Dancing with Gravity Read online

  “Shhh! What if he hears you?” Whiting cast a quick glance toward Littleton and the others. Sarah shrugged. He could hardly believe her irreverence, but to his surprise, his anger drained away. “You’re right. His behavior doesn’t matter. Now, who’s next?”

  She squeezed his forearm in appreciation. “I swear that was the worst of it. Just watch.”

  She steered him to a man and woman, both vibrant sixty-somethings, who were just then posing for the photographer. The woman wore a red dress with a border of white horses at the hem. The man wore gray slacks embroidered with small red and blue elephants and a navy blue blazer.

  “Oh that’s absolutely perfect!” Sarah nearly sang her address. The woman turned to Sarah and beamed. The two women embraced.

  “Sam, this is Mimi Schirmer and her husband, Rennie. I’m convinced that Mimi has chaired or co-chaired every successful research gala that St. Theresa’s ever had. And Rennie is one of our most dedicated and visionary board members. Is it obvious that I adore them both?”

  Whiting forced a smile. He had never seen Sarah act in this way, and he couldn’t imagine that the Schirmers believed her performance.

  “Father, we’re so happy to meet you.” Mimi offered Whiting her hand and a long-toothed smile. The photographer took his leave, and Mimi offered him a farewell that was identical to the greeting she had given Whiting. Her twin reactions fascinated him.

  When Whiting offered his hand to Rennie, the man brushed it aside and clapped him on the back.

  “Don’t treat me like a stranger, Sam! We’re at the circus for heaven’s sake!” Rennie chuckled at his own words, and directed Whiting’s attention to the ceiling of the tent.

  “Mimi and I visited the circus in Budapest last fall.” He studied the wires above their heads as he spoke. “We had a private tour of the circus school.” Rennie looked over at Whiting to punctuate his sentence. “It’s usually off-limits to outsiders, but we had a foreign exchange student with us for a year, and her father is one of the big wheels there. They took us through the entire training process, and we sat in on the performers’ classes. It’s live theater, really.” Mimi took her husband’s arm, and smiled adoringly at the ceiling of the tent. “Anyway, Mimi loved the high wire, but the best part was the trapeze.” He patted her hand indulgently. She beamed a loving gaze, then looked again at the cables strung above them.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong. The high wire has a certain allure. But the trapeze—now that’s really something. Balance, athletic ability, and timing—all the best of the circus in that one act.” Rennie’s tone was reverent as he pointed out the rigging above their heads. “See that cable over there? It’s hooked above the bars of the trapeze. See it?” Whiting nodded. “That’s for the safety harness. In Budapest they make all but the most experienced performers wear them. Even during the shows. It eliminates the net, so there’s a better view of the act, but it also protects the performers in case of a fall.”

  Mimi looked away suddenly, as though shutting out the scene that her husband described.

  “They told us that when an acrobat falls, he’s trained to just let it happen. If he reacts, tenses up, he can tear muscles and tendons when the cable catches him.”

  Sarah let out a quiet mewl. Whiting looked over at her. He thought she had suddenly gone pale.

  “Are you all right?” The Schirmers turned toward Sarah.

  “Oh, it’s Mother Frances. Excuse us, won’t you?” She crossed to where the mother superior had just entered, followed by several of the sisters. Whiting followed obediently. This was his first contact with Mother Frances since she had asked him to bless the circus. Her greeting was cordial, but he was disappointed that it carried no hint of collaboration.

  Several of the performers entered the tent. Although as unknown to Whiting as most of the board members, their identities were unmistakable. The men from the circus stood stiffly in dark pants and print shirts that were clean but not new. The women stole glances at one another and ran their fingertips along the surface of their skirts and dresses. Two of the younger women posed flirtatiously in low-cut blouses, high heels, and dark eye makeup. The performers clustered together near the edge of the ring, spoke to one another in low tones, and offered shy glances toward the board members. They moved from one pose to another: raising their chins, crossing their arms, and adjusting their postures. Whiting was sure they were keenly aware of everything around them and of having become the focus of attention.

