The Transformation of Bartholomew Fortuno: A Novel (35 page)

All I could think about was how much harder it was going to be for me to travel undetected—though it might no longer matter after the way Iell had dismissed me.

Fish continued, “That said, we do not want you to be unduly alarmed.”

“Too late for that,” Matina chimed in.

“My dear, I assure you, all will be fine.” Fish mindlessly pinched his nose between two fingers. “Mr. Barnum has decided to employ a dozen
firewatchers, two on each floor, including the cellars and the roof. They will be with us day and night. I promise you, we will not be seeing another fire around here anytime soon.”

No one said a word.

“Now. As long as we’re all here, the fourth of July is less than a week away. A great day in this great country, and a great day for Mr. Barnum’s party.”

Fish paused for effect. Ricardo applauded, while the rest of us waited mutely for him to continue.

“I will be posting a special schedule for the next few days. You must attend to the notices, and I expect each of you to adjust as needed. As for now, Barnum has sent you this message.”

Fish reached into his side pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, mopping the sides of his neck. Then he took out a crisply folded paper, cleared his throat, and read:

“
Please convey to the staff this vision for the week leading to the party: We will close or change every exhibit in order to restructure the Museum for the party. Visitors will still be welcome, but only in the great rooms. As far as the Curiosities go
”—he took a moment to emphasize the importance of the next part by peering down at us—“
I want the very sight of them to sweep the crowds into the unexpected. Shows will continue in a limited fashion, but for most of the day, they will perform in tableau in as many places as possible
.”

Matina groaned audibly and snapped shut her fan. “I certainly hope Barnum doesn’t expect me to be switching floors for this new plan of his.” Her breath came in short gasps, and I worried for her health. “The fires,” she went on, “were far better news.”

Fish held up a hand to quiet her. “
Suggestions will be posted on a daily basis, and new ideas are welcome. In conclusion, in anticipation of the party, our collective goal is to have visitors see us now not as a Museum but as an awakening!

“And so you have it.” Fish folded the paper in crisp quarters. “Now, beyond assuring certain persons that they will not be unduly pressed, do you have other questions?”

Bridgett spoke up again, this time all ladylike. “Excuse me, Mr. Fish, but what does Barnum mean by an
awakening
?”

“An awakening,” he said, clearly happier to be addressing a question in place of a complaint, “is what happens to a person who comes across something so novel, so unspeakably new, it rattles the doors of their mind. Mr. Barnum believes that the surprise of you roaming about with the normal guests will accomplish something similar. I suppose we shall see. And Mr. Barnum also wanted me to warn those of you with—uh—greater appetites, that special food will be available for you here in the dining room. He’d prefer you not take your dinner from the buffet lines or there’ll be nothing left for our guests.”

With much scraping of chairs, everyone rose and milled about, chattering and complaining among themselves. No one asked me for my opinion, so I slipped out of the dining room and into the courtyard and up the walk. The service door on Ann Street stood wide open, and a cartful of workers blocked an open-bed wagon carrying bolts of cloth, and large barrels of ornamental trims, tassels, and decorative fringe. I stopped for a moment to watch.

The fires concerned me, of course they did, and I was irked about having to perform at the party, but my overwhelming thoughts still lingered on Iell’s recent dismissal of me. I couldn’t help but think that she no longer needed me. And my growing distance from my colleagues was painfully evident. How had that happened? Surely, Matina and I should have made amends by now. And Alley. I’d not had a decent talk with him since he hauled out that paper and told me he planned to move to a farm in—where was it?—Ohio.

“Enjoying your time off?” Barnum’s voice came from directly behind me, and I jumped at the sound of it. He stood at the end of the garden, looking a bit seedy in an outdated black cutaway he must have pulled from the bottom of his closet, and judging by the expression on his face he wasn’t a happy man.

“My God, sir, here you are again, out of nowhere.”

