Part Four
The rest of the day went on with an eery silence about it, something heavy, something more than angry hung in the air, it was solid, it was dense, it was apathetic. And though he couldn’t explain why, Mr. Bradbury was scared. Not nervous, not upset, not guilty, but scared.
That evening, one night only, he was set to be the ringmaster, a return to old times, nostalgia, a way to show off for his woman on the side, the reason was unclear. Nonetheless, even with his marriage clearly on its deathbed, and his wife nowhere to be found, the show went on. Out into the big top he came, and the fire and light got along nicely, as the audience “Oooo’d” and “Ahhh’d” at his world of fire and shock. Lies. Yet everyone could feel it, the wind was still blowing with change. And just as Mr. Bradbury came to his grand finale, so came the change prophesied.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! The magnificent Ms. White!” Mr. Bradbury announced triumphantly.
Yet when the spotlight turned to the tightrope, it didn’t land on Delia but instead on Luella. The color drained from Mr. Bradbury’s face.
“What is it, darling?” She yelled from above. “Expecting someone else?!”
Her anger was palpable, the audience was mute. Mr. Bradbury shook like the devil himself had infiltrated his big top. He didn’t say a word.
Staring down to the sawdust-covered floor, there he was….
“COME ONE, COME ALL …” She shouted. Something growled.
His eyes. They burned brighter than the flashing lights and captivated beyond the smoke and mirrors. Though that’s all it was, that’s all it ever was. Smoke and mirrors. Deception. And what better way to deceive, than lights and flash, and everything extraordinary and oversized and imported and oddly dressed, and spinning and flipping and falling.
“TO THE GREATEST SHOW…” Something Roared!
“ON EARTH!”
With that, Luella bounded from the tightrope where she stood, down down down. She grabbed a bar, spun, let go, and flew through the air once more, directly onto the back of a running and angry lion. Within seconds the two were upon him. Betsy reared back, Mr. Bradbury SCREAMED! Then, made a bloodcurdling yell…
Silence.
Did the audience think it was an act, did they think that his flesh, now marred by Betsy’s teeth and claws, would somehow heal and rebound for a final bow?
No…. Mr. Bradbury was dead.
Without a second thought, she kept the lion bounding on, on, on, through the canvas tent, into the starry night beyond. On the lion’s back, she continued. Her raven hair blew in the wind. She reared back her head, and for the first time in a long time, she laughed, as the lion’s paws pounded out the rhythm of all that is, on the soft earth.
And if you knew her, you knew nothing bound her….
I won’t call her free, though I could. Free from what? Luella had a past, it didn’t define Luella’s future. Luella simply was. No one knew where she’d come from, no one knew where she’d go. She was a dream, if a dream could look like you and I. If a dream could walk, and talk, and feel. Somehow, Luella was larger than herself once more. She welcomed life to overtake her like the wind that billowed through her hair, on that clear night on a lion’s back. Fly raven fly.
Luella born of man. Luella born of fire. Luella born of rain. Luella born of sunshine and moonrise, and flowers, and brandy, and petrol and perfume, and early morning chills. Ah, Luella. What can I say of her? Too much maybe, all too much. Yet too little. Others hear the tale and weep. They weep for they know what beauty lay in this moment. They weep for they see what Mr. Bradbury never could, a dream.
Dance with bells on your feet and flowers in your hair, and live not for the flashing lights and empty promises. Look up. For those who dance, simply because they must, those who take heed of a universe beyond themselves, those who fly on the wings of that wind, they see God smile.
Luella rode off farther into the light, and she’d ride wherever the current was bound, and she’d drink in the sea, and she’d be full, and she’d be alive. She’d be here.
That would be enough.
