Rain Village - Carolyn Turgeon [112]
But more than that, I had the strange feeling that Costas knew me. Knew the dark places that lay burrowed inside me, the absence and loss that were always there. I wanted so badly to ask him about Rain Village—how much he knew, where it was, how long it would take him to get there.
Later, when everyone began drifting off to bed, I heard Lollie offer Costas her empty compartment or Geraldo’s car, which he almost never slept in.
“No, thank you,” Costas said. “I prefer to set up my own tent. I’ve been sleeping in it for weeks now.” I heard him laughing and thanking her, thanking everyone. I heard Lollie direct him to the sideshow camp where most of the other tents were set up.
“Let’s go,” Mauro whispered, and pressed my skin with his hand.
“Okay,” I nodded. I looked up again at Costas. “See you tomorrow,” I said. “I would like to hear more of your stories.”
“Yes,” he said, and smiled.
“Good night,” Mauro said curtly, and we turned back to the train. I resented him so much at that moment it was like a tangible thing burning inside me. Stop it, I thought. I threw my arms around him and kissed him before we went to bed, trying to reassure him, trying to block Costas out of my mind.
“I love you,” I whispered.
That night I could not sleep. Mauro pulled me into him and I lay with my head against his smooth chest, watching the moonlight that streamed in through the slats of the window shade, illuminating the room. His skin was warm under my cheek. I could hear him breathing, knew he was still awake, lying there watching the light like I was. Keeping my eyes closed and pretending to sleep, I rolled over onto my side and hunched up with my knees to my chest and my back to him. The minutes and hours passed.
Finally, late into the night, when I was sure Mauro was asleep and when I couldn’t bear the silent car any longer, I slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, inching my way off the mattress and to the floor. I leaned over the bed and put my face close to Mauro’s to make sure he wasn’t awake. I pulled on a shirt and skirt, then ran out of the car and into the empty moonlit lot.
I was just taking a walk, I told myself. I stepped lightly over the candy wrappers, cups, and programs that littered the ground. The Ferris wheel loomed over the lot like a monster from the sea. I had forgotten how eerie the circus could be, how quiet and shimmering.
I crept over to the huddle of tents, past the big top and scattered throughout the midway. I recognized Costas’s tent right away, the pale green canvas I’d seen him carrying earlier. It was apart from the other tents, closer to the edges of the midway. My heart started pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. I had such a good life, performing with the Velasquez Circus, traveling all over, living with a man I was in love with and who loved me more than anything. It was crazy for me to think that I needed anything else.
But I found myself standing in front of his tent, crouching down to it. Tapping the canvas. Bending down and crawling into the tent when he lifted up the flap. Sitting with my legs crossed next to him. With the flap tied open, I could faintly see him in the moonlight spilling in.
“I was hoping you would find me,” he said.
I looked at his gypsy face and green eyes. He sat facing me, and our knees touched. I felt as though I could tell him anything, and had to remind myself that he was a stranger. For several long moments we just looked at each other.
“You were really the boy in the story, weren’t you?” I asked, finally.
He laughed. “It’s amazing that you heard of me and my story. That Mary knew.” His voice was soft, deep.
“Tell me about the place you grew up in,” I said. “The way you were kept from the world. It’s all true, isn’t it?”
He smiled. He pushed back the hair that had fallen over his face. And then he told that ancient story, the one Mary had whispered in Mercy Library as the sun slanted through the windows. The hair stood up on the back of my neck and goose bumps rose on my skin as Costas spoke of the father