American Elsewhere - By Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,266

performers. And I’ve seen many throw careers away as a result. Much like you’re probably doing now.”

George cocked an eyebrow, and lit his cigarette and puffed at it. His stomach spasmed as he tried to suppress a cough.

Irina wrinkled her nose. “What is that you’re smoking?”

“Some of Virginia’s finest, of course,” he said, though he wheezed a bit.

“That doesn’t smell like anything fine at all.” She took his pouch and peered into it. “I don’t know what that is, but it isn’t Virginia’s finest.”

George looked crestfallen. “It… it isn’t?” he asked.

“No. What did you do, buy this from someone in the orchestra?”

“Well, yes, but they seemed very trustworthy!”

She shook her head. “You’ve been snookered, my child. This is trash. Next time go to a tobacconist, like a normal person.”

George grumbled something about how it had to be a mistake, but he hurriedly put out his cigarette and began to stow the pouch away.

“Anyway,” she said, “I remember one final third thing about you when you first came here.” Another trembling blue finger curled down. She used the remaining one to poke him in the arm. “You did not seem all that interested in what you were playing, which was peculiar. No—what you were mostly interested in was a certain act that was traveling the circuit.”

George froze where he was, slightly bent as he stuffed the tobacco pouch into his pocket. He slowly turned to look at the old woman.

“Still in a hurry, child?” asked Irina. “Or have I hit upon it?”

He did not answer.

“I see,” she said. “Well, I recall you asked about this one act all the time, nearly every day. Did anyone know when this act would play here? It had played here once, hadn’t it? Did they think this act would play nearby, at least? I think I can still remember the name of it… Ah, yes. It was the Silenus Troupe, wasn’t it?”

George’s face had gone very closed now. He nodded, very slightly.

“Yes,” said the old woman. She began rubbing at her wrists, trying to ease her arthritis. “That was it. You wanted to know nothing but news about Silenus, asking all the time. But we would always say no, no, we don’t know nothing about this act. And we didn’t. He’d played here once, this Silenus, many, many months ago. The man had terribly angered Van Hoever then with his many demands, but we had not seen him since, and no one knew where he was playing next. Does any of that sound familiar to you, boy?”

George did not nod this time, but he did not need to.

“Yes,” said Irina. “I think it does. And then this morning, you know, I hear news that Van Hoever is very angry. He’s angry because an act has skipped us on the circuit, and is playing Parma, west of here. And the minute I hear this news about Van Hoever today, I get a second piece of news, but this one is about our young, marvelous pianist. He’s leaving. Just suddenly decided to go. Isn’t that strange? How one piece of news follows the other?”

George was silent. Irina nodded and took a long drag from her cigarette. “I wasn’t terribly surprised to find that the act that’s skipped us is Silenus,” she said. “And unless I’m mistaken, you’re going to go chasing him. Am I right?”

George cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said hoarsely.

“Yes. In fact, now that I think about it, that act might be the only reason you signed on to be house pianist here. After all, you could’ve found somewhere better. But Silenus played here once, so perhaps he might do so again, and when he did you wished to be here to see it, no?”

George nodded.

Irina smiled, satisfied with her deductions. “The famous Silenus,” she said. “I’ve heard many rumors about him in my day. I’ve heard his troupe is full of gypsies, traveled here from abroad. I’ve heard he tours the circuit at his choosing. That he was touring vaudeville before it was vaudeville.”

“Have you heard that every hotel saves a private room for him?” asked George. “That’s a popular one.”

“No, I’d not heard that one. Why are you so interested in this man, I wonder?”

George thought about it. Then he slowly reached into his front pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Though its corners were soft and blunt with age, it was very well cared for: it had been cleanly folded into quarters and tied up with string, like a precious