Ascension

  The time had come for Salvo to take the next step towards returning to the wire. He was confident that his training had reinstated his skills, and he needed to assemble a troupe capable of pulling off the act he had envisioned. First, though, he required Anna’s approval. He waited until the children were in bed. They sat in front of the fireplace in the front room, Anna listening to the radio.

  “I have something to tell you,” he said. He tried to appear calm, but he could hear the tension in his voice.

  Anna nodded. “I was wondering when you would.”

  Salvo was surprised. “What?”

  “I’m not a fool,” she said, “and I go into the barn from time to time.” She turned her gaze onto him, her face cold.

  Salvo said nothing, ashamed.

  “You want to go back to the wire.”

  “Yes.”

  “This life isn’t enough for you? You have to have the crowds, the applause?” Anna’s voice rose, and her brow was furrowed.

  “Our life is more than enough. For ten years I have loved our life. But without the wire, I cannot enjoy it.” It shocked Salvo to hear himself say such a thing, because he had not realized it before, and because he instantly knew it to be true.

  “Then walk the wire in the barn.”

  “It is not the same.”

  “You have a family now, Salvo. What if you fall?”

  “I will not fall.”

  Anna looked him in the eyes. “If I say no, will you go anyway?”

  Salvo considered this question. “No. If you say no, I will stay here and grow corn.”

  Anna stood, moving to the window. “If we do this, there will be conditions.”

  His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I understand.” Salvo tried to contain his excitement. He could not believe Anna was softening her position.

  “I mean it. It will be done a certain way.” She tried to sound resolute, but she knew her resolve was already seriously weakened.

  “Yes. It will be done right.”

  “I pray to God I don’t regret this decision.”

  “You will not.” Outside it began to rain, lightly at first, then heavily, the drops sounding like bells as they struck the roof’s metal gutters.

  ALL DAY LONG ETEL WAITED FOR JÁNOS, who was a few weeks past his thirteenth birthday, to come home from school. A letter had arrived, and Etel had opened it, surprised when Canadian money had tumbled out, a lot of money. But though she could speak English well enough, she could not read most of what the letter said. She recognized her brother’s name, though, and she could hardly sit still. When János got home he would read her the letter, which, while short, said much.

  Late that night the door opened, and András, wilted, trudged through the doorway. He was working nights as a bouncer at a nightclub and days at the hot-dog stand, and he was exhausted. He was startled to see Etel sitting up. A multicoloured pile of money was arranged on the table, and a piece of paper was clutched in her hands.

  “From Salvo,” she said, thrusting the paper towards him.

  “What does it say?” he asked.

  “He is going back to the wire.” A smile spread across her face.

  “How?” András could not bring himself to believe her. Surely there was some misunderstanding.

  “Norris Fisher-Fielding is gone, and the F-F has invited him back.”

  “What is the money for?”

  Etel’s smile lessened slightly. “He wants us to come to Canada.”

  “Why?” András groped his way into a chair.

  “He wants us to walk again.”

  András paused. He had not thought he would ever return to the wire. “What do you think we should do?”

  Etel’s green eyes shone. “I think we should go.”

  András looked at the couch he slept on, the dingy apartment they lived in, and thought how in six hours he would have to be back at work so that they could afford even this squalor. He thought of János in the next room, of the future the boy would likely have if they stayed in New York, and his decision was made. “Then we will go.”

  They left the next day.

  To perform the feat Salvo had conceived, the troupe would have to consist of eight people. When András and Etel had resumed training and Anna took to the wire, they were four. They trained through the winter, and by spring of 1958 they were very good. But they were still four bodies short of eight, though no one besides Salvo knew it. Salvo knew that once the act started back with the F-F in several weeks, it would not be hard to find performers willing to join them.