  The women seemed to have taken a great deal of effort with their appearances. They wore their hair in carefully arranged curls down their backs or in elaborate, upswept styles secured with glittering hair ornaments. Nearly all of them were brunettes. One woman flashed fire-red, shoulder-length hair; the ends, a dark grape. Whiting was fascinated by the contrast and found it strangely beautiful. He forced himself to look at the group and not to stare at her.

  When Sarah introduced Whiting to the performers, he was surprised by her ease and warmth. She kissed a few of the women on the cheek and greeted the men with hugs. Some of them did not speak English, and he was still more surprised to hear her address one of the women in halting Spanish. Sarah left him with the performers as she turned her attention to the refreshments.

  Long tables, set end-to-end, rimmed the edge of the ring and were covered with white paper decorated with a pattern of red poppies. Stacks of paper plates and napkins adorned with the same design filled one end of the table. Trays of cookies and cakes under clear plastic hoods were spread at the opposite end. Whiting recognized the pink boxes of the hospital bakery in the paper bags beneath the table. Three silver coffee urns stood near the cookies. Sarah adjusted the small signs that hung from metal chains and displayed the contents of each urn. She placed paper cups decorated to match the napkins and plates in short stacks before each one.

  Two young men, their arm muscles twisting like heavy rope, entered the ring with mincing steps. They carried a galvanized tub filled with ice and cans of soft drinks. Sarah showed them where to place it, then stooped to turn the cans sideways for easy identification. Whiting could not stop watching her. He had attended many special events at St. Theresa’s and had come to expect attention to detail, but he could not escape the idea that this one was different. It wasn’t just that it involved a circus; it was that the circus seemed to have transformed Sarah.

  He thought back to their interactions during the last few weeks. Even during their phone conversations, she had always seemed happy, on the verge of laughter. It was as though they were not speaking of work, but something that she found personal and delightful. The pleasure on her face was unmistakable as she made last minute adjustments to the overall effect.

  More performers entered the tent and stood among the metal benches above the ring. The children huddled together a few feet away and wordlessly took in the scene. The nuns, in their cream-colored tunics and black veils, sat as a group on wooden folding chairs just beyond the sawdust.

  Soon the footfalls on the metal bleachers stopped their hollow echoes. No one else entered the tent. The guests fell silent. Whiting thought they should begin the blessing and cast Sarah a questioning look. She crossed the ring, leaned toward him and whispered.

  “It’ll just be a few more minutes.” She scanned the tent. Although he did not know what she was looking for, Whiting searched as well. He passed his prayer book from hand to hand. The waiting was growing awkward. Someone among the board members cleared his throat.

  Like a sentry, Whiting was first aware of movement, then caught the shape of someone entering the ring. A lone man, compact and muscular, came from the rear of the tent and stood apart from the others, near the back. His straight black hair nearly touched his shoulders. He wore a white blouse with full sleeves and black leather pants fitted close to his legs. Instead of shoes, he wore slippers, like those of a ballet dancer. Something about the man struck Whiting as familiar, although he was sure he’d never seen him before. He looked back at Sarah. She mot
ioned to him that he should begin the blessing. Whiting walked to the center of the ring.

  “Will everyone please join me?” His first words were barely audible; he cleared his throat and extended his arms. “Will everyone please come to the center of the ring? I think it would be very fitting if we conduct the blessing here.”

  People rose from their seats and crossed the low wall that separated the ring from the audience. The young men who carried the tub for Sarah took the wheelchairs of the oldest sisters and lowered them down the steps at the edge of the stands. The younger nuns then pushed the sisters’ chairs toward the center.

  “Let’s form a circle here together,” Whiting said.

  Once everyone settled in place, he took a few moments to look at each of them, then smiled and murmured his approval, “Let’s begin then.” He rolled onto the balls of his feet and took a deep breath.

