Free Masters of Illusions by Mary-Ann Tirone Smith Page B

think maybe he’s singing to her. I’m telling
     him not to worry, the baby’s going to be all right.”
    And Margie imagined not herself, but Martha, lying in the field, her back burned, her white baby shoes turned black. Charlie
     sensed what Margie must have been thinking, and he came over and took her out of her chair by her shoulders, sat down, and
     cuddled her into his lap. She was shaking like a leaf.
    Now the Master asked what Charlie had prompted him to ask, and Margie felt Charlie grow tense. “What do you see that stands
     out most of all, Dixie?” And to Margie that question, for the first time, was so absurd. What that question really meant was:
     In all this horror and chaos, did anything look normal?
    Dixie said, “I just see commotion now. And I hear the band. My God, they’re still in the tent.
They’re still in the tent!
Why don’t they get out?” She started screaming, “Merle! Merle!” Then she shouted. “The pole! The pole is coming down.”
    Like almost every witness, she remembered the sound of her own voice shouting, “The pole, the pole!” and that was when everyone
     in the lot finally turned around to look for just a second, in time to see what was left of the tent collapse.
    Dixie said, “Oh, mercy. Here they come! They’re out! Merle and the musicians are settin’ up over at the edge of the lot. They’re
     all covered in soot. Their uniforms are supposed to be red, but they ain’t red now. They’re burned black. Their jackets have
     holes in them. Merle’s jacket is smoking the way Hermes Wallenda’s spangles were doing. They’re playing ‘The Pennsylvania
     Polka.’ Lordy, that’s always such a rouser.”
    Margie wondered if her mother died listening to Merle Evans’s circus band playing their polka or maybe she was already dead
     before they’d finished the “Stars and Stripes.”
    “What do you see that is different from all the rest, Dixie?”
    And calmly as could be, Dixie said, “Oh, just that kid who keeps watching the whole thing. Like me and the gorilla. He doesn’t
     look the other way like everyone else. He just keeps watching. He steps back, but he doesn’t run away. Then, when the sirens
     start, he’s gone.”
    The Master said, “What else is different about him? There are lots of children running away.”
    “But they’re all crying. Or screaming. For their mothers. They’re looking for mama. Not him. The boy runs away down the street.
     None of the other children run away down the street. They’re staying there calling for their mothers. And now there are lots
     and lots of children running
up
the street—children from the neighborhood, come to see the fire. The lot is filled with people—firemen and policemen and
     people. Some of the children run to the policemen.”
    Dixie had broken into a sweat. The same sweat she’d been in twenty years before. The Master looked to Charlie and Charlie
     nodded.
    The Master took Dixie out of her trance by clapping his hands with a loud smack. Dixie looked away from her spot in the air
     and said to her friend, “This just ain’t workin’, is it sugar? But I tried.”
    The Master said, “It worked. You’re all done.”
    Dixie looked over at Margie. “Hey, now, is that true?”
    Margie said, “Yes. It’s all right here on tape.”
    “Well, then, I’ll be a red hen.” Now she looked close at Charlie and Margie. “You two certainly got all cozy,” and she saw
     that Margie was quivering a little. “Aw, honey. I upset you there, didn’t I? I do apologize.”
    Margie said, “I’m okay.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m gonna want a copy of that tape. I hate the sound of my own voice—feel like I’m hearing my Ma—but the doc says I should
     hear it. I called him yesterday, I was so nervous. The doc who fixed my shoulder. Says I got to fix my brain, too. So I’ll
     play that tape soon’s I pick the right fella to cuddle me.” And Charlie snuggled Margie even closer, which was an