Entwined Page 11

  “If there’s no one else…” Ruda said, obviously put out.

  “Thank you. Thank you for your time, I may have to question you again. Oh yes, one more thing, the tattoo. Kellerman had a tattoo on his left arm, could you tell me what it was like?”

  Grimaldi laughed. “Probably gave the size of his prick, he was so proud of it. Don’t look at me, I never let the creep within two feet of me. Ask her, she was—as you so rightly say—married to him!”

  Ruda looked to the thick carpet, her stocking feet digging into the pile. “A tattoo? He might have had it done in prison, he didn’t have one when I knew him.”

  Torsen shook their hands again, and again felt how strong her grip was. “Maybe he was looking for work, ask at the main administration office,” Ruda suggested.

  Torsen smiled his thanks, and just as he opened the door, Grimaldi asked how Kellerman had been murdered. Torsen dragged on his raincoat. “Some kind of hammer, multiple blows to his head.”

  Grimaldi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ah well! Poor little sod had it coming to him.”

  Torsen said tersely that no one had to be subjected to such a horrifying death. He then smiled coldly at Ruda, and asked if she would accompany them when he was finished taking statements from the rest of the people he needed to speak to.

  Ruda was tight-lipped, asking how long it would take—with the show due to open shortly she had very little time.

  Torsen said he would be through as fast as he could, perhaps in two hours, if it was convenient. He did not wait for a reply.

  When the officers left, Grimaldi leaned back, then lifted his feet up to rest on the bunk seat. “Maybe he left some dough to you in his will!”

  “Yeah, the only thing he’s left is a nasty smell and a string of debts. He can get someone else to ID him, I’m not going.”

  “But you were his wife…”

  She swiped him with the towel. “You knew him, you identify him. It’ll give you something to do.”

  “Ah, but I didn’t know him as well as you, sweetheart, you can’t get out of that.”

  Ruda sat down, pushing his feet aside. “I can’t do it, Luis—don’t make me, don’t let them make me see him.”

  Grimaldi cocked his head to one side. “Why not, he’s dead. You telling me it’s affecting you? I thought you detested his guts.”

  “I do, I did, but I don’t want to see him.”

  Grimaldi pinched her cheek. “You use his name, sweetheart! Serves you right!”

  Ruda swung out at him, this time with the flat of her hand. She hit hard, and he gripped her wrist, shoving her roughly aside. “Give me one good reason why I should do anything for you.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Ruda punched him, and Grimaldi swung back, landing a hard, open-handed slap on her face. She kicked him, he slapped her again, and this time she didn’t fight back—her face twisted like a child’s and he drew her to him. “Okay okay…I’ll take you, I’ll go with you!”

  He began to smooth back her hair from her face, massage the throbbing scars at her temples. Her body felt strong as a man’s in his arms. For her to be vulnerable like this was rare. He held her closer.

  “Ruda, Ruda, why do we torment each other the way we do?”

  “Just be with me, Luis, just stay with me, I don’t want to go by myself,” she whispered.

  “Stay with you, huh? Until the next time you want something?”

  As soon as he said it he wished he hadn’t. Ruda backed away from him, her fists clenched. He threw up his hands in a gesture of impotence.

  “We have to get divorced, Ruda, you know it. I can’t live like this anymore, we’re at each other’s throats.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that, not now.”

  “Because of that shit Kellerman? Jesus Christ, Ruda, who gives a fuck if he’s alive or dead? What concerns me is us, we have to settle our future. I’m through Ruda, through standing around waiting to be at your beck and call.”

  “You can’t have the act!”

  Grimaldi clenched his hands. Like two fighters they faced each other.

  “Fine, you want it, then we arrange a financial settlement. Simple as that, Ruda.”

  He saw the way her face changed, the way her dark eyes stared at and through him. Her voice was as dark as her eyes.

  “Every penny I have earned has been put back into the act. You want out—then you go, take your stupid little whore. Take her and fuck off.”

  Grimaldi smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

  She went for him like a man, punching and kicking. Soon they were slugging each other. Crockery smashed, pictures crashed off the walls, and they fought until they both lay sprawled, panting, on the floor. She still punched him, blows that hurt like hell.

  “Take your clothes and get out! Without me you’d have nothing, without me you’d be a drunken bum!”

  She spat at him, and he staggered to his feet. He began to open the overhead lockers, throwing her belongings at her.

  “You take yours, you take your belongings and get out, go sleep with the animals, sleep with your precious angel! Sleep with any twisted, fucked-up thing that’ll have you.”

  Ruda kicked him so hard in the back of his legs that he slumped forward, hit his head on the side of the cupboard and fell backward. He lay half across the bunk, half on the floor and she was on top of him, spread-eagled across his body. For one second he thought she was going to bite him, she was snarling like a wild cat. He then rolled her and her head cracked against the floor. He bent his head closer to scream at her to stop. Suddenly he felt her body grow limp beneath him, and her arms wound around his neck as she drew him closer.

  They looked into each other’s faces, and moaned, in unison, chest to chest, breath to breath, their hearts thudding. The kiss was gentle, his lips softly brushing hers. She buried her head in the nape of his neck.

