Entwined

Chapter 15

Vebekka eased her way to the bar, the third she had come to. The champagne had dulled her senses, she was confused and disoriented, and she wanted something — anything — to wake her. The rain had begun again, a downpour. Her hair was wet, her cape soaked, but she pushed her way through the customers, calling to the barman.

Vebekka felt a man brush up against her. He smiled apologetically and then signaled to the barman, snapping his fingers impatiently. His heavy gold bracelet and thick ring shone, and his cheap suit and white polyester shirt gleamed in the fluorescent light.

"Is it raining again?" he asked, smiling, his teeth as white as his shirt. She could see speckles of dandruff on his shoulders, and she giggled.

"I don't speak German, I'm American — or French."

He spoke in pidgin English, leaning his elbow casually on the bar. He asked her if she would like a drink and she nodded, asking for champagne. He hesitated, and moved closer.

"It's very expensive here."

She looked at him with a half smile, and asked for a cigarette. He patted his pockets; she leaned against him and slipping her hand into his pant pocket, she withdrew a cigarette pack and giggled. Confident, he slipped his arm around her shoulders, and then as the barman came over he asked for champagne.

She drank the entire glass in one go, and banged it onto the bar.

"Let's sit down."

She shrugged and wandered off. Taking her by the hand he guided her to a booth, she tossed her cape onto the seat.

"What's your name?"

"Vebekka."

She drank another glass, again gulping it down as if it were water. He moved closer to her; his hand began to feel along her thigh.

She suddenly felt sick, and pushed his hand away, mumbling that she needed to go to the bathroom. He touched her thighs and behind as she eased past him. She stumbled, and he caught her.

"Maybe you need help..."

They headed toward the door marked TOILETTEN, and by this time he had one arm around her, the other feeling under her sweater. The door led into a small corridor, ladies' and men's toilets on either side.

Vebekka staggered into the ladies' room. She vomited into the bowl and as the room began to spin, her legs collapsed under her. She swore, pushing herself up against the wall. She began to pant, trying not to be sick again. The cubicle door opened, she hadn't bothered to lock it.

"You okay?"

"I have to go... can you call me a taxi?"

He closed the door behind him and locked it. "Sure... in a few minutes."

She didn't even attempt to stop him from pulling down her panties and heaving up her sweater, she just leaned against him. He undid his fly, and pulled her hands down to his penis. Her head lolled against him, and he dragged her panties further down, ramming her against the wall. She half laughed, she felt like she was on a train, her back rocking against the wall. She kept on half laughing as he rammed himself inside her... it was over, and she laughed louder. He buttoned up his fly, listened in case anyone had come in, and then unlocked the door.

"You call that a fuck? When's the next train through here?" She laughed loudly, and then slowly slid down the wall, her underwear around her ankles. The tiles felt nice and cool, she inched down, rested her cheek on the cold tiles.

She was hauled to her feet semiconscious; the man literally had to drag her out. He dumped her in the corridor and went back into the club. He crossed to the bar, told the barman there was a drunken woman lying outside the toilets, went back to the booth, snatched his champagne bottle and made his way out.

The barman had crooked his finger to the bouncer hovering at the main club entrance.

Vebekka was thrown out of the club and fell into the gutter. She staggered up and stumbled away. She managed to pull her pants up, but she had lost her cape and her sweater was half off. She walked in the pouring rain. She stopped and looked up, opening her mouth to catch the water... she felt almost happy.

Three skinheads passed, and began pushing and shoving her until she slid down against a wall. She put up her hands in a pitiful attempt to protect herself, but one kept kicking her, calling her a filthy whore. Finally they left.

Vebekka sat hunched for a while, and then slowly stood, supporting herself against the wall; she was violently sick again.

The baron slammed the taxi door shut. Helen instructed the driver to go to the next club: So far they had been to four, each one more tawdry than the last. They sat in silence. Suddenly, Helen leaned forward and asked the driver to stop. Helen shouted: "I see her!"

She was the first out, catching Vebekka in her arms before she fell again. The baron took off his coat and wrapped it around her. "Put her in the back!" he commanded.

Vebekka rested her head against Helen's shoulder.

"Dear God, look at her face. Have you got a handkerchief, Louis? She's bleeding."

