We found Pete Harris busy at bookwork in his tent. He looked up and nodded as the three of us entered. “Morning, Edward C. Glad you’re taking care of the boys.” He looked at me approvingly. “I see Emily has worked on your hair a little. Looks better. Looks a lot better. Trust Emily. She can do anything, that girl, anything. Wish I could pay her what she’s worth. Can’t, though. Times are rotten. Guess I told you that yesterday, didn’t I, sport? As if you didn’t know.”
He gave me a pair of tight-fitting pants, a bright red and yellow shirt, and a checkered vest with wide fringe dangling at the bottom. I looked like a fool in the outfit, but Pete said the loud colors would help to get attention.
After I was decked out, we went over to the tent where I had played the night before. The piano had been moved onto a small platform outside the tent, and my job was to play popular songs as loudly and flashily as possible while I called out to anyone approaching, urging them to go inside to see the dancers. I must say that they were the prettiest girls in the country, that they were wearing the shortest skirts and doing the most daring dances outside the dance halls of Paris. I was supposed to sway and bounce all over the piano bench as if I were having all the fun in the world; I was to grin and wink and urge people to pay their dimes and step inside.
It was a painful thing for me to do. I had always been shy and reserved. That was one reason I hadn’t had many friends at Penn High. Howie had been able to clown when he accompanied my piano at school dances, but even with the kids my own age, I hadn’t been able to do more than allow the expression on my face to show how much I enjoyed playing.
Now I would have to play the silly fool for hour after hour; my antics were just as important, Pete Harris said, as the loudness and gaiety of the music. I didn’t like it; this silly, false routine was not what I had hoped for. But that didn’t matter. It was a job. It meant five beautiful dollars a week. I didn’t for one second think of refusing it, but as I took my place at the piano, I made Edward C. take Joey away. I wouldn’t have him watching. And I hoped fervently that Emily would not come near. That was one thing I didn’t believe I could take.
6
Emily was, indeed, the star attraction of the carnival. People who couldn’t afford to spend money at the sideshows would still bring their children back night after night to laugh at the antics of the clown they called Bongo. They never heard the clown speak; words didn’t matter. The fun lay in seeing the tall figure sprawl at the slightest impact with a tree, a chair, another person; of seeing the dull-witted bewilderment with which the clown got out of one troubled situation into another. The Blegans and Edward C. scampered around Bongo, teasing and tormenting, luring him into trouble and then pretending to pummel and pinch him to punish his stupidity. The kids loved it, because, as Emily explained to me, they saw Edward C. and the Blegans as being little like themselves, and seeing a grown-up clown outwitted by the childish-looking dwarf men was not only funny but satisfying to the young.
Personally I could have clouted the little monsters, and I told Emily so, but she only smiled and asked me to think of the clowns I had once laughed at and to remember what it was that made me laugh. She was right. I had been a little monster too; I had been gleeful when the silly clown fell flat or was punished for being stupid. But that was long before I knew a clown named Emily.
Each day’s work was long and strenuous for her. She was on the grounds constantly, mingling with the crowds, bumping and tumbling in a continuous effort to win a few laughs from people who were not too ready for laughter. At closing time she would gather her three sleeping children from Pete Harris’s tent and would walk wearily outside the gates and over to the boxcar which was their home. She nearly always stopped beside my piano to say good-night; I would wait for her there if my chores were finished first. Emily’s good-night came to be a small spot of joy for me in a day that was often tedious and monotonous.
She always ate breakfast with us before she put her makeup on for the day. After that I seldom saw her except at a distance during working hours, but there were a few times when the crowds were nearly gone and the lights dimmed that Emily had a chance to stand beside my piano and listen as I played the way I wanted to play. Then I would improvise some of the melodies that were in my mind, trying out variations in minor keys, softly and with a tenderness that was all for her. Eventually I’d return to the original major key with a lot of fanfare which was my way of boasting to her of my skill. Mostly she would just stand and listen, smiling to herself, but saying nothing. One night, though, she leaned forward and spoke to me softly. “You have a gift, Josh; don’t let these times make you lose sight of it.”
