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 Weathered
Heart of a Tightrope Dancer

Elide Bors

For a while, things were looking up for us, though until then only faith had kept us going. After months of starvation right after the war, and after living in a one room house along with a whole family dying of consumption, the simple life we now had seemed like paradise on earth. My mother had found a solid job – and she liked it too – and my grandmother took care of us all. Within two months, my daughter and I had regained all our strength. Ana was five months old now, and she was a beautiful, plump girl. Everyone who saw her fell in love with her sweet face. Only her father had forgotten all about her – but how could he not, since he had his own family to worry about. They lived close by and our paths crossed many times, but even when he saw little Ana he remained cold as ice, so I gave up trying to make him care. It took all my strength to wrench him out of my heart.
    Soon, my baby was fifteen months old and she ate well on her own, so she was growing even plumper and more beautiful. It had been more than two years now since I had left the circus, and as I was free to work and I felt strong again, I decided to go back. At least, that was a job where I already knew all the ropes, so to speak. My grandmother offered to take care of Ana while I was gone, so I returned to my training routine and quickly caught up. One couldn’t even tell I had stopped for so long. Come spring, we were on the road again. I was ecstatic, because that was my world, that was my passion, and everyone adored me. It was as if I had finally come out of my imprisonment, and I could dedicate my life to my art again. All the pain, the poverty, and the humiliation of the last two years had been erased, and I could hardly believe I was the same person. Life was bright again – or at least I was sure I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I also knew that my little Ana was in good hands.
    We were performing in a little town, and every night the circus tent was overflowing with people eager to watch us. I was one of the favorites, especially for my loping number – a very hard one because I had to seesaw on a plank, high above on the tightrope. Every night, my trailer was filled with flowers from unknown admirers.
    One evening, I found a note in one of the bouquets. Intrigued, I opened it and read it, but all it said was “I’ll be waiting for you after the show.” I was in no mood for romance, but I wanted to see who the secret admirer was, so after the show I waited for him, though I was quite weary of the director, who was also our ring leader. True enough, this time I was not bound to the circus by a contract, but since he had even beaten me in the past, I couldn’t tell what he would do or say if I acted against his will.
    I didn’t have to wait long: a gorgeous, svelte silhouette stepped toward me. He was tall and handsome, nothing less than my dream man. His eyes intensely staring into mine, he shook my hand and introduced himself as Tony. He told me he had watched every show, and that he was simply in love with me. We talked for a while, and he said his intentions were sincere and his passion unquenched: he wanted to marry me. He was an ambitious young man, already a law functionary, and he would not take no for an answer. I said I couldn’t decide so quickly, and he begged to see me the next day. In truth, I was smitten, and I could hardly believe what was happening. We talked a lot about Ana, my beautiful baby, and he wanted her to live with us too. In the end, I told him I might decide to stay there with him and not follow the circus, trying with all my might to believe that my destiny would be kind for once in my life.
    Knowing that the ring leader would not conceive of having a show without my popular tightrope number, I decided to elope right after the last performance. Tony would wait for me to finish, and whisk me away to my new, wonderful life.
    I waited for that day thinking of nothing else, and barely eating with excitement. Finally, the last night was upon us, and the circus was packed – no room even for standing. That was quite common on final nights. I had promised myself to be flawless and charming, so my last number would be remembered forever.
    The drums beat, and the sound of music drowned the arena. I marched to the middle, happier than I had ever been. I felt invincible and full of life. They say love conquers all, and that night I was sure of it. I climbed the apparatus, to perform on the fragile aerial lyra. I started my number. Loping, the hardest part, came at the end – and with it the spinning in place on the tightrope. I had so much momentum that, instead of the twenty spins I had to do, I was already past thirty, until I heard the desperate voice of the ring leader: “Stop, Ellie, stop!!”
    I didn’t stop right away, and I couldn’t tell what was going on. The rope was coming unhooked where it connected to the ground, so before I could see what happened, I found myself flying toward the public. I hit the ground. Everyone was up on their feet, certain that I wouldn’t get up again. The director ran toward me. He grabbed me by the arm and forced me to stand up on my one good leg – since the other was horribly sprained. I curtsied and left the arena hopping, while the public applauded in wild amazement.
