The Transformation of Bartholomew Fortuno: A Novel (45 page)

W
HEN THE
sun finally broke the horizon, its radiance poured over the rooftops and then flowed down the side of the Museum like a river of gold. I had been sitting on my windowsill all night, and I was almost sorry to see the darkness disappear. There was still a tinge of smoke in the air, but the fire brigade had left hours ago, and there was no outward sign of the fire in the street below. I pictured Cook making breakfast in the kitchens as always, pots and china clanging away.
Matina and the others would soon wander down to breakfast, most of them bleary-eyed from the champagne and the rich food and the excitement of the night before. Emma and Ricardo would chatter away, while Matina hunted down a loaf of bread or a fresh slice of ham to eat with her eggs. Business as usual. I sat and considered what to do next.

When the church bells struck nine, I rose and made my way down to the Yellow Room to meet Iell as planned. After the events of the previous evening, I wasn’t sure whether she’d still be there to meet me, but I needed to know, one way or the other.

The nuthatch chirped at me as I pulled the sheet from her cage. “Soon, little one, soon,” I said. I took out a pen, ink, and paper. I had two letters to write before I could leave.

I signed my resignation letter with a flourish, using my best red wax for the seal. Then I penned a longer letter to Matina, begging her forgiveness, telling her that she meant everything in the world to me and I hoped she would be happy with Alley.

After slipping that letter under Matina’s door, I made my way downstairs. Despite the fire the night before, the Museum had already opened to the public, so I merged into the morning crowd, ignoring their stares and comments, knowing I’d not have to endure them much longer. The force of habit was strong, and I couldn’t help but check the notice in the Green Room as I walked by. Emma and Bridgett’s names were listed, but I saw no mention of Alley, Matina, or Iell. Shows were already in progress in the minor rooms. No one seemed to notice my absence.

I went down the Grand Staircase toward Barnum’s office, or what was left of it. Someone, probably Thaddeus or Fish, had put up a screen to hide the mess at the back of the hall. I slipped past the screen onto a floor black with ash. The door to the Arboretum was dreadfully charred, but when I pressed it open, I was relieved to see that the inside had been untouched by flames. Farther on, I reached Barnum’s door and found it burnt and black. I took out a handkerchief to protect my hand, and worked the doorknob to the right. The door creaked
open, water dripping from the sill above. Inside, a few pieces of furniture had been singed, but the damage was not as bad as it could have been. I slipped into the room and set my resignation letter on Barnum’s desk, aware that I’d tracked in black footprints from the hall.

The Yellow Room had gotten the worst of the fire. Somehow, a small sign posted at the entrance that read
EXHIBIT CLOSED
had survived, though it was curled at the edges, the paper half burnt. Inside, the floor was still so wet from the dousing it had received that my boots squished as I walked across the room. Iell’s pedestal still stood, but everything else had been burned beyond recognition. Clearly the fire had started here.

There was no sign of Iell. Had she decided not to meet me after all? I didn’t know if I was disappointed or relieved.

It wasn’t until I made my way back through the main exhibit room—half full of visitors, since Barnum had decided to open his doors as usual—that I spotted her, half hidden next to a display of a two-headed calf whose little body floated in a sealed pickle jar. The plaque beside it read
EVEN OUR LORD EXPERIMENTS
. Morning light illuminated the cherrywood cases full of letters and leaflets, silver tea sets, and a grouping of stuffed owls, but Iell sat in the shadows, a bag and parasol on the floor at her side. She looked small and fragile in a plain black dress, her hands resting idly in her lap.

I took a step toward her. She smiled meekly but did rise to greet me.

I cleared my throat and waited for her to acknowledge her deceit or to ask for forgiveness, but all she gave me was a slow sensual sigh. When a group of boys came tromping down the hallway, she shifted her attention from me to them. One boy carried a large stick and banged the floor with it. Another mimicked birdcalls and then spit onto the floor.

