2. Why did he have to find me today, for fuck’s sake?!
3. Why?
4. throat
V. LIAR
A year before
Ittookmetwoweeks to recover from the wounds that were still far from healed, but I had to get back on my feet. If I wanted to eat, I needed to work. Bread crusts and cold leftovers, which Rio stole for me, were not enough.
When I was finally strong enough to stand, the man who owned this place decided he wanted to see me.
I waited outside his office, listening to footsteps echo inside. When the door finally opened, I stood, ready to enter, but he lifted his hand to stop me. He stepped out, locked the door behind him, and slipped the key back onto the chain around his neck.
He tapped me on the shoulder, then offered his hand.
“Rocco,” he said with a quick wink. “Let me show you around.”
His office was on the second floor of the house, which had four floors in total. He led me to the end of the hallway near the staircase, and he motioned for me,“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing down.
As we walked to the floor below, he started to talk.
“The House of Clowns was a ruin once,” he said. “During the war, La Maddalena was a naval base for the Italian navy. Sincethis house was close to the port, soldiers used to hide here. It got bombed more than once. Then, on May 2nd, 1945, when the war ended, two local soldiers dressed as clowns stood right out front to cheer for the people. It was the end of the terror. They called itCirco dei Perduti.”
“The Circus of the Lost,” I whispered.
He nodded as we reached the ground floor.
“Later, the ones who lost their homes came here. Nobody knew how to perform, so they started to paint their faces as clowns, and later on, they called it the House of Clowns. In 1960, when those two soldiers died, a pair of brothers rebuilt it. They traveled all over Italy looking for performers. Every year, they came back to La Maddalena and held a show.”
He smiled.
“I took over nine years ago. I used to be like you. I started as a stable boy, taking care of animals. Every year, I moved up a little more, saved what I could, and one day I bought the place.”
I didn’t say anything.
He pushed open a door and glanced down both sides of a long corridor.
“The ground floor is for the working men who set up tents, the cooks, the stable hands.”
He exhaled through his nose.
“Be friendly with the cook; he’s the one who decides what you eat.” He gave a short laugh. “The rest of them, just be good, and they’ll be good to you.”
We went up to the first floor.
“Here are the ladies of the night, ticket sellers, and seamstresses,” he said, giving me a wink. “We treat them well because they treat the customers well.”
At the next staircase, he nodded upward. “The second floor is for the clowns. They run the show.”
We didn’t stop there. We climbed again. “The third floor is for performers and fortune tellers,” he said, pointing to the left. “There’s also the animal trainers and the ringmaster, Carlos. You’ll meet him soon.”
When we reached the attic, he paused before opening the door.
“And up here are the freaks,” he said. “This is where you’ll stay.”
He let me step inside first, and just before the door closed behind me, “We perform next month. Make yourself useful, and this place will feel like home.”
