Wild Rover No More: Being the Last Recorded Account of the Life & Times of Jacky Faber (19 page)

“No, no, Maestro,” I say, making placating motions with my hands. “Zere are other zings vee can do, eef I might explain?”

“Very well, come up here, and we will hear what you have to say,” he says, yielding the floor, or rather the sawdust ring, to me.

I turn to my friends and say, “Vat vee vill do ees pull all zee vagons into a circle on zee back lot, leaving zee loop open at one end for zee crowd to enter. No, zere vill be no admission charge, but each attraction costs a little. Enrico could set up his food vagon in zee center, selling his vonderful sausages, and tents stretched from zee sides of zee vagons vould shelter zee various . . . offerings.”

“And what would these acts be?” I hear. “What can we do? We are circus people.”

“Many zings,” I reply. “Elephant and pony rides. Boys vill buy candy for zeir sweethearts and try to vin zem prizes at zee game tents. Zere vill be music and dancing and dramatic plays. Pipple may bring zeir children. Maybe zey don't vant zeir dahlinks to see Salome do zee Dance of zee Seven Veils, but zey can still enjoy zee antics of zee harlequins clown­ing about.”

There is a low muttering as my proposal is discussed: “I could do the tarot and tell fortunes,” and “I can make really good fudge
.
”

I continue to press my case. “And zee Chuck-a-Luck Wheel . . . It ees zee roulette table for zee poor man, and a real moneymaker. Plus, eet does not require zat a circus
artiste
man zese booths. Rigger could handle zee wheel. Zee other roustabouts can handle zee rest of zee games. Zen, zere's our strongman, Gregor; he could challenge zee local bravos to match him in feats of strength—or wrestling. Or boxing! Vee could easily set up a ring for prize fights, set zee odds, take zee bets . . . and cockfights! Ta-da! Zee center ring ees just made for zat!”

“But . . . but . . . that smacks of gambling!” sputtersSignor Mattucci. “The towns will not allow it!”

“Zey vill eef you clear it vith zem first. Send your most clever man to negotiate zee price. You might be surprised,” I retort.

“But who among us can do that? Neg-o-tiate?”

Good point,
I'm thinkin' as I realize there is no one here who can actually do that. The ringmaster? No, those stiff-necked Yankees would see him as a rather silly little fat man . . . Von Arndt? . . . An arrogant foreigner. Me, a woman? Be serious. No, 'tis plain that none of us will do. But I know one who will.

“Maestro. Can vee stay vere vee are for three, four days? Do vee have enough food for us and zee animals?”

“
Sí
. Just barely.”

“Goot. Now, who ees our fastest rider? Emilio? Very vell. I shall haf a letter for him to deliver to a man in Boston. He ees like my . . . protector. He vill come to me. He vill negotiate for us and he ees very good at it. Plus, he vill bring money. Vat do you say?”

The rumblings now sound more hopeful. From them, a voice speaks up. “You've told us what we all could do to make this work, Princess Romanoff, but tell us, what will you do?”

I may be mistaken, but I believe it is Rigger O'Rourke's voice that utters that question.

I strike a pose, hands clasped behind me and tucked into the small of my arched back, chin up, eyes looking off nobly into the distance at the top of the tent.

“To save our circus,” I say, “I, Princess NatashaAnnasova Romanoff, shall perform zee famous Dance of Zee Fans.”

The motion carries.

Princess Natasha Annasova Romanoff

The Montessori and Mattucci Grand Circus

Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts, USA

 

Mr. John Higgins

Faber Shipping Worldwide

Union Street

Boston, Massachusetts, USA

 

Dear John,

Yes, it's me again, Higgins. And yes, I have joined the circus, and I like it very much. However, this circus is in trouble and I need your help. If you can see your way clear, will you join me here? It is not far from Boston, and since I am in deep cover, it should be safe enough. We are in desperate need of some of your very special talents.

If you come, please ask the Shantyman to join you and to bring his fiddle and drum . . . and my Lady Gay, too.

