Sideshow Page 9

  Abby hadn’t realized that she had been crying, but now that Suprema mentioned it, she felt the tears of fear, concern, frustration, and embarrassment. “I—”

  Suprema walked toward Abby. Her moves were slow and deliberate, as if she were approaching a feral cat she thought would bolt. “How about we try this again? Quieter this time. Why are you in my trailer?”

  A voice in the back of Abby’s mind told her to flee, but almost immediately another voice, one that was intrigued by the never-before-seen look of gentleness in Suprema’s eyes, told her to stay put. “I really was looking for Constance or Ruth. I just wanted to sit in their trailer for a while until I felt better.”

  “But the Lambrinos’s trailer—”

  “I know,” Abby admitted, looking down at the floor. “I saw a hula hoop outside and my mind just, misinterpreted, I guess. Sometimes, it gets a little … especially lately,” she trailed off again, allowing Suprema to help her to a chair.

  “Did someone hurt you?” Suprema asked, her voice slow and patient.

  Abby shook her head, her cheeks hot. “Not anytime recently.”

  “However recent it was doesn’t matter.” Suprema took one of her hands. The gesture was comforting.

  The pair sat in silence for a long while, until Suprema spoke again. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was worried, because you’re friends with Della—”

  “Della’s not really my—” but Abby stopped herself from finishing that sentence. In many ways Della had been a friend to her—not a great one, but she tried. “Della’s just looking after me for a while. Until it’s safe.”

  A light of understanding seemed to dawn behind Suprema’s eyes, as if she were putting together the pieces of a mystery that had been baffling her. “You’re the girl from the Cleveland show!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “I thought you looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place it. Not quite, but … you are, aren’t you?”

  Abby didn’t want to nod, but she did.

  “It was that man, wasn’t it? The one who interrupted? He’s the one who hurt you?”

  Again, Abby nodded, though she didn’t want to.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Suprema went to a cupboard and pulled out a small cooler, from which she produced two bottles of soda. She handed one to Abby. “It might be a little warm, but I try to keep a stash in here, since my uncle isn’t too fond of me begging off the vendors.”

  Abby looked around for a bottle opener, but Suprema took back the bottle and popped the top off on the edge of the table. Abby looked on, impressed. “I forget that it’s not a trick.”

  Not acknowledging this, Suprema took the top off her bottle and sipped her soda. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, you know. I know I don’t exactly … engender trust and openness.”

  Abby sipped, watching Suprema. She did trust her, somehow. They hadn’t had a single civil conversation before today, and yet Abby had warmed to her, as though she were the only person who could truly understand. After another sip of her soda, Abby explained who Frank was and why he had done what he did that night, as well as the terrifying aftermath. She told Suprema how she hadn’t heard a word from her family, and how Sal had been so evasive about the state of them; how the faces of the roustabouts had seemed to transform before her eyes. She expected Suprema to look shocked or confused, but instead she nodded slowly.

  “He doesn’t sound like a very good person,” she whispered when Abby had finished speaking.

  “No. I learned that,” Abby said.

  “I’m glad you were able to break away.” A silence hung between them. Suprema gingerly held onto Abby’s hand. Though she didn’t understand why, Abby felt solid ground beneath her feet for the first time since she’d left home.

  After a long while, Suprema stood with a sigh. She picked up the empty soda bottles and looked at Abby. “You know, if you ever need to, for any reason, ever again, you’re welcome in my trailer anytime.”

  This, Abby had not been expecting. She stared unblinking until she managed to force out, “I couldn’t impose.”

  Suprema shook her head. “Nothing of the sort. Vinnie said you were nice, and … well, I’ve heard you sing. Anyone who sings like that can’t be that bad.”

  Abby ducked out of Suprema’s trailer with her heart pounding and her head still buzzing. The buzz wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it felt nice. Still, she wasn’t sure what to make of it. She wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. She barely had the chance to try. Just a few steps out the door, she walked right into Boleslaw.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Amaro,” he said, backing away. His face was shiny, covered in a thick layer of petroleum jelly. Abby was impressed by what he put himself through for his art.

  “No, I—”

  “I was seeking my niece.” He glanced at Suprema’s trailer. “Is she awake?”

  Abby nodded. She still couldn’t figure out what to make of her exchange with Suprema. She stepped aside and started away.

  “Miss Amaro,” Boleslaw said, reaching for the trailer door and stopping mid-knock, “I must admit I’m surprised to see you here at all. Miss Adamson said that you would probably only be with us until our arrival here in Kalamazoo.”

  “She wasn’t wrong at the time,” Abby said, trying to sound as cordial as possible. Part of her wanted to start running blindly again, but Boleslaw was blocking the doorway to the place her feet were telling her to go.

  “There’s been a change of plans?”

  “It would seem so.”

  Boleslaw nodded and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small card and handed it to Abby. On it was printed a list of cities and dates. She scanned the places and sure enough, “Kalamazoo, Michigan, August 17-26, PO BOX M-136.” was printed on it. It was more than halfway down. From there the troupe continued west to Chicago, then looped back down around through southern Ohio before reaching their last destination of “Lexington, Kentucky, PO BOX M-2038” in mid-October.

  “It’s a route card,” Boleslaw explained. “In case you decide not to stick around and need to let someone know how to find you.”

  Abby held it as reverently as she would have held a prayer card, which was about the same size and shape. There might still be a way home after all. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Boleslaw nodded a “don’t mention it,” then knocked on Suprema’s trailer door. Abby made herself scarce before any sort of argument began.

  ~April, 1956~

  CALVARY CEMETERY IS FARTHER OUT of the city than Abby would like. Lakeview was beautiful and just down the street, but of course her mother couldn’t be buried there. No matter the distance, she visits her mother as often as she is able, but she’s the only one who does. It strikes her as odd, considering that the entire family used to picnic at the family plot when she was a little girl. At least once a month, the whole Amaro clan would pack a basket and go have lunch with Nonno and Zio Francesco, for whom they left all the burnt biscotti, and she would walk among the stones, noting the names and dates with a quiet curiosity. Abby never realized that not everyone did this until, over time, everyone else stops coming, and it is just Abby, staring at only one name: Ninfa Amaro.

  “I think you’d be proud, Mama,” she whispers to the stone in front of her. “I got into the Institute of Music’s opera program. I only went flat two times in the audition. I was shocked, honestly. I thought I did much worse.”

  Her words drift off into silence. The silence is the hardest part. She thinks that’s why no one else visits. Ninfa Amaro used to be full of things to say, full of music and life, always singing folk songs, but now she is silent. Abby tries to fill in her side of the conversation in her mind, but comes up blank.

  “I’ve already been to two classes,” she rambles on, unable to bear the silence any longer. “It’s hard. You know I’ve never been very good in front of people. It makes me, what was it you always said, wobbly? It makes me wobbly.”
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  She waits. No answer comes; not that she expects one. Still, her mother would have said it was rude to ramble on without stopping to let the other person talk. The air is warming up. It has been a long winter, made longer by yet another year without Mama’s canned tomato sauces and pickled peppers, without Mama’s Easter bread. Now spring has arrived and there are fewer things to go without. For now.

  “The teachers are nice,” Abby says after pausing to mentally fill in what her mother would say at this point about poise and confidence. “The other students, not so much, but I just don’t know them yet, I think. Maybe after a little while, they’ll let me into their little clubs.”

  The waiting is too much. Abby sighs and gets to her feet. Exhaling slowly, she drops a drawing of Joseph’s and a little packet of fennel seeds she had been saving. She knows deep down that she might not come back again. No one else does, and now she remembers why. She hates the silence.

  Chapter Eleven

  Natale,

  Had I written this letter a day ago, it would have been a rather angry one. I have been wondering why I haven’t heard a word from you since I left and yesterday I got it into my head that you had decided not to come and get me after all. That’s not the case, is it?

  How is everyone at home? I miss you all and can’t help but worry over your well-being. I don’t even know what Dad said when he saw your face. Or what Leon said! I imagine he was awestruck. How are Carla and Annette? Carla’s been so taciturn lately. You would think she was the one was about to turn thirteen and not Leon. There is a little girl here who reminds me of the two of them if you rolled them up into one person and added a little of Joseph’s insecurities. What I’m trying to say is I miss all of you. And Dad. And Nonna. All of you.

  I have copied out our route card on the back of this note in case you don’t have one and that is why I haven’t heard from you. The PO box number is different for most of the towns, which I hope explains the lack of contact.

  Please write soon, Natale. Your sister misses you.

  Love,

  Abby

  “Today only! See the amazing discovery! Two mummified alien bodies on loan from New Mexico!” Abby called out to the crowd. Occasionally one or two of the people trailing through would peer over in her direction. Even less occasionally, a teenager would drift away from their family, turn their face toward Abby and hold out a hesitant quarter. More often than not, their parents would notice and pull them away before Abby could collect.

  The sun blazed down, scorching everything, especially Abby’s bally platform. She wanted more than anything to make a mad dash for the lemonade stand, and part of her was tempted to do it. The exhibit would have just as much luck selling tickets without her.

  “Anything?” Ruth asked as she walked over to the platform with her box of lunches, looking up at Abby with a concerned expression. Abby knew that expression. She knew everything about that expression, even if she didn’t know all that much about Ruth. It was an expression she had seen countless times before on her teachers’ faces. It said, “I know you’re trying so hard and I don’t want to tell you what I’m really thinking about your performance, but it’s substandard.”

  Abby swallowed hard. It was one thing to see her teachers looking that way and another to see it in a friend. “This is getting ridiculous,” she muttered, trying to keep her tone light.

  “The aliens aren’t working?” Ruth asked, sounding shocked. “People love aliens.”

  “I’ve had maybe two kids try to come in—” As she said this, a gaggle of teenagers walked by and Abby called out to them. One of the boys elbowed another in the ribs, but he shrugged and the group walked on. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. They’re all like that.”

  Ruth pressed her lips together. “Let me give it a try.”

  Without a second thought, Abby stepped to the side. “Platform’s all yours.”

  “Ladies and Gentlemen!” Ruth called as she climbed onto the platform. Her voice, a lower, warmer, mezzo than Abby’s, carried farther across the midway. Abby cringed at the thought that this was her problem. Pitch was something she would have a hard time fixing. “You must hurry! Today and today only we have a sight of mystery and intrigue for you.”

  Passersby were turning and starting to gather. Abby had to try hard to temper the envy rising in her throat.

  “Inside the tent,” Ruth continued, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper, “you will find displayed a discovery from the American desert, brought to us one night from other worlds unnamed. Step this way to the tent, please.” She opened the flap and nodded Abby toward the opening so she could collect the ticket money as several townies hurried forward to pay.

  Trying hard to keep her breath steady, Abby took their money and sent them in to where the fake aliens waited in their jars of noxious smelling liquid. When the last had passed through into the exhibit, she turned to Ruth. “How the hell did you do that?”

  “I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t the aliens.” She peeked into the tent. The townies were all gasping appropriately. “And it’s not you. It’s just, I’ve watched plenty of these, after a while you start to see what people respond to.”

  “Did you ever do the bally? Or—what’s your act, then?”

  Ruth shook her head, picking up her box of lunches from where she set it down. She rummaged through and handed a small container of fried vegetables to Abby. “I just help out. Little bit of this. Little bit of that.”

