Rain Village - Carolyn Turgeon [91]
I decided not to even question it. I would just take it in the way I took in big mouthfuls of the flan Victoria made us for dessert.
As we neared the train station the next morning, it was as if someone had opened a jewel box and scattered its contents over the dusty ground. I spotted Lollie’s car right away, with the flying woman on the side, then saw the five Flying Ramirez Brothers’ cars strung in a row just past it. People were milling around everywhere, loaded down with suitcases and boxes, boarding the train and coming down off it. I caught a glimpse of the Vadala horses being led past. Roustabouts lugged carts and carts of water and vats of vegetables and meat into the cookhouse, which was just in front of the line of gilded wagons that gleamed from the flatcars. You could feel the excitement of a new season like a tangible thing hovering over us.
Carlos rolled down the window and started yelling to friends on the lot. We parked the cars and moved into the horde. I saw Ana, playing with a group of children on the steps leading to the platform. Geraldo and Lollie had left earlier than the rest of us, and Geraldo held court outside the manager’s car with Lollie next to him, gesturing to one of the Kriminov Twins and an elephant girl I recognized, who had flamered hair falling in one thick wave after another.
It was hard to believe we were still in Mexico City.
“Relax,” Mauro whispered, leaning toward me. Paulo looked back at us and winked, then ran into the crowd.
We walked into the mass of people, dragging two huge suitcases, my small knapsack, and my finished costume, which Mrs. Ramirez had carefully wrapped in paper. Right away I noticed all the stares in my direction, the way people greeted Mauro and me as we walked past. I craned my head looking for Clementine, Mauro’s former love. I didn’t realize the sideshow wouldn’t join us until later.
Ana leapt up when she saw us. “Tessa!” she screamed. “You are so different!” She ran around and around me like a puppy dog, yelping her delight. “You’re beautiful! I heard you will be in the show.” She leaned into me and grabbed my hand. “Everyone is talking about it! Have you seen the posters yet?” She pointed to a poster draped on the side of one of the walls of the train station.
I looked, focused in, and could not believe my eyes: there I was, right in front and center. “Tiny Tessa!” the poster proclaimed, and showed me zooming toward a bar, my starfish hands reaching forward as my body swept behind. My face was shown relaxed, with thick starry lashes and bright red lips spread into a smile. In the background tigers leapt forward, mimicking the movement of my body, while four tiny figures stalked over the wire in silhouette. “The Velasquez Circus!” screamed over the top, in glittering block letters arching above everything. It did not look like me. The girl in the poster seemed different, beautiful.
Mauro smiled, set down the bags, and pulled me to him. “So what do you think?” he asked.
“How . . .?”
“Paulo took a photograph of you when you weren’t paying attention. The artist painted you from it.”
I was completely speechless. My face would be splashed across the world for everyone to see, my image stamped on the paper, my face painted in vivid hues. I imagined my father coming upon it, or my mother, or Geraldine.
Everyone rushed around to congratulate me. “I can’t wait to see your act,” I heard again and again. Mr. Velasquez stepped from the manager’s car and walked over at one point, glaring at me.
“You’ve got a lot to live up to, girl,” he said. “Now that your face is going to be splashed from here to fucking Canada.”
We had to wait three days before the first show. We settled into our cars as the train clattered through northern Mexico, where we would meet up with the rest of the performers and workers, then cross the border into Texas. I loved having my own car on the train, loved falling asleep with the wheels rumbling under me, seeing my clothes hanging in my own tiny closet. I hung my costume from a hook on the