Ralph Helfer (4 page)

“H
I
, I’
M
G
ERTIE
,” said a voice.

Bram was lying flat on his back atop of Modoc and didn’t hear a thing. It was a blistering hot day, and after finishing the chores he had decided to take a rest. He liked to lie on his back, his feet hooked under Modoc’s ears, and catch a few winks. Mo’s gentle swaying reminded him of when his mother used to rock him to sleep. Of course, for a man of thirteen years come April next month, he didn’t really admit to anyone that he felt that way.

“Hello up there,” said the voice again.

Bram bolted from his placid position, nearly falling, and looked to the left, back, front, right: no one. Again the voice.

“Are you always this rude?” it asked.

“Where are you?” Bram replied.

“Here, just here, under the elephant’s chin.”

Leaning way out from Modoc’s back, clinging to the rope
around her neck, he could see from this angle a pink dress and a pair of legs.

“Who are you, and will you please come out from underneath so I can see you?”

Bram saw some kernels of popcorn fall to the ground. Apparently this person, whoever she was, was feeding Modoc popcorn. As he watched, the face of a beautiful tawny-haired little girl with hazel eyes appeared from under the elephant’s chin. The face smiled. It was a gentle, self-assured smile, the kind only a little girl can have.

“I’m Gertie,” said the smiling face.

“I’m Bram.”

“Is this your elephant?”

“No, she belongs to the circus in town, but my father’s the elephant trainer and he and…uh…I have been training her for the circus.”

“What’s her name?”

“Modoc, but sometimes I call her Mo. Where do you live?” asked Bram. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“Up the road about two miles. I’ve seen you many times. Even been here before. I walk across Kunz farm and follow the rail tracks. Then I jump into the old culvert under the trestles at Weessenchter Road and, well, here I am.”

Gertie gestured with her arms outstretched, head tilted, a look of confidence on her face. Bram was impressed. He’d been down in that old culvert himself and it was a bit scary even in the daytime.

“Want a ride?” he asked.

“Sure,” replied Gertie, looking up and down the elephant as if looking for a ladder.

“Just stand in front of her. Mo’ll do the rest.”

Gertie looked up hesitantly.

“Not afraid, are ya?”

“No, just wondering how I’m going to get down after I’m up.”

Bram chuckled as Gertie stood in front of Mo. “Modoc, up!”

Mo wrapped her trunk around Gertie and gently lifted her up
to Bram, who grabbed her arm and sat her down in front of him.

“Wow! It’s really high up here!” exclaimed Gertie.

Bram, seeing that she was a little frightened, slid an arm around her waist, while nudging Mo with the bull hook he held in his free hand.

“Move up, Mosie. Sometimes I call her Mosie, too.”

Modoc moved out in long, gentle, quiet strides that rocked them with each step. Gertie snuggled back into Bram, feeling secure and protected in his arms. When Bram caught her looking at him, he didn’t turn away. He felt a strange, warm sensation creep through his body that caused him to shiver even though the sun was hot.

They arrived back at the barn just as Josef was bringing in the stock for the night, so Bram introduced Gertie to his father. The kids pitched in to help with the feeding and cleaning chores, until Josef wondered if Gertie’s parents might be getting worried about her. He offered to drive her home, and when she and Bram promised to see each other the following Sunday for a picnic, Josef saw a look in Bram’s eyes that he sensed would be there for a long, long time to come.

“N
OW YOU KIDS BE CAREFUL
and I don’t want you back too late,” Katrina said as she handed the picnic basket filled with cheeses, fresh bread, and sausages to Modoc, who raised it up to Bram.

“Bye, Mama. Bye Papa.”

“If you go by the flower field,” Josef added, “give Mo about an hour and she can eat enough to have a good lunch, too.” He gave Mo’s rump an affectionate whack as Bram, with Gertie hanging on behind him, headed out the back way of the farm toward Cryer Lake.