  “Right,” Abby said, taking the vegetables gratefully. The smell of them made her realize that she was hungry after all. After popping one of the breaded broccoli florets into her mouth, she looked out at the crowds milling about the midway. No one seemed to take any notice of her. She thought back to the day she had taken her siblings to the carnival, how she wouldn’t let them anywhere near the crazy people who were shouting at them. If she could go back and live that day over, she would change a number of things, but first they would patronize every single vendor. She hated the feeling of being seen right through. She didn’t want anyone else to feel that way. “Della says a carnival can’t run with extra parts, but at the moment, I really feel like an extra part.”

  Ruth bit her lip. “Why don’t you get up there and try again? Just pretend you’re telling a story. It’s much easier that way.”

  Abby didn’t think it would be that easy for her, but she nodded and stepped up to the edge of the platform. She considered doing exactly as Ruth had done, but the thought of it sent her pulse racing. She couldn’t imitate Ruth, and besides, people had already heard what Ruth had to say. She stared out at the crowd looking for people casually walking through, reading the painted banners that proclaimed “REAL!” in bold letters. Suddenly, an idea struck her. Perhaps she didn’t know how to tell a story, but she could sing a story. She waited until the crowds had shifted enough to bring fresh ears past the bally platform and took a deep breath.

  Then she sang, beginning with the aria that she had been working on so many weeks ago when she had run away. Faces turned curiously in her direction. With a nervous glance at Ruth she rushed on, substituting words about aliens, flying saucers, and New Mexico for Amina’s joy at Elvino’s return. Some of the syllables did not quite line up, and her voice faltered more than once on the higher notes, but she refused to allow herself to stop until she had completed the aria. When she had, not only did applause break out, but a significant portion of the crowd walked to the tent.

  When they had bought their tickets and gone inside, Ruth watched Abby with a broad grin. “I don’t know what to say. That was simply—”

  Abby waved a hand for her to stop speaking. She was too busy trying to calm her heartbeat to pay attention.

  “Is something the matter?” Ruth asked, putting her box down again and scrambling onto the platform.

  Abby shook her head, knowing full well that if she looked as faint as she felt, there was no way that Ruth would believe her. She gasped down air for a few seconds
before she heard Ruth speaking again.

  “Stage fright.”

  “What?” Abby asked, turning to her.

  “You have stage fright.” This was not a question. Ruth had not allowed Abby any opportunity to deny it.

  “I’m a waitress who sings opera,” Abby said by means of protest.

  “None of that means you don’t have stage fright.”

  Not wanting to argue over something she knew was absolutely true, Abby took a seat on the edge of the platform, trying to keep herself steady. Ruth followed suit, smiling indulgently. “I’m impressed that you went for it at all, honestly. I would never have had the guts.”

  “That’s not true,” Abby scoffed. “You did great up there.”

  Ruth laughed. “I’m only here because I have stage fright. Never would have met Constance if I hadn’t …” she trailed off; a look of bliss lit her face at the memory.

  “You two seem very happy,” Abby said, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. It struck her as a somewhat odd thing to say. It was something people said to newlyweds, or golden anniversary couples, or new parents. Ruth and Constance were none of those things, and yet, Abby had the strangest sensation that they were all three at once.

  Ruth glanced back at Abby and examined her face. Abby felt uncomfortable, unsure of what Ruth was looking for in her eyes, but then Ruth seemed to decide and nodded with a smile. “We are,” she said. “I’m not going to say it’s easy, even in a caravan of misfits like this one, but, yes, we’re quite happy.”

  Abby wanted ask about the caravan of misfits, but the words that came out were quite different altogether. “I’ve never been in love,” Abby said. Immediately, she regretted letting the words escape so easily.

  “Never?” Ruth asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Well.” Abby laughed. Once she would have been appalled to know she was capable of a laugh that sounded so hollow and bitter. “There was Frank, I suppose. He was handsome and gentlemanly. He sent flowers, all the time. I was certainly fond of him. More than fond, really. I thought I might marry him. Everyone did. But, it’s hard to remember now, after everything that’s happened.”