"Bullshit! Don't give me this arty-farty crap about the French. They tried an animal-free circus in England and it flopped belly up, nobody came. You stand by the box office and you hear every other caller ask: What animals? They come for the animals!"
"No, not anymore. Luis, they see with their own eyes, they see man trying to prove he is top dog! They see man only wanting to dominate other species. They see the tragic animals hemmed into their cages, they see..."
"I should get back!" Grimaldi tried to stand up, and slumped back into his chair again.
Lazars took no notice, and handed him another bottle. "So, how is Ruda? She's come a long way, she's queen now, huh?"
Grimaldi nodded, and Lazars began to reminisce about the time when Grimaldi himself was a big star attraction. They swapped stories, recalling past glories... the two massive men seated on either side of the small table in the filthy cluttered kitchen. They laughed, they slapped each other's shoulders, and plowed their way through the crate of beer.
Suddenly they fell silent, caught up in their own private memories.
The first time Grimaldi had seen Ruda was with Lazars; Grimaldi was with a group of performers having a night out. He was drunk that night, had been drinking for the best part of the evening when they all stumbled to the basement club.
The city was bombed out. Abject poverty was everywhere, the only escape was in drink. The people were dazed, hungry; the aftermath of the terrible war hung like a sickening cloud. Memories of prewar times, of affluence, of dreams were pushed roughly aside; living and being alive was all that mattered, surviving the only priority.
Grimaldi had money then, one of the few who had. He was a young boy of fifteen when the war started, and had gone with his father to the United States, where his father died. It was in America that Luis learned his two brothers had been killed on the Russian front. He built up the act, and was one of the first performers to return to Europe after the war. It was the mid-fifties, and word had spread that young Luis Grimaldi was someone to watch. Those he was out with that night had all seen his performance, and everyone was slapping his back, toasting him. Then Ruda and the old magician had appeared on the cabaret stage in a puff of pitiful green smoke. This elicited general catcalls and yells, and a bottle was hurled at the old man while he attempted to continue the act.
The audience was called to attention by a taped drumroll. The old man asked for the patrons' participation. He was greeted with whistles and lewd remarks. Dressed in cheap black bra and panties, with laddered black tights and high-heeled shoes, Ruda appeared disinterested in her own performance, passing the tubes and hoops with a half-hearted smile on her face.
The magician had drawn from various pockets small silk handkerchiefs, red, blue, green. With great showmanship he had thrown them into the air, and urged the audience to hide the silks. Grimaldi's friends took a bunch of the squares, blew their noses with them, and tossed them aside, while Grimaldi tucked one into his right boot.
Ruda stood impassive, her head half turned from the blinding spotlights. Now the magician slipped a thick black blindfold around her eyes.
He began to thread his way through the audience. Ruda, in a low monotone, named the colors as each was retrieved.
"Red, blue, red, red, red, blue, green, red, blue, green..."
At one point she seemed ahead of the magician as the colored squares were caught and held aloft. She turned her head slightly as if listening, and yet kept reciting the colors. The audience had grown quiet, caught up in the act as the old man worked the club, gathering the squares; at times he had his back to her, it was impossible for her to cheat.
He stepped in front of Grimaldi. "Red..."
Grimaldi shrugged his shoulders, smiling, denying that he had hidden a square.
"Red..."
They had all cheered as he retrieved the red silk square from his boot.
Grimaldi and his friends had continued on to another club. It was almost dawn when Grimaldi hailed a taxi to go home. While waiting he saw her, standing on a street corner. She was still wearing her costume, but now she had an old brown thin coat around her shoulders. He saw her stop two men, and then shrug her shoulders as they moved on.
The taxi pulled up and Grimaldi got inside, the cab did a U-turn, coming to her side. She stared dull-eyed at the cab, and then stepped forward. Grimaldi wound down his window, about to say he had seen her act, when she stuck her head in the car and asked, "Do you want a blow job?" He shook his head, but she hung on.
"You can name your price!"
Grimaldi asked the driver to move on, but she still clung to the window. "Oh, it's you. It was in your fucking boot. You like to make people look like shit?... Fuck you!"
Grimaldi shouted for the driver to stop. He got out. She backed away from him, afraid. But he smiled and complimented her.
"You know, that was quite good. You should get rid of that old man, work up a real act, you're good! It has to be some kind of trick, but it works."
She hung back, pressing herself against the wall until he returned to the taxi and drove off. But the following morning she was there, hanging around his trailer.
"I'm looking for work."
Grimaldi had brushed her off, but nothing deterred her. She came by every day. He would give her a little money, get rid of her, but she still turned up. He would find her sitting on his steps, no matter what the weather, waiting; asking for a job, or peddling a blow job, masturbation. He ordered one of the stewards to keep her out, but she came back. If she wasn't hanging around his trailer, she would be waiting by the cages. She was always there, always in the same worn brown coat, and always hungry.
Grimaldi had been having an affair with a very attractive Italian trapeze artist. She screamed at him to get rid of the whore. He then became nasty with Ruda, physically shoving her away. Still, she came back.
There were only a few more days left on his contract before he was to travel on, and so he had given in. He became more pleasant, asked where she came from, if she had a home. She would shrug her shoulders. Then he did a foolish thing, seeing her huddled outside his trailer in pouring rain; he had asked her inside.
Once inside, she showed genuine interest in his photographs and reviews. He offered to take her coat, but she refused, sitting in the sodden coat, smoking.
"Will you take me with you when you go?"
He had laughed, saying this was impossible. He was going to Austria, then on to Switzerland, crossing back to Italy and then, he hoped, America.
She offered to be a groom, sweep, do anything. He had told her she would have to be hired by the circus bosses.
The next day, he found her sitting in his trailer. He chucked her out, but after his show she was back. Exasperated by her persistence, he said that if she had the right papers, passport and visas, he would see what he could do with the circus boss.
Later that night she came back, tapping on his window. He shouted for her to get the hell away, but she kept on tapping and in the end he had opened the door.
"Look, I said I don't want you around. If you got the papers leave them. I'll see what I can do, now go..."
Brazenly, she had walked past him into the small bedroom, taking off her filthy coat. She had on the black brassiere, black panties with a garter belt. The stockings were even more laddered.
"I've got someone with me, okay? Whatever you have to say, make it quick."
"I got no papers, I need you to help me, I need money."