  The Ursari house was crowded. János and Daniel shared a room, as did Elsabeth and Mika, leaving a room for András and Etel to share, and a room for Salvo and Anna. With the four teenagers, there was a constant battle for use of the house’s one washroom, and many mornings Salvo resorted to using the old outhouse behind the barn rather than wait his turn.

  It was on one such morning that Salvo woke and from the other side of the door heard the shower running. He pulled on his shoes and went outside. As he passed the barn he noticed that the door was open. When he reached out to close it, he saw a glimpse of leg just inside the door. He entered the barn.

  János stood in his pyjamas, his back to Salvo. Elsabeth and Mika were up in the hayloft, similarly dressed. They all watched the centre of the wire, where Daniel stood, motionless. At first no one saw Salvo. Finally Mika did, nudging her twin, whose face flushed when she looked down at him. János turned around and ducked his head, knowing they had been caught. Daniel had seen nothing, still standing.

  Quietly, so as not to startle the boy, Salvo spoke. “Come down, Daniel.”

  Daniel looked down, and pivoting with surprising technique, walked back to the hayloft. He was first down the ladder, followed by Mika and then Elsabeth. They stood in a line beside János. János and Elsabeth looked frightened, almost ashamed, but Mika and Daniel were stony-faced, defiant.

  “You should not be up there,” Salvo said.

  None of the children spoke.

  “The wire is not a place for play.”

  “We weren’t playing,” Mika said, her voice high.

  “You have no training.”

  “We’ve watched you,” Daniel said. “We can do lots.”

  “You are children.”

  “We aren’t so young.”

  Salvo considered this assertion. Daniel was approaching eighteen, which was indeed not so young. Mika and Elsabeth would turn fifteen in a few weeks, and János was a year younger.

  “We could do more if you taught us.” Mika had spoken, but all the children’s eyes flickered at the suggestion.

  Salvo shook his head. “Your mother would never allow it.”

  “You could convince her.”

  “At least try,” Elsabeth said.

  Salvo again shook his head. He turned and left the barn, closing the door behind him. He had not considered this possibility. It could give him the eight people needed for the trick, but these were his children. Anna would not approve.

  It took Salvo a week to work up the nerve to tell Anna what he had seen. As he had guessed, she was less than enthusiastic.

  “They were on the wire? They’re children!”

  “They are older than we like to think.”

  “Have you been teaching them?” Her tone was accusatory.

  “No. But they have our blood.”

  “Not Daniel.” As soon as she said this, Anna wished she hadn’t.

  Salvo did not say that he often felt that Daniel was the most like him of any of the children. “But the others …”

  Anna ran her hand through her hair and chewed at her lip. “They think the wire is romantic. They don’t know the truth.”

  “You once thought the wire romantic.”

  Anna prickled. “I didn’t know the wire, just like they don’t.”

  “The wire is not a bad place.”

  “No, but it is a hard place, and it is a dangerous place. Do you really want that for our c
hildren?”

  “I do not see how we can stop them. We can tell them no, but they will do it anyway, and they will not always be children.”

  Anna considered his words. “Then we must tell them what the wire is really like.”

  Salvo suspected they would have different versions, but he agreed.

  ANNA AND SALVO SAT ON THE LOVESEAT in the corner of the front room. Daniel, János and Mika sat on the larger sofa opposite them and Elsabeth sat on the floor, leaning against Mika’s legs. András sat in a chair to the side, and Etel stood. She could have sat in another chair that remained empty, but she choose to stand.

  “Either way,” Salvo said, “whether I will teach you or not, you are never to go on a wire by yourselves again.”

  “You will teach us?” Mika asked.

  “That remains to be seen,” Anna said, displeased with the excitement in Mika’s voice. “You need to know some things first.”

  “We’re listening,” Daniel said.

  Salvo began. “The wire is not like any other place. One mistake on the wire and you are dead. You are dead, your troupe is dead, we are all lost. That is a big responsibility. You cannot take it lightly.”

  “Many die,” András said quietly.

  “We know all of this,” Mika said.

  “You cannot know any of it.” András’s jaw was firmly set.

  “Has any of you ever fallen?” Elsabeth asked.

  “No,” Salvo said. “That is why we are alive. But every time we go on the wire, we accept that we may die.”

  “Then why do you do it?” János, who was the smartest of the children and said little, had asked the very question each of them had secretly hoped no one would ask. There was no answer that would keep these children off the wire.

  “Why do you do it?” János repeated, his voice insistent, eyes squarely on Salvo.

  “I do it because I must,” Salvo answered. He did not like his answer, but there was nothing else he could tell them.

  “For the money?” Mika asked.

  “No. For my life.”

  “Then you understand why we want to walk,” Daniel said. He sounded more like an adult than he ever had. Salvo knew then the argument was over. How could he deny his children access to the very thing that made his life worth living?

  Anna remained unconvinced. “It is not a way of life I would wish upon you children.”

  “If we don’t like it, we can quit, right?”

  “Few do.”

  Etel, who had remained silent until now, spoke quietly. “I was almost your age when I learned the wire. If you begin now, you will never stop.”

  “Why would we want to stop?” Daniel asked.

  For this only Anna had an answer, but she said nothing.

  All was quiet for several minutes. Then, András spoke, his words directed to János. “I am against this way of life for you. But if you choose to train, I will not stop you.”

  János looked to Etel. “Your life is yours,” she said.

  He next looked at his cousins, then at Salvo. “Will you teach me?”

  Salvo nodded. “Yes.”

  “And us?” Daniel asked.

  Salvo looked to Anna. “I have no objections. But it is up to your mother.”

  Anna stared at the floor, her hands clenched together, knuckles white. After a long time she looked up, into the faces of Elsabeth, then Mika, then Daniel. She exhaled sharply. “I never wanted this life for you. Are you sure it is what you want?”

  “Yes,” each of them said in turn.

  “Then you may do it. There’s too much of your father in you for me to prevent it.”

  The children twitched with excitement, in spite of the gravity of Anna’s words. Salvo hushed them. “This will not be easy, and it will not be fun. You will work until you think you cannot work any more, and even then we will not be nearly finished. You will do as I say, because I will not allow you to perform unless I have complete confidence in you, unless I am certain you will not fall. If I do not have this confidence, or I lose it, you will not go on the wire.”

  “Don’t worry,” Daniel said. “I was snatched from the lion’s den. I will not fall.”

  Salvo smiled at this remark. “You need to sleep now,” he said. “Tomorrow we begin.”

  That night, none of the children slept. Neither did Anna, Salvo or András. Only Etel slept soundly; the others could hear her snoring through their doors.

  SALVO WAS TRUE TO HIS WORD, a stern taskmaster who accepted nothing short of perfection. In the mornings he trained the green walkers—Daniel, János, Elsabeth, Mika and Jacob Blacke, who upon learning that they were going back to the wire had begged Salvo to teach him, and because he could use another person, Salvo agreed. A spare walker would always come in handy on the road. János had the most natural talent of all of them, but Elsabeth and Mika were very good as well. Jacob Blacke was not bad. Daniel was the least talented but was arguably the hardest worker, and as a result he was able to progress, if at a slower rate.

  In the beginning Salvo had them do only exercises that would train the muscles they would need on the wire. He could tell they did not like these drills, finding them boring and tedious, but they did not complain, and eventually he let them onto the wire. The first thing he had to do was unteach them what they thought they already knew. What they had learned of the wire they had learned by watching Salvo, and this was not a good way to learn. Too much of what looked easy was not—details were missed. Daniel in particular had horrible technique, and Elsabeth and Mika had a tendency to bow their legs. János was not as damaged, and Jacob, never having been on the wire, needed no retraining.

  When Salvo was satisfied that he had erased their misconceptions, he began to really teach them. They learned immobility first, all five of them on the wire at once. If one fell or broke concentration they were all forced to leave the wire and begin again. After they had mastered this lesson to Salvo’s approval, they walked.

  Salvo lowered the wire to a height of about four feet off the ground, and he had them walk from one end to the other, over and over again. As they walked in one direction he corrected them, pushed them and prodded them, told them what they were doing wrong and what they were doing right. When they reached the end they walked the other way, and he left them alone, watching their progress.

  After several months each of them could cross the wire three times and back without Salvo correcting them. János could do it many times. Salvo then placed all five of them on the wire and had them walk together.

  He snapped his fingers, and they each took a step forward. Watching, he saw that Daniel was a fraction of a second behind the others. “You’re slow, Daniel,” he said.

  “Sorry, Father,” Daniel said.

  “Do not be sorry. Just walk with the others.” He snapped his fingers, and this time Jacob was slow. “Jacob, now you’re off.”

  Jacob nodded. He knew better than to apologize.

  Salvo snapped his fingers, and this time they all stepped in sequence. He clapped his hands once, and Mika and Elsabeth pivoted 180 degrees. “Watch your outside leg, Mika,” he said. “It’s too wide. You cannot bend it so much. See?” He pushed her lightly with one hand, and her balance was gone. He grabbed her arm to steady her, so she would not fall. Above all he did not want them to learn how to fall.

  “If I don’t bend it, I can’t pivot,” Mika said.

  “Yes, you can. It’s harder, but you will not fall, and that is the important thing. Try it again.”

  Mika pivoted, this time with her leg in the correct position. “Good,” Salvo said. “Again.” She repeated the pivot once, twice, three times. The others stood, motionless.

  Salvo clapped his hands twice, and Daniel, Jacob and János pivoted 180 degrees. “Very nice, János. Good, Daniel. Jacob, crisper. It must be crisper.” He wasn’t sure about Jacob. He was adequate most of the time, but he would never be brilliant.

  “That’s enough for today.” Salvo watched them walk to the end of the
wire and step down, then file out of the barn without saying a word. He suspected that they would complain about his methods once out of earshot, but he didn’t mind. Their hard work would pay off, eventually.

  Salvo sighed. The 1958 version of the Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza was due to begin its tour in only three weeks, and he knew that the children were not ready to perform. But if they did not join the show, Martin would be forced to hire another wire act, and they could potentially lose their spot. Though Salvo did not believe that Martin would go back on his word to give the Ursaris a contract, he knew enough about the circus to know that when an opportunity presents itself you do not pass it up, so he decided that their training would continue on the road.

  The act they would perform was much the same as the act they had performed prior to 1945, with Anna taking Margit’s place in some of the tricks, Etel in the more difficult ones. On opening night in Madison Square Garden they performed the act flawlessly, but received only lukewarm applause where once there had been ovations. Salvo was puzzled.

  “What is wrong with the act?” he asked out loud, once they had reached the ground.

  “There is nothing wrong,” András said. “We did it perfectly.”

  “But the people did not cheer.”

  “They have seen us before,” Etel said. “Maybe we no longer excite them.”

  Salvo considered this for a moment. He had never thought such a thing possible. “Then we will have to find a way to make them care,” he said, his jaw setting with a firmness that would have frightened Anna if she had seen him.

  In general, interest in the circus had declined. Competition with movies, television and professional sporting events had reduced attendance to a fraction of what it once had been. The show had been much pared down as a result, and although the acts were still all top-notch, there was a certain amount of spectacle missing. The F-F had been the last circus to move indoors, marking the end of an era. Yet it was, as Martin pointed out repeatedly, better than bankruptcy.

  When the F-F finished the run and went to winter quarters, the Ursaris returned to their farm. After a week off, Salvo held an intensive three-day training session in the barn, with all nine of them present. He put them through every technique, move, trick and manoeuvre they knew, keenly observing their slightest movement. They all met his approval, including the children. They were ready.