I was restless during these weeks. Joey and I kept waiting for Lonnie to return, and when he didn’t, we knew that he must have lost his job as he had feared. I took three dollars out of the precious ten that Pete Harris had given me after my first two weeks of work and put them in a letter to Lonnie. Joey added a dollar of the money he had earned at running errands, and we wrote Lonnie that this was the first installment on the money we owed him. We felt good when we mailed that letter.
We bought one another gifts for Christmas and were so excited about buying something other than food that we opened our packages days before Christmas arrived. I bought a bright blue shirt for Joey with a chocolate bar slid in the breast pocket. And he gave me an imitation leather wallet to hold my newly acquired wealth. I don’t know when a gift had ever pleased me so much. That wallet gave me a sense of well-being when I put it into my hip pocket; moreover, it had several interesting compartments as well as an identification card which I filled out proudly. There was a line which stated, “In case of accident, please notify _______.” I started to write “Stefan Grondowski” on that line; then I thought better of it and wrote “Lon Bromer” and added the Omaha address he’d given us.
Still, in spite of the unforgiving streak in me, I kept thinking of home as Christmas drew near. On the warm, gentle nights when the noise of the carnival had subsided, I would often take long walks, wondering as I walked if there were still the lines of men in front of employment offices back in Chicago, wondering if Kitty had managed to get a job, wondering a hundred things about Mom. When Joey wrote a note home to tell them of my job, to let them know we were well, I gave him a dollar to add to the one he was placing in the letter. Joey wrote, “Josh and I are sending you this money for Christmas.” He asked me if I wanted to sign the letter, and for a moment I really wanted to write my name beside his. But I said, “No, I guess not,” and he sealed the letter without saying anything more about it.
I thought a great deal about Emily during these days, not the Emily who clowned all day, but the Emily who met us at breakfast and stopped beside my piano late at night—the beautiful Emily with great purple eyes and a sweet oval face above the clown’s ruff.
They were sad, these thoughts of Emily. Somewhere I had gained the impression that love makes one happy, but that was not true for me. Love only hurt me; it hurt the way uncertainty and hopelessness did.
One night as I waited for her to come past my piano and say good-night, I heard her youngest boy wailing sleepily as she herded the three of them home. When I saw her stoop to lift the boy in her arms, I ran to her and offered to carry him piggy-back to the boxcar. He whimpered at first and then let his head droop to my neck where he sighed and went back to sleep. Emily walked beside me, hand in hand with the other two boys, and none of us spoke as we picked our way along the railroad ties that led up to their home.
When we laid the children on their beds, I stepped outside and Emily followed me. She sat down on the lowest step of the car, pulling the skullcap from her bright hair.
“Sit down for a minute, Josh,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” She paused, looking at me directly. “Is something troubling you lately?”
“No,” I said. “Just the blues.”
“It’s a time for the blues, isn’t it?”
“I ought to be thankful that I
have a job. Well, I am. It’s just ...” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
“You’re lonely, Josh; I’ve realized that. It’s too bad that there aren’t any young people of your age in the carnival. I’ve been wishing I knew some nice girl, someone you’d enjoy taking to a movie now and then.”
I shook my head. We both sat silent and stared out into the night for a while. Then before I knew what I was going to say, I blurted out what was pent up inside me. “I wish you were a girl, Emily. I’d give anything in the world if you were a girl my age.” As soon as the words were out, I grew rigid with dismay at what I had revealed.
She looked down at the long flapping shoes of her clown costume for a few moments; then she turned to me and smiled.
“If I were a girl your age, I’d be very proud to know you cared for me, Josh.”
“But you don’t like it that I—that I care for you now, do you?”
She leaned forward and clasped her hands around her knees. Her face was very sober, and there was a slight frown between her eyes.
