The Transformation of Bartholomew Fortuno: A Novel (40 page)

When Iell finally summoned me upstairs, my relief was short-lived. She greeted me through a half-opened door.

“I can’t really speak with you right now, Bartholomew,” she said, as she fussed with her gloves. “I have an important appointment.” But when she saw my eye, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into her room.

“Whatever have you done?”

She plunked me down in the little parlor and disappeared into another room, returning in moments carrying a piece of heavy brown cloth that reeked of something foul.

“Rest your head and breathe quietly.”

I let my head fall against the arm of the couch and stretched out my legs. Iell placed the poultice on my eye, pressing it down lightly, and I relaxed a bit, despite the fishy, astringent smell.

“How do you know how to do this?” I asked, gesturing toward the poultice.

“Growing up like I did, a girl learns to fight.” Her smile was worth every bit of pain I felt.

I lay on the couch and watched Iell bustle about, gathering her hat, her parasol, and a scarf to cover her face. Yes. We’d manage quite well out in the real world, she and I.

“Now,” she said, after setting her things by the door and coming back to me. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

What could I say? That I’d lost all my friends? I squinted at the portrait of Barnum with my one good eye, then turned my head just enough to take it out of my line of vision.

“A misunderstanding,” I said.

“There are so many misunderstandings in this world,” Iell said softly.

I took her hand and brought it to my lips. “Let me take care of you.” My words poured out. “Let me—”

Iell put a finger over my mouth. “Don’t. I can’t talk about the future right now, but I will know more soon. Then we can talk, I promise.”

“Know more about what?” I took hold of her wrist, wanting to pull her close.

But Iell stood, dragging me up with her. She pressed my hand to the poultice to keep it in place and all but pushed me out the door. Before I knew what had happened, the matron was escorting me out of the house.

A few minutes later, as I stood mute in the middle of the walk in front of the boardinghouse, Iell came out. She’d covered her face with a scarf. “Tonight,” she said. “We can talk then, but you must come late.”

“Why?” I asked. “Where will you be before that?”

She said nothing as she disappeared into a waiting carriage.

B
Y THE
time I returned to the Museum, everything was in chaos. A line of young boys snaked out of the Museum’s front doors wearing cowbells, tin clackers, and sandwich boards announcing the evening fireworks. For the nickel that Barnum would pay them, they’d be out the rest of the day wearing down their shoe leather as they trolled the streets and handed out flyers.

Inside, I had to all but beat my way through an army of workers—bow-backed delivery boys who looked like moving gardens, weighted down as they were with bundles of iris, plumeria, hibiscus, and lace-cap hydrangea. The florists clucked and fussed as they pulled the flowers from the boys’ backs and arranged them in fluted vases and four-foot baskets. And the ovens had roared to life. Heavenly smells from the kitchens infused the whole Museum: capons, lamb, and whole sides of beef stewed with apples, plus fried onions, roasted nuts, chicken in cream and tarragon, gingered berries, and German sausage. All I could think of was my belly. I stole a loaf of bread and ate it all alone in the garden.

Contentedly, I tended to the birds in the Moral Lecture Room. I fed the Arboretum birds first, and each one greeted me as an old
friend. Then I went about and dropped a thimbleful of seed into each of the songbirds’ cages. They ate as though starving. Around four o’clock, a band struck up on the Broadway balcony, the music unusually pleasant, all horns and cymbals. The players swayed on their chairs, wine bottles at their feet. Thaddeus stood beyond, looking like a fool in a bright red suit and striped hat. He tilted over the railing, calling down to the crowds.

“Tonight, my friends, when the sun goes down, the great Phineas T. Barnum will light up your sky! Bring your children! Prepare to dance in the street!”

I thought about how Thaddeus had put the fear of God in me only a few weeks ago. What had he said? That there were always skinnier men waiting to take my place? Ha, I thought. After tonight it would no longer matter.

According to the schedule, all performers, visitors and regulars alike, were to meet for pre party instructions in the Green Room at seven o’clock. I was a bit worried about what would happen when I saw Alley and Matina again, but all I could do was take what came to me. Around six, I ate half a bowl of boiled pork and cabbage that I’d pilfered from the kitchen and sat in the window for a while with my nuthatch.

“Liberty,” I said to her. “I am going to call you Liberty,” and I held up the cage so she could see the sky. Then I bathed, put on my red tights and my best jacket, and went to the Green Room, hoping against the odds that I’d pass Iell on my way.

Only a few other performers wandered about the dressing room, most bedraggled and not yet dressed for the party. None of the headliners had shown up yet, and their mirrors were still dark. But soon a handful of thespians came in and crammed together in the corner near a large covered billboard, followed by the aerialists, the tumblers, and the musicians, until eventually at least fifty performers had stuffed themselves into the room, some spilling out the door into the hallway outside. I joined a group of actors bunched together by the Notice Board. They stunk of greasepaint but then so did I, my eye still covered with skin-colored paste, bits of it dried now and itching like mad.

