Free A Free State by Tom Piazza Page A

be perfect.
    â€œWell,” she said, “what kind of routine are you preparing?”
    I explained about the Spanish masquerade, and she laughed.
    â€œDo you speak Spanish?” she asked Henry.
    â€œNot really,” he said. “Just a type of joke Spanish.”
    â€œHe sounds absolutely like a Mexican,” I said.
    â€œLet me hear!”
    Henry let out a sentence, something on the order of “ Dos manicómios de jueves éstaban ricos con la segura . . .” with a kind of insouciant authority that would have been quite convincing to anyone who did not know Spanish.
    â€œWhat did he say?” Rose asked, turning to me as if Henry would not understand the question.
    â€œHe said, ‘ The sky turns red when the turnips are in the basement .’”
    Henry laughed at this, and so did Rose.
    â€œClose enough?” I said.
    â€œClose enough,” he said.
    We discussed a few more details of the costume, and Rosewas all business. At the end of our discussion she wished us good luck with our routine and said the costume would be ready in a few days, as soon as she got the Uncle Tom suit altered for Powell. This was fine, as we were just shy of two weeks away from Henry’s debut.
    Henry and I quit the theater. I had errands to run, and we walked a ways together along Arch Street. Henry asked me for Rose’s name, and I told him.
    â€œDidn’t I introduce you?” I asked.
    He told me I hadn’t, and he added that he had never seen a woman with hair that short before.
    â€œYes,” I said. “She’s unlike anyone else.”
    â€œIs she your sweetheart?”
    He wore a slight smile as he asked this. I did not know whether to laugh out loud or to cuff him. It was not the kind of question one asked. And it touched a sore spot in me, of course.
    â€œNo,” I said, rather curtly. “She is kept by one of the troupe. Eagan.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘kept’?”
    â€œI mean,” I said, “maintained. Paid for, housed, clothed, and whatever else you might imagine, in exchange for his pleasure.”
    This came out more harshly than I had intended, although it was certainly the truth. I glanced at Henry and saw an expression of gloom settle over his features, a brooding look, almost angry. I thought that he must be quite an innocent to have had no experience or awareness of such an arrangement. Our paths diverged at the next corner, and Henry mumbled his goodbye and walked off under a cloud, carrying his banjo.
    I let the others know that we would be adding an extra attraction for one number in the second part, on Saturday two weekends hence. There was curiosity and more or less happy acceptance from Powell and Burke; as they never heard the other acts in advance, they were satisfied to accept my brief précis of the situation. Mulligan, of course, had already been apprised, and he kept his own counsel, although I sensed from his facial expression that his misgivings had had time to breed and perhaps ferment in the days since our conversation. Eagan on the other hand, would not let it alone.
    â€œI had the idea that this troupe was a collaborative venture,” he said.
    â€œWhat makes you doubt it, Michael?” I said.
    â€œSome of us are now privy to a mystery, for which the troupe as a whole is footing the bill. And a Mexican, in the bargain. Who is this fellow, anyway? I suppose the troupes of Austrians were not enough. At least they are white men.”
    â€œI am paying for this out of my personal receipts, Eagan,” I said. “So you needn’t worry about the impact on our finances. And in what way does his color weigh on the discussion, Brother Scamp?”
    This question stopped him momentarily, although he recovered himself enough to mutter, “I don’t care for intrigue.”
    It was only with the greatest effort that I was able to restrain myself from mentioning his own arrangement with Rose