Sunday August 22, 1926

The circus had just completed its last show in Louisville Kentucky, and everyone spent the day packing up to move on to the next location. I sat alone in our wagon all afternoon while everyone else took a trip into town. I wanted a drink so bad, but I was trying my best to stay sober. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I looked at myself in the mirror and didn’t like the man I’d become. A sorry old drunk who couldn’t stay sober, and a fearful man who couldn’t stand up to mean bosses. I pulled the disk out of my pocket and rolled it around in my hands, feeling its cool smooth surface. It was calling me to go East, just as much as I craved another drink. 

Later, I heard Ambrose outside the door saying goodnight to Mrs Melody. The door opened and he found me sitting in the dark staring into my mirror.

“Oh my! It feels like an oven in here. Why are you sitting all alone in the dark, Harvey?” He wiped the sweat off his brow, lit a lantern, unbuttoned his bow tie and sat down on his cot.

“Do you think we have a purpose in life, Ambrose?” 

He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, “You trying to get all philosophical on me, Harvey?”

“I dunno, I just wonder if God has a certain plan for our lives. Like some people are meant to write books, others are meant to be great leaders, or maybe some are meant to fight for a cause.”

Ambrose laughed and said, “I was put on the Earth to woo the ladies. I shall be the world’s greatest lover.” He unbuttoned his shirt then kicked off his shoes. “You should have come with us Harvey, instead of moping in the wagon all day. 

Ambrose took off his clothes and got into bed. He reached over and blew out the lantern. “Don’t be up too late my friend. I hear we will be leaving at first light.”

I stood and walked to the door. “I think I’ll take a little walk to clear my head,” I whispered. I walked out and stood alone in a big open field where the mosquitoes swarmed and bit me. It felt only slightly cooler than inside the stuffy wagon as I laid down in the dry grass staring up at the starry sky. I could hear faint voices of people talking, a dog barking in the distance and a train passing by. I closed my eyes and pulled the disk from my pocket. As I held it between my fingers, the shaking subsided and the desire for booze went away. I saw images of a farmhouse upon a hill with woods in the distance. A road sign that said Carlisle. The disk replaced one craving for another. I knew that I needed to go to Carlisle. 

I heard someone walking through the tall grass and then a giggling sound. I opened my eyes and standing over me was the odd retarded woman, dressed only in a night shirt. She sat down in the grass beside me.

“What are you doing out this late at night, Dinky Doo? Does Madame Bushka know where you are?”

She just looked at me giggling like she had a secret. She noticed I had something in my hands and begged by reaching out for it with grunts and squeals.

“You want to hold it?” 

She shook her head yes and I placed it in her hands. She gasped and opened her eyes wide. “Where am I? I feel like I’ve woken from a dream.” she said, speaking proper English.

“Dinky Doo, when did you learn to speak like that. Have you been fooling us all along?” I sat with my mouth open, amazed at what I had just witnessed.

“Dinky Doo? Is that what you just called me?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“No, my name’s Cassandra. Where are we?” She turned and gazed at the full moon. 

“Cassandra, huh? I didn’t think Dinky Doo was a real name. This is Louisville, Kentucky and we are part of the Ray Addler Circus crew. Don’t you remember?”

“No, I don’t remember much at all. I think the moon brought me here,” she said, holding the disk in the air. “Dunwoody would know. Have you seen him?”

“Madaam Bushka mentioned the name. Who is he?” I said.

Dinky Doo walked around in a circle calling out the name Thomas, over and over, with tears in her wild eyes. She stood above me, grasping the disk tighter in her fist. “He was my boyfriend and created this fucked up mess. Here, take it. What little good it does me.”

She handed me the disk and the second it left her hands, she returned to the unfortunate drooling idiot that we had always known her to be. I stood up and reached for her hand. 

“Come, Dinky, let’s get you back to Madame Bushka. She must be looking for you.” I took her hand and led her back to camp. 

Madam Bushka was wandering around behind the tents calling out Dinky’s name. When she saw me, she ran to me and said, “Where did you find her?”

“She must have followed me out in the middle of the field. Dinky claimed to be a woman named Cassandra and talked about Dunwoody being her boyfriend. Has she ever said anything like this before?” I asked.