“Step this way, Fortuno,” Barnum commanded, grabbing me by
the elbow. He dragged me sideways along the courtyard walk, jarring my bones. We didn’t stop until we reached the gardener’s shed on the far side, a wood hut with a tin roof and square windows partially obstructed by duck-foot ivy growing along its whitewashed walls. Both my legs felt as if he’d yanked them from my hip sockets, and I feared he’d strained my left wrist.

“What in God’s name have you been doing to get my wife all stirred up? Do you have any idea what trouble I went through to save your position here?”

The look on Barnum’s face sent blood racing through my veins. “What are you talking about, sir?”

Barnum loomed over me. I rubbed my throbbing wrist, looking desperately toward the Museum in hopes that one of my colleagues had witnessed his cruelty. The stink of boiled cabbage rolled through the air, and Matina’s laughter floated out from the half-opened dining room door. Perhaps if I inched to the left a bit, she might see us.

“Don’t fiddle with me, Fortuno.” Barnum grabbed hold of me and backed me up against the wall of the shed; his head bobbed like a dog considering the trustworthiness of a stranger. “I’m no fool.”

I counted the markers rising from the even lines of peas and soybean plants in the garden to calm myself. “We had a private discussion, your wife and I.”

“Why?”

What did he know? I had better speak truthfully. “She’d found out somehow that I’d visited Mrs. Adams, sir, and warned me to keep away.”

Barnum slammed his hand into the side of the shed, displacing a shower of dust from behind the ivy. “So it
was
you in Iell’s room that night! I knew it.” Red-faced, he shoved open the shed door with one big boot and goose-stepped me inside. I struggled to remember Iell’s response when I’d asked her point-blank about her relationship with Barnum. Had she ever given me a clear answer? Yes. She’d said he was a mentor and nothing more. Yet here he was, acting like a thwarted lover. Barnum shoved me toward a mud-crusted workbench.

“I think Mrs. Adams has a secret.” I threw out the words in desperation.

Barnum jerked as if I’d hit him, and I saw that I’d hit a nerve. “What are you talking about, Fortuno? Out with it this instant!”

“Opium, sir.”

“Opium?” Barnum’s eyes softened, and he smiled. I wasn’t sure if this was a good sign or a bad one.

“That is what I fetched for her at the Chinaman’s, wasn’t it?”

Barnum crossed the shed and laid his heavy hand on the bones of my shoulder. One of the rakes fell, clattering onto the shed’s dirt floor. “Did you tell this to my wife, by any chance?”

“No, of course not.”

Barnum stared at me with such unyielding directness that I barely felt the pain as he gripped my shoulder tighter still.

“Perhaps, Fortuno,” he said after a considerable pause, “we’ve reached the end of our collaboration.”

“The end?”

“My wife is a persistent woman, and it is not wise to rile her. You’ve spoken to her; surely you know what I mean. Best, I think, to conclude our private arrangements here and now. You need no longer concern yourself with anything regarding the affairs of myself, my wife, or the good Mrs. Adams. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. Perfectly.”

Barnum let one of his famous smiles pour over his face and set me free. My shoulder pulsated as the blood returned to it.

“So thank you for all of your help, Fortuno. I am sure I can trust you to be discreet about what has gone on. Why don’t I send you something nice? A token of gratitude, let’s call it. Then we can consider ourselves even.”

“Fine, sir, fine.”

There it was, then. Iell was wedged between the two Barnums, one wanting her to stay, the other insisting that she leave, and both were telling me to break off all contact with her. What was I to do, ignore their threats and put my livelihood at stake? Even with Iell’s
recent coldness to me, how could I do such a thing? How could I not?

I spent the rest of the afternoon in tableau and skipped dinner entirely, opting instead to spend extra time in the Arboretum with my birds. Lately, to calm myself, I’d taken to trying to understand their songs. Sometimes I could almost hear words as they sang, a private language slipping back and forward between them. A different world. When, I wonder, would the Arboretum reopen? I’d have to fight to keep my bird-feeding tasks, because I doubted Barnum would want me to continue. I realized what a loss it would be for me not to be their caretaker.

