson’s eyes went around the circle of faces and came to me. I choked on a smile.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he said. “You’d lose too damn much money.”

“We’d do it,” said Elder. “And you’d lose too. You appointed or elected here? Doesn’t matter either way.”

“Do we take him?” said Alex, looking placidly at Nelson. You could read whatever you wanted or nothing into Alex’s face. Nelson might have read disapproval.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” I said soberly to Nelson. “I apologize, and I’ll pay for the paint job on the police car.”

“You step one foot outside this circus ground,” Nelson hissed softly in my ear, “and I’ll grab your ass so tight you’ll need a surgeon to get me loose.”

“Colorful,” I whispered back.

Alex let go of my arm and walked into the fog in the general direction of town.

“Take two free tickets for tonight,” said Elder, handing the white pieces of cardboard to the sheriff. Nelson snatched them and shoved them in his pocket. Even the chance for a little dignity couldn’t deter Nelson from something he could turn into cash.

“I am not an evil or vindictive man, Peters,” he said, turning to me. “I’m a man who has a job to do and does it. Mirador has to stay untouched. The people expect that, pay for it, and I mean to give them what they pay for.”

“Protection,” I said.

“That is right,” he said, looking directly into my eyes, and I could see that he meant it. In his own way, he really thought he was a just man on a righteous mission. When was I going to meet a bad guy who knew he was a bad guy? Why did all the bad guys think they were good guys? As he disappeared into the fog, I wondered whether Hitler thought he was a good guy. I was sure he did, and that sudden thought made me feel depressed just when I felt I should have been relieved. I’d just been saved from a beating. I didn’t keep count of such things, but it would have been number sixty or seventy, and I would have absorbed it. It was the inability of people to know where they belonged in my fantasy that caused me the real pain.

“Thanks,” I said, putting out my hand to Elder, who took it firmly. The circus figures melted back into the fog, and sounds of waking returned.

“The sheriff bluffs awfully easy,” he said with a grin that turned his already sun-creased face into a walrus-leather mask. “I’m glad that deputy isn’t in charge here, or you’d be on your way to whatever they planned for you.”

Light began to penetrate the fog, and I started to see shapes and activity.

“Emmett told me about you,” said Elder, looking back at some sound he separated from the noise. “I don’t think there’s anything going on here, but it’s his money if he wants to pay you. I just don’t want any panic talk, and I don’t want you stirring anything up that isn’t there.”

A shiny wagon, a massive gold-painted thing, lumbered out into view, pulled by a squat red truck with massive tires. The truck rumbled past us, drowning out other sounds and our conversation; and I found myself looking into the face of the creature in the cage, the gorilla, whose hands clung to the bars of the jiggling cage and who examined me without curiosity.

Kelly backed away as the cage pulled past.

“Gargantua,” he said, without affection. “When I joined Ringling a year ago,” he went on, watching the wagon rumble off, “they wanted me to be part of an act with him. It was called The Wedding of Gargantua. Willie, that’s my clown, would be the jailer outside the cage, keeping the gorilla from running away before the wedding. I never liked the idea, and the monkey didn’t take to me. Went wild. We gave up the idea. I think some clown did him wrong once.”

By now the fog was almost gone. I could smell something cooking, and my stomach rumbled.

“Let’s take him to chow,” said Elder. “Peters, let’s just call you an unpaid member of circus security for a few days. You do what you have to, to satisfy Emmett, and then we say good-bye. Fair enough?”

“OK with me,” said Kelly, putting a hand to his balding head.

“Right,” I added.

“But I tell you there’s no secret plot going on here,” said Elder. “I’ve been circusing for …”

“Elder,” came a scream, and the three of us turned our heads. A woman, her hands in the pocket of a mannish gray jacket, came running forward. She spotted Elder and slowed down to a fast walk. Her dark eyes scanned the three of us, and her mouth was open as if someone had slapped her and she was afraid to say so.

“What is it, Peg?” Elder said.

“Tanucci, the young one,” she gasped. “He … he took a fall. The doc’s with him.”

Elder ran off with the woman after him. I looked at Kelly, whose eyes were wide.

“An accident,” I said. “Circuses must have accidents all the time.”

“Yes,” said Kelly. “But most of the accidents happen to the laborers, not the performers.”

“OK,” I said. “Let’s take a look.”

Before we could take ten steps after Elder, something happened. Kelly sensed it before I did and stopped. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, and then I could tell that the sounds of the circus had changed. The machine sounds had dominated a few minutes ago. Now the sound of animals took over. Bleats and cries and screams and roars, a sad madness of sound.

“What …” I started.

“I think Tanucci’s dead,” said Kelly.

There were four Tanuccis. Five if you counted the one lying dead on the rolled-up canvas in the corner of the tent. The dead Tanucci was dressed like the live ones, in blue tights and a top. His arms were at his sides and his legs together as if he were about to dive into the sky. Just one step forward, a perfect flip of his dark arms and tight, compact body, and he would go soaring into the air and through a hole high above in the big top. But that wasn’t going to happen. What might happen was that Tanucci’s body would roll from its balanced place on the mat and lose its dignity.

The four remaining Tanuccis were an older man and woman, a young woman, and a teenage boy. The older man and woman held each other’s hands and looked at the body. All four of them looked down, as if the dead man held a camera and they had been told to pose solemnly.