The Fires of Spring (42 page)

It was not love of man or woman that he sought that night. He was tormented by the vast uncertainty of youth, the surging time, the violent flowing time of manhood to the heart. He sensed the thoughts as yet untested, the fiery glory of words that rushed to his throat and rattled there unspoken, the vagueness, the urgency, the trembling fears and wild resoluteness of youth! It was all his that night. He would have dared anything, yet he was afraid to walk with Jensen’s pretty pigeon. He would have volunteered to go, on the instant, to Java or Samarkand, yet when the Wild Man pulled the truck up to the hamburger stand in Western Ohio, David was completely incapable of entering the noisy, friendly place.

“I’ll catch some sleep,” he said.

“OK!” Vito cried. “But I’m warning you. I’m eating onions!”

David heard them bang their way into the restaurant. There was a slot machine, and Jensen started to play it for dimes. A waitress kidded him in a brassy voice, and David wished that he were in there, kidding the waitress.

A truck rolled up. The driver got out and shouted, “Hey! Bert! Want me to order for you?” The screendoor slammed and David could hear Bert urinating against a tire.

“Two eggs and some coffee cake!” Bert shouted.

“OK!” the driver called back into the night.

Then Vito’s astonishing voice boomed out, “Hiya! Stranger!”

“Hey! Bert!” the driver shouted. “Come in! They’s a guy six feet six says he’ll knock your block off!”

Bert jumped up and down on the driveway and hurried toward the door. Then there was a wild burst of laughter. “Who’n hell’s this?” Bert shouted. “Tom Thumb?”

“None o’ yer guff, pardner!” Vito roared.

David could hear the men slapping backs. Even the dwarf Vito fitted in. He was a man. He knew what he wanted.

But David was still a youth. He had an agonizing desire to join the noisy crowd in the restaurant, but he could not move. He pulled the covers about his face so that he might seem asleep when Vito returned. But he could not sleep. He lay face up and thought: “Some time! In a book! I’ll write this all just the way it happened. A truck will roll up. There’ll be a … A squeal? No! ‘The wheels crunched to a stop on the pinched gravel.’ Two men’ll get out, and one’ll cry, ‘Hey! Bert!’ ” He mulled the words and whispered them
to the roof of the truck, but they tore back at him, savagely, the words of men drinking beer together in an all-night restaurant.

After an hour of singing, Vito and Jensen returned to the truck. The dwarf was drunk and had to be lifted into bed. “Ssssh!” Vito whispered to Jensen. “The kid’s asleep.” Then he began to cry. “Poor kid! No fun!”

“Don’t you worry about the kid!” Jensen muttered. “He’ll be OK when he begins to feel his oats.”

David’s confusion was abated somewhat when Wild Man Jensen set out to find a pigeon forty-one inches high. The unusual quest began one afternoon in Indiana. The Wild Man was leaning upon a guy rope, watching the dwarf Vito wrap marionettes and place them between blankets.

“Vito?” he drawled. “You ever go with women?”

The dwarf blushed furiously, all the way down his neck. “Not much,” he said.

Jensen shrugged his shoulders at David and continued, “Where does a guy your size find a pigeon to play with?”

Vito blushed again and wrapped up his dolls. “You ain’t answered my question, Vito,” the Wild Man insisted. “You meet many girls your size?”

The dwarf turned away, but he had no desire to end the conversation. He was delighted with the amiable way in which Jensen—and to a lesser degree, David—treated his infirmity. To them he was merely a little man. He liked the way they spoke, without embarrassment, of his size.

“As I pointed out, you crummy little dwarf,” Jensen pursued. “You ain’t answered my question. Where do you find girls, Vito? When you want a little refined lovin’?”

“Oh,” Vito said seriously, sitting on the packed box, “every town of any size has at least one little girl. Somewhere. Of course,” he added hastily, “she might not be my age. Or she might be taller than I am.” He spoke eagerly, bubbling with words. “You understand, I wouldn’t care if she was a little bit taller.”

Jensen stopped swinging on the rope. “You mean to tell me,” he asked slowly, “that maybe we passed some little girls right this very summer?”

“Oh, sure!” Vito said eagerly, pulling his knees up under him. “There was one in West Chester. A blonde. I’d say she was about forty-five inches.”

“How high are you, Vito?” David asked.

“Forty-three,” he lied. “And there was a girl in Du Bois, too. She was about forty inches. She was a blonde, too.”

“How do you know all this?” Jensen asked.