It was a lovely day. Summer was stealing some extra time while fall slept. White puffs of clouds hung in the sky with seemingly no interest in moving on. The rains had turned the countryside into a sea of green covering the hilltops. The slopes, spotted with groves of sycamore and spruce trees, caught the runoff and were a deeper green, with splashes of purple sage, the essence of
the lush valley. The rain waters slowed and settled into the rich loam, and from it grew the emerald grass that carpeted God’s house, grass where the regal stag grazed.

Modoc walked proudly. She carried herself with a conservative grace that comes from the heritage of one’s birthright. A thick woven mat of rope lay across her back, its outer edges strengthened by a bamboo frame that held it flat rather than letting it conform to her curves. Several nooses of rope were attached to the bottom edge so the picnic basket, water jug, camera, utensils, and other paraphernalia could be carried. A large handmade comforter padded most of the mat, making Modoc’s broad back comfortable and roomy enough for both youngsters to stretch out.

Bram wore a pair of corduroy shorts his mother had trimmed down from his old school pants. A bright red piece of twine held them up. He was barefoot, having tied his shoes to the mat. A baggy collared shirt hung loosely from his shoulders. Gertie’s plain white cotton dress flared at the bottom and was bordered with a frail lace trim. Small embroidered flowers graced the neckline. Her silken hair was long and fine, and the slightest breeze caused it to swirl up as though caught in a miniature storm. As soon as it passed, each obedient golden strand floated back down to exactly where it had been.

Bram followed Heinker Ridge until it started to slope up into the peaks, then headed down into a valley lined with giant mimosa pines. A small stream ran directly through the middle of the glen. Mo followed it, occasionally dipping her trunk in the cool water for a quick gulp, then misting the residue over Bram and Gertie, who giggled with delight. As the stream widened, it got deeper. When the dark waterline reached Mo’s dry, tan belly, Bram moved her out and up onto the bank. Gertie had scooted back and was kneeling on the mat.

“Look, Bram, I’m a circus girl.”

Rocking back and forth, she threw her hands up in the air, imitating the girl performers wearing their glittering costumes in the grand finale. Bram, rolling up one end of the comforter for a pillow,
lay back as he watched Gertie’s mimicry. Her eyes half-closed, she lost herself in imaginary circus music. Her young flexible body swayed and moved, her hips undulated to silent rhythm; slowly she rose, never hesitating for a second. Modoc seemed to sense the moment and slowed her movement to smooth the bounce in her gait. Gertie began to hum one of the calliope tunes.

Bram was so fascinated by her apparent abandonment of their reality that he forgot to breathe until his body reminded him, and he gasped to take a deep, fulfilling breath. God, she’s beautiful, he thought. He’d never seen Gertie like this. Modoc’s showers had wet her hair and dress so that it clung to her, innocently accentuating her small firm breasts. Dancing on Modoc’s huge wide back, she appeared to be floating in space as the beautiful scenery passed around her. Bram felt hypnotized in timeless quietude, with only the sounds of Gertie’s soft humming and Mo’s legs rustling through the underbrush.

Gertie placed one foot on Mo’s backbone and started to turn, slowly at first, then gradually faster as she gained confidence. One arm rose like a crescent moon above her head. The lace of her dress billowed around her, with the speed of her twirling, ascending. Arms outstretched for balance, she let her head roll back; the centrifugal force flung her hair into one horizontal line as she spun like a ballerina in a music box. Gertie’s momentum, from the height of bliss, became awkward. Suddenly she was dizzy, trying to grab for something solid in the world now rushing by her. She became a marionette whose puppeteer had been suddenly distracted. Bram easily caught her fall into his strong arms. When she saw the concern in his face, her panic and disorientation subsided. Touching the sweat on his brow she put her finger to her lips. Bram had been enthralled, and he held her close, her body heat from the dance causing the now-familiar warmth in his loins. Gertie put her warm sensual lips on his; Bram closed his eyes. This was love of the deepest kind. She was his first love.

The water looked so inviting. Cryer Lake curved through miles of the great Black Forest. Bram unloaded Mo, lowering every
thing to Gertie on the ground. Together they carried it to a great old pine tree, where roots ran above ground for a hundred yards in all directions.

“It’s all yours, Mosie!” Bram cried.

Modoc bellowed, swatted her trunk on the ground, then headed for the lake. The placid water, whose surface was as smooth as glass exploded as Modoc blasted her bulk against its calmness, throwing a cascade of gushing water everywhere at once. Bram stripped to his shorts. Gertie, in childlike innocence, pulled her dress off, leaving her panties on. Shoes flew in all directions. Hand in hand, screaming and yelling, they dove into the azure water. For an hour the three played. Mo thrashed the water with her head, whipping it back and forth, causing waves to sweep over the children. She danced and bellowed, completely immersed in her pleasure.

Bram took Modoc into the deep part of the lake where he and Gertie could climb up on her back and use her as a diving platform. Sometimes Mo would gently pick them up in her trunk, depositing them on top of her head so they could dive from a higher place.

The old pine tree’s needles provided a perfect carpet of shining green for their picnic blanket, and the simple fare seemed like a sumptuous feast. Looking straight up the massive trunk into a multitude of boughs, as Gertie curled up kittenlike against him, he imagined the branches were people as he stroked her hair. He remembered what his father had once told him, “Trees are like people and give the answers to the way of Man. They grow from the top down. Children, like treetops, have flexibility of youth, and sway more than larger adults at the bottom. They are more vulnerable to the elements, and are put to the test of survival by life’s strong winds, rain, freezing cold, and hot sun. Constantly challenged. As they mature, they journey down the tree, strengthening the family unit until one day they have become big hefty branches. In the stillness below, having weathered the seasons, they now relax in their old age, no longer subject to the stress from above. It’s always warmer and more enclosed at the base of a tree. The members
remain protected and strong as they bear the weight and give support to the entire tree. They have the endurance.”

Bram liked his father’s teachings and he realized that in humans the strength is also in the collective family support. He knew he would grow and become stronger until he, too, could shoulder responsibility with dignity and respect.

Bram loved all forms of nature, worshipping it as others did religion. He believed the whole of God was in every atom as well as in the totality of nature. In the eagle as in the feather, God was all Creation. His father had once told him, “Only things that have no power of choice are perfect. Nature is, man isn’t.”

Gertie had fallen asleep under Bram’s gentle stroking. A wave of fulfillment swept through him as he realized his happiness. While Gertie slept, Modoc found a sandbar just beneath the surface of the water where she could lie and scratch her sides, rubbing all the ecstasy off. Then she, too, took a nap, the muddy upper half of her body quickly drying in the hot sun. Birds landed on her, picking and searching for any tidbit to be found, not knowing they were walking on a living matriarch.

A cool breeze alerted Bram to the lateness of the day. He kissed Gertie awake and yelled to Mo, “Move up, Mo! They began packing as Modoc rose from the sandbar.

Bram tied a rope around Gertie’s waist and his own, then looped it into the rope weave mat. A quick pull brought them both together. It also prevented them from falling off were they to doze. As the sun began to descend slowly behind the horizon, Bram and Gertie slept soundly, rocked by the gentle motion of Modoc as she rounded Cryer Lake and headed up the ridge toward home.

T
HE SIDESHOW
, which many patrons considered a “freak show,” featured a group of people who were born with, or had suffered, a mishap in their lives. This made them different from others, shunned by not-so-polite society. These people had joined together as a family unit for their own security and because of a love of the circus.

Curpo was billed as the Littlest Man in Germany. He hated being referred to as a “freak” and was overjoyed when Herr Gobel allowed him, at Josef’s insistence, to help with Emma and her baby.