  “I am Father Samuel Whiting. And I am honored to be here with you to conduct the blessing this morning. First, let’s focus on our friends and guests, the Little Flower Circus. I have served in the Pastoral Care Department of St. Theresa’s for a number of years now, and although I have found my work to be both enriching and challenging, I think it has never been quite so surprising as it is today.” Laughter rippled through the group.

  “Some of you gathered here today work in the circus. Others know the circus only as members of an audience. No matter where we started from, no matter our life’s journey thus far, we have found our way to this shared experience today. And this, I believe, is another of the many blessings given to us by our Heavenly Father.

  “If you were fortunate enough to experience the circus when you were a child, take a moment and think back to the joy and wonder it brought to your life: the anticipation of waiting for the circus to arrive, the skill of the performers, the pageantry, the costumes, and of course, the animals. As adults, we have the opportunity to experience this wonder once again…if we will allow it…if we will open our hearts and minds to the blessings within our midst.”

  “And so we come together today to give thanks to the Lord our God and to ask His blessing,” Whiting met Sarah’s eyes from across the circle.

  “Please bow your heads.”

  Eyes closed, he continued, “Heavenly Father, we stand before You today to ask Your blessing on the Little Flower Circus, its performers and those who take care of them. Let us remember that tents must go up, go down, and move from place to place, and that the animals are performers and workers also. We acknowledge their healing ministry and we ask Your guidance for its continuation. Help these performers come together in Your name to serve with integrity and faith. Be with them, dear God, as they inspire the laughter of children and help the old, and the old in spirit, to experience joy and innocence once again. Keep these performers safe in all that they do. Guard them and guide them and grant them peace.”

  Whiting raised his head and opened his eyes. “The animals should join us now.”

  Four of the performers left the circle and exited the tent. As he waited, he took in the circle and noticed that the eyes of the oldest of the nuns were still closed. How many prayers have they heard or uttered during their lifetimes? Do the words still matter? Or have their prayers become only rote?

  He turned his attention to the circus people. Even though they stood quietly, he thought he could detect something just beneath the surface—a current of energy running through them, something foreign and mysterious. Their children, too, seemed exotic. He thought of the gypsy children he’d seen in Rome. They didn’t just follow the tourists to beg for money. They were more aggressive, even predatory, like the ones he saw covering their arms with newspapers as they removed wallets from oblivious tourists. Whiting took in the faces of the children before him and wondered whether he saw any of those same tendencies in them. One girl in particular caught his attention. How old is she? Ten? Twelve? She had dark skin and wore her long black hair in ringlets that were so shiny they looked shellacked. Her almond-shaped eyes glinted with mischief—hazel, almost golden against her brown face. She stood beside two slight, narrow-shouldered boys. How will their bodies ever transform into the physiques of the circus men? The older children were heavier, with pronounced muscles. Two of the girls were even stocky. Theirs were not the lithe dancers’ bodies of their companions; their muscles were larger, more compact, like mooring ropes for small boats.

  The guests broke into spontaneous applause as handlers led animals—washed, brushed, and decorated with ribbons and flowers—into the tent. Millefleurs, the circus’s only elephant, led the procession, wearing a headpiece of tea roses, baby’s breath, and crimson ribbons. Full-sized and miniature horses followed. Then came three chimpanzees, a monkey, and dogs of varying sizes. A goat, llamas, and a pot-bellied pig came next. Each animal wore a satin bow around its neck. Two peacocks entered in line, then wandered across the ring to the murmured delight of the guests. Two men carried an elaborate perch between them—held high and filled with brightly colored birds. Next, a woman entered carrying a great snake wrapped around her shoulders and torso. A gray haired man with a ponytail—Whiting recognized him from his first day at the motherhouse—brought up the rear. A large gray parrot was perched on the man’s left shoulder; he walked handin-hand with an orangutan that carried a bouquet. The handlers led the animals once around the ring, and then lined them up before the priest. Whiting smiled broadly as he took in the scene.

