Rain Village - Carolyn Turgeon [96]
I stared down at the photo. My smiling face, my graceful, arching body.
“Come on,” she said, grinning and tapping my back. “Let’s get some café.”
Wide awake, I rushed to throw on some clothes, and the two of us burst into the bright morning, where Mauro and Paulo were waiting. Most of the performers were still sleeping, but there was plenty of activity on the lot: roustabouts at work cleaning the grounds, random circus people milling around, a smattering of fans.
We made our way to the cookhouse. The Ferris wheel hung over us like a sleeping beast, and the tent just sat there. An open mouth, waiting for us.
We were passing the big top when a young woman approached us.
“Tessa?” she asked, walking straight up to me.
“Yes?” I looked at her suspiciously. I was completely unused to friendly attention from strangers, let alone anyone actually knowing my name like that. She was young and eager-looking, with short brown hair.
“I’m from the local newspaper and would like to interview you for tomorrow’s paper.”
“Interview me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go ahead,” Lollie said, smiling at me.
I looked up at Mauro, who nodded. “Be careful,” he whispered, as I pulled away.
The woman, Rachel, and I talked while walking through the menagerie tent. I pointed out the animals to her, the way Lollie had done for me, as she asked about my background, my life.
“I came from Kansas,” I said. “I knew a woman who had been in the circus, Mary Finn, or Marionetta, and she showed me how to fly. Then I made my way here.”
“You knew Marionetta?” the woman asked, turning to me. “Marionetta the flyer?”
“Yes,” I whispered, suddenly uncomfortable.
“I was a huge fan,” she said, visibly becoming excited. “We always wondered what happened to her, why she stopped performing, where she went. You say you met her in Kansas?”
“Yes,” I said. Suddenly adrift, suddenly floating in that water, her hair wrapped around my neck.
“What was her story? What happened to her?”
I looked up at her. My voice strangled in my throat. Why did I mention her? I thought. How could I be so stupid? Somehow I still thought of her as all mine, despite everything.
“I can’t talk about that,” I said finally.
“Well, then, can you tell me the nature of your relationship?”
I looked at the Vadala horses, zoomed my gaze in on their white manes.
“She was my friend,” I said. And suddenly my eyes filled with tears. My friend, I thought. My best friend.
“Where exactly in Kansas did you say you were from? Is that where I can find Marionetta now?”
I shook my head.
“This is unbelievable,” she said then, smiling at me, not even noticing my wet eyes and pinched face. “God, we’ve been wondering about Marionetta for so long, and then you pop out of the woodwork.”
The pit in my stomach grew, my heart started to beat faster, and suddenly I realized: I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to say another word.
“I’m sorry,” I said, before walking out of the menagerie, then breaking into a run, heading straight to the cookhouse.
Lollie, Paulo, and Mauro looked up in surprise. José and Carlos had joined them.
“That was quick,” Lollie said with a laugh, setting down her coffee. “How does it feel to be so famous?”
I sat down and looked at the ground. Before I could even register what was happening, I began to weep.
“What’s wrong, Tessita?” Mauro and Carlos asked again and again while Lollie shushed them, stroked my hair.
I looked up at her. When I was finally able to speak, I said, “She wanted to know about Mary. That’s all. I couldn’t do it.” I choked out the words.
“Oh,” Lollie said, shaking her head angrily. “Of course. I should have thought of it, warned you.”
“Bastards,” José said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Mauro said to me. “Let’s have our breakfast and forget about it.” He leaned in and kissed me, then went to the line and brought back coffee and pastries. We ate, and I tried to shake it off. More and more circus folk wandered into the cookhouse and congratulated me on my performance.
“Look,” Lollie said to each one, displaying the