“Well,” the dwarf said, “I sort of look.” There was a long silence and Jensen snapped the rope. Then Vito continued. “I sort of keep watching,” he said.

“What you mean,” Jensen cried, “is that you stand on the stage and gawk. So that’s why you keep starin’ at the audience! I’ll be damned!” He snapped the rope again. “Tell me, Vito. How can you spot a little woman, say from jus’ a little girl?”

“You can tell,” Vito replied.

Jensen bit his lips. “You mean to say that already this summer we passed a couple of little girls? Girls your own size?” He kicked the dust angrily. “Why, Goddamnit to hell and little blazes! Why didn’t you tell me? This makes me pretty mad, Vito. You’re a pretty stupid guy.”

The two men looked at each other for more than a minute and Jensen began to smile. “I could probably have gotten you four or five dates!” he said. “How would you like that, you midget?”

“I’d like it,” Vito said.

“Well, by God!” Jensen swore. “It’s in the bag! If they’s a little girl within a hundred miles of any tent, you got a date with her! That’s a bet!” The Wild Man walked up and down in great excitement, as if it were a date for himself that was under discussion. Sudden he slapped his leg and cried, “Dave! Vito! We’ll go into town right now!”

He herded his two friends into the truck and they stopped at a mean restaurant where he ordered veal fricassee. It was so bad he sent it back. “Western omelette with lots of onions!” he snapped. Then he put his arm on Vito’s shoulder. “How’s your beef stew?” he asked.

“Not so good,” Vito admitted.

“Douse it with ketchup!” he advised. He grabbed a ketchup bottle and drowned the offensive stew. “That any better?” He dipped his own fork into the mess and came up with a chunk of meat. “My God, Vito!” he stormed. “You can’t eat that! Another western!” he bellowed.

“What’s the matter with the stew?” the proprietor demanded.

“It’s lousy!” Jensen replied.

There was a waitress standing by the water cooler. For some time she had been studying Vito. She felt sorry for
the poor little man and tears came into her eyes. “Hey! You!” Jensen cried.

“Me?” the girl asked.

“Yes! You!” Jensen insisted. The girl walked along the boards behind the counter. They creaked.

“What do you want?” she asked, keeping her eyes away from Vito.

“Are there any little girls in this town?” Jensen asked.

The waitress was shocked and bit her lip. “I mean any pretty little dwarf girls?” Jensen pursued. The waitress burst into tears and ran back to the manager. He grabbed one of the western sandwiches and hurried back along the boards.

“What’s the idea of insulting my waitress?” he cried belligerently.

“I was jus’ askin’,” Jensen snarled, “if they might be a little dwarf girl livin’ around here anywhere. Some little pigeon about his size!” He slapped Vito affectionately on the shoulder.

The manager licked his dry lips and looked away from Vito. “No,” he said hoarsely. “We don’t have any dwarfs in this town.”

“You sure ain’t got any beef stew, either!” Jensen snorted. He caught the plate of stew and ketchup and dumped it on the western sandwich. Then he wrapped his arm about Vito. “Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s get to hell out of here.”

In the street the Wild Man scratched his hairy chest and looked about him. Houses were beginning to show lights. The lawns were summer-green, and here and there a tree had begun to drop its leaves. “Vito!” Jensen cried. “Strike me dead, but I’m findin’ you a couple of little pigeons about forty inches high. You watch!”

From town to town as the Chautauqua tents moved westward, the Wild Man inquired if there were any little girls who hadn’t grown up. The answer was always no. This infuriated Jensen, for Vito swore that in the early weeks he had seen at least three. Finally, in Western Indiana, the Wild Man met a boy who knew of such a girl. She lived on a farm, eighteen miles out in the country. She was a blonde and used to be the angel in Christmas pageants. She could play the piano, too.

“Vito!” Jensen cried, trembling with excitement. “You stay right here!” He jumped into the truck. No one ever knew what he said at the farm, but an hour and a half later
he returned with his own customary date on the front seat. And on the seat near the door sat a little girl.

Jensen got out first. His girl followed him. Then he called in a low voice, “Hey! Vito!” The dwarf came slowly from the dressing room, where he had been waiting. He was nervous and licked his lips.

Then from the truck the Wild Man handed down a nineteen-year-old dwarf, forty-three inches tall. She was dressed in blue and very neat. Unlike Vito, her face was slightly pinched, but she had a bouncing little step and a charming smile. “This is Grace,” Jensen said.

That was the first of the terrible moments in which David shared. From town to town Jensen found five such little girls. They came to the tent. They were breathing hard beneath their white dresses or their blue dresses, and Vito was always sweating. They would look at each other, the little people, and it was not like the meeting of ordinary people. No, not at all! For in an entire county—or in a dozen counties—there might be only one man to whom such a dwarf might look for love. And now this stranger had come, this little actor of whom Jensen had told such fabulous stories! Out of all the world, only a handful of men! And here was one of them, here in the dusty tent.

The little pigeons were pleased with Vito. They stayed to see the play. Sometimes they had him to their homes for dinner. They played music or laughed at his jokes. But everything was deadly serious. The night was short. The truck rolled on so soon! Wild Man Jensen might say that every town had a girl whom he could love. But the little people knew better.

Once, after Vito and the Wild Man had visited the home of a little girl, they rode together on the front seat. Vito was excited and had no desire for sleep. David heard them talking seriously in the night.

“Vito?” Jensen asked. “You ever kiss them little pigeons?”

There was an embarrassed silence. Jensen repeated his question and the dwarf admitted that he never did. Jensen snorted. “Why the hell you think I spend my time lookin’ ’em up? You mean to swear to me, honest to God, you ain’t never had one of ’em undressed?”

Vito gasped. “What do you think I am?” he asked.

“Think? I know! You’re a guy jus’ like me. Or are you? Say? What’s the deal with you? Could you have kids if you wanted to?”

“I guess so,” the dwarf replied.

“Then what in the hell are you wastin’ your time for?” Jensen demanded. “How many of them little pigeons are you writin’ to?”

“I’m not writing to any of them.”

David could sense that Jensen had dropped his hands from the steering wheel. Then the truck jerked violently back onto the road. “What in hell, Vito, is wrong with your head?” David could hear Jensen slap his leg. “Why, dammit all, fellow! How many little girls you think I can find for you?” He snorted in dismay. “Why do you suppose any girl ever comes to see any man? To see if he’s the guy she wants to marry! I watch these little pigeons when I drive ’em up to the tent. They tremble and like to die. Why? Because they wonder, ‘Is this the guy I’m to marry?’ And what the hell are you thinkin’, waitin’ in the tent?”

He paused for Vito to explain. There was no sound, so after a moment he sniffed and said, “Why, a little girl is jus’ like a big girl. Maybe more concentrated. You mean to tell me you been wastin’ the time of them dwarfs?” He spoke in great contempt. “You make me sick!”

David could sense that Jensen had turned away from Vito and was attending to the truck. Speed picked up and there was a long silence. Then Vito asked, “What do you think I should do?”

“Do?” Jensen shouted, and the truck slowed down. “Jus’ be a man!”

“Like what?” the dwarf asked hesitantly.

“That’s your business,” Jensen replied. Then he quickly added, “But I will say this much. Everybody in the world wants to be loved. Little girls! Big boys! It’s all the same.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “See if Dave’s asleep.”

The dwarf peered back into the bunks. “Sound asleep,” he said, and David strained to hear the next words.

“Tell me,” Jensen said. “You ever see a sorrier woman than the Gonoph? No! And neither did I, except in a freak show.” There was a moment’s silence and Jensen said. “Sorry if I offended you, Vito. But in my book you ain’t no freak.”

“That’s all right,” the dwarf said.

“But even the Gonoph has got to love somebody,” Jensen continued. “So she comes out to the tent, day after day, talkin’ with Dave. And here’s a funny thing! He talks to her, too. She makes him sick at the stomach, but he’s glad to see her when she comes waddlin’ in. Because everybody
has got to have somebody interested in ’em. Did you ever look at it that way?”

“No,” Vito said.

“Well, it’s time you did,” Jensen snorted. “You’re jus’ like me. You ain’t no ordinary dwarf. Like I said, you’re no freak. You’re a terrific guy! I seen dwarfs with their faces all pinched up. You’re good-lookin’. You knock ’em dead in the play. You got a voice I truly envy. Vito,” the Wild Man pleaded in the cooling night, “you should ought to write to every one of them pigeons. It don’t matter too much what you say. What does a girl want to hear? ‘I miss you. I’ll always remember that wonderful night. I kicked myself a hundred times for not kissing you good-bye.’ And if it comes into your mind to say it, why, add, ‘Don’t fool yourself, Clara. I’m comin’ back.’ That is, if you want to say it.”