He handed her one. "Aren't we all... here!"

Helen gently dabbed the cut on Vebekka's forehead.

"She's been drinking!"

"Clearly!"

They arrived back at the Grand Hotel, Louis and Helen holding, almost carrying Vebekka between them. The manager rushed forward, but the baron brushed him aside.

"My wife fell. She is all right, just call the elevator please."

The bellboy stared; the woman was so drunk she could hardly stand. He eased open the grid and stepped back. The baron scooped Vebekka up in his arms and Helen hurriedly opened the doors to their suite. Louis dumped Vebekka on her bed. She moaned, and turned her face into the pillow.

Helen knocked on Hilda's door. She would be only a moment, she needed to put on her clothes.

"It doesn't matter, Hilda, just put on a robe. It's the baroness, she... she's had a little accident!"

Helen rejoined the baron, who stood staring down at his wife. "Look at her, take a good look Helen... so much for your damned doctor."

He was so furious that he had to walk out. Helen followed him, closing the door behind her.

"Hilda's bathing her, her stomach's bruised, as if she's been kicked. Louis? Did you hear what I said?"

He stood with his back to her, his hands clenched at his sides. "She stinks like a whore..."

Helen poured a drink and asked if he wanted one, but he shook his head.

She sighed. "I blame myself. The moment we knew she had left the hotel we should have gone out and searched, we wasted time..."

He whirled around. "Have you any idea how many times, how many nights I've had to go looking for her? Searching every seedy run-down club, every red light district... She's been found in alleys, in back rooms, she's been fucked for the price of a drink, and tonight was probably no different. You smelled her, she stinks of sex and booze and vomit — she sickens me, disgusts me, she's been picking up men..."

"You don't know that!"

He looked at Helen as if she were an idiot. "I don't? She has played these games for years, for years!

"I don't think she knows what she is doing. Are you asking me to believe she likes what she has been doing? Likes to be beaten up, kicked?"

He snapped. "That's what she goes out for, Helen, she wants to be treated like a whore, she likes it — she is a whore!"

"Don't shout at me, Louis, I am right here, okay? And no woman likes to be treated like a whore, that is a ridiculous statement! Women who work the streets don't necessarily like what they are doing."

"Oh, please, Helen, don't... don't give me your psychoanalytical theories, I don't want them tonight, I don't want them — period."

"It is not a theory, it's a fact: No woman likes to be beaten, but if you beat her long enough, you will..."

He gripped her tightly. "I have never beaten, struck, or hurt her, I have had reason to, God knows I have had reason, you don't understand..."

"I am trying to."

The scream made them both freeze. Helen ran to the bedroom as Hilda came running out. Her face was stricken.

"It is happening again... please..."

Vebekka was rigid, her hands in fists, her teeth clamped together. The colors were flashing across her mind, terrible, bright colors, reds, greens... they kept on coming, blinding her, she felt as if her brain were going to explode.

Helen tried to talk to her, but the pain was so intense Vebekka didn't know she was there, all she wanted was for the pain in her head to stop. Louis went to the other side of the bed, leaned over his wife, and she rose up. Her scream was low, her hands were like claws as she hit out, clawing at the pain.

Louis backed away, his hand to his cheek. She had scratched his face, drawn blood. Helen ran to the door, shouting that she would call Dr. Franks. Vebekka was thrashing in the bed.

Hilda, terrified, hung back by the door, shaking. Helen called Franks, who said he would be there within half an hour. Helen slipped her arm around Hilda and whispered that she should go back to her room. Hilda clutched her hand. "She bit me, she bit my hand!"

Helen forced Hilda to show her her hand, and was shocked — the teeth marks were clear, deep red bruises were already forming.

"Dear God... run cold water over it, Hilda, and I'll get you a bandage."

Louis stood a few feet from the bed, searching his pockets for his handkerchief, then remembered he had given it to Vebekka in the taxi. He drew out a tissue from a box on the dressing table and dabbed his face. He stared at Helen's reflection in the mirror.

"Franks will have to take her into his clinic. I'm through, Helen, this is it."

Helen nodded. "Yes... yes, I think so too. I'll pack her things, maybe if I call him back now I can catch him before he leaves. Maybe he will be able to make arrangements tonight."

