It meant that something great was going to happen—or he could make something great out of nothing, even if it didn’t seem so at first. This woman, whoever and whatever she was, was going to make people remember him.
“The fisherman told my friend that not one person expressed interest in his story,” Moses said. “Not one. They all pretended not to hear a thing he said. They changed the subject or gave him a blank stare. And he found the next day that he couldn’t sell any of his catch in the village no matter how hard he tried. Soon, he went down the coast to friendlier waters.
“There he heard that some of the people of that village had told tales of the woman years before, that she danced with the devil to keep her face young and other such nonsense. Those stories had been passed from town to town as they do in those parts. But then the woman’s husband died—gone missing at sea—and the stories just stopped.”
“Until this fellow, this friend of a friend, came talking about a mermaid,” Barnum said.
Maybe he would get his mermaid after all. A mermaid was a much more spectacular exhibit than an immortal woman. A mermaid wouldn’t require papers to prove her magic to the gaping crowds. It would be visible for all to see—no need for tricks. At least, no need for tricks that the human eye could see. Of course Barnum didn’t actually believe this nonsense about the mermaid being real. But if there was a story about her, it would make things easier. It meant that if anyone went looking into the woman’s background, they would find mermaid rumors. It’s easier to sell a half-truth than a complete lie.
“What’s the name of this town, again?” Barnum asked.
Moses told him, and Barnum said, “You’re right; that is almost in Canada.”
“You’re not going to go all the way up there to find out if this woman is a mermaid,” Levi asked.
“No,” Barnum said. “You are.”
Moses looked from Levi to Barnum and clearly made a decision that concerned discretion and valor. He bundled his dusty mermaid into the bulky carrying case he’d used to bring her from Boston. Then he extracted a promise from Barnum to use the mermaid in whatever exhibit was finally established in the American Museum.
“What kind of terms do you want?” Barnum asked.
Moses glanced at the thundercloud on Levi’s brow and hastily said, “We can talk about it later, Barnum.”
Levi kept his temper until Moses trundled out the door with his case.
“I’m not going to some godforsaken town up north just because a drunk fisherman says he saw a mermaid once,” Levi said. “I won’t do it, Taylor.”
The trouble was, from Barnum’s point of view, that Levi wasn’t Barnum’s employee, so to speak. He paid Levi for certain jobs, and by the job. If Levi didn’t want to go look for this mermaid girl, then there wasn’t anything Barnum could do to force him.
Levi had helped Barnum with the Joice Heth humbug, and Barnum wanted his help attracting folk to the museum. Levi could be quite convincing—the boy should have taken up acting; he was that good at it—and it was his performance that had given so much credibility to the exhibit of the old woman. Barnum knew that if Levi went up north to find this widow, he would be able to convince her to return to New York with him. Levi just had a way about him.
But Barnum would have to convince Levi to help him first.
“Now, Levi,” Barnum began.
“Don’t think you can ‘now, Levi’ me, Taylor,” Levi said. “I hate boats. I hate the ocean. I hate the smell of fish. I’m not going to Maine.”
“Levi, if we pass this girl off as a mermaid, we’ll make more money than we even dreamed of with Joice Heth.”
“You’ll make money, you mean,” Levi said.
That stung, at least for a moment, until Barnum privately acknowledged that he ought to have given Levi a larger share last time. It was Levi whose face everyone saw, Levi who did all the talking to the paying guests.
“You’ll get your fair share,” Barnum said. “I give you my word.”
“Why don’t you go if you want the girl so badly?” Levi asked.
“One of the museum exhibits can’t just get up and walk out,” Barnum said, gesturing around them.
Barnum’s office was, in fact, in the third viewing saloon of the museum, right between the waxworks and the mirrors. The museum was closed now, the comforting murmur of the crowd disappeared. Levi had often asked Barnum how he could work with everyone gawping at him like that, but there was nothing Barnum loved better than the sight of the paying public.
“You could leave if you wanted to,” Levi said. “There are plenty of other things to look at here besides you.”
“I can’t leave Charity and the girls,” Barnum said, lying through his teeth. He thought it might be the only argument that would convince the other man, who, despite his bachelor status, had a healthy respect for the sanctity of the family.
Levi gave him a look that said his gambit was weak.
“Have a heart, Levi,” Barnum said. “We’re living inside the museum, for heaven’s sake. I can hardly leave Charity alone here while I go off to another state for weeks looking for a mermaid.”
Barnum and his family were, in fact, living in a former billiard hall on the first floor, as Levi very well knew. But it was only temporary, Barnum promised himself. Temporary until he made his fortune. Then he’d live in a fine house, like all the other fine people in New York, and they would have to greet him like their equal for he would be just as good as they.
“I have not eaten a warm dinner . . .” Barnum began.
“. . . since you bought this place.” Levi sighed the sigh of those who’ve heard it all before.
He ought to have used a less-worn theme, Barnum reflected. He’d repeated this statement frequently since the opening of the museum to communicate his devotion to its success. But Levi didn’t have the same investment he did. It didn’t say Lyman’s American Museum outside above the balcony where the band played. It said Barnum’s.
Barnum rapidly sorted and discarded several statements. He couldn’t think of anything, which was unusual for him. So he lit a cigar, pushed away from his desk, and said, “Hell, Levi.”
Levi gave Barnum an unreadable look.
“She’s not a mermaid, you know,” Levi said.
“I’ll believe in mermaids if it will sell tickets,” Barnum said.
“It will likely take you just as much money to sell the illusion as you’d make,” Levi said. “Never mind if someone decides she’s indecent. That’s a whole other set of problems.”
“Why are you borrowing trouble? We don’t have the woman here yet and you’re already thinking like a lawyer, looking for traps that aren’t there.”
“I am a lawyer,” Levi said dryly. “Even if I’ve been a part-time performing monkey for you.”
“I don’t pay the performing monkeys,” Barnum said. “Help me out, Levi. We can both profit by this.”
“And what about this woman?” Levi asked.
“She can profit by it, too, if she plays her part,” Barnum said easily.
He had the other man now. He knew it. Levi never relented a little bit unless he was going to relent the whole way.
“I don’t want her used,” Levi said. “If she wants to leave, then she’ll be allowed to leave?”
The shadow of Joice Heth hung over both of them, and for a moment Barnum thought he heard the old woman’s voice speaking, an ancient croaking drawn up from her wizened body, asking him to release her.