“Just in case he walks out of the library while we walk in,” she said.
The Valley Plaza Branch Library is not an imposing structure, and there isn’t anything fancy about its architecture, but there is also nothing lacking in its warmth or friendliness. A librarian, whose name tag identified her as “I. Galvan,” saw us looking around anxiously, and asked if she could be of help.
“Cosmo the Storyteller?” I asked, seeing that the children’s section was all but empty.
“Oh, he’s outside, in the park!” She led us back out to the parking lot and pointed to a cluster of people sitting on the grass a little distance away. We could see a brightly clad figure standing before them. Travis, I thought, although we weren’t close enough to make out his features.
We thanked her and walked quietly toward the group, slowing as we neared a cluster of young mothers seated on the lawn near their preschoolers. One of the women held a sleeping baby on her lap. The attention of both parents and children was riveted on a tall man wearing black booties and tights, white gloves, a colorful tunic and a comically large red beret.
Travis? Yes. Dramatic clothing or no, I recognized his face from Briana’s collection of photographs.
He was moving with an exaggerated tiptoeing step. “Shhhh,” he said, gesturing with his gloved finger to his lips, although his wide-eyed audience wasn’t making a sound.
We came nearer, and sat on the grass a few yards behind the mothers. A couple of them glanced back at us. Neither Travis nor the enthralled children seemed to notice us.
He crept forward, eyes wide, saying, “Wally was very scared. He didn’t know if the dragon was really asleep. But then he heard the dragon snore.”
He held his hand to his ear. The children began making loud snoring sounds. Travis smiled. “Ah, yes, that dragon is sound asleep!”
Stepping quietly around the invisible dragon, he moved to a big steamer trunk and gingerly removed a pair of square, papier-mache boxes-one red, one yellow. He held the yellow one out to the audience with a questioning look.
“No!” they said, nearly in unison.
“What color is this box?” he asked, scratching his head.
“Yellow!” they chorused.
“Oh, isn’t this the box I want?”
“No! The red one!”
“That’s right, that’s right!” he said, as if remembering, while the children laughed.
He put the yellow one back inside the trunk again. From time to time, he peered cautiously over his shoulder at the place on the lawn where the audience knew the beast still lay sleeping. Taking the red box closer to the children, he asked, “What did Wally find in the box?”
“The key!” A boy shouted. “The key!”
“Yes!” Travis said, bestowing a smile on the boy as he took a large gold key from the box. “He found the golden key. Now what did Wally do? Did he run home?”
“No!” A resounding chorus.
“But he’s afraid of the dragon!”
There was a jumble of answers, which Travis seemed to understand perfectly. “Oh, he rescues the knight?”
“Yes!” The chorus again.
“You’re absolutely right!” Acting out the story, he said, “Wally sneaked past the dragon and out of the dragon’s fine hall. Then, carefully tucking the golden key in his pocket, Wally ran down the long staircase to…” He paused, scratching his head again. “Now where did that dragon put that knight?”
“The dungeon!” the children shouted.
“Oh, yes, that’s where he went.” More running. “And when he got to the door of the dungeon-uh-oh!” He began patting the tunic. “Where did I put that golden key?”
“Your pocket!” a girl yelled.
“Oh, yes! Thank you,” he said with a bow.
“You’re welcome!” the girl said in a quieter voice.
As the rest of the story unfolded, Wally freed the knight; Wally and the knight went safely back to their home; the sleeping dragon awoke and, seeing his meal missing, decided to become a vegetarian-a term which one of the children already knew. The same one who asked, “Was he a vegan?”
“I believe he was,” Travis said. When the story ended the children and parents cheered him. He bowed humbly, sat on the grass with them, and began asking them about their favorite stories and books. To their delight, he gave away stickers of dragons. “Let’s go back inside the library,” he said at last.
He picked up one end of the trunk, which I could now see had wheels on the other end. He rolled it along as the children and their mothers followed him.
Rachel and I looked at one another, then tagged after him and his troops at a distance.
“Is that him?” Rachel asked, and I could see a look of unholy glee on her face.
“Shut up,” I said.
“Love the outfit,” she whispered. “Do you suppose he makes his own booties?”
I didn’t answer.
“And the panty hose. You think he has to wear queen-sized?”
“Tights. I’m sure he has many costumes-” I began.
“Oh, I’m sure he does, too!” she said, laughing.
“What’s your problem?” I asked, losing patience. “Didn’t you see how those kids looked at him?”
“They loved him, of course,” she said, but kept grinning.
I walked a little faster, pulling ahead of her, then stopped and threw back over my shoulder, “You’ve forgotten why we’re here.”
Somehow, watching her face fall wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be.
Inside, Travis sat at a small round table that had several plastic dinosaurs on it. He was perched on the edge of one of the sturdy wooden children’s chairs that surrounded the table, being smothered in hugs as his pint-sized admirers took their leave. I could see that more than one of the mothers were eyeing him with something that went beyond gratitude for entertaining their children. We stayed back, but from time to time he glanced up at us, a little uneasy, more aware now that we were there without children. Once or twice I caught him briefly studying me.
Before he was entirely free of the group of mothers and children, he excused himself and went into the library office.
“Think he’s taking off?” Rachel asked, folding her arms.
“No,” I said. “He’ll be back out. The trunk is still here. And I don’t think he knows who we are.”
Ms. Galvan came over to stand by the trunk, apparently keeping an eye on it for him. Seeing that we were waiting for him, she asked, “Did you enjoy the performance?”
We agreed that we had.
“Is this the first time you’ve seen him tell stories?”
“Yes,” Rachel answered, and continued small talk while I found myself growing more and more uneasy over the task at hand.
When he emerged from the office he was carrying his costume in a bundle. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a green T-shirt, wearing a pair of running shoes. The beret off, I could see that his dark hair was cut short. He seemed serious and distracted, but as he looked toward us his face broke into a smile, making him look quite handsome.
“Think he’s got a girlfriend?” Rachel whispered.
“For all I know, he’s got a wife,” I said.
“Or two,” she said, not repenting in the least when I turned to scowl at her.
In the next moment, I was shocked to hear my cousin say, “Irene, I can’t thank you enough!”
Rachel and I turned to him, mouths agape, but he was extending a scar-thatched right hand to the librarian.
“I should be thanking you,” she said.
“Irene?” I said weakly.
She looked over at me. “Yes?”
“Oh. That’s my name, too. I’m Irene Kelly.”
She smiled. “I guess those of us whose mothers liked that song-”
But Travis interrupted her, saying in utter disbelief, “Irene Kelly?”
“Yes,” I said, not hiding my relief at his recognition of my name. “Your cousin.”