    The circus director wouldn’t allow a doctor from the audience to look at me, claiming it wasn’t serious. Yet the pain was unbearable. Of course, reaching Tony in any way was out of the question, for I couldn’t move at all. He had been there, and he had seen it happen. All our plans had flown out the window. That night was the closest to a nightmare that I’d ever thought I’d live through. I was carried around, loaded up in the wagon, among the costumes trunks. Our caravan was on its way, and no one could hear my screams. To make things worse, a lamp went off and my wagon fell into a ditch, throwing all the trunks on top of me, crushing my throbbing leg. I screamed so hard that even some villagers came running. A bed was made for me among the trunks, and I was to lie in there for hours, with no one to even check on me.
    The following day, a village woman who had birthed twins came to step on my leg three times – to heal me, she said. I wasn’t one to believe much in miracle healings, but I went along with it, and she came three days to do the same. She’d always wash my leg with soap and water afterward, and the massage felt better than the white magic ever could. The pain subsided within a week, but I still could not put any pressure on the leg.
    The circus tent was set up right away, and the show started without me – as I had a swollen, bandaged leg. Yet the director would not accept that it hadn’t been my fault, so he was furious with me: I had deprived them of their best number. One day he could no longer tolerate the insult, and came to talk to me:
    “You will start working now,” he said. “Just the way you are.”
    “But I can’t even walk properly, and my leg is still swollen. How can I walk on the tightrope? I can’t hop on one leg can I?” I replied.
    “I said, just the way you are,” he barked. “If you persist, I’m leaving you in the street, with no money and no job. See if you’d prefer starving to death. Whether you can or you can’t, that’s irrelevant,” he ended in a thundering voice.
    I started crying, and asked the other performers what they thought. They didn’t think much, however, for they too suffered if the public didn’t get what they wanted. I had no choice but do what I was told. All I had left was praying that I would come out of it alive.
    I prayed hard before the first show. I could not comprehend the sadism with which the ring leader had pursued his decision. I came out with my bandages on, and climbed my way to the rope. The public murmured in protest, looking at each other. I did my best not to fall, stepping lightly on the painful leg. It was hard when I had to step through a hoop, but I did that too. I almost fell a few times, and even now I wonder how I managed not to. The loping number was taken out of the program, for even the circus director had felt that that could end up killing me. Yet he did not spare me my other duties during the show, and made me dance and jump on my bad leg, with the pain shooting all the way to the top of my head. I danced with tears in my eyes, biting my tongue.
    After a week of torture, the leg was just a little better and now I could walk pretty well. One night after the show, a little boy came to me and whispered in my ear that somebody was waiting for me outside. I snuck out of the arena, convinced no one had seen me – completely unaware that someone was indeed watching. In the dark, I saw the dear silhouette I was hoping to see. It was Tony. I ran to him, arms open wide, and we embraced and kissed in a hurry.
    “I have a car waiting. Let’s go,” he said, barely containing himself.
    “Just like this, in my circus clothes?”
    “That doesn’t matter now. Quick, let’s go before somebody notices,” he replied.
    I had barely taken one step when I felt a hand grab my skirt, pulling me hard, and then the person grabbed my arm. It was a woman.
    “Where do you think you’re going? He’ll be here in a second if you don’t come right back,” she said. “You’ll be in more trouble than you can dream of.”
    She was the circus director’s sister, and she had always hated me. When her brother had beaten me in the past, she had merely watched. Others were gathering around her, motioning me to come in.
    Tony had frozen in place. I looked at him pleadingly, waiting for him to say something.
    “Tony, tell them, please. We’re going to marry...” I said turning to the others, as if I was answering to a jury.
    Tony looked at me, shaking his head. What I thought was love was still there, in his eyes, but I could see that he was already giving up. He took a step back. My heart sank, and I stopped resisting. With my head still turned toward Tony, I let them pull me inside. The last image of my dream man was that of his back, as he walked away. This was the last time I ever saw him.
    How could I have realized then, with the enthusiasm of my youth, that it had all been too good to be true? From then on, I became convinced that the hand of destiny is much stronger than the frail human heart. I was seventeen, and another train in my life had left the station.



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