Rain Village - Carolyn Turgeon [111]
I could almost feel the longings in the air: for Mary and for all the people and places that had dropped away. I held tightly to Mauro’s hand.
Suddenly I was dying to speak. I had really only spoken of Mary to Lollie and Mauro, in private, but a new feeling passed through me that night. For the first time I wanted to announce my story, fill the air with the sound of my voice speaking Mary’s name, and so I did: I told of the day in front of the courthouse and my first visit to Mercy Library. I told him how we had brewed tea and shelved books, and practiced the trapeze in the quiet afternoons. I spoke of the last day I saw her, how her body had floated in the river like a child’s.
“Did she drown herself?” Costas asked then.
“Yes,” I said. It was the first time I’d said it out loud.
At that point Mr. Velasquez entered the tent, looking wan and tired. He too had succumbed to the illness that had afflicted us, following us in on the breeze. We sat at attention as he surveyed the cookhouse.
“I hope you’re all planning on performing tonight,” he said abruptly. “Because we need the goddamn dinero.” With that, he turned on his heel and left.
We had been so swept up in stories that we hadn’t seen how dark it was or heard the sounds of the Ferris wheel and the crowds that now filled the air.
“Let’s go,” Mauro said. He stood, dumped his half-eaten food into a trash can, and stalked off. I followed.
Outside, the midway was alive and bustling with movement and laughter. We could see it past the big top. I was surprised that any time had passed since I’d emerged from the train, my sickness. Other performers and concession workers and roustabouts raced around us, muttering about sinuses clearing and fevers suddenly breaking.
Mauro and I raced back to get ready, I at my vanity and he by the bed. He was quiet, angry, and I knew better than to say anything in the mood I was in. But as I slipped off my clothes and pulled on my new sequined leotard, I could think only of getting back out there to Costas, as if he were a mirage that could disappear at any moment.
That night I performed on the silks, wrapping and unwrapping my body in sheets while the band played wistful violins. I moved more beautifully that night than I ever had before. The air seemed to reach out and embrace me, pulling me through itself and sliding down my skin. When it came time for my swing-over routine, I went and went and reached two hundred and fifty, the audience still chanting out each turn.
I was too obvious, trying to impress him. Look what I can do, I might as well have shouted. Look how beautiful I am, in the air.
When I dropped to earth and bowed, my white-slippered feet digging into the sawdust, I looked straight into the front row and at his face. I reveled in the power my body gave me, in its effect on him. I smiled and bowed, then left the ring.
Later, when we all gathered in front of the fire, Costas strode right up to me and put out his hand. His face was shining with excitement, and he was looking at me with something like awe. “That was amazing,” he said, taking my hand and shaking it, then bringing it up to his mouth for a kiss. “You were brilliant up there. So powerful.”
I blushed and smiled, and a moment later Mauro was there beside me.
“My wife is the best in the world,” he said, gripping my hand in his. I was annoyed, and then guilt washed over me. I loved Mauro; he was my husband. I tried to convince myself that it was the lure of Rain Village, of Mary and her secrets, that stirred me so strongly. Nothing else.
“Thank you,” I said, to both of them.
Mauro didn’t leave my side for the rest of the night.
Everyone crowded around Costas. The fire flickered on our skin. Mauro kept his palm pressed into the small of my back as we talked and laughed with the others. I tried not to look over at Costas; whenever I glanced up at him, it seemed our eyes met within seconds and I had to look away. Even if I wasn’t looking at him, even if I was deep in conversation with Ana or someone else, I was aware of exactly where his body was,