When he told them of his plan, of the act that he believed would transform the wire, they were dumbfounded.
“It can’t be done,” András said.
Salvo laughed. “It can. And we will do it.”
The others followed Salvo’s lead, except Anna, who said nothing.
IN THE AFTERNOON DANIEL COULD feel it coming. He could tell when it was near because he could smell sunflowers. He didn’t know how he knew the smell was sunflowers, as he could remember sunflowers having no particular smell—he just did. He quietly excused himself and went outside, walking quickly around the barn and into the barren field behind it. He stood and waited, and just when he thought he might have been wrong, it arrived. His body froze at first, his muscles tense, refusing to respond to his brain. It was as if he were encased in concrete. He did not know how much time he passed in this state. It could have been seconds or minutes; there was no way for him to tell. Then he started to shake, slightly at first and then more violently, until he was on the ground thrashing like a fish in the bottom of a boat. His brain pulsated, and he felt like he was being struck by lightning over and over again. Then, without warning, it stopped. He was himself again. He was tired and wet and muddy, but he was himself again. He got up, wiped spit from his chin, touched his hand to his tongue and saw blood, and headed back to the house. He snuck up to his bedroom, changed his clothes and returned to the front room, where his father, uncle, aunt and cousin sat watching television while his mother and sisters bustled in the kitchen. Daniel sat beside his father and closed his eyes. He said nothing to anyone. It had been worse than the last time; each of the four seizures he’d had since his fall had increased in severity. Months would go by without incident, and he would almost allow himself to believe that he was better. If he did not get better, someone would find out, and they would take away the wire. And that was something Daniel could not let happen.
They worked on the act all winter long. First they did it on the ground, then on a wire strung a foot high. For a long time they could not do it successfully. Many bruises and scrapes and twists occurred when it did not work, and many times András and Anna lobbied for them to give up, but Salvo never wavered and neither did Daniel, which was enough to convince the younger ones to keep trying. Then, only two weeks before the F-F began its 1959 tour, they did it without incident two, three, four, five times in a row. From then on they never fell. They had done the impossible, and even András and Anna were unable to prevent themselves from feeling proud and thrilled and excited.
The F-F would open at Madison Square Garden, as it did every year. The Ursaris would perform their new act, one they were sure would make circus history. Upon seeing the act in the dress rehearsal, Martin Fisher-Fielding ordered that they shelve it immediately. Furious, Salvo stormed into his office.
“Why are you doing this?”
“It’s too dangerous, Salvo. I can’t have this risk.”
“It is not too dangerous.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I know. And that is why people will come to see it.”
“Salvo, I—”
“Remember that I helped you once. You made me a promise. Keep it now.”
Martin Fisher-Fielding rubbed the back of his neck and paced the floor. “Will you at least use a net?”
“No,” Salvo said. “That would make it truly dangerous.”
Martin shook his head in disbelief. “All right. Have it your way. But remember that I voiced these concerns.”
“You will change your mind after tonight,” Salvo said. “Thank you.”
As he walked away, Martin thought that this Ursari was either a genius or a madman, or both. He continued this line of thought as he sat in his seat that night, waiting nervously for the Ursaris to go on. Finally it was their turn, and as they took to the wire all eyes shifted skyward.
The first part of the act he had seen before. The crowd responded with mediocre enthusiasm, and he could hear chatter throughout the stands. Then, as the final trick began, silence descended. This was something no one had ever seen.
They walked in unison onto the wire, a three-level, eight-person pyramid. There were four on the bottom, each pair connected by a harness supporting a pole. Salvo was in front, connected to Etel. Behind them, András was connected to Daniel. Standing on the pole between Salvo and Etel was Anna, with János on the pole between András and Daniel. Anna and János were joined like the others, and on their pole stood Elsabeth and Mika, a foot apart. Jacob Blacke had scrambled down the ladder from the platform they had begun on and was on his way up the other side, towards their destination.
All Martin could hear was the heavy breathing of the man sitting next to him. The pyramid moved as if it were a single entity, stepping forward, pausing, stepping again. They all moved with Salvo, as perfectly as if there were strings pulling their bodies with his. When they reached the midpoint of the wire, they stopped. At the top of the pyramid Mika, who was the further back of the twins, pivoted to face the way they had come, the opposite direction of the others. Then both she and Elsabeth lowered their torsos and, placing their hands on the shoulders of Jacob and Anna, slowly lifted their legs from the pole, into the air, upwards until their feet met—a handstand at a sixty-five-degree angle. The effect was such that it appeared as though there were a three-storey house on the high wire. The crowd let out a collective gasp.
The girls held their handstands for ten seconds, then brought their feet back to the pole as the pyramid began to move again. The crowd came to its feet, and by the time the Ursaris reached the platform, the applause was so loud and so fervent that Martin was afraid they would riot. For fifteen minutes they continued unabated—even after the Ursaris returned to the wire to acknowledge and bow four times—ignoring the band when it began to play, unwilling to watch the next act, which began and gave up twice. From them on, the Ursaris were always the final act, and Martin thanked his lucky stars that he had let Salvo talk him into letting them do “the House.”