The first number had made even Schmidt stand and applaud. Ruda was in perfect form — she was brilliant. She had been flushed with excitement as Grimaldi helped her change. Ringling's scout's in, did you know, Luis?"

He told her he did. "You got them on their feet, it was the cartwheel, you should have seen Zapashny's face, he was open-mouthed — I could feel his envy!"

She began to freshen her makeup. "Zapashny? What's he doing here?"

Luis laughed. "Getting jealous! I've heard Gunther Gebel-Williams is retiring, they must be looking for someone to replace him at Ringling."

She turned in a panic. "Oh God, he's not here to replace me, is he?"

"Don't be silly, you'll see them coming here in droves to get to Ringling's man — get him to see their acts, bribe him, you know the scene."

Ruda brushed her hair, her hands shaking. Luis held out her black shirt, but she pushed it aside, pulling up her tight black jodhpurs. She stamped into the gleaming, polished boots, then she held out her arms as he eased the shirt over her head, careful not to mess her hair. She buttoned the collar. "God, I'm so nervous... this is supposed to be a dress rehearsal!"

"Everyone else is nervous, too, you can bet on it. You look wonderful! Now — make them get on their feet for the next number. You pull it off and we'll be in New York, I guarantee it!"

Ruda checked her appearance, tightened the wide black leather belt. She breathed in deeply, forcing herself to relax. All in black, her hair drawn away from her face, her eyes thick with black eyeliner, she looked like a cat herself, her strong lithe body taut with nerves.

"Okay, I'm ready... how long have I got?"

Luis checked his watch and told her she had plenty of time. All the acts were running over, everyone was playing up to the visitors, pulling out all the stops. She tucked in her shirt, and gave herself a nod of approval. "Okay, I'm ready."

Luis stood back and smiled. "Good luck! I'll be right by ringside. You'll need an umbrella, it's pouring."

Ruda took out a black umbrella and carefully sidestepped the big puddles as she hurried to the ring. Luis ran from the trailer, entering the big tent via the audience flaps. He made his way to ringside, and sat waiting. The clowns were chasing and tumbling after each other, skidding on the plastic floor covering — an electric car burst into flames as they reached the finale. The lights dimmed... it was strange to end in silence; usually the sound of thunderous applause accompanied the clowns, along with shrieks of laughter from the children.

Luis looked up to the viewing box. The Ringling Bros, scout stood with his back to the ring, talking animatedly to someone drinking champagne.

The crew moved like lightning, clearing the props, rolling the floor covering, raking up the sawdust. The ringmaster announced the Polish group of bareback riders, and they virtually stampeded into the ring — twelve of them, wearing brilliantly colored American Indian headdresses, whooping and screaming. The lights followed the riders, picking them out as they formed a fast-moving semicircle. Luis watched his boys getting ready to erect the safety cages around the ring.

Dr. Franks, carrying a small medical bag, waited impatiently by the elevator at the Grand Hotel. He barely gave the bellboy time to open the gates before snapping that he wanted the Baron Marechal's suite. As the elevator ascended, he checked his watch, silently hoping the ambulance would arrive quickly.

Helen opened the doors, and they hurried to Vebekka's bedside.

"She's been quiet for about fifteen minutes."

Franks nodded, and Helen closed the bedroom doors. "She left the hotel, she's been drinking."

Franks felt Vebekka's pulse. "How did you let that happen?"

Helen flushed. "She seemed so well, we were going to dine in the restaurant, and she was dressing — the next moment she had left..."

Franks drew back the bedclothes. "Have you given her something? Anything to sedate her?"

"No, nothing, she was acting up, as if she were having some kind of epileptic fit, and then she calmed down."

Franks took out his stethoscope and checked her heartbeat. "How did she get these bruises?"

"We don't know... we found her in the street."

Vebekka moaned softly. Franks sat on the side of the bed. "Are you awake? It's Dr. Franks. Well, what have you been up to, huh?"

"I went out... I had too much to drink!" She looked past Franks to Helen, and turned away.

"Would you please leave us alone, Helen?"

Franks waited until Helen had left the room, and then he leaned close. "What were you up to?" he repeated.

