I had ruffled.
“Don’t worry, Jake. It’s not arms and legs. I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” she answered.
“I don’t mean to intrude, but what are you worried about?” I asked.
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said. Then she opened her purse and removed a fountain pen. “Would you give me a lift?”
“Sure.” I picked her up and set her down on the counter. Then she sat down on the granite countertop and began to fill out the form. I heard a snicker and turned to see two of the rubes in line pointing at us. When she finished, she nodded at me. I lifted her up and set her down on the ground.
“Danke shoen.” Despite her thank you, there was a bite in her voice. We made our way to the back of the line. As we walked, her high heels made a loud clickety-clack sound on the marble floor.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked frankly, avoiding any pleasantries. “You haven’t seemed yourself lately.” Was my sadness that apparent? I wondered. “I’m worried about you,” she continued. Her eyes were so concentrated I thought they would burn a hole right through me. “The little voice in my head that I’ve learned to listen to has been telling me things are nicht gut (not good).”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You know what I mean, Jake.” She cut right through my subterfuge, like a sharp knife through Swiss cheese. When she was straightforward like that with others I admired her for her honesty, but when both barrels of her directness were aimed at me I wanted to duck. Reflexively, I looked to the door as if I were planning out the easiest path to escape her questions.
“You’ve been moping around for weeks. Even though you’re trying to not show it, I can feel your moodiness like an arthritic elbow feels the rain.”
I wondered if I hadn’t really taken that morning’s scowl off my face and what she was referring to was my sour puss. Maybe I wasn’t doing such a good job of hiding my melancholy. I was worried and embarrassed that somehow, with her second sight, she might be aware of what I had done on Monday night.
“This line is moving slower than molasses in January,” I said, trying to change the subject.
“And what’s this I hear about you attacking a fan in front of Gargantua’s cage?”
I felt cornered. There was no way out. “I have a lot on my mind, too,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders.
“So what’s eating at you?” She was relentless.
“Well, to tell you the truth . . . ”
“That’s what I’ve come to expect from you, Jake.”
Trying to bullshit my way out would never work with her. Lya was too perceptive for that. In an instant, I decided that was as good a time as any to tell her the truth. “I’ve been struggling with whether or not to leave the circus.”
“What?” she looked amazed at what I had said. Lya put her hands on her hips and continued. “Are you that unhappy?” She snapped at me again.
The look on my face must have been a combination of pain and puzzlement. I would have expected a more compassionate or even a more curious response but not her hostility. Lya questioned me like a prosecutor and a preacher; as if she already knew the answers to her questions before she asked them and like she was going to give me a sermon. Her manner put me off. If I didn’t have to send that damned money order to my parents I would have stormed out of the telegraph office. Hostility or not, I decided to tell her what was on my mind.
“I’m tired of the rubbernecks and the questions about my personal life. I’m tired of not fitting in.” The look on my face changed from puzzlement and pain to anger. Emphasizing my words, I raised my voice and pointed at her. The man in line in front of us turned to watch and listen to what must have looked like a very odd scene. I immediately lowered my voice and spoke in an angry whisper. The rube got the message and turned back around. “I’ve had it with being an exhibit in a sideshow. I’m tired of sleeping on a cramped train, walking through mud, crapping in an outhouse and stepping in manure. There’s got to be more for me in this life.”
“You know, Jake, Ringling Bros has been very good to us.” Her voice was softer now. I felt like a yo-yo. An instant before, I had felt repelled. But when her tone changed I had calmed down a bit and felt drawn to her. “Other freaks like us are shut-ins or working for abusive mud shows.” She sounds like Clyde Ingalls, I thought. But she was more caring. “I came to accept things as they are a long time ago. This is where I am, where I’m supposed to be, and where I want to be. And what’s more, I don’t really have any choice,” she said.
The busybody who had tried to eavesdrop on our conversation a few minutes before took a step toward the front of the line and Lya and I both stepped forward into the vacant space.
“I have many souls who depend on me.” As she spoke, I thought about my mother and father and how they depended on me. “I don’t have time for self-indulgence,” Lya said as we waited. “It’s just a waste of time, Jake.”
“Well, I hope I do have a choice; some other options in this life besides the circus. I don’t want to waste any more time. That’s what I’m afraid I’ve been doing. I’m struggling with this. Can you help me?” I put my hand on Lya’s shoulder. My palm covered her entire shoulder and my fingers went almost half way down her back. She backed away. “Can you share some of your wisdom, Madame Lya?”
Other than my parents, my brothers, and a few friends in Hollywood, that was the first time I’d ever really asked anyone for help. Lya looked up and paused. She took a step toward me.
“I don’t have any special insight, Jake. I’m just practical and I use common sense.”
“Well, I guess I’m not the most practical person and when it comes to common sense . . . it’s not so common, at least not with me.” I forced a laugh.
“I really don’t have any wisdom about what you should or shouldn’t do about the circus, Jake. But I think you know how I feel about the subject,” Lya said as she looked away.
There were several seconds of silence. To avoid the discomfort the quiet stirred in me, I turned to the large window to my left and felt the warmth of the morning sun streaming through the plate glass. Then I turned to my right and saw all sizes and shapes of the shadows cast by the people in line on the bare white wall to my right. I immediately looked back to Lya.
By now more of the people ahead of us had been served and we moved closer to our destination. Lya’s lack of a response to my question about my future in Ringling Bros made me anxious. I really couldn’t tolerate the silence any longer. Maybe my question about leaving the circus had hit a chord with her. Maybe I had put her on the spot and she was uncomfortable, too. In my nervousness, I attempted to make conversation to fill the vacuum. I struggled to find something to say and awkwardly changed the subject from my career to my dream life. Maybe she would respond to that. I knew she liked to talk about dreams. At least we would be talking and not just standing there.
“I had a dream that has been troubling me. Can I share it with you?”
“Sure, Jake, if that’s what you really want to talk about,” Lya answered.
I wasn’t sure if she was being accommodating or sarcastic. I sighed and proceeded to tell her about my dream: the wooden horse stepping into nothing, his transformation into Pegasus, and his flight across the sea to the horizon. I loved that dream. I knew it had to be significant.
Lya listened intently. Then she paused and quietly turned to face the lineup of shadows on the wall. “You see those shadows, Jake?” I nodded, turning again to the black silhouettes. “All we know about this world, each other and ourselves, is shadows . . . superficial, two dimensional, dim reflections. Shadows are all we ever know, and yours, my friend, is quite a long shadow. I think there is a giant sleeping somewhere in there that is starting to stir. It’s time to wake him up.”