For a moment Hilda could have sworn that the woman in the ad was Baroness Vebekka Marechal.
Chapter 3
Ruda Kellerman stepped down from her trailer. The sky was overcast, with rain falling lightly. Ruda drew up her raincoat collar and tightened her belt. Her black boots barely showed beneath the long trench coat. She wore a man's old cloth cap and her long hair was braided. She carried a small riding crop and was tapping it against her leg as she strode toward the Grimaldi cages.
There were sixteen tigers, four lionesses, five lions, and one black panther. The animals were three or four to a cage, except for one lion, Mamon, and the panther, Wanton, who each had his own. Ruda had, as always, supervised their unloading from the circus train. Now she was making her second inspection of the morning, her eyes noting each animal with a piercing stare of her wide amber-colored eyes.
The tigers were very vocal now; occasionally, she stopped as one or the other called to her. She pressed her face to the bars, blowing a kiss.
The purring sound was so loud it was like a rumble, but there was no sound from the smallest cage in the semicircle, the cage that housed Wanton, her young panther. Ruda called out to him, but kept at arm's length as he sliced his paw through the bars, his sharp claws always ready to lash out against anyone passing close. Wanton was the smallest cat, but one of the most dangerous, and Ruda glanced upward to check that the tarpaulin over the top of his cage was well battened down. She checked to make sure that there was no loose rope for Wanton to leap at, and possibly hurt himself.
Ruda moved on to her babies, her lionesses. The rain was heavier, and she snapped orders for her helpers to keep the tarpaulins on all the cages until it was time to move the cats into their sheltered quarters. Hearing her voice, the lionesses pressed their massive bodies to the bars, and each one received a rub on the nose. Ruda spoke softly, knowing they would be restless for some time. They always were when they arrived at a new site.
Ruda ran her crop along the bars of the next to last cage, and three of her prize babies, the fully grown male lions, loped toward her, their massive heads bent low, their paws too large to reach through. These lions with their full manes never ceased to touch a chord inside her; they were kings, magnificent killers, and she admired the sheer force and power of their muscular bodies. Their straw needed changing. She turned angrily to one of her helpers, snapping out the order to prepare the clean straw.
A young man, who had been with Ruda for only six months, muttered for her to give him a break, he had just arrived himself. In two quick strides Ruda was at his side.
"Do it now! No back talk!"
The boy hurried toward the trailer, where four helpers were pitchforking the new hay and sawdust. Ruda made sure every bale was checked out for dampness, and every sack of sawdust was checked for poison, often laid by farmers to get rid of rats. Ruda insisted that the sawdust be sifted by hand.
Turning to the last cage, she quickened her step. She gave a soft whistle, and then leaned by the side of the cage. Mamon was in solitary confinement, a state he seemed to prefer. Ruda often wondered if he acted up to ensure he was solo; and could do so like none of the others, but then, even his name was unique. He had it when Ruda purchased him. Mamon was moody, uncooperative, a bully, but he could also be playful and sweet-natured. Lions on the whole are family oriented, they like each other's company, but Mamon was a loner, and he constantly tested her. She liked that.
As soon as he heard her soft whistle, Mamon swung his head toward Ruda; then he loped slowly to the side of the cage. When she whistled for the second time, he bent down onto his haunches, his nose pressed to the bars, his massive black mane protruding through the rails. As Ruda peered around to him, his jaws opened and snapped shut.
"How you doing, eh? Want to say hello to your mama?... Eh?"
Mamon rolled onto his back, and Ruda reached in and tickled his underbelly, but she never stopped talking to him, soothing him, always aware that even in play he could bite her arm off.
The high-pitched voice that interrupted this scene was like that of a pubescent boy, slightly hoarse, half low, half falsetto.
"So you got what you wanted after all..."
Mamon sprang to his feet, all four hundred and ten pounds of him ready to attack. The cage rattled as he lunged at the bars.
Ruda gripped the riding crop tighter. The voice was unmistakable.
"You got even taller, Ruda."
Ruda turned and snapped. "I wish I could say the same for you, Tommy. What rock have you crawled from under?"
Tommy Kellerman gave a mirthless, twisted smile. "You're doing all right for yourself. That's some trailer parked up front! How much does a trailer that size set you back?"
Ruda relaxed her grip on the riding crop, forced a smile. This was something that she had expected after all. Ruda had to look down to waist level to meet his eyes. Tommy Kellerman looked very spruce; his gray suit and red shirt had to have been custom made, as was his red and gray striped tie. She was familiar with the white trench coat, he wore it as he had always done, slung round his shoulders; he also sported a leather trilby, a hat being the only normal garment Tommy could buy outside of a children's wear department. Kellerman was a dwarf.
"That raincoat's seen some wear!" She tried to sound casual, but her heart was hammering, and she glanced around furtively to see if there was anyone she knew close by.
"We got to talk, Ruda."
"I've got nothing to say to you, Tommy, and I'm busy right now."
Kellerman inched his leather hat up a fraction. "You didn't change your name. How come?"
"I paid enough to use it; beside, I like it."
Ruda walked a few steps to the side of the cage, out of sight of passersby. She leaned against the cage, gestured for him to come to her. After a moment, Kellerman joined her. His sweet-smelling cologne wafted up, mixing with the smell of the cats' urine.
"Like I said, Ruda, we need to talk. I just got in from Paris, I got a room in the Hotel Berlin."
Kellerman had a small leather bag; he dropped it by his tiny feet. Then he leaned against the wheel of the cage, his square hands stuffed into the small pockets, his polished child's shoes and red socks scuffed with mud.
"Have you been to my trailer?... asked for me there?"
He laughed his high-pitched laugh, and shook his head. "No, I came straight from the station. I've been following you, I keep on seeing your posters, your face. You are the star attraction. You got what you wanted, eh?"
"What do you want, Tommy?" Her voice was flat and emotionless.
He looked up at her, and inched his hat further up his domed forehead, scratching his head. Then he removed the hat and ran his stubby fingers through thick curly hair flecked with gray. The last time Ruda had seen him, it had been coal black. It was the nicest thing about him, his curly hair. She noticed it was dirty now, sweaty from the hat.
"I said, what do you want, Tommy? You're not here for a job are you? Not after what happened — they wouldn't touch you. I'm surprised you can still find circuses that'll employ you."
Kellerman spat into the mud.
"Isn't there someplace we can discuss this comfortably? It's raining, and I could do with a bite to eat..."
"I'm real busy, Tommy, it's feeding time, maybe we can meet someplace later."
He stared up at her, and his eyes searched hers before he spoke.
"You owe me, Ruda: All I want is my fair share. I can't get work, good work. I'm broke, I've had to sell most of my props and, well, I reckon you can give me a cut."
"Cut of what?"
"Well, there's a few ways to look at it. I'm still your legal husband, and I bet any dough your old man doesn't know that!