The baron sat impatiently in a chair, his foot tapping, waiting for franks to come out of the bedroom.

"What in God's name is he doing in there?"

Helen looked toward the bedroom. "They're talking."

The telephone rang and she answered it. The ambulance was waiting downstairs.

Franks came out and closed the door gently.

"The ambulance is downstairs."

He nodded, placing his bag down. "She's sleeping now, she's exhausted."

The baron kept his voice low. "I want her out of here, tonight."

Franks sat on the edge of the sofa. "She remembers everything she did, where she went, even the name of the clubs — Mama Magda's!! Notorious old woman. She remembers, Baron."

The baron pointed to his cheek. "She knew she did this?"

Franks shook his head. "No... she remembers up to the point she was brought into the hotel. Would you like me to look at the..."

The baron interrupted: "Mine is just a scratch, but she bit Hilda's hand. Don't you think maybe you should call whoever is necessary and take my wife away?"

"I am not sure..."

"I am, Doctor. I want her out of the hotel, tonight."

Franks turned to Helen and asked what she thought. She hesitated. "If I hadn't seen with my own eyes, seen how violent she was, how incredibly strong, neither of us could hold her down..."

"I see," Franks interrupted. "You know I hate to put her in a hospital, be it mental or otherwise. I really think some interesting things came out of the session today, and I would very much like to continue."

The baron stood up. "I refuse to take any further responsibility for my wife. If you wish to take her to your clinic, that is up to you, I want her out of here."

"Out of your life, Baron?"

"Yes... yes!"

Franks looked at his watch. "Very well, I will take her. She can stay at the clinic."

He opened his bag and sifted through some papers. "I want you to read these and sign them before you release Vebekka into my charge. This will mean it will be my decision to certify her, if, and only if, I feel there is nothing more I can do. Of course, you will have to cover all financial costs for her to be sent to..."

"Doctor, just give me the papers." The baron took them to the desk and searched for his pen. Franks looked to Helen, raised his eyebrows slightly, and then went into the bedroom.

Vebekka was lying with her hands resting on the cover. She turned to him, and smiled. "I'm hungry."

Franks took her hand. "Vebekka, I am going to take you with me to my clinic. There is no need to be afraid, but I think it will be for the best."

She closed her eyes. "Oh God, what did I do?"

Franks kept holding her hand. "Nothing too bad, but you need to be cared for, need to—" Her hand began to grip his tighter, he was astonished at her strength.

"It's coming back..."

Franks could not release his hand. Her body twisted, he tried to stand, but she was so strong she pulled him down beside her; she was panting, her body began to go into spasm. The pain in her head... she saw them coming again, the bright lights, the colors. Frank wrenched his hand free and ran to the door. He shouted to get the ambulance attendant up immediately, then returned to the bed. She looked at him helplessly, opening and shutting her mouth, unable to tell him what was hurting her... Her hands were shaking as she touched her temples. On and on went the piercing flashes of color.

Franks leaned over her. "Tell me. Tell me. What is it?"

Her mouth was open wide, but her face was frozen with terror, like a mask; the cement was creeping upward, reaching her knees, her stomach, pressing down on her chest. Any moment it would reach her neck, and though she could hear Dr. Franks, could see him, she could not communicate, could not tell him the oozing, thick whiteness was inching up into her throat, suffocating her. Franks saw her eyes glaze over, her hands became rigid. He turned with relief as the attendants arrived with the stretcher.

The baron watched from the doorway as they wrapped blankets around his wife, eased her stiffened hands to her side, and then strapped two thick leather belts around her.

Luis moved closer to the arena. A single spotlight followed Ruda. The tigers moved in a circle around her in the darkness. She gave the command for the circle to break, for the tigers to form a pyramid on the stacked plinths.

Ruda was sweating. She issued a command to Roja, but he kept running, picking up speed. "ROJA UPPPP UPPP... BLUE... BLUE..." Roja suddenly sprang back, and Ruda continued the commands as, one by one, the tigers moved to their plinths. Blue, red, green... the spotlight widened and they were all in position. Ruda shouted "Up!" and they sat back on their haunches, their front paws swiping. She gave the command "Down" and they perched. With her left hand she gave Mike the signal to release the lionesses. They came down the tunnel within seconds, and she had to repeat her commands over and over again since they refused to get on the plinths.