  “Those of you who wish to are encouraged to respond to these prayers.” He opened his prayer book. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He crossed himself as he spoke.

  The sisters made the sign of the cross in unison and answered, “Amen.”

  “May God, our all-merciful Father, be with you all.”

  “And also with you,” the guests responded. Whiting opened his arms wide.

  “God, the Almighty Creator, brought forth the earth in all its beauty and diversity. He created the unfathomable universe and everything it contains, and He confers His boundless love on all His creatures. Heavenly Father, thank You for these gifts and for the mercy and love You show in all Your creations. Your love is beyond measure, and without it we are lost. And so we turn to you now, dear Father, to ask for Your blessing,” Whiting raised his right hand over the animals.

  “Heavenly Father, please bless the animals of the Little Flower Circus. May they serve the circus as You intended. And may they know only care and kindness all the days of their lives.

  “Merciful God in heaven, hear our prayer, and give our prayer a hearing. Glorious Virgin Mary, intercede for us. Saint Francis, patron saint of animals, pray for us. Saint Julian, patron saint of circus performers, pray for us. Saint Hubert, patron of animals in sport, pray for us. We ask this in the name of Your Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with You, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, now and forever.”

  “Amen,” came the response. Whiting paused briefly and looked up. He met Sarah’s eyes and smiled.

  “A reading from the Book of Genesis.”

  “Thanks be to God,” answered the others.

  “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, God said, ‘Let the waters abound with life, and above the earth, let winged creatures fly below the firmament of the heavens.’ And so it was: God created the great sea monsters, all kinds of living, swimming creatures with which the waters abound, and all kinds of winged birds. God saw that it was good, and God blessed them, saying, ‘Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the waters of the seas, and let the birds multiply on the earth.’ And there was evening and morning, the fifth day.”

  One of the ponies pawed the ground and snorted. A chicken darted from an unseen upset. A few of the guests opened their eyes and smiled.

  “Then God said, ‘Let the earth bring forth all kinds of living creatures: cattle, crawling creatures, and wild animals.’ And so it was: God made all kinds of wild beasts, every kind of cattle, and every kind of creature crawling on
the ground. And God saw that it was good. Then God said, ‘Let us make mankind in Our image and likeness, and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, the cattle, over all the wild animals, and every creature that crawls on the earth.” Whiting walked over to the animals and made the sign of the cross in the air above them.

  “Dear God, bless these animals that you have created. Keep them safe from harm. May they serve faithfully, and may they bring comfort and joy to all who see them perform.” He opened his vial of holy water, then turned and addressed the people in the ring.

  “Today when I was leaving to come here, I noticed the row of yew bushes planted outside the medical center. And I broke off a sprig to bring with me. In the Bible, the yew is significant because it was this bush that burned and was not consumed. It was from the yew that God spoke to Moses. Thus, the yew represents our deliverance at the hands of God. I bring it to you today that God may extend His blessings on this circus and all associated with it.” Whiting sprinkled the sprig with holy water and blessed the animals, the performers, the guests, and the ring itself. He faced each direction, representing the four corners of the earth. When he had emptied the vial completely, he returned to his place and offered his final prayer.

  “May God, who is wonderful in all His works, continue to protect and sustain us with the grace of His blessing, now and forever.” He again made the sign of the cross. “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said the others.

  Whiting raised his head. “Thank you.” The group applauded.

  Sarah stepped forward. “And now, we have an hour to mingle and enjoy each other’s company.” She extended her arm in the direction of the dessert table. The guests—many of them engaged in lively conversation—followed. Whiting stood alone, twisting the yew sprig in his fingers, and watched Sarah slice bundt cake and brownies.

  A small white sack and a copy of the St. Louis Daily Telegraph were waiting on Whiting’s desk on Thursday morning. Sarah had attached a yellow sticky note to the sack: