The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show - Ariel Gore [68]
Barbaro swallows, nervous. He holds up the ring, runs his free hand though his short hair. He says, “I am proposing to give you this ring, Frankka, for drama.”
I can hear waves crashing somewhere. I wonder how near we are to the ocean. “For drama?”
“Yes,” Barbaro says. “While at the hospital, I received papers from the Department of Homeland Security. I have been given thirty days to depart from this country or appear before a judge. I have decided that I would prefer to return to Italia, to the Free University in Umbria whose motto is ‘Life is beautiful but spaghetti could be improved.’ There I will begin training so that I may join your Clowns Without Borders. It seems that war will not end soon and they are in need of some performing doctors. Tony and Lupe must stay here in Los Angeles through Manny’s recovery, and certainly through the trial. Magdelena has secured an audition with Cirque du Soleil, as they do not know her true age. Paula intends to catch a Green Tortoise bus south to Mexico with a lady friend she has encountered. Madre has at last saved the money she needs to move to San Francisco and launch her comedy levitation drag show. My proposition to you is that you should join me on my journey, that it should in fact become our journey because we are famiglia. As mythical husband and wife, you will be welcome in Italia. You will be welcome in all of Europe, in fact. As mythical husband and wife, we will be welcome to return to this country as well. If a man loves America—even if he loves it with a broken heart as I do—it is important to have a green card. This much I have learned. So, you see, with this ring, I propose to you a world without borders.”
I think of the single smiling face in the newspaper, the Clowns Without Borders. I think of Umbria, the vast golden landscapes where everything smelled of garlic and easy faith. I could travel to Assisi again. This time in the dark and chilled basement of the basilica, I would touch the tomb. I think of the way I loved Barbaro before I knew him to be messed up and scared, hollow and sorry. The love I feel for him now is hurt and enduring, the kind of love that isn’t afraid of the harsh and dreadful gifts that surely await us. “But I’m not a doctor and I’m not a clown.” I look down at my hands, pink scars already fading. “I don’t have a talent anymore. That day you came and ate with us at Dorothy’s cabin on the lake—I made that dinner myself. I worked for the wine and I caught the fish and I collected the herbs and I fried the bread. I can’t bleed anymore, not even if I want to.”
“As you wish,” Barbaro says softly, moving to put the ring back in his pocket.
I watch his flickering shadow on the wall behind him.
“However,” he says, “I should tell you that I have been in contact with the Free University in Umbria, and there are many clowns to be fed. I will understand if the work of a cook is not worthy of you, but I desired to extend the invitation. For drama, Frankka, but for love, too.”
Mythical husband and wife. Barbaro’s words settle like blueberries on my tongue. A sudden and absurd shared context. An anchor in the grand confrontation between mystery and literalism in which mystery always wins out.
I hold out my hand, fingers outstretched, to receive his sparkling fiction. “I’d be delighted to be your mythical wife.”
Chapter 27
HIGHWAY ONE
Francis of Assisi
(WHEN YOU’RE READY FOR YOUR NEW LIFE)
A.K.A. il Poverello
FEAST DAY: October 4
SYMBOLS: birds, a wolf, a deer
Before his conversion, Francis of Assisi had a reputation for being a liar, a thief, a drunk, a womanizer, a party animal, and a madman with a penchant for running naked through the streets.
Rich rebel boy, he burned through his dad’s cash, showed no interest in the family silk trading business.
When he was twenty, war broke out between Assisi and neighboring Perugia. Francis eagerly took up arms and rode off, dreaming of glory. But the reality of war is nothing glorious. He survived the carnage and several months as a