Luis could feel the sweat trickling down his back; he gripped the steel bars, swearing at himself... It was his fault, she was right, the new plinths were throwing them off. Luis raised his eyes to the viewing room. Zapashny was speaking to the Ringling Bros, scout, pointing to Ruda, then at himself. No doubt he knew she was in trouble, and would be only too pleased to give his professional opinion, only too eager to tell the scout how much better his act was.

The lionesses were on their plinths. Ruda gave them the command to rest their front paws on the pyramid above them. Once, twice, they refused, snarling and growling. The tigers hissed, but they stayed in place. Mike got the signal to let the two massive male lions enter the tunnel.

Three positions at the top of the plinth were still to be filled. Two lions ran on either side of Ruda; as rehearsed she looked toward the tunnel, bent down toward one of the lionesses as if asking a question, then turned to the plinths: three places, only two animals. She walked to the tunnel, followed by one lion, and whirled around to admonish him. Then, she looked down the tunnel, she got a nudge from him. She turned and wagged a scolding finger.

The children would be screaming by now, hysterical with delight watching the big cats tease her. Ruda put her hands on her hips in mock anger, and ordered the two lions to get up on the plinths.

It happened again. Both refused to jump, once, twice. Grimaldi wanted to scream out, but Ruda held her own, she was calm. Again she gave the command: They obeyed and Grimaldi sighed with relief. He looked up to the viewing box, the Russian was watching intently; he had to appreciate the exceptional training required to assemble a pyramid constituted by sixteen tigers, four lionesses, and two lions, all seated.

Ruda gave the signal for Mamon to be released, and he came down the tunnel at full run. He came to Ruda, as if he were late, and lay down in front of her as he had been taught to do. He rolled over, legs in the air. Ruda stamped her foot, pointed to the plinth, and Mamon rolled and rolled.

Unrehearsed, two tigers started to swipe at each other. She moved in their direction and shouted, and they turned on her. She yelled once more and they calmed down. Now she began the carefully practiced routine with Mamon, pointing to the twenty-foot-high plinth. He looked up and shook his huge head, she wagged her finger at him, and he whirled around and pretended to run back down the tunnel. Ruda grabbed his tail and began to pull him back.

Mamon and Ruda had a tug-of-war; throughout, she continued to issue commands to the cats on the plinths. Mamon appeared to be in good form, he didn't hesitate over a single command. To an onlooker, he seemed to be performing faultlessly, but Ruda could sense his impatience; like any star, he seemed to be pacing himself. He followed the routine very well, right up to the final command when he was to jump to the highest peak of the pyramid. The rest of the cats were seated, under control, and waiting. Ruda called out again, and then again. "RED — YUP... MA' ANGEL UP, UP!"

Mamon tossed his head.

Luis knew Ruda could not hold the pyramid formation much longer. The other cats were beginning to sense Mamon's unrest.

Suddenly he backed away and stared at Ruda, then crouched low on his haunches.

Up in the viewing box, all three men were on their feet, looking down into the ring. Ruda glared at Mamon. "RED-RED-RED... MA' ANGEL!"

Suddenly he leaped forward, as if he were going for her, then like lightning he veered off and sprang from one step to another, up and up, until he was on the top plinth, up on his haunches. At a command all the cats rose. They formed a mountain of brilliant colors. Then, in perfect order, they jumped down. Roja, in the lead, took them down the tunnel.

As rehearsed Mamon held his position at the top. Ruda now slapped the bottom plinth with her hand, ordering Mamon down. He shook his head. Ruda sat down with a shrug of her shoulders to the audience while, behind her, Mamon moved down plinth by plinth. Ruda was issuing commands — "RED-GREEN-BLUE" — pretending she did not know he was directly behind her. At this point, urged on by the ringmaster, the children would always scream out, "He's behind you!"

Mamon leaned back, balanced himself, and then gently put his front paws on her shoulders. Ruda mimicked surprise and swiveled, virtually in his arms. Mamon was fully balanced on his own haunches — Ruda would not have been able to sustain his weight — it only looked as though he were resting against her. Slowly she slipped her arms around him in an embrace. The spotlight narrowed and zeroed in on them, until it framed them like lovers, Mamon's huge body overwhelming Ruda's. She gave a command that told him she was stepping away; at that point, he came off the plinth. As she took her bow, she extended her left hand toward his mouth. This was very daring — more dangerous than if she had put her head into his mouth: That was done by the trainer placing his hand over the animal's nose — the animal certainly wouldn't shut his mouth if he couldn't breathe! Mamon, however, held her hand gently in his mouth as she continued her bows. Finally, she pretended he was dragging her to the tunnel...

The lights dimmed while the men ran to dismantle the arena. When they came back on, Ruda took her bow. Grimaldi looked up to the viewing box. The scout from Ringling Bros, was applauding. Grimaldi punched the air with his fist.

Ruda made sure the animals were back in their cages, fed and settled for the night before she made her way back to the trailer. Luis had helped first dismantle, then stack and prop up the cages for the following night's show. He returned to the trailer with a bottle of champagne.

Ruda came in, her shirt soaked in sweat, and he swept her up into his arms. "They were applauding, they were cheering you!"

She smiled, and slumped onto a bench. "They asked to see me right away, but... get me some bandages and the disinfectant, quick!"

Luis looked puzzled.

"Just get it, I have to be over there in a minute."

Ruda unbuttoned her cuff and removed the protective wad under her sleeve. There were deep teeth marks on her arm. Dark bruises were already forming.

Luis brought the first aid box and knelt down beside her. "Jesus Christ! Did he break the skin?"

"No, no, it's just bruised. It was tough out there, they were all acting up."

Luis looked up at her, and carefully pushed her sleeve up her arm. "You mean your fucking angel was, you'll have to cut that part of the act. Jesus God — he could have taken your arm off."

"But he didn't. Just put some antiseptic over it, then find me a clean shirt."

She put on an identical black shirt. The old one was torn, Mamon's teeth had ripped the silk. She flung a coat around her shoulders while Grimaldi went to get his, to accompany her, but she patted his cheek.

"They just want to talk to me, Luis, you wait here. I won't be long."

He stepped back, flushed, saying he understood. He'd wait, maybe cook up dinner. She smiled, said that she was hungry and left. He watched her holding the coat over her head against the steady rain.

Luis knew her arm must hurt like hell. She never ceased to amaze him... all the cuts and knocks she'd taken during training, but she had never complained. He put away the first aid kit, and then remembered the tin box he had taken from her wardrobe. He had better replace it before she discovered it was missing. She'd know he had taken it because he had damaged the lid.

Luis was about to try to press the damaged lid back into shape without opening it when his curiosity overcame him. He took a screwdriver and inched the lid open. There was their wedding ring; she had worn it only for a year, then she had taken it off, saying it cut into her finger. There was also another wedding ring, probably the one Kellerman had given her. Luis picked up their wedding license, still in its envelope. Under it he saw, tied up in a pale blue ribbon, a pile of neatly folded newspaper clippings, brown with age. At first Luis thought they were reviews. He untied the ribbon; the clippings smelled musty, the frayed creases almost splitting in two. Carefully he unfolded the first, and stared at the headline. MENGELE STILL ALIVE IN BRAZIL. He checked each clipping; every one referred to Josef Mengele, the Angel of Death. One article described how Mengele had made sure the chimneys of Birkenau were always heated by thirty fires. There were 120 ovens; each one could burn three corpses at a time. Three hundred and sixty corpses could be disposed of every half hour; 720 people per hour, 17,280 per day. Dr. Josef Mengele made sure the ovens were filled to capacity; he alone had the power to choose who lived and who died, to direct the terrified masses to the gas chambers with horrifying efficiency.

Luis felt his blood grow cold, as he read the dates and was faced with the magnitude of the horror: May 1944, 360,000; June 1944, 512,000; July 1944, 442,000.

In her childish scrawl, Ruda had written on some of the articles: Josef Mengele, Papa.