After the Arboretum, rather than sit in my rooms while everyone else performed, I went up to the roof to check for signs of the fire. Other than a bit of dirty water near the big searchlight, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The setting sun had turned the sky a beautiful mandarin color, with big streaks of pink slashing across the horizon, and not wanting to waste the sight I pulled an old wine carton up to the roof ’s edge and took a seat.

What could I do to make Iell safe? Perhaps Iell and I could renegotiate our contract as partners. Maybe do a joint show. That might alleviate Mrs. Barnum’s concerns over her husband’s growing attachment. On the other hand, if Iell wished to leave, maybe Peale’s in Philadelphia would take us. Of course they would. Why not? Or perhaps we would even leave the business entirely.

I got to my feet and walked to the edge of the roof. From up high, the trolleys and coaches chugging back and forth looked like children’s toys. Get out of the business entirely? I couldn’t believe I’d even
thought
of such a thing. Without the business, I would have no reason to exist.

The sun finally disappeared, and when the sky turned black, I left the roof and made my way downstairs. As I lit the lamps in my rooms, a large object in the middle of my bedroom caught my eye. A bed. A brand-new bed. Barnum must have had my old one hauled out sometime that afternoon, and now, in its place, stood a fine, full, goose-feather mattress on a doubly reinforced frame, with new pillows and
my mother’s comforter folded neatly at the foot. I sat down on the bed and sank deep into the soft mattress. No doubt it was a bribe to keep my silence. I’d have to return it, but oh—it was so welcoming. Perhaps I could take a bit of rest first. Only a moment or two.

I curled up in the bed and pulled the comforter over my head. My mind raced with a jumble of images: Barnum yelling down at me, telling me our relationship was over. Matina slapping her fan closed in anger. Alley kissing her.

H
OURS LATER
, muffled voices and the scuffle of many feet dragged me back to wakefulness. I checked the clock. It was a little past midnight. What was all the commotion about? Had there been another fire? I threw on my bed jacket and popped my head into the hall. Down at the other end, several of my colleagues huddled together in the light of the dimmed-down wall lamps. Their attention was riveted on a flickering light coming from inside Alley’s room. What in the world had happened? Had he been struck sick? Keeping close to the wall, I inched my way through the shadows and slid silently into place next to Matina.

“Oh, Barthy, here you are. Isn’t it horrible?” Matina grabbed hold of my arm when I joined her, our estrangement temporarily suspended. “Fish came upstairs an hour ago and searched Alley’s rooms, and now they’re in his parlor, shouting. He’s saying Alley can’t live here anymore and can only work with us until after the party, and even then only if he agrees to have a chaperone with him all the time. It’s ridiculous, Barthy, and so upsetting.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They found kerosene in his room. And rags. He swore that none of it was his, but no one paid him any mind.”

“I don’t think you need be so distraught,” I said to her. “Fish most likely doesn’t mean a word and is just venting his anger.”

I thought for a moment that she was going to cry. “Thank goodness Alley was already thinking of leaving us,” she went on. “Otherwise, the poor dear would be devastated.”

Just then, Alley and Fish burst out of the door. Armed with a look of determination, Fish marched Alley toward the back stairs. Alley hung his head and did not look at any of us.

“Go back to bed, everyone!” Fish yelled over his shoulder. “Nothing here to concern any of you.”

“They’re removing him in the middle of the night? Just like that?” I asked Matina, both of us shocked by such brutality.

Matina watched them go, turning from me to wipe her eyes with her hanky. Then, to my surprise, she left me standing alone. A moment later, she was leaning against Emma and letting out great sobs. Surely we were all upset. Alley was our friend. And the idea that Fish could haul him out of the Museum so unceremoniously in the middle of the night was horrible. I could understand some tears. But why was Matina weeping with such distress, and on Emma’s shoulder, not mine? For a horrible moment, it came to me that Matina was crying because there really was some deeper connection between her and Alley. My stomach flipped over. It was true that she and I were no longer easy companions. Much had passed between us, and I doubted we would ever be as close again. But Matina and Alley? Impossible. I knew them both like the back of my hand. Matina was simply emotional over how expendable Alley was.