Lilith, the Fat Lady, weighed over six hundred pounds. She was helped from place to place by whichever four or five people were at hand. Her house trailer had a special door cut into it to allow for her girth and heavy-duty springs to support her weight. Occasionally Lilith even needed some assistance with her toilette, but the circus was her “family” and they managed to get through most things together.

String, the Thin Man, was also billed as the Tallest Man Alive, hovering almost eight feet in the air, resembling a human daddy longlegs spider. When he bent over to speak to you, he lowered himself slowly, deliberately, as the change of height would oftimes make him dizzy. Canvas billboards were best hung by him. He had no meat on his bones to speak of, had very little strength, and wobbled as if on weak springs whenever he walked. Doctors claimed he probably would have died years ago without the circus. His performance gave him a purpose. He was needed.

Schulz was called the Seal Man because his hands grew out of his shoulders, resembling flippers. Normal in all other ways, Schulz had never learned to accept his defects. He hated people helping him and yet needed their assistance.

Sweet Little Marigold, a woman twenty-three inches long, had been born with only a head and upper torso above the waist, and no limbs whatsoever. Blessed in other ways, however, she was a finely educated and intelligent lady, with a fluent mastery of five languages. Her skin had the fine sheen of delicate porcelain, her eyes were almond-shaped and pale hazel. Her head, crowned by a thick mass of long, flowing golden blond hair, completely encircled her torso. Lovingly cared for, Marigold was carefully carried on a velvet pillow by a large mulatto woman who answered to the unusual name of Moonspirit. French was the only language spoken between them. Moonspirit was always ready to help, and their smiles to each other could send messages no outsider could know. Sometimes, to add softness to the pillow, Marigold would be placed on the thickness of her own hair, the waves and curls billowing around her. She had the look of a flower emerging from the comfortable bed of its golden petals. Circus audiences often left her presence feeling transfixed, as if having succumbed to an ethereal vision of spiritual enlightenment.

Mesmera, the snake dancer, featured Slip, a fifteen-foot Indian python. A sinuous lady, she was the epitome of controlled body movement. Her slender and graceful physique, undulating muscles, and stretching tendons all moved in juxtaposition. Her eyes
were as awesome as her body. Once transfixed on another pair, they overwhelmed, forcing the other to look away as one does from looking into the sun. Her head seemed to be the only part of her body that held her steady and balanced. Voluptuous breasts heaved.

While all this mastery of extremities continued, Slip slid his bulk around her throat, down the earthquake-ravaged stomach, settling in the violent sea of her hips, content to let his muscles grasp her torso with such strength that he followed her exact movement without being bumped or jostled. She ended her act by kissing him on his hard, shiny, scaled mouth as his quick thrusting tongue slipped from a small orifice between those nontelling jaws.

Sweet Little Marigold, the Torso Lady, and Karl Schulz, the Seal Man, were getting married! Whether it was a marriage for love or companionship, no one could say. Little Marigold had been born of normal parents, who had sent her to a home for invalids in Dusseldorf. The home was called Baselfeld, an establishment funded by the wealthy, where parents of deformed children could hide their offspring.

“Mother told me that she loved me,” Marigold reflected in a conversation to Bram, “but because I was different, I couldn’t live a normal life. She felt that being with others of a similar kind would be better for me. I cried and told her I was afraid, that other people scared me. I was so lonely. Down deep I knew that she abhorred me. She never helped me with my personal needs, you know—like bodily functions. Why, she never even held me in her arms. But then, you see, back home we had maids at my beck and call. Not that I was spoiled, or anything like that,
pas de tout
,” Marigold hastened to add, “I just never quite realized how helpless I was until I went to that horrible place.”

Bram looked at the little woman, whose kind eyes were glistening at the memory. Curpo had told him places like that existed, but he had never known anyone who had actually lived at one. “It must have been awful, Marigold. But they did take care of you, didn’t they?”

