nails clench and unclench, then fold tightly into fists. Above the
beard her brown-bead eyes steadied suddenly. I wished I knew
what she was thinking.
Jules and I went to see the cats and there in front of the snow-
leopard we talked. I swear I was more afraid than Jules, certain
that he had lost her. Again it was he who comforted me. The
beard was the screen, he said. Behind it they had their world.
Just him and her. She would forget Learoyd.
I marveled at his patience, his pity, his love, then left him woo-
ing the snow-leopard. The French words sounded soft and caress-
ing and I could hear the beast responding, clawing and chafing
at the bars. '
The days went quickly after that. Sam Ellerman called me from
Los Angeles. We're old enemies, but sometimes when it suits us
we take in each other's washing. He had a beefsteak character
making a movie in Rome. There was script trouble. Big trouble. I
guessed the character couldn't speak lines. So I went over to tell
the director that most movies are better without the dialogue
anyway.
It was pleasant in Rome, and I let the argument linger. Sam
was footing the bill and I remembered those dollars of mine he'd
spent when Maxie opened in Chicago and the dwarfs took excep-
tion to the chimp man's billing and let those man-like monkeys
loose on the city roofs.
When I returned to England the crocuses were out and the cir-
cus was ending. I spoke to Papa Gaudin on the telephone. He told
me they were sold out right to the end. Then the old man boasted.
He could speak English now, order a drink, pay for it, and tell the
waitress she looked a honey. He demanded I go down on Saturday
morning to bid the company farewell. I promised and went.
Of course, I looked for Jules first and found him with the
American. Since Learoyd's story they had become big friends and
in off times shared the key to the snow-leopard's cage. I guessed
that Jules had emptied his memory bin for the younger man, and
I hoped that in the giving he had been blessed.
He waited for me to inquire after the bearded lady, and when I
did he smiled, said she was content again, enjoying life, had made
several expeditions to the West End to shop. Today she'd gone to
buy gloves.
My face, I knew, mirrored the shock I felt; then Jules explained
she wore a veil fixed cleverly over her chin and tied behind her
neck. She'd need to, I thought, or they'd becalling 'Beaver' after
her. Then I chided myself. But I swear it wasn't only the beard I'd
hated. Those little hands, the sharp white teeth, the mouth that I
could just see, wetly red, the brown-bead eyesthose were the
things that acted on me like a spider crawling down my back.
With a sensitive smile the American left us, and we found our
way to the vans. There was a light in the third one and Jules
exclaimed, "She's back!" His voice was gay.
i As we neared the van, the light flickered and seemed to beckon.