“That’s impossible. This poor unfortunate girl has never uttered a single word her entire life, let alone have a boyfriend. I can’t imagine it coming from her,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

 I could not explain that bizarre encounter.

The next morning our caravan left at dawn and arrived at Lexington sometime around mid morning. We were to stay just a week then head north to Cincinnati Ohio. I could feel the tremendous pull to go east, yet the boss wanted to veer North. 

That afternoon, I sat with young Tim watching the roustabouts hammering away at the tent pegs. He was still nursing the stub that was left of his right arm.

“It still hurts. I can feel my hand and it ain’t even there,” Tim says reaching out to touch the ghost that used to be his arm.

“It is called phantom limb syndrome. Soldiers would report such a thing after losing an arm or leg during the war,” I said trying to comfort the boy. “Good thing that the boss is your uncle or else you would be cast aside like a banana peel.”

“I can still carry stuff. I can hammer with one hand too,” he says, trying to convince me that he can still work.

I was trying to think of a way to convince the boss to go East instead of heading North. There was no major town in that direction. Tim’s constant whining was getting on my nerves. If only the boss could see what I was seeing. Maybe that would change his mind. I thought. 

“My brother is really strong. He teached me to work really hard. He would let me work even with one arm,” he says, rambling on again.

“And where might this brother of yours be today, Tim?” I sneared.

“He lives in Maysville.”

“Maysville? Where in the hell is Maysville? Sounds like some hick town.” 

It’s in Kentucky somewhere. Near a big river.”

“Good for him, I suppose,” I said, reaching for my fiddle. 

Eddie Bee came running on his stubby little legs huffing and puffing. He bent down and grabbed his knees. “Boss wants to see ya, Harvey. Sent me out to find you.”

As I was listening to Eddie, I wasn’t watching what I was doing and sat on my fiddle. I heard an audible pop. “Oh fuck it to hell!” I said, turning the fiddle around in my hands. There was a crack in the neck. “Damn, I need to find someone to fix this or else it will just get worse. I can’t play like this.”

Tim noticed my cracked neck and said, “My brother can fix that for you. He can fix anything like that.”

“I don’t know, Tim. This is a finely crafted piece of art. I’m sure your brother can do most things, but this requires a certain skill.”

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Okay.”

Eddie grabbed my arm and started pulling. “Come on Harvey. The boss don’t like to be kept waiting.”

I followed Eddie to Mr Addler’s wagon. I knocked on the boss’s door to his wagon and Ambrose opened the door. “Here he is Mr Addler,” Ambrose said patting me on the shoulder and he exited the door.

“Come on in and have a seat, Harvey,” he said, shaking my hand and patting me on the shoulder. I was nervous as hell wondering why Ambrose was here. Did he tell on me for drinking again, I thought.

I pulled up a chair and sat down at the table across from him. He had a sombre look about him. He shook his head and said, “I am so sorry to be the bringer of bad news, but your family somehow tracked you down. Harvey, your mother died of lung cancer sometime last month. Your younger brother sent a telegram. I’m so sorry,” he said, placing his hand on my arm.

I was stunned and couldn’t think of words to say. I hadn’t talked to anyone in my family in over a decade. I remembered the cruel words I said to my mother the day I left home. I had said something about going to hell and wished they’d just leave me the fuck alone. I meant it at the time, yet, they were concerned about my drinking. I accused them of turning my wife and children against me. I just sat there hanging my head, not saying a word.

“Harvey, is there anything I can do?” Mr Addler said, trying to look in my eyes.

“Yeah, I broke my fiddle. It needs to be fixed soon before it cracks more.  Tim said something about his brother being able to fix it, but…”

“Sure, sure. You know, Tim is right. My nephew Leonard is an excellent craftsman. Perhaps we can veer East to Maysville before heading to Cincinnati. How does that sound?”

“Thanks, Mr Addler. I appreciate it.”

“Will you be able to perform in tonight’s show, Harvey?”

My mouth dropped open and I stared off in a daze. “Yeah, I suppose so.” I got up, walked out the door and headed towards the far end of the grassy field. I wanted a drink so bad my hands were shaking. I felt ill. I bent over and threw up my lunch. Near the tree line, far from the rest of the crew, I put my jacket over my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs into the cloth to muffle the sound. 

Perhaps an hour later, I walked back to my wagon to get dressed in my costume. Whatever bad things happen, the show must go on.