“They took care of us, all right,” she said. “There was never enough staff, or decent food, and the place was always drafty. Sometimes, when I was sitting in the dark, all the spooky demons in my mind would come out. If I sneezed, or my nose dripped and grew cold and chapped, I couldn’t wipe it. If I was chilled and needed my shawl, I stayed chilled. That’s when I let my hair grow so long; it helped keep me warm. The worst was if I had to go to the toilet. I had to sit in my wet urine all night. You see, I have these tubes under here”—she glanced down—“and, well, I was petrified thinking of what could happen, like if I started to fall—or fell face down! Why, I couldn’t breathe if I did that!” Marigold’s face was flushed now, her eyes wide at remembering.

“A bee might crawl on my face, or they would leave me in the sun too long. Once I saw a large rat enter my room and I couldn’t see where it went! I knew it could do anything it wanted to me, crawl on my face or bite me—and there was nothing I could do! I thought I felt something on my back. I gasped, and when I did, I swallowed some of my hair. Every time I tried to breathe, I swallowed more. I was choking and there was no way to let anybody know. I was truly lucky, though. A paraplegic saw me and ran his wheelchair into an attendant to get her attention.” Marigold continued, “I guess I felt very sorry for myself until Moonspirit came along. She and I are the same intellectually, and our friendship and trust has grown.” She paused thoughtfully.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m getting married. Well,” she said, without waiting for an answer, “nobody has ever needed me. I’ve always needed help, but when I met Karl at Baselfeld, he was so sad and lonely, it brought back memories of my past. We used to talk for hours. We have the same interests, the same philosophy about life. We get along well, and are good companions for each other. We’d never find normal people wanting us, and besides, we understand each other’s needs.”

“What about Moonspirit?” Bram asked.

“She’ll stay with us. The three of us will get along just fine.” At this, Little Marigold smiled a mischievous smile. Bram sensed
something in her voice that was a bit odd, something beyond the understanding of his age. He let it go. Wishing Little Marigold well, Bram headed for the barn, proud that she had chosen him to confide in.

The wedding was a simple affair. It was held in the sideshow tent. Everyone from the circus attended, plus a few friends from town. Flowers were arranged on either side of the main stage. The calliope man played the wedding march from clear across the circus grounds (old man Gobel wouldn’t let them move it). Little Marigold looked beautiful in her wedding gown, with its lace-covered bodice and yards of white satin that draped from her “waist” to the floor. A tiara of red roses crowned her golden hair that swept down the full length of the dress.

Josef and Katrina were there to share in the joy of the wedding, each knowing how happy wedded life could be.

Appelle, dressed in his clown outfit (that’s the way they wanted it) was the best man. String and Himmel the bear trainer were ushers. Lilith, the Fat Lady, was the maid of honor.

As unusual as it may have seemed, when Moonspirit carried little Marigold down the sawdust aisle, on a gold and satin pillow, with Karl walking beside them, love and caring were on every face. Tears flowed and sobbing was heard when Mesmera, the Snake Lady, fastened a gold chain around each of their necks, from which hung their gold wedding rings. They said their “I do’s” and Karl kissed Little Marigold. Everyone applauded as they came down the aisle and got into a waiting car to begin their weekend honeymoon.

“Well, Curpo,” said Bram, “that was some wedding. I’m really happy for them.”

Bram and Curpo got into the back of the truck, Josef and Katrina into the front, and headed back to the farm.

The years fell like dominoes, each no different from the last. Modoc grew at an astonishing rate, her heart keeping pace with her body. She had an enormous capacity for loving all things—and they in turn loved her. Birds landed on her back, picking and scratching,
cats rubbed against her legs without fear of being stepped on. The mice in the hay ran only if they were in the hay on the way to her mouth.

Fall came quickly that year, and Christmas was just around the corner. Big butane heaters were wheeled into the barn to keep Mo and the livestock warm, for the cold months now descended upon them.