“You know, Josh, there are women who become very vain when a younger man tells them what you’ve told me. I’m not vain—I think I’m grateful. It’s right to be grateful for every bit of honest affection that comes one’s way, isn’t it?”
“I was afraid you’d think I was a fool,” I muttered.
“Then you don’t know me very well. I think of you as a sensitive, talented boy—a bit on the stubborn side, but never a fool.”
She leaned toward me. I think she started to kiss my cheek, but she changed her mind and offered me her hand instead. Then she laid her left hand over mine and made the handshake a little caress.
I didn’t want to leave her, but I knew I must. When I got to my feet, I stood looking down at her for a minute, and she smiled at me. It was a smile, I realized, such as she so often gave to Joey.
“Good-night, dear Josh,” she said. “Good-night and thank you.”
The next morning at breakfast Emily turned to Edward C. “I think we must all drag ourselves out of the blues for Christmas, Edward C. The carnival will be closed Christmas Eve so why don’t you and the boys come over to my place for cocoa and molasses cookies. Would you like that?”
I suppose our faces showed our delight. “It’s an honor, Josh,” Edward C. told me later. “Emily keeps so much to herself. I can’t remember a time when she has invited any of us to her home. It’s obvious that you and Joey and I are special to her.”
We began immediately to think of a gift which we might take to her on Christmas Eve. Joey thought a box of candy would be right; I wanted to buy something more feminine, more personal. There were pretty bottles of perfume at one of the concessions. I very much wanted to buy perfume for Emily.
But Edward C. was sternly practical. “She needs money so much, Josh, with that family of growing boys. I think we should find a bright box and fill it with dimes, ten dimes from each of us. Joey can polish them till they’re shiny, and we’ll get one of the ladies to tie a ribbon around the box for us. Emily will appreciate it, boys; believe me, I know she’ll appreciate it at this time more than she would either candy or perfume.”
And so we followed his advice, and the small box of silver did look like a very nice gift. It was not what I really wanted to give Emily, but I had to admit that Edward C. was probably wise in his suggestion. Emily would have very little occasion to wear perfume. I hoped, though, that a day might come when I could buy her something lovely, something right for a beautiful woman.
The three of us, well scrubbed and brushed, went over to Emily’s boxcar home early the evening before Christmas. She met us at the door, and for the first time I saw her dressed like a woman with no hint of the clown about her. She wore a cotton dress, the colors of which were faded, probably from many washings, but a lovely dress for all that, with a full skirt that swayed gracefully when she walked. But it was her earrings that made Emily look like a queen—large, bright hoops that were much the same red-gold color as her hair. They swung against her cheeks, catching the light and looking very gay and splendid.
Edward C. and Joey found words more easily than I did. They told her how beautiful she looked, how nice it was to see her in a dress instead of a clown’s costume, how beautiful her earrings were. She smiled and stooped to kiss each of them on the forehead; then she looked at me as if she were waiting for what I had to say. “You look very nice, Emily,” I told her, and she said, “Thank you, Josh,” and kissed me too.
Then suddenly the evening was no longer wonderful for me. We stepped inside, and there at the table with her youngest boy on his lap and the other two beside him sat Pete Harris, short and fat and glistening a little, but looking relaxed and pleased.
“Hello—hello, gentlemen,” he called out in his raspy voice. “How are you, Edward C? Brought your boys with you, eh? Just look at young sport here. You’re gettin’ fat, boy; you’re gettin’ some meat on you.” He poked Joey in the stomach and then held out his hand to me. “How’re you doin’, Paderewski?” he asked.
Emily stood beside his chair smiling and looking happy. “Pete surprised us with roast chickens and pralines; now we can have a real Christmas party, Joey. The boys could hardly wait until you got here.”
Joey was beaming. He handed her the box of dimes. “This is for you, Emily, from Edward C. and Josh and me,” he said.
Emily opened the package, her eyes shining at first and then filling with tears. She held the box of dimes over for Pete Harris to see. He nodded approvingly. “That’s a real fine present, boys,” he said. Then he looked up at Emily. “You couldn’t ask for a nicer one, could you, hon?”
He called her “hon.” He spoke to my beautiful Emily as if she belonged to him, and in the next moment she was saying that the dimes from us and the earrings from Pete were making this the happiest Christmas she had known in a long time.
And so Pete Harris had given her the earrings that made her look like a queen, and I, who wanted to give her something lovely and feminine, had been persuaded to share in a gift of dimes that would probably be used to buy grits and oatmeal for her boys.
I think Edward C. saw the look of disappointment on my face, for he hurried to make an explanation to Emily. “You know, my dear, Josh wanted to buy you perfume. And you’re so lovely tonight that I’m sorry I dissuaded him. You should have had gifts that were more personal—gifts that would have allowed us to tell you how pretty you are.”
She put her arm around the little man’s shoulders, but she looked at me when she spoke. “No, Edward C., you three couldn’t have given me a finer gift than the box of dimes. And every time I use some of them for food or medicine, I’ll say, ”This is my gift of white gloves from Joey; this is a lace handkerchief from Edward C.—and this is another drop of French perfume from our French musician, from Josh!’ ”
Her words helped a little. Not much, but a little. It would have been better if Pete Harris had kept quiet. But he didn’t. He said, “You were on the right track, Edward C. Emily needs those dimes. This ain’t a year for lace handkerchiefs and perfume. Right, hon?”
But it was a year for earrings from Pete Harris.
It was a long, unhappy evening. There was food and laughter. There was a moment when Pete Harris disappeared, and returned a few minutes later wearing a mask and white beard, bringing small toys to Emily’s children and a last-minute gift for Joey—a pocketknife, obviously an old one with Pete Harris’s initials carved in the bone handle, but a gift which nonetheless brought considerable joy to Joey. Later all of us went across to the carnival grounds and gathered around my piano. While I played the old carols, the others sang, and the music under the quiet sky was beautiful. Emily and her boys with Edward C. sang some of the carols in the Cajun tongue, and they sounded sweet and strange, a little mysterious. It should have been a beautiful evening, but it wasn’t for me. I was glad when I could get away and be alone.
In the days that followed, I was edgy and unhappy. Joey noticed
it and stayed away from me most of the time, spending many hours by himself practicing on Howie’s banjo. One day on the grounds a small group of people gathered around him as he sang and accompanied himself on the banjo. They liked the picture, I think, of the slender boy singing and strumming out a simple run of chords; they liked it so much that Harris allowed Joey to roam around the carnival grounds with his banjo. He picked up a little store of nickels and dimes in that way, but he didn’t talk to me about it. I had been sharp with him on too many occasions lately. He left me to myself.
I felt angry with everyone those days, with Joey for no reason, with Edward C. because I had an idea that he understood too well the secret I tried to guard, with Pete Harris for presuming to love Emily. Most of all I was angry with Emily. She had been tender and kind, and then she had betrayed me by allowing an old man to call her endearing names, to give her the kind of gift I wanted to give her. I felt ashamed of my feelings, but they were beyond the control of reason.
The dancer named Florrie, who told me that her name was actually Florinda, took to stopping at my piano oftener when nobody else was around. She was not attractive; her eyes were watery-looking, and her mouth was loose and gave her a vacant, stupid look. Sometimes she seemed to like me, although she was angry when I addressed her as “Ma’am,” but whether she liked me or not was of no consequence to me. My only reason for a mild friendliness toward her was that both Edward C. and Pete Harris warned me against her. Something negative in me made me pretend to like her better than I did.
Florinda teased me about my sober appearance. “Don’t you ever smile about nothin’, big fellow?” she asked one night. “Was there some law up north that kept big fellows like you from ever gettin’ a smile on their mouths?”