At six-forty-five, Matina sauntered in on Alley’s arm, his guard only two steps behind him. Alley didn’t look my way, but when Matina nodded at me coolly from across the room, I smiled at her, despite the knot in the pit of my stomach. Was she going to let bygones be bygones? I hoped there could be peace between us someday, if not today. Next came Emma, accompanied by the giant Captain Bogardus and his brother. Then Zippy with Commodore Nutt, who was visiting from his Lilliputian tour of Europe, followed by Bridgett in a gold silk cape, her hair full of lace and pearls. I was surprised at how comfortable Bridgett had become, as if she’d been part of the troupe all her life.

At seven o’clock exactly, Iell strolled in. Barnum followed right behind her, and for a heart-stopping moment it looked like they were together. Barnum climbed on top of a soapbox near the door and banged his walking stick against the wall for silence; I threw him a challenging look, though if he saw me he paid me no mind. Iell moved into the shadows near the wall. I ached to go to her, to ask her if she’d really come in on Barnum’s arm, but I didn’t dare cross the room to her in front of everyone.

“Isn’t this grand, folks?” Barnum pressed his chest out like a balloon about to burst. “Midnight tonight—my fifty-fifth birthday!” Barnum’s statement was met by a rush of whispers. Ricardo’s voice rose from somewhere in the room. “Bravo! All together now! Bravo!” His little cat—which he no longer bothered to hide—was draped across his shoulders like a stole. Barnum waved him back before continuing.

“In a few hours,” he said, “guests from the finest families in this city will begin to arrive. When they do, you must treat them like royalty. I expect you to be on your best behavior and to carry yourselves with the dignity that the evening commands.”

“Like they treat us?” I said, to no one in particular. Apparently, I’d spoken louder than I’d thought, because Barnum stopped and scowled down at me. I raised my hands in a gesture of apology.

“Thank you, Mr. Fortuno, for yielding the floor. Now,” he continued, “we’ve brought in some wonderful visiting acts tonight, but before we get to the schedule, I want to remind you that if any of my guests wish
to see a special talent of yours, you will accommodate and make them happy, yes?” No one spoke, so Barnum, assuming agreement, nodded his head to Ricardo. “Now please attend. Here is the final schedule for the night.”

Ricardo dragged a cloth-covered board to the top of the table and flipped aside the cloth with a flourish.

A unicorn? Really! I would bet my life it was nothing more than an albino pony altered by the wizardry of Barnum’s crew. The dishonesty infuriated me.

“Sir!” I yelled out, thrusting my hand in the air.

“A final reminder to my Curiosities,” Barnum said, ignoring me. “Even when you are not performing, you are entertainment. As you mingle with guests, remember that they believe in the magic of you.”

“
Sir!
” This time I yelled louder.

Barnum scowled down at me. “Fortuno? You have something else to add?”

“Unicorns, sir? Surely, our audiences don’t believe in such drivel. I think this is a mistake.”

Heads twisted toward me, but I kept my gaze on Barnum, ignoring the severity of his look.

“Mistake? No, son, no mistake. At least not on my part.”

I reached into my pocket and touched the root, then looked briefly at Iell. “And why, with all due respect, did you first invite us to this party of yours as guests and then turn around and tell us to work?” I knew I should stop. Even if I planned to leave the Museum, it was stupid to rile him, but I could not help myself.

With thumbs hooking the pockets on either side of his vest, Barnum shook his head at me. “You seem to be having a little problem controlling yourself, Mr. Fortuno. And that eye of yours doesn’t look too good. Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t do the stage show this evening.” He narrowed his eyes and looked down his nose at me. “In fact, don’t even perform tableau. Take off that suit and wander about tonight in just those tights of yours. That should do it, I think.”

Matina glanced over at me in alarm, and I was sure that everyone in the room was waiting for me to crumble.

I looked over to where Iell still stood but could not make out her face.

“Fine, sir. That’s what I’ll do.”

Barnum ended our stalemate by turning to the room at large. “Our guests will begin to arrive at nine for cocktails,” he said, “so please finish dressing now, and make sure you’re in place exactly on time.”

When Barnum released us, I elbowed my way through the players toward Iell, but by the time I made it to the door it was too late. She had slipped away.

F
ROM MY
parlor window, I watched a man on stilts carve through the horde in the street below. He blew a long-necked horn to clear the way, his wooden legs parting the crowd as he walked. Behind him, carriages heaved out overdressed passengers who chattered mindlessly as they scraped the horse manure from their shoes with the boot brushes near the doors. When the band broke into a hearty rendition of “Pop Goes the Weasel,” the crowd started dancing.

I moved Liberty from the window to the top of my étagère. She seemed to like her new name and kept singing even after I covered her cage with a light tea towel. Already the street in front of the Museum teemed with jugglers and fire wheels, and a drunken crowd milled noisily about.

“He took me off the schedule,” I said to the covered cage. “What do you think of that?” Liberty trilled once from beneath the towel, and I laughed despite my mood.