behind. “If I can’t have both brothers, can’t I at least have one?” she asked, as if she was the child and we were the toys in the toy store.
I could see that Luciano was nervous about being separated from me for the first time in our lives, but we were too much angry at each other to argue against the idea. My brother, he left without saying the good-bye.
I stayed up all the night waiting for Luciano, imagining all the terrible things that could happen to him. When he had not returned by the morning, I searched the roads, looking for the signs of an accident. Then I searched the circus grounds, thinking maybe he was hiding from me because of the anger.
My brother, he was nowhere.
When I found the Ringmaster inside his trailer he looked very surprised to see me, as if I were a ghost or I had just sprouted the antlers. But he recovered quickly and started barking the orders at me. It was almost time to go. What was I doing lollygagging around? When I tried to tell to him about Luciano being taken away, he said he was too busy to worry about my brother.
The Ringmaster, he always acted impatient like this, but he said something else which confused me. “Anyway, she seemed like such a nice lady,” he said under his breath. “I’m sure your brother won’t come to any harm.”
How would he know? I wondered. Had he met the Golden Lady?
As he spoke, I noticed him pick up something from the table. It was a pile of the cash and he played with it in a very nervous way. I was still young but I’d been around long enough to comprehend what meant the money.
Nowadays, it would be a very shocking thing to sell a pair of ten-year-old twins to a stranger. This was the circus. My brother and I, we were some carnival attractions, no better than the trained monkeys. I wasn’t very surprised that the Ringmaster would trade us for a few dollar bills. But I hated him for it.
“I’ll kill you!” I yelled, and then I ran away from the trailer—and from the circus—as fast I could.
The rest of my story it is seventy years long, but it is really very short.
I knew better than to go to the police. I was young and Italian and a carny—three strikes against me as far as the police would be concerned. Instead, I spent the years living on my own on the streets, searching for my brother, checking the back of every neck for that crescent-shaped birthmark. I never found so much as a single clue as to where was Luciano.
Except once.
A couple days after I fled from the circus, I hitchhiked to the next town where the circus had put up its tents. My plan was to murder the Ringmaster in his sleep. How I intended to do this I do not know—I had no weapons nor any experience as a murderer.
Whatever my plan was, I was too late. Where once the circus had been there was now nothing but the ash.
I wandered around the blackened fairgrounds in a daze. Some of the larger pieces of the rubble were still smoldering and the smoke hovered above. There was also a terrible odor in the air which at the time I thought was the smell of the rotten eggs but I now know was the smell of the sulfur.
I did not know exactly what had happened, but I was certain about one thing: the fire, it had been meant for me.
In the middle of all the ashes and the debris, I spied a crumpled piece of paper. I recognized the handwriting on it even from many feet away. It was a note from my brother, written in a code we had invented for the Symphony of Smells.
It said one word: “HELP.”
The note, it was like a knife inside my heart.
After the loss of my brother, the magic it no longer had any magic for me. Still, I had to make the living. So I performed in the parks and on the street corners—and on the trains when I could hop a ride with the hoboes.
Eventually, I graduated to the nightclubs and the theaters, and I believe I am a success as far as magicians go. I never socialized much, however-—no friend could ever take my brother’s place—and today I am an
I could see that Luciano was nervous about being separated from me for the first time in our lives, but we were too much angry at each other to argue against the idea. My brother, he left without saying the good-bye.
I stayed up all the night waiting for Luciano, imagining all the terrible things that could happen to him. When he had not returned by the morning, I searched the roads, looking for the signs of an accident. Then I searched the circus grounds, thinking maybe he was hiding from me because of the anger.
My brother, he was nowhere.
When I found the Ringmaster inside his trailer he looked very surprised to see me, as if I were a ghost or I had just sprouted the antlers. But he recovered quickly and started barking the orders at me. It was almost time to go. What was I doing lollygagging around? When I tried to tell to him about Luciano being taken away, he said he was too busy to worry about my brother.
The Ringmaster, he always acted impatient like this, but he said something else which confused me. “Anyway, she seemed like such a nice lady,” he said under his breath. “I’m sure your brother won’t come to any harm.”
How would he know? I wondered. Had he met the Golden Lady?
As he spoke, I noticed him pick up something from the table. It was a pile of the cash and he played with it in a very nervous way. I was still young but I’d been around long enough to comprehend what meant the money.
Nowadays, it would be a very shocking thing to sell a pair of ten-year-old twins to a stranger. This was the circus. My brother and I, we were some carnival attractions, no better than the trained monkeys. I wasn’t very surprised that the Ringmaster would trade us for a few dollar bills. But I hated him for it.
“I’ll kill you!” I yelled, and then I ran away from the trailer—and from the circus—as fast I could.
The rest of my story it is seventy years long, but it is really very short.
I knew better than to go to the police. I was young and Italian and a carny—three strikes against me as far as the police would be concerned. Instead, I spent the years living on my own on the streets, searching for my brother, checking the back of every neck for that crescent-shaped birthmark. I never found so much as a single clue as to where was Luciano.
Except once.
A couple days after I fled from the circus, I hitchhiked to the next town where the circus had put up its tents. My plan was to murder the Ringmaster in his sleep. How I intended to do this I do not know—I had no weapons nor any experience as a murderer.
Whatever my plan was, I was too late. Where once the circus had been there was now nothing but the ash.
I wandered around the blackened fairgrounds in a daze. Some of the larger pieces of the rubble were still smoldering and the smoke hovered above. There was also a terrible odor in the air which at the time I thought was the smell of the rotten eggs but I now know was the smell of the sulfur.
I did not know exactly what had happened, but I was certain about one thing: the fire, it had been meant for me.
In the middle of all the ashes and the debris, I spied a crumpled piece of paper. I recognized the handwriting on it even from many feet away. It was a note from my brother, written in a code we had invented for the Symphony of Smells.
It said one word: “HELP.”
The note, it was like a knife inside my heart.
After the loss of my brother, the magic it no longer had any magic for me. Still, I had to make the living. So I performed in the parks and on the street corners—and on the trains when I could hop a ride with the hoboes.
Eventually, I graduated to the nightclubs and the theaters, and I believe I am a success as far as magicians go. I never socialized much, however-—no friend could ever take my brother’s place—and today I am an
Similar Books