BY THE END OF THE 1959 RUN, the Ursari name was forever etched into the minds of circus-goers across North America. They were on the covers of magazines and newspapers, the subject of television documentaries, and there had even been talk of a movie based on their lives. Salvo shielded the younger ones from as much of this publicity as he could, doing most of the interviews by himself or with Anna. The girls were particularly vulnerable, he figured, and he tried to make life as normal for them as possible.
After the show went to winter quarters they returned to Canada, even though the rest of the circus went to the sunny weather of Florida. People laughed at them, unable to fathom why they would prefer a harsh Canadian winter to a tropical one, and no one believed Salvo when he told them that the weather in the Fraser Valley was anything but harsh. It rained a lot, and Salvo liked the rain. He supposed he liked it because of his memories of the drought in Transylvania, but there was more to it than that. He liked how it washed everything clean, how you could go out in the rain and be a part of it, and then how you could go into your house and feel like you were safe in a nest while outside the world flooded. He never got that feeling in Florida, unless there was a hurricane blowing through, and the constant drizzle of home was preferable to a hurricane by far.
In their farming community, no one cared that they were the Magnificent Ursari Troupe. While they were not exactly treated like ordinary people, they were certainly not regarded as celebrities. For the most part they were left alone. The odd person would get a little annoying, but nothing like the people in New York or Chicago or Los Angeles.
The Ursaris were, for maybe the first time since they had left the F-F, truly happy. Salvo revelled in the success of the act, not only able to sleep without trouble but passing most of his days without worry. His only concern was keeping everyone on top of their wire skills, ensuring that no one slacked off and jeopardized the act, but everyone was good about working hard and taking direction from him
, so there was little problem in remaining in prime form. They were professionals, after all.
András and Etel remained reserved, as usual, but when remembering the applause of the crowd they glowed. There were times when neither of them could believe that where they had once been hungry, unloved and despised, now they were celebrated and lauded wherever they went. András took this knowledge in stride, but Etel was sometimes suspicious of their success; surely it could not last forever. Sooner or later, someone would stand up and point out that they were, after all, merely humans, and that it was only a silly wire act. But it had not happened yet, and the longer things went on, the less Etel thought it would.
Daniel Ursari had much of Salvo in him. He lived for the time they were performing, for the sound of the people below, to hear the complete silence of their attention and then the complete mayhem of their approval. He never thought about falling, about how the people below felt that at any minute their House would tumble down. That was not why he walked. He walked because when he was on the wire, he was not a socially awkward orphan of a circus fire, with bad skin and cowlicked hair, he was Daniel Ursari, aerialist, master of gravity. He was a living superhero. There was no feeling like it he had ever known.
János, the best on the wire of the younger ones and probably better than Anna, too, would probably have been happy no matter where he was. He was able to be quietly content almost anywhere, equally at ease on the wire as he was on the train or at a restaurant. He did not seem to care where he was, so long as he was with his family, and so long as everyone else was happy.
Elsabeth and Mika, so similar in appearance, both loved the wire but for very different reasons. Mika liked people looking at her, the attention she received, and being able to do something that few people could do. And there was a way that some people looked at her, usually men and in particular Jacob Blacke, that she especially liked. Elsabeth didn’t care whether people looked at her, and she didn’t really even care whether they liked the act or not. What she liked was the Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza, the circus atmosphere, all the other acts and the people and the sights she had never seen. She would have been as content to go to the circus as a spectator as she was to be a performer.
Anna did not love walking the wire. She did not love the attention the act had received, and she did not love the circus. Yet when she saw how much joy their success had brought not only Salvo but also their children, her heart could not help but swell, and her grin was large and genuine. She was always happiest when they were not performing, and winter hiatus was her favourite time of year by far. She looked forward to Christmas with their family, to a tree and presents and a few days away from the wire. They got a tree, and though she was not much of a cook, she knew enough to pull off a turkey and trimmings, and this she was determined to do.
Christmas morning the household woke early, and the children (who were hardly children) rushed to the tree to see what was under it for them. Salvo and András and Etel had never really understood many Western Christmas customs, but they couldn’t help but be excited. They all chattered away as paper was ripped, Elsabeth and Mika squealing with delight as they opened tiny boxes from their parents. The boxes contained sterling-silver pendants in the shape of their initials; Salvo had ordered them all the way from Montreal, months in advance, and had a hard time resisting the temptation to give the gifts early. He felt a certain sense of regret that these were the first personally meaningful gifts he had ever given them. They would turn seventeen in a couple of months, and it would not be long before they would be of an age where children often left their parents. He hoped that the act would keep them close, but there was no way to be certain. The girls gave Anna and then Salvo tight hugs in thanks, and Salvo squeezed Anna’s hand. Anna smiled. She was having a moment she would never forget, and she knew it.