Grimaldi refolded the scraps of newspaper. Some of the clippings described the diabolical experiments the Angel of Death had performed on small children, with or without anesthetic, depending on his mood or the availability of medication. Article after article described Mengele's passion for furthering the Aryan race. He had embraced cruelty beyond a sane person's credibility, he had been a madman. A piece of newspaper was wrapped around a small pebble, or stone, he couldn't tell; as he opened it, the cracks split the paper in two, as if this particular piece had been read and folded many times.

The article reported the alleged death of Dr. Josef Mengele. His body had been found on a beach in Brazil; the paper was dated 1976. The article discussed the possibility that the body found was not that of the real Josef Mengele; forensic scientists had left for Brazil to begin tests.

Luis began to restack the clippings the same way he had found them. He tied them with the worn ribbon. Ruda had kept them as carefully as treasured love letters. He replaced each item in the tin box, rescrewed the back, and put the box back in her wardrobe. As he stepped off the stool, he remembered things she had said to him in rage... how he would never know the pain she had suffered, that her worst scars were inside. He bowed his head and sighed. True, he had never even attempted to understand, but, he told himself, Ruda had always been very reluctant to talk about her past.

He looked around the kitchen to see what he could cook, wanting to do something special for her. He decided to go out and buy groceries from one of the all-night shops. He wanted to start afresh, a second chance. If she secured the Ringling contract, they could have a new life. He wouldn't fight her anymore, he would fight for her.

He passed the meat trailer. The lights were on, and he went inside.

"Mike? I'm going out for some groceries. If you see Ruda, tell her I won't be long!"

Mike grinned, said the word was already getting around, the Ringling Bros, scout was having talks with Ruda. Grimaldi winked, and told him not to count chickens before they were hatched. He looked out, the rain was still pouring. "You got a spare umbrella, Mike?"

"No, Boss — I dunno where they all disappear to, but I got a rain cape you can borrow!"

Grimaldi shook his head, pulling up his collar. Mike continued chopping and said that his hat was around someplace, in fact he had borrowed it.

Grimaldi held out his hand. "Okay, I'll take your hat, I'll give it back later."

Mike shook his head. "No, I said I used yours, that old black leather trilby. Ruda said she hated it, so she stashed it in here someplace. She caught me wearing it!"

Mike searched under the table. "I dunno where it is now. I tell you what. Wrap one of the rubber aprons around your head!"

Grimaldi laughed, hunching his shoulders. "I'll wrap it around yours, son. Never mind, I'll make a dash for it."

Grimaldi ran to their Jeep and started to drive out. He passed the lighted administration offices and slowed down to look in at the window. He could see Ruda with the boss and the Ringling scout. They were drinking champagne, talking, and the Russian was with them. He stared for a while. He couldn't help feeling hurt, even rejected, but then he punched the wheel. "Go get dinner, go cook for your woman... come on, get your fat ass into gear!"

He was about to drive off when Ruda shouted out to him. She ran from the administration office, leaping over the puddles like a young girl. She yanked open the passenger door.

"I did it, Luis!.. I did it!! They want me to go to New York straight after this contract ends...!"

She spun around, hands up, face tilted to the rain. "I did it... I did it...!!!"

"And if you stay out there any longer you're gonna catch pneumonia... come on — get in the Jeep!"

She dived inside and slammed the door, flung her arms around him. "Luis, I did it... he loved the act, he thought it was great!"

Luis said he would drop her off at the trailer, and go on in to pick up groceries, maybe some champagne.

"I've had champagne... just take me to the cages!"

"But you're soaked."

"I don't care, I want to see my baby... I want to tell him!"

Grimaldi drove her to the animals' tent, and she was out before he'd even stopped the truck. "Get me chocolate... black chocolate!" She turned back as he started to roll up the window, and cupped his face in her hands. "I told you Mamon was a good guy, didn't I?"

He had thought she was going to kiss him, he'd hoped she would, but then she was off. Mamon bared his teeth as she pressed close to the bars. "Angel... Ma'angel — what's the matter, huh?"

His eyes ablaze, he ripped his meat apart, his whiskers and jaws bloody. She rubbed her arm, suddenly conscious of it. He had held too tightly; tomorrow they would have to rehearse again; she would rework him, remind him she was stronger than he was. She remembered Luis's instructions: Never let them know how strong they are, never let them know their own power. Ruda stared hard at Mamon. "Until tomorrow, My Angel."