Ascension (21 page)

A
NDRÁS WALKED PAST THE BIG TOP
, hoping to find a vendor who would give him a hot dog, or at worst, sell him one. A group of clowns went by, one of them a man András had seen vomiting outside their railcar several nights earlier. Today he looked miserable, his hands shaking and his walk hesitant. András noticed that several of the other clowns seemed to share this demeanour. He didn’t know that the clowns had a reputation for being drunks, or that they often got into knock-down brawls with other performers, or the circus police. The clowns he had seen in Europe were not the same as these, that much he could tell at a glance. He had no urge to speak with or get to know them.

András had the same keep-to-himself attitude about most things the F-F had to offer. He enjoyed his life there immensely, loved the energy and the excitement, the continuous crowds and the travel. But he much preferred to be an observer than an active participant. He even thought, at times, that he would rather be in the audience than a member of the circus, but knew that for the audience it was a treat, not how things were every day, and that if he were not a performer he likely would never get to attend a show, so he did not feel overly sorry about his position.

None of the vendors were out yet. András’s stomach growled dissatisfaction, but there was nothing to be done about it. He doubled back towards the big top. If he checked the rigging now, maybe there would be time for a hot dog later. He saw Etel standing beside the main entrance, smoking.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

Etel shrugged. “Margit is complaining again.”

“About what?”

“Anything she can think of.” Etel flicked the stub of her cigarette onto the ground, stepping on it. She quickly rolled and lit another.

“She does not like your smoking.” András did not tell Etel it was because the smell of smoke reminded her of Tomas Skosa.

“That is too bad for her. I do not like her griping.”

András shook his head. “It’s not so bad.”

“Why do you stand up for her?” Etel slashed at the air with her hand.

“Why do you attack her?” András’s voice was raised, and he felt the muscles in his back tense.

Etel took a long drag off her cigarette, inhaling nearly half its length. “You are in love with her.” It was not a question, but as soon as Etel said it she realized it was true.

András looked down at his feet, then brought his eyes up to meet his sister’s. “What if I am?”

Etel’s eyes were cold, her lips pursed. “You do what you like.”

András turned and walked away from the big top. He was no longer interested in checking the rigging, no longer interested in hot dogs.

Etel dropped what was left of her cigarette. As she was about to grind it into the earth, a small clump of dried grass caught fire. Etel watched it burn, knowing she should stamp it out. After
more time than was sensible, she finally brought her foot down upon the flame.

W
HEN WAR CAME TO
E
UROPE IN
1939, the troupe’s decision to come to America was rapidly validated. This was before they even knew what was happening to Roma in the camps. However, in 1941, after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into the war, they found themselves, as Hungarians, citizens of an enemy nation. Salvo, fearing persecution, contemplated shelving the act until the war was over, but he soon discovered that few people knew or cared that he was a Hungarian, just as few had cared that he was a Rom. As long as he walked the wire it seemed he could do no wrong. There were of course isolated exceptions. One man hired to help with their rigging was caught purposely slackening a guy wire during a performance. It turned out the man’s brother had been killed the month before by enemy fire, which he somehow blamed on the Ursaris. The man was sacked, and though Cole Fisher-Fielding denied it when Salvo asked, Salvo suspected that the man was beaten up by members of the circus police on Cole’s orders. Either way, András swore he saw the man being roughed up behind the menagerie. He did not attempt to interfere.

Salvo spent nearly all of his waking hours on the act, trying to devise new routines, new tricks, new techniques, anything to keep the act fresh and exciting. They were capable of performing nearly fifty separate manoeuvres and had four showstoppers, all variations on the three-level pyramid they had performed for their first crowd in America. Because they travelled to the same cities each season, Cole Fisher-Fielding insisted that the audience get to see different tricks from year to year, and Salvo readily complied. He enjoyed nothing more than the development of new feats.

The war brought increased crowds to the F-F Extravaganza. People’s pockets were full of money, their minds eager for any kind of distraction, so the big top was very nearly always full, and attendance was at record levels. Their winter seasons were shorter, and the big top stayed on the road longer, despite rationing and a shortage of manpower. Citizens purchasing Victory Bonds received complimentary passes to the show. Anyone wearing a uniform was given free admission.

Early in 1942 the F-F had a three-day stand in the nation’s capital. This stand also happened to coincide with the Fisher-Fielding Circus Company’s annual general meeting; Cole’s five-year term was up, and he would face for the first time serious competition for the top job in the form of Norris Fisher-Fielding, his nephew. The Spouses had not been idle since the balance of power had shifted in their favour. It was a toss-up as to who would rule the circus for the next five years.

On the day of the opening performance there was no matinee scheduled. Instead, the A-list performers were invited to a reception for the Respectables, an invitation that was not optional. Salvo, much to his disappointment and trepidation, was the only one of the Ursari troupe invited. He would be forced to mingle with the other performers, something he did not particularly enjoy.

Salvo never considered not attending, though. The majority of the performers respected and admired Cole, even if they didn’t always like him, and most were more than willing to show their support for his leadership. Even those who were not disposed to like him had to admit that he was a better boss than Norris Fisher-Fielding was likely to be. Cole had built the F-F from nothing, whereas Norris was an Ivy League snob with a lazy eye and a voice that seemed to come through his nose. The choice was an easy one for most.

