a little bow to each of them.
Very Fond of That
‘Nothing to offer us this week,’ Mama said bravely to Sybil, whose upturned face was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. ‘But will keep us in mind and perhaps when he’s on the circuit—and every possibility in Medicine Hat next February. As if we can last until—’
Sandwiched between Mama and Aurora, Bella could not escape back upstairs, so she slid away from them and leaned against the tunnel door as Julius K. went up the stairs, taking them one at a time, putting a first and then a second foot on each step, waiting, then lifting to make the next six-inch ascent. He must be very sick, she thought, to go so slow up stairs. There was a scratching sound behind her, and then the door buffeted her gently. She turned and pulled it open, and there was the flat-faced boy, Nando, come through the tunnel.
‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, in a sudden fright for him, now that their own worry was over and they’d failed.
‘Not at all! Or only when—Not more than a tad. The funny thing about our act is that Dad gets by far the worst of it, although it looks like he’s wiping the floor with me.’
Bella laughed at that.
‘It’s all how you land limp, and break the fall with a foot or a hand. I’ve got the knack, because they started me so young—I been doing this twelve years, you know, and I’m not fifteen yet.’
She put out a hand and patted his arm because his face again looked so tired and flat.
‘You got to land like a cat. Nobody can do that better than me.’
‘I’ve got a little cat, and I’m very fond of that,’ she sang.
He laughed and darted his head forward and kissed her mouth.
A Gallows Kind of Shout
Stuck at the top of the basement steps, Clover waited while Julius Foster Konigsburg climbed up painfully, stopping from time to time to crack a deep, throat-adjusting cough.
As he climbed she went to the props man’s area to fetch him a paper cup of water from the jug kept there. When he reached the landing, Julius took the cup and drained it down before attempting the flight of steps up to the stage.
‘Just a snatch of water, thank you—a paper cup—like drinking from a letter.’ He coughed hugely again. ‘Well, I’m off. All new material, naturally, stolen from the greatest modern masters. If I use anything of yours, dear miss, I will pay you five cents.’
He surged out onto the stage, into the pool of lights left over from when the girls had been turned down, and made a tremendous bow.
‘Forgive me, dear sir, for my tardiness. I was performing my toilette—had squeezed out too much Toothpaste, and had the devil of a time getting it back into the Tube.’
He waited a beat for an imaginary laugh, striking a very professional pose, Clover considered. But she could see that he was not going over big with the manager. Mr. Cleveland slumped in his newly mended chair, one hand shading his eyes with a folded newspaper. Since the footlights did not shine outwards, there was nothing much to shade his eyes from, except Julius Foster Konigsburg.
‘I have been Cognito in Vaudeville these many years, raconteuring to beat the band—to bedazzle the crowned fatheads of Europe—’ Julius Foster Konigsburg’s beautiful voice swam out, lush and confiding, from his ragged bearish torso, and Clover wanted to be kind to him, as Sybil was. ‘It’s close upon time that I retired from Treading the Boards myself and became a Writer of The Melo-Drama … I thought to pen a little thing about a Vampire, after the most blood-curdling tale of the last paralyzed century, but it’s hard to be a Count, living on a long slim pedigree and what the neighbours bring in. That was a vein attempt at humour. In a Democracy, you know, your Vote counts—in Feudalism your Count votes.’
Clover could tell these were little throwaway jokes, as if Julius were making fun of the whole idea of jokes. But it was not funny and Clover began to worry that he was in trouble.
‘A Count walks into a bar … No, no,’ he corrected, and seemed to take himself in hand. ‘Let’s begin: I will play all the characters, on account of the current Hard Times.’
This will be a thrill, she thought. Julius was a famous Protean, a quick-change artist—except he didn’t use costumes,