“Nasty little animals, boys,” Iell said finally. “So cruel. So fickle.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Iell rose. “When I first came here,” she said, “all I wanted was to perform with dignity. To do my show in the Yellow Room—just my beard to keep their interest. But Barnum refused me. No matter how
well I did as one of you, he wanted all of me.” She paused and ran a slender finger down the side of her beard, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as she looked at me. “Now you’ve seen all of me, too. And I understand why you won’t be leaving with me today.”

It was true that I’d been doubting my decision, but I didn’t appreciate Iell assuming she knew me best.

“You’re not giving me a chance to make good on my word.”

“Do you remember when I told you that I’d been married and that my husband died young?”

I nodded.

“Well, he didn’t die. He found out my truth on our wedding night and was so horrified he left me, after beating me nearly to death with a horse whip.” Iell’s gaze dropped to the ground. “Have you any idea what it’s like to see love warp into repulsion in the blink of an eye? But from the beginning, I saw how you looked at me, and I thought, Here is a man who will understand me. Here is a man who will accept me totally.”

“I meant what I said about loving you.”

“But that was before you knew my true nature. I saw the look on your face last night.”

She was right that I’d been horrified to realize the true nature of her gift. But the truth was that I was drawn to her even now. I’d spent my whole life afraid of feeding my hungers. Perhaps this was my chance to see where my desires led me.

“I can live with your peculiarities, Iell. We can still make a decent life together. No one need know about . . .
that
. But you must promise never to keep secrets from me again.”

“My
peculiarities
?” Iell’s face went blank. “
That
?” She took a long breath. “I thought you, more than anyone else, would understand my specialness. I thought you would love all of me. Much as I want to live a normal life, you must see now that I can never do so. My differences run too deep. Your seeing me, all of me, has driven this home.”

Before either of us could say anything else, the boys were upon us. They pushed the taller one forward and, in his awkwardness, he banged into me and sent me stumbling toward a wall of blackwood
boxes. I righted myself and swung my cane at the boy’s head, and all three ran laughing the other way down the hall.

Iell looked at me with guarded eyes. “I belong in this world, Bartholomew. Perhaps your place is somewhere outside the Museum walls.”

My heart sank. There was a ruckus from somewhere upstairs, and I could hear the sound of pounding feet, then silence. She was right. Even though I was drawn to Iell, some part of me recoiled from who she really was. No matter that I offered to marry her and take her away, Iell understood the limits of my feelings, and so did I. She was calling an end to it.

Who knows what else either of us might have said that morning, but the boys came banging back up the hall, one of them with something stuffed beneath his shirt to make him look as if he had breasts. I shook my head in disgust, and while I was distracted, Iell turned and walked the other way.

S
UITCASE IN
hand, Liberty in her cage tucked safely under my arm, I stepped onto the cobblestones of Ann Street and shut the service door behind me for the very last time. Earlier that afternoon, I’d taken a carriage and gone to see the Chinaman. I demanded a new root and wanted to know about its magic properties. He laughed at me. Told me the root was a restorative for sick people who couldn’t eat, nothing more powerful than that, and if I was eating I didn’t need it anymore. I would have panicked and perhaps been driven to unpleasantness, but for the look in the old man’s eye. I knew he was right. The strength of the root had been my own all along. Now there was nothing left to do but move on.

Although dirt was blowing across the river from Hunters Point, clouding the horizon, I stood outside in the late-afternoon sun, knowing I’d made the right decision. I was a Gaff, but I was also a whole being, and I did not belong in Barnum’s world.

I’d heard of a boardinghouse far uptown, near the city’s new Central
Park, and I hoped to secure a room there. What did I care if civilization didn’t reach that high up the island? The city had cleared the area of squatters’ shacks and pig farms, and I looked forward to the change of scenery. The new Central Park Arsenal already boasted an open-air aviary. I planned to write a letter to the caretaker, citing my credentials as an experienced bird feeder.