Salvo put on a brave face and left the railcar, heading towards the big top. He kept an eye out for Etel, who hadn’t been in the railcar that morning. He wanted to tell her about a new move he had thought up, but he saw no sign of her. She was probably well hidden, he decided, knowing that she tried to avoid the hustle and bustle of the F-F as much or more than he did.

Salvo was halfway to the big top when he remembered that he had forgotten to ask András to double-check their rigging for that night. They usually took turns doing so, but Salvo wasn’t sure if he would have time between the reception and that evening’s show, and it was very important that someone confirm that the rigging was as it should be. Admonishing himself for forgetting, Salvo turned and jogged back to the railcar.

As he burst through the door, he caught a brief glimpse of naked flesh before it was covered by bedding. András peered up at him, his face red, and from under the covers Margit’s voice called out. “What do you want?”

Salvo hesitated. He had suspected for some time that Margit and his brother had become enamoured of each other but had never been so boldly confronted with proof. “Can you recheck the rigging for me?” he asked András, who was now smiling.

“Sure.”

Salvo nodded, backing out of the railcar. As he walked to the big top, he wondered how Etel would feel having to compete for her brother’s affections, especially a brother like András who had raised her single-handedly and was not particularly generous with affection. On the other hand, Salvo decided, his brother was thirty-five years old, after all, and Margit was an obvious and, it seemed, willing partner for him.

E
TEL WAS NOT JEALOUS OF
M
ARGIT AND
A
NDRÁS
. At least this is what she told herself over and over. She knew there was no way Margit could ever take her place in András’s heart, and she derived a certain satisfaction from this knowledge. But on another level she was broken-hearted by the realization that András needed more than she could provide for him, that even a perfect sister has limitations. Etel spent long hours trying to fit things together, attempting to reconcile her emotions with her mind. She was most concerned when she understood that if an opportunity presented itself, she would in all likelihood be unable to resist taking steps to remove Margit from their lives.

Margit did not care what she thought, Etel knew. Margit was overwhelmed by András, and to a larger extent overwhelmed by the F-F Extravaganza. There was nothing about it she did not love. She loved the freedom, she loved the unspoken boundaries, and she loved the people, especially the dancers. In a candid moment she told Etel that their costumes made her dizzy, all the glitter and silk and colour. They made her think of glorious birds.

Etel thought this was silly. She did not understand how someone who had lived as hard a life as Margit’s could be so easily swept away by glitz. She did not understand how it could be seen as anything more than a sham.

A
TRUE
SHOWMAN
, Cole held his reception in the centre ring, under the big top. Fresh sawdust was laid, food and drink were plentiful, and spirits were high. Cole worked the crowd of Respectables, aware that he had enemies among these relatives, these nephews and nieces and second cousins. The de facto leader of the Respectables was a Canadian, the husband of Cole’s deceased sister. Now in his seventies, Arthur Simpson had been five years younger than his Fisher-Fielding bride, something
which had caused quite a stir at the time but now seemed quite irrelevant. His wife died giving birth to their third son. He remarried and his second wife also died, although the two had produced a daughter. Simpson went on to achieve a level of wealth and social standing that did not seem likely when he had first married. He had been the Canadian ambassador to Washington for some years and, now retired, was several times a millionaire. That it was rumoured his wealth was in large part derived from Prohibition did nothing to diminish his appeal to the Respectables. Cole felt fairly confident that if he could win Arthur Simpson to his cause he would prevail.

It would be no easy task. Simpson was not known to be a particular fan of the circus, or of entertainment in general. The only things that would interest him were the profitability of the circus and an assurance that he would not have to even think about the Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza for another five years. Working in Cole’s favour was Simpson’s respect for tradition. Cole hoped that the fact that he had made the F-F what it was and that he was one of the original seven would go at least some distance for him. He scanned the ring for Simpson and, after locating him, straightened his suit, put on his best smile and approached the man who owned his fate.

Salvo stood orphaned on the other side of the ring, feeling very unpopular and wishing he didn’t have to be there. None of the other performers seemed interested in talking to him, and his English wasn’t good enough to engage strangers in meaningful conversation, or so he thought. In reality, though he hadn’t consciously tried to learn, Salvo’s English was the best of any of the Ursaris, more than passable.

He took a sip of his iced tea, having refused the champagne the others were drinking on the grounds he was performing that
night. In truth, the only time he ever drank was immediately following a show, and then only when Cole Fisher-Fielding, with his bottle of rye whisky, stormed into his railcar, which was fairly frequently. It was hot under the top, and the tea was good—bitter and refreshing. Several feet from him stood a very good-looking woman, maybe twenty-five years old. She was talking with a man whom Salvo did not immediately recognize, a man who was obviously one of the Respectables. After a second glance, Salvo realized that the man was Norris Fisher-Fielding. Salvo took several steps to his left, in the opposite direction. The woman, her back to Salvo, pushed Norris away with one hand, firmly, then turned and walked towards Salvo. Norris watched her for a moment and shook his head, before beginning a conversation with the person next to him.