Night-Bloom by Herbert Lieberman Read Free Book Online

shrill harpy voice.
    “Can’t we go now?” six-year-old Millicent Rhodes whispered, her eyes still fixed on the grinning torso nodding at her.
    “We’ve got time. We still haven’t seen everything. Don’t you want to see the fire-eater?”
    At last she succeeded in steering him away from the freaks to out under the big top where the overture and promenade were just starting up.
    Tubas, drums, xylophones, glockenspiels, the trombones and the clash of cymbals swelled the tent. Colored floodlights swerved dizzyingly round the triple arenas.
    Up above the silver-threaded guylines and high wires, trapeze bars awaited the aerialists and tightrope cyclists. Clowns and midgets tumbled on the cinder footpath circling the main arenas. Behind them came a man on stilts, followed by the elephants, a dancing bear, and a brace of prancing Lippizaners with bright red feathers in their ears.
    And always the clowns, sad and ludicrous, and the hobos with their baggy pants collapsing round their big, floppy shoes, cakewalking through the promenade.
    Watford observed the small child beside him, twirling the little pencil flashlight he’d bought her outside at one of the concessionaires. As he watched the floodlight reflected in her glowing eyes, he was suffused with such a sense of tenderness that he had to choke back tears.
    They watched the aerialist scramble up the ladder and into the labyrinth of silver wires strung like cobwebs at the peak of the tent. The child watched intently a young girl, no more than seventeen or eighteen, with the face of a quattrocento Madonna, effortlessly ascend a rope, then step outward onto a tiny platform one hundred and fifty feet above the roaring, taunting crowds. Fearless, imperturbable, she spread her arms out sidewards as though they were wings. There was a gasp as she stepped outward into space.
    “You’ve got some hell of a nerve, Charley. Edgar’s furious. Fit to be tied.”
    “It’s only nine-thirty.”
    “Nine-thirty? You’ve been gone the whole day, for God’s sake. Where the hell have you been?”
    “I told you I was going to take her to the circus, didn’t I?”
    “The circus? Are you mad?”
    “Didn’t I tell you? I told you—I know I told you.”
    “About three weeks ago you mentioned something about taking her. But, of course, you neglected to tell us what day, or when. We wake up this morning. You’re gone. She’s gone. How the hell are we supposed to put all that together? We called the police.”
    “The police?”
    “We thought she was kidnapped. We thought she ran away. God knows what we thought.”
    “Well, for Chrissake, if that isn’t the dumbest— now don’t—for God’s sake, go and start bawling.”
    Watford made a motion toward his younger sister—a raised hand, a gesture half warning, half placatory—“Now don’t, Renee—Please. There’s no need for that. I can’t stand when you do that.”
    Almost imperceptibly, his hand prodding gently at the small of her back, he nudged the child forward to plead his cause.
    “Don’t cry, Mommy. I’m fine. Uncle Charley and I had so much fun.”
    “Never mind the fun, young lady. Your father is nearly out of his mind with worry. He’s been calling from the office all day.”
    Her taut, tired body was suddenly shaken with sobs. “You go wash up, Millicent. Get ready for bed. I’ve got to call your father.”
    Together, they watched the little girl walk out. “Jesus, Charley. God damn you, anyway.” Watford flung his hand up in despair. “Well, what the hell did I do that was so gosh damned awful anyway? Will you kindly tell me that?”
    “Charley Watford—you are a thoughtless, stupid—”
    “I take a kid to the gosh damned circus—big deal—”
    “It’s not that you took her. It’s how you took her. You stole her. You sneaked out of here at six a.m. like a thief, while everyone was still asleep. Not so much as a call all day, or a by-your-leave, to let us know where you are. What are we