I walked up Ann Street to Broadway and waited in front of the Museum for a streetcar. Alley’s voice came from somewhere behind me. I smiled.

“You look like you could use a drink. Just a quick nip before you go.” He grabbed my bag and threw a beefy arm around my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Matina told me you left her a note saying you were leavin’, and I thought I’d give you a hand. Can’t say I’m sorry you quit, but I’m sure surprised, I’ll give ya that.”

Alley grabbed my bag and nodded toward the footbridge. Together, we walked in silence all the way to McNealy’s. It was nearly empty inside, only Esmeralda and a few stragglers, who occupied the stools by the bar. Alley and I took a table away from the door and sat and drank beer, watching the sun burn through the grubby front windows. The tavern looked a little tired in the full light of day, its scarred oak tables and floors sticky with dried ale, the corners filled with dust and cobwebs never visible at night, but I was glad to be with my old friend.

At first, we talked about obvious things: the fire, the weather, the recent rumors that Barnum would be selling items from his collection to the new Museum of Science being opened uptown. I thought to apologize for doubting his word about setting the fires but said nothing, knowing Alley would prefer it that way. Eventually, I’d had enough to drink to drop my reserve and dared to bring up Matina.

“She’s goin’ with me,” Alley said. “We leave tomorrow noon. She’s a good woman.” He shrugged, and my heart broke, and that was that.

One more beer, and I told him what I’d found out about Iell.

“Yeah, that’s somethin’, ain’t it? We all saw last night when they
dragged her out of the basement. Lots of talk before that, though none of us knew for sure, exceptin’ Emma,” Alley said. “And Matina. She suspected. She’s got a nose for news.”

My hand shook slightly, and I put down my beer. “I never thought . . . I never heard . . .”

“Oh, hell, Fortuno. Think of it as a case of a bird in the hand bein’ worth two in the bush.” Alley made a ferocious face, banging his long yellow teeth together and howling at his joke. Surprisingly, his comment made me laugh, too, and that seemed to please him even more than the joke itself. “There you go,” he said, a smile puckering his grizzled chin. “In the end, most things are funny, Fortuno, and thank God for that.”

The aroma of fried onions from McNealy’s kitchen made me hungry, so I ordered a kidney pie. As it came to the table, Alley tipped up the end of his glass, draining the rest of his beer. He made no comment about my eating. Then his face lit up, and he nodded toward the front door. Matina walked in, a flustered cabdriver holding open the door for her as she scolded him. She moved toward us, her body rolling from side to side, a grand ship of a woman, built to endure.

Rising to his feet, Alley flushed red and pushed his dirty hair from his face. I stood, as one ought, in the presence of a lady.

I kissed Matina’s hand. “How did you know where I’d be?”

“Alley promised me he would find you and bring you here, and he did, the dear boy.”

Alley pulled a chair out for her, and Matina sat, grandly adjusting her bonnet, before she leaned over the table and pressed my hand between her plump palms. In an act of gentlemanly discretion, Alley excused himself and left us to talk alone.

“I simply had to see you before you left.” Matina pressed my hand between her plump palms. Her eyes teared up, and she turned her face away until she’d regained control. “What will you do now?” she asked. “Where will you go?”

I told her about my new plans, ignoring the tug in my belly when she withdrew her hands from mine.

“My heart . . .” She lifted a hand and placed it on her chest, and my own heart hollowed out.

“I feel the same.”

“Maybe a move to the country one day?” Matina asked, with a weak smile.

“You never know,” I said. “Though I do like the bustle of the city.”

“Well, you will be missed, Barthy. I hope you know that.” She sighed, then looked about until she caught Alley’s eye. “Enough said.”

Alley ambled over and helped Matina to her feet, and when she pressed her lips against my forehead, my whole body mourned the loss of her, of Alley, of all of them. Then she patted her hair into place and let Alley take her arm and lead her out the door.