Carol Birch - Orphans of the Carnival

‘And it’s not been easy,’ she was saying when her voice filtered back in again.

‘You want to get rid of them,’ he said.

‘Not completely.’ She propped the baby against the side of the cabinet. ‘But maybe a long-term hire. Nice returns. Not Vienna obviously, maybe Munich. They’d still be ours, of course, but we wouldn’t have to keep lugging them round with us. Think of how much lighter we could travel.’

‘Why do we need to travel lighter?’

‘Oh Theo, I wish you’d open your eyes. They’re not coming to see her any more. We’ve been all over the place and everybody’s seen her already. You can’t keep it going.’

‘I think you’re being terribly pessimistic,’ he said, sounding hurt.

‘It’s me they come for now,’ she said, ‘Zenora Pastrana, You know, the one that actually does all the hard work after all, all the singing and the dancing, all that silly stuff, you know. All she does, when all’s said and done, is stand there.’

‘If everyone here’s seen her,’ Theo said, ‘there are other places. We’ll take her to Scandinavia. We’ll go and see the Northern Lights.’

‘But Theo,’ she said, ‘what if I don’t want to go? It’s not fair. This is now. That was then.’ She pulled up Theo Junior’s white drawers. ‘There, that covers it pretty well,’ she said, and started putting him back in his place. ‘I know it’s hard to let them go,’ she said, ‘but I honestly don’t see myself staying on the road very much longer.’

‘You really do want to get rid of them, don’t you?’ he said listlessly.

‘His arm should keep it covered,’ she said, brushing Theo Junior down with her hands. ‘There you are, Baby, good as new. I don’t think anyone will notice. Theo, you check Julia.’

He went and sat in the cane chair in front of the open case, leaned back and crossed his legs, smoking his cigar. ‘Hello Julia,’ he said. Three or four times they’d hired out the mummies, once for a whole two months. Occasionally he thought about them, rattling on trains between cities. Whenever the mummies came home he’d get a certain feeling, as if an old friend had returned. Not that he’d ever really had an old friend to feel that way about. She’s been gone… she’s back. Things are in place. About the baby he didn’t think so much. Most of the time it was just a prop. He’d never got as far as thinking what his son might have been. But once, putting the mummies away late one night, he’d touched the boy’s cold hand, and a shaft of excruciating sadness had pierced him. It was nothing like the warm baby fist he remembered.

Funny. After all this time he could still get lost in looking, just looking at her. Marie didn’t have that. Her face, though hairy enough, was completely human. With Julia, you did wonder. Sometimes still, he wondered. But he didn’t care. These days he was sentimental in his mind, though not to outward appearance. After a few drinks, reminiscing, he allowed it, sinking into a reverie of the glory days when theatre fronts heaved with masses desperate for a glimpse, and she’d tiptoe into the spotlight and strike them dumb.

‘She looks all right to me,’ he said.

‘You don’t know,’ she said, ‘she could be all fleas under that dress.’

‘We’d know if she had fleas.’

He went to bed. Later she came in. ‘I know you think you can’t live in one place, Theo,’ she said, ‘but how about this?’

‘What?’ he said unenthusiastically.

‘What about a little fixed concern? Something in the business, then you wouldn’t be bored. What about something like a wax museum? Wax museums are very popular. And we could use Julia and Baby. That’s something no one else would have. We’d be unique.’

‘It’s an idea,’ he said with no interest whatsoever.

*

No fool, Marie.

Gets what she wants, he reflected, thinking back. First it’s oh yes, we’ll get a wax museum then we can keep the mummies at home and we’ll all be happy. Chip chip chip, every day, like a patient woodcarver. Then she’s pregnant. Oh well that’s it, I’m not performing when the baby’s born. Then it’s oh well I’m not taking any chances, look at poor Julia, working up to the last minute and look what happened to her. Face it, Theo. Be sensible. We need to look around. Then — what about this, Theo, a wax museum. Perfect! Prime location. We both like Petersburg. Poor old Theo, you deserve a rest. A lovely apartment upstairs. Plenty of room. A nursery. And all the exhibits included, to which we add — tada! — our Julia, our Baby. A home for them, downstairs with the waxworks, pride of place.

Oh, if it’s what you want.

He was ill. Sick stomachs, sore throats, splitting headaches, one thing after another. His sleeping had gone all to hell. Hip baths and purges didn’t help. He wondered if it was the pox. He still visited those girls in their rooms, more so since the pregnancy, she wasn’t interested any more. Could be, he thought distantly, could be. Then suddenly they were living above the museum and Oscar was all over the place, as fair and normal as a little Apollo, a squalling being that punched red fists in the air and tried out faces. Theo kept looking at Marie nursing the baby and wondering if she’d got the pox too. Probably not. Pox wouldn’t stand a chance with her. She’d just clap her hands and send it on its way. She was right, of course, she was always right. The museum was doing well. It was just off the Nevsky Prospect and pulled in a good mixed crowd. She loved it. Humming and smiling about the place while he wandered like a ghost from room to room feeling unreal, wandered like a visitor among his own exhibits, stopping every time in front of Julia’s cabinet. Till one day she said, ‘We’ve had an offer.’

Munich. Long-term.

‘Get her back any time you want,’ she said. ‘No trouble at all. Just think. Know what they’re paying? And we can get more if we push.’

‘Did you open my letter?’ he asked.

‘It was addressed to both of us.’

‘We need her here,’ he said. ‘She’s our pièce de résistance .’

‘No, she isn’t. Peter the First is.’

‘Peter the First!’ he said disgustedly. ‘He can’t hold a candle to her.’

‘Look Theo,’ she said, pushing him gently down into a chair, ‘I’m going to make you a nice hot tonic, and you’re going to drink it all down and then you’ll feel better. I wouldn’t send her anywhere else but they always look after her well in Munich.’

‘I still don’t see,’ he said grumpily. ‘It’s not as if we’re desperate for the money.’

‘Theo,’ she said, ‘you’ve got to let the past go. It’s not good for you.’

‘Well Marie,’ he said with a losing sense, ‘if we send them to Munich, I think you’ll notice a sudden decline in trade.’

‘Want a bet?’ She bustled about him, making him comfortable. ‘I don’t know when you’ll start to listen to me. Times have changed. People just aren’t as interested in that sort of thing any more. They find it distasteful. I don’t like people standing there in our museum whispering nasty things behind their hands about you.’

‘Oh, people are stupid,’ he said. ‘I don’t care what people say.’

‘Well, I do, Theo. We’ve got Oscar now.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

Oh, she’s right, she’s right, he thought now, loitering in the lobby of his wax museum, too tired to be bitter, too unsettled to be at ease. Trade was still brisk six months after the mummies left for Munich. Peter the First was the pièce de résistance . There he stood, dominating the foyer in all his glory. Retire! thought Theo. I’ll bring her back. Who’s going to stop me? If I could get my health back, know what I’d do? I’d be back on that road. It’s the only life. I’m not old, look at Otto, look at Van Hare, look at Barnum. Just get my health back.