Oh, yes, and bring as much money as Faber Shipping can spare. Here's the scam: I am the above Russian princess and you are my guardian who has been hired by the very possessive Count Yakov Ivanillich Petrovsky, to whom I am betrothed, to keep an eye on me. Being seventeen and headstrong, I had run away from you last month to join this circus, and you are somewhat miffed with me. Got it?

We shall be here in Buzzards Bay for four days. Please come, but only if you may safely do so.

Oh, how I long to see you and get the news from home!

Please excuse my haste, for you know that I count on you as my very best friend,

J.

We are a hive of feverish activity.

The sides of the wagons must be repainted to reflect the games or shows that will be assigned to them, and canvas cut to form either full tents or half awnings, depending on the amount of shelter needed.

Me, I get a full tent, above which is lettered in black and gold
T
ONDALAYO,
Q
UEEN OF THE
N
AKED
N
ILE
.
Over that is a picture of two large female eyes, all kohl rimmed and sultry, peering through exotic jungle plants. I painted this myself. Over the entrance is a sign reading
Admission $1
—
Adults Only.

Marcello is beside himself in anticipation of my first performance but is crushed when I inform him that no circus people will be permitted in my tent when I do my dance, except for Gregor, who will be my protection. That gets a blush from Gregor.

“
Cara mia,
you say you will allow the whole world to feast its eyes upon your heavenly form, but not your faithful and loving Marcello, whose heart I place at your feet? Oh tell me it is not true, Cruel Daughter of Siberian Wolves, that you would trust this hairy beast and not me?”

That gets a growl from Gregor.

I have to laugh fondly when Marcello puts on his sorrowful hangdog look.
Don't try that one on Jacky Faber, my boy, for she has been using that look for years.

“Vell, maybe some night you shall see my poor performance, eef some night I drink too much vodka and fall victim to your charms, sweet Marcello, but not now, for zee goot of zee circus. Peace and no discord and fighting over zeevimmen
,
no?” Then I go into untranslatable Russian gobbledygook.

He accepts that with a great Mediterranean sigh and goes off with my light kiss on his cheek, so I am out of that . . . for the moment.

But while I am thinking about my promised dance, I take time amidst all the chaos to visit the wagon of our seamstress and costume designer, Señora Elena, to tell her of my needs.

“Of course, I have many feathers in many colors,Natasha. Is this not a circus? Two large fans, what color?”

“Vhite . . . or pink. As close to my skin color as possible so zat zee pipples vill not be able to tell vot ees feather and vot ees me. And, Señora, please make zee fans as large as you can, with goot, strong handles.”

“Sí, muchacha,”
she says, then smiles. “The show must go on,
verdad
? But you do know, don't you, how we all thank you for what you are trying to do?”

“Ees true, Señora,” I say, acknowledging the traditional rallying call of circus folk and other theatrical people around the English-speaking world when trouble raises its head. “Zee plan, I hope she works,” I say with fingers crossed as I leave her to her task.

Now to the Chuck-a-Luck Wheel.

Rigger O'Rourke has that well in hand, having seen many such wheels at county fairs and even church picnics. It's funny. Lay the wheel down flat and you've got evil roulette, found in every godless gambling house, yet stand it upright and take it outside in the sun, and you're doing God's Work. Go figure . . .

We find that two more young boys have run away from their farms to join the circus. We get them all the time, at virtually every stop. Most such boys we kick back out to face angry fathers, but these we keep on my orders. They stand before me, hats in hand. Between them stands Gregor, the one who had caught them trying to crawl under the heavy canvas of the Big Top. He has a large hand wrapped around each of their necks. They are both astounded by the sight of me issuing orders while dressed in my aerialist costume.

“Your names?”

“Tad and Jerry, Miss,” chokes out the less shy one. “Cousins.”

“And joo both can ride? Do not lie, now,” I warn. “You vill be put in lion cage eef you are found out.”

“Yessum. Both bareback and saddle. Can handle a rig, too.” They are loose-limbed and lanky, and are about fifteen years old.

“Do joo know all zee farms hereabout? Zee ones who raise and fight zee gamecocks?”

“Yessum.”

