She continued to undress, easing her pants down. She had on a pair of thick cotton underpants. Grimaldi was convinced she was going to show him a penis. Instead, he saw the terrible scars on her belly. He stared in disbelief.
Ruda then held up her wrist, showing him the tattoo. He looked from the row of numbers to her body; he couldn't look into her eyes.
"I'm surprised you've never commented on it before."
He swallowed, and gave a half smile, but his hands were shaking. "I guess I'm just not very observant..."
She stood in front of him with such helplessness, such shame, her head bowed. He picked up the gown, and slipped it over her head. Then he stepped back.
"Now you look like a bride."
The small space between them was like a chasm he did not know how to cross. Seeing her standing there in the white negligee made him want to weep.
Her voice was husky, her head low. "I'll make up the bed on the sofa... You don't have to be with me, I understand."
He gathered her in his arms and held her tightly. His voice was thick with emotion. "What kind of a man do you think I am? We said to each other for better or worse, didn't we? Well, I don't think you got such a great bargain, so maybe you're damaged too, that's okay, we'll make out."
Ruda had clung to him, her whole body shaking. When he cupped her face in his big hands, two tears rolled down her cheeks. He told her then that he loved her. Maybe it was those two tears, he had never seen her cry before, and he had carried her into the small bedroom and gently laid her down. He undressed, and then he got in beside her, and he reached out and cradled her in his arms.
"Don't ask me about it, Luis. You don't ever want to know what was done to me, because it might open up a darkness inside me that I could not control. It happened, and now it's over..."
He had never felt as protective of any living soul. He kissed her head as she rested against his chest. "I will always take care of you, Ruda, nobody will ever hurt you again. You are my wife, this will be our secret, no one will ever know."
He made her feel secure, a feeling she had never experienced before. She felt warmed by this big soft man, and gently she stroked his chest, and then rolled over to lie on top of him. She smiled and then whispered that she could make him happy, there were ways, she would teach him how to make love to her, he would like it, he would be satisfied.
The old hand and the few workers left at the winter quarters gave knowing winks and nudges as a very happy Grimaldi greeted them the morning after the wedding. He was a man who appeared infatuated. Maybe it was indeed love.
The big album dropped to the floor, and Grimaldi woke with a start. For a moment he was disoriented, couldn't even remember coming into Ruda's bedroom. "You're gettin' old, you old bugger, noddin' off..." He yawned, and leaning back he became aware of Ruda's scent on the pillow. He nuzzled it, and then slipped his arm around it, sighing. "Oh Ruda... where did I go wrong, huh?" He knew she would give him hell if she found him in her room, but he chuckled and eased himself into a more comfortable position. His last thought before he fell into a deep sleep was of Ruda. "What a bloody wife..."
Ruda had intended to apply for a divorce from Kellerman as soon as she had the opportunity. That she had married Grimaldi bigamously never worried her; with Kellerman in prison, he would not find out; by the time he was out she would have secured a divorce. She wished she had done it in Vegas, as she had told Grimaldi she had, but she had been in such a hurry to leave that divorce had been the last thing on her mind.
Grimaldi began to earn money by training other acts, traveling around the United States. He returned with gifts, and cash to buy-new cats for his show. Ruda worked at the winter quarters. She learned how to groom and feed the animals, and they thrived under her care and attention. They began to breed the tigers and their first summer together as man and wife saw four new cubs born. Ruda was a doting mother, and was heartbroken when Grimaldi sold the cubs. He said they had to because they needed the money, but also he said the cubs were not a good color. He taught Ruda how to spot the best of the litters, how to test their strength. Health was always the main priority. Ruda was a willing pupil. She worked tirelessly, nothing was too much trouble. Everyone said that Grimaldi had found the perfect wife, that Ruda was getting him back on his feet.
Ruda continued with her stargazing sideline. The letters arrived every week, and she would spend hours every evening typing replies, making predictions. She typed very slowly with two fingers, deep in concentration. She had a dictionary beside her, always thumbing the well-worn pages. Grimaldi used to tease her, and at times was stunned when she asked him to spell the simplest of words. He believed at first it was because she was German and typing in English, but then watching her effort he understood she was almost illiterate. She had caught him observing her and had given him the finger. "I never went to school, dickhead, so no jokes!"
He leaned over her chair and began to read a letter. She tried to cover it with her hand, but he snatched it out of the roller.
" 'Dear Worried from Nebraska' — my God, what in God's name is somebody writing to you from Nebraska for?"
"I've done her charts, now give it back."
Grimaldi had waved the letter jokingly. "Her charts? What in Christ's name do you know about all this junk?"
He roared with laughter as he read Ruda's predictions. She folded her arms. "You laugh, but they pay ten bucks a letter, and they pay for the cats' feed. You got any better ideas how to make dough that fast?"
Grimaldi slapped the paper down and patted her head. "Keep working, keep working!"
She had carefully rolled the paper back into the typewriter, and he was about to walk out when he paused at the doorway. "You never did tell me how you did that scarf trick, you know, with that old magician?"
She began typing again, and without looking at him said that it wasn't a trick. He told her to stop pulling his leg, but she turned to face him. "That wasn't a trick. I'm telepathic."
"Oh yeah, prove it!"
She shrugged and said she didn't feel like it, but he insisted, teasing her, asking her to prove it. She sighed, then pushed the typewriter aside. She picked up the stack of letters she had received that week. She handed them to him, thumbing through them like a pack of cards. She then looked away and told him to turn up each envelope and she would tell him the color of the stamps. She repeated, in rapid succession: red, blue, red, red, green, blue, red, red, red, red... she then swiveled around in her chair and cocked her head.
"You knew... you cheated!"
She held out her hand and shrugged. "Yeah... Now can I get on with my work?"
"Don't let me hold you up, carry on!" But he remained leaning at the doorway watching her, until she looked up at him and made a funny face.
"Is it just the colors then? I mean, can you do anything else?"
She laughed. "If I were to say yes, what you gonna do? Set up a booth and make me wear a turban? Just get out, go on, don't you have anything to do?"
Grimaldi laughed. As he stepped down he called out: "I'll get myself a cloak like that old boy you worked with. Old Two Seats can bend over and give us a good fart, I'll set light to it!"
She could hear him laughing as he passed by the window, and then he stuck his head against the glass. "Did I tell you today how much I love you? Eh? Cross my palm with silver... and I'll tell you how much!"
She gave him the finger, shouted for him to "Sit on it!" and he gave his marvelous, deep-bellied laugh, and at last he went about his business.