For six years the “Ursari House” had been the premier act in the Fisher-Fielding Extravaganza, which was once again the undisputed heavyweight of the North American circus world. By 1964, however, gate receipts were falling, and attendance was the lowest it had been since the post-fire years. The big cities still packed the houses, but in the mid-sized cities it was not unusual to play to half-full arenas. The F-F no longer went to smaller cities; since the big tops disappeared, no circuses did.
Despite this downturn, things were good for Martin Fisher-Fielding. Since his coup in 1957 he had faced no serious threats to his leadership. Norris Fisher-Fielding had all but abandoned his hopes of regaining the helm of the F-F; with Martin’s control of the majority vote, the only way he could ever outvote him was if one of the Respectables gave him their shares, which was not likely to happen. The Respectables did not tend to give things away. He had tried to purchase their shares through a third party, but the deal had been closely scrutinized, and in the end it was ruled to have violated the original agreement and was nullified.
It was midway through the season, and the F-F had just closed out a show in Columbus, Ohio, heading to Cleveland for a three-night stand. On the train Mika Ursari sat, trying to think of a way to tell her parents the news of her engagement. She had for three years now been seeing Jacob Blacke behind her father’s back, and she knew full well he likely would not approve of her marrying him. He was, after all, ten years her senior, but that wasn’t what would bother her father. For some reason Mika could not understand, Salvo looked down on Jacob because he was a farmer. Everyone, including Salvo, knew that this made little sense, but it remained a fact. Mika didn’t care, and she didn’t care what her father said. She was twenty-one and could do what she liked.
Mika asked her mother for help, and Anna set Salvo up. He didn’t notice when the railcar emptied in a stream of various excuses, leaving only himself, Anna and Mika present. Jacob, timid as ever, had declined to be present. Mika could not understand why he was so afraid of Salvo, but she agreed to tell them herself. He was her father, and she would deal with him.
The best way, she decided, was to get right to the point, to lay things out as they were. “Jacob and I are getting married” is what she told him, her voice steady and her face composed.
Salvo reeled, unprepared for any sort of grand announcement. “You’re what?”
“Jacob and I are getting married,” she repeated.
“Jacob Blacke?”
“Yes.”
“When was this decided?”
“A while ago.”
“I see.” Salvo’s eyes narrowed, as they always did when he was angry.
“Salvo,” Anna began, her voice low and calming, “Jacob is a fine man. He has always done well by you.”
Salvo nodded. “He is a good man, and I am glad to have him in my troupe. But I will not allow him to marry my daughter.”
“I suppose you have some reason for denying us,” Mika said, her voice rising a little.
Salvo was silent. He stared at Mika, noticing not for the first time how much she resembled her mother in both appearance and temperament. “You can do better,” he said finally.
“That is for me to decide,” Mika said. She stood up and went to the door. “I will marry him, and you can either agree or I can disappear. It’s up to you.” She slid the door open and stepped out.
“You will do as I say,” Salvo shouted after her, anger in his voice. The door closed.
Salvo leapt to his feet, but Anna stopped him from following her. “What have I done?” he said. “Why do I get such defiance from my children?”
“They are adults now,” Anna answered. “We can’t tell them what to do.”
“They will listen.”
“No, they won’t.”
Salvo slumped into his chair, suddenly looking very tired. Anna sat beside him, reaching for his hand. “Why do you disapprove of Jacob?” she said.
“He is not good enough for her.”
“That,” Anna said, “is what my father said about you.”
Salvo looked at her, rubbed his forehead, and exhaled a long breath.
“She
’ll do it anyway, so you may as well make peace.”
Salvo nodded. She was right; she had learned this lesson hard. “I will speak to her.”
Anna squeezed his hand. “It’s no fun getting old.”
“We’re not old.”
“I’m not. But you’ve been younger.”
Salvo laughed. If someone had told him in Budapest that he would someday be fifty-four years old, he would not have believed them. Now he felt as though he would live another fifty years and still be a child.
They arrived in Cleveland in the early afternoon and had a couple of hours to rest before that night’s performance. Salvo was never able to nap before a walk, so he went to the arena to check the rigging. He was surprised to see András and János there, sitting side by side under the wire. They both wore grave looks, watching him approach with obvious trepidation.
“What is the matter with you two?” Salvo asked jokingly. Neither of them answered him, and Salvo asked the question again, this time seriously.
András looked at János, then at Salvo. “He has lost his nerve.”
“Who, János?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot go on the wire, Uncle,” János said, shame on his face.
“Of course you can. You are a wonderful wire walker.”
“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head.
“I do not understand.”
“I can’t explain it. Something inside me has broken.”
“If he walks, he will fall,” András said. “He is afraid. He should not walk with fear.”
“We all have fear,” Salvo said. “It is what keeps us careful. A little fear is a good thing.”
“It is not a little fear.” András put his arm around the boy. “The thought of going up makes him shake. It is best for everyone that he stops.”