The circus closed its doors for the season. Many employees went their own way, waiting for spring so they could rejoin one another again. The equipment was battened down. The canvas tents, except the menagerie, were folded and stored. Strong, hardy animals like the camels, llamas, and goats stayed to last out the winter. A few dedicated keepers remained to feed, water, and care for the livestock.

Bitter German blizzards descended, one after the other, and the sun was not to shine for months to come. The countryside was blanketed by a deep, snowy white. The skeletal trees stood starkly against the cold gray sky. Carrying the same morbidity, all things looked the same. Water stopped running, lakes and streams turned to ice.

For some perhaps, winter brings joy and cheer—a time to play, to ski the mountain slopes, to sled, to skate, and to throw snowballs. For those who care for livestock, who worry about lasting the winter, as Josef did, to see if they still had jobs in the spring, who strove to provide enough heat and food for their families and the animals just to stay alive, these were times of depression. Times of survival.

The Gunterstein barn had always been used for the circus’s winter quarters. Josef, good soul that he was, offered it, and Herr Gobel, greedy man that he was, accepted. He never offered Josef an extra pittance for allowing the animals and some equipment to stay there. Gobel supplied the animals with food, but even that came scarce.

Traditionally some performers set up sleeping arrangements within the barn and helped to care for the livestock. Bram felt it was really to shelter those who didn’t have a place of their own during the winter months. In truth, it did more. There was an undercurrent
of fear running through all of them, fear of the loss of the circus. It was more than their jobs, it was their lives. The circus kept the “family” together.

The roustabouts securely tied down everything at the circus grounds so the blustery driving wind and rain wouldn’t carry it away. A few were left there to guard the heavy equipment. Gray, dismal skies never altered the pale look of everything. The hay bales in the barn were slowly being depleted, being used for both feed and bedding. As the season took its course, the domestic stock—cows, horses, pigs, goats, and the barnyard birds—had taken a liking to the exotic animals, especially Modoc, and on particularly cold nights they would huddle up to her for the warmth her large body could offer.

“That old man, Herr Gobel, hasn’t even been by to see us this winter,” Katrina observed. Josef was gripping his stomach as his ulcers again declared their painful existence. This was not lost on his wife. “It’s because he knows you’ll take care of everything for him,” she continued. “You’ve spoiled him rotten, you know.”

Josef hadn’t eaten a full meal in the last week. His skin had no color to it, and the gaunt look in his face bespoke the worry in his heart.

Weeks turned into months, and as the snow piled deeper against the old barn, the road leading to the farm became completely impassable. Anyone entering had to brave a small path that paralleled the road. It zigzagged through the bleak grove of sycamores and over the small bridge that straddled the slopes where the runoff of melted snow from the mountain poured down in the summertime.

Over the past year Bram had tried to see Gertie as often as possible, but the constant storms and bad weather conditions kept them apart. Even schools had been closed, and telephone lines had been down for some time. All Bram could think of were the wonderful moments they’d spent together, especially at Cryer Lake. These tender thoughts were always in his mind and helped carry him through some of the cold winter nights.

Late on a Friday evening, when the storm clouds had disappeared for the first time in many weeks, a bright cold sky asserted itself. A third-quarter moon lit up the countryside. One light burned in the farmhouse that sat still and alone in the snow-covered valley. Smoke drifted up from the chimney as Katrina finished making a kettle of potato-corn soup and six or seven dozen raisin-nut cookies. The cookies had been Bram’s favorites since boyhood. She smiled at the thought. He was, of course, still a boy, but he had gotten so big and was handling so many chores that sometimes she saw more of the man in him than the boy.

“Maybe it is the weather,” Himmel suggested.

A small group gathered around the fire that Josef had built in the early weeks of winter. It had been kept burning to take away the chill that each and every day brought. There had been no mail for weeks, and the discussion centered around whether the rumors about the circus closing down were true.

“No, they could have gotten through to wish us well, see how the animals are, or if we need anything,” another objected.