“Goot. Report to Mr. O'Rourke—he ees zee beeg man over zere in zee round hat. He ees zee boss of zee roustabouts, of wheech you are now members,” I say, watching their skinny chests rise and fall in joyful anticipation of a new and much more exciting life. “Zen go to Señora Elena's tent to get fitted for your red-striped shirts. Zen hop on two of our horses and ride to zee three nearest gamecock farms and tell zem of za center ring at our Beeg Top with eets fine and level sawdust. Zey shall never fight zere cocks in a finer arena, I promise eet. Three or four days from now, zey vill be informed. Prizes, too. Now go and do eet.”

Do it they do, barely able to contain their excitement. “Boy howdy, Tad! New shirts!” I hear them exclaim as I head off for the next chore: the design and construction of the torches to light up all this stuff when night falls. A peek in our supplies reveals that we have some stout bamboo sticks that will serve.
“Make it so, Mr. O'Rourke!” And so he does. He is a
most
valuable man . . . quite well constructed, too, I might add.
But never mind that, you. Ahem! There is work to be done here, girl, so go do it.

The whole of the circus throws itself into the midway project, and that includes the
artistes.
The De Graff sisters, Gretchen and Heidi, both Germanic beauties, cheerfully set up for children's short rides on their magnificent stallions, and Mahmud decorated up Gargantina to her very best. There are many long strands of bright beads cascading from the edges of a small Persian carpet on her back as well as from a golden crown that rests on her head. She looksmagnificent! And Señora Elena is ready to go with the tarot and the fortunetelling, and even my proud Marcello has agreed to man the simple throw-the-ball-and-knock-over-the-stuffed-cats game to win a prize for your lovely
ragazza.

There is one who will not participate in all this, and that is the animal trainer, Herr Udo von Arndt, pronouncing that it's beneath him.
Fine, Mr. von Arndt, just take care of your tigers and stay out of our way.
I am coming to profoundly dislike the man, a distaste that I find is shared by many around me.

But never mind that, for what should pull into the back lot but a coach-and-four. A door opens, and out steps my dear John Higgins.
Oh, joy!
And then the rear door swings wide and Enoch Lightner, the Shantyman, emerges, he of the deep baritone and vast knowledge of music and sound, and master of the fiddle, with his ever-present white cloth band drawn across his sightless eyes.

“Oh, John, thank you for coming! We have so much to discuss! And Enoch, so good of you to join us! And who's this?”

A dark-haired girl in her mid-twenties, as far as I can tell, tumbles out behind him, bearing a fiddle case and a bright smile.

“Eliza, Miss,” she says, holding out her hand in a no-nonsense way. “Eliza Lightner.”

“Welcome, Missus Lightner,” I say, taking her hand and smiling back at her. “I thought our Mr. Lightner looked a good deal neater than when last I saw him.” His coat is brushed, as is his unruly black hair.

He grins good-naturedly at the female sport being made of him. “She admired my singing of ‘Captain Wedderburn's Courtship,' and so loved my rendition of ‘Cuckoo's Nest' that she ended up in my bed that very night,” he says, getting his own back at us.

“Aye, and we was married the next day,” retorts this Eliza. “And now I've got to unpack.” She goes to the trunk and begins to pull out luggage, which includes many music cases and, most prominently, a large drum.
Ah, yes, the Shantyman's trademark.

I spot Mr. Barrow, a disagreeable dwarf who is also our wagon master.

“Meester Bar-row. Eef you please. Vee vill need accomadations for three—vun single vagon, vun double.”

He casts me a surly look. “It don't please me none at all. But, well, I guess you're the boss of this mess, so I'll move some things around. Kick out a few clowns. Serve 'em right. Gimme an hour.”

And he goes off, grumbling.
Oh well, I guess Rigger finds him useful . . .

If I had thought the coach was empty of riders, I was wrong. The door on the other side slams, and who should come about to greet me, arms held wide, red hair blazing, but . . .

Mairead?

If I thought I could just collapse into helpless joy at seeing my dear Irish companion and sometimeSister-in-Arms, I was wrong, for there is much to be done.

“Come, friends, into my wagon to refresh yourselves, and then we must talk business.”