  They lay together on the floor of the wrecked trailer—their clothes and crockery around them. They lay together with broken glass and shattered pictures of the Great Grimaldi and the fearless Ruda Kellerman.

  When he spoke, his voice was filled with pain.

  “Let me go, Ruda. Because this is where it always ends. I want you now, you can feel I want you, but it has to end.”

  Her voice was muffled, a low half-plea, begging him to take her, to have her. She eased her hands down his body, began to unhook his belt. He leaned up, gently turning his face, forcing her to look at him.

  “Do you want me? Or is this…Ruda, look at me, look at me!”

  His big hand cupped her chin, forced her to face him. Her eyes were expressionless, hard, dangerous eyes. She couldn’t fake it. She had never been able to, she couldn’t even do it now when she needed him. Slowly she let her hands drop to her sides. She moved as if to turn over, to let him ease down her trousers, since she could not take him naturally, normally. Small slivers of glass cut into her cheeks, the pain excited her, but she felt no juices, nothing to prepare her body for sex, for his erection. She gritted her teeth, waiting.

  Grimaldi stood up, carefully avoiding the glass. He stepped over her, tightened his belt as his erection pressed against his pants. The hardness left by the time he walked into his room and quietly closed the door.

  Ruda lay in the debris. It had always been this way. They had always fought each other, and that part had always excited her, but she had never felt any sexual desire beyond the fight; sex pained and hurt her too much, hurt her insides like sharpened razors. She felt a tiny drop of blood roll down her cheek and she licked it, tasted it as though it were a tear. She hadn’t cried for a long time, too long even to remember.

  Ruda went into her room, closing the door as quietly as Grimaldi had shut his. She showered, feeling the hot needles pummel her, then gently began to soap herself. Her fingers massaged her shoulders, her arms, her heavy breasts, and then she began to lather her belly, her strong hands feeling each crude, jag
ged scar. She massaged and eased the foam down, until she reached between her legs. She ran her hands over the ridges of the scars, her hideous, thick, hard, rough skin—always a dark plum red, like a birthmark. She rinsed the soap with cold water, grabbed a towel, her hair dripping. She hadn’t heard him come in, but he was there, holding out the big white bath towel. Gently he wrapped her, as if she were a child, trapping her arms in the softness.

  He held her close. Her eyes were frightened, childlike, as if the animal in her had gone into hiding; there was no longer any ferocity. He guided her toward the bed and sat her down.

  She sat with her head bowed, her hair dripping, covering her face. Luis reached for a small hand towel and began to dry her hair.

  “I’ll go to the morgue, no need for you to do it, I’ll go if they need someone.”

  She nodded her head.

  “Ruda, look at me. I need someone. I’m not talking about getting my rocks off, I’m talking about needing—I need, you know? As it is now, I feel like half a man, and watching out for you every show isn’t enough. It can’t go on. This is my last chance. I’m old, maybe Tina can give me a few more good years, give me back my balls. I don’t want to fight with you anymore, I can’t fight you anymore. I will need to be able to keep Tina and the baby when it comes, so we have to work out an agreement, one we can both live with. I know how much money you’ve put in, I know how you’ve kept us going, I know, Ruda, but I can’t go on like this.”

  He rubbed her head gently, knowing the burn scars at her temples should not be irritated by the rough towel. He was careful, showing more tenderness than he had in years.

  There was a tap on the trailer door; it was the inspector asking if Mrs. Kellerman could accompany him to the morgue. Ruda could hear Grimaldi asking if he would be acceptable, and she heard the inspector saying that Mrs. Kellerman would be preferable.

  Grimaldi’s voice grew a little louder as he said he also knew Tommy Kellerman. Then there were whispered voices, and the trailer door shut.

  Grimaldi called out that she had better get dressed, they needed her but he would accompany her. She began to dress very carefully, choosing a dress, high-heeled shoes, and for the first time in many years, she applied makeup other than her stage makeup. She took her time, a soft voice inside her whispering to stay calm, take things one at a time, she would deal with Luis when the time was right.

  Grimaldi had a quick shave and stared at his reflection, uneasy over the exchange with his wife. He had felt such compassion for her, it confused him, she confused him, but then she always had. He rinsed his face and sat for a moment, remembering Florida, shortly after they were married. Ruda had wanted a child so badly, he knew how she must feel now with the Tina situation. He understood, but what could he do? It was not his fault.

  Luis had held her when she told him, he had wrapped her in his arms when she came out of the doctor’s, but she had pushed him away. He had so much love for her then that he hadn’t been angry, just saddened by her rejection. He knew she was fighting to keep control the way she knew how—head up, jaw out. She didn’t cry, he had rarely seen her crying. Somehow, her attempt to speak matter-of-factly, as if she were not affected, was very touching.

  “I can’t have a child, artificially or any other way, so that is that!”

  She had put her coat on and walked out of the doctor’s. He had paused a moment, digesting the news, before following her to the car. They had driven back to their winter quarters in silence, Ruda staring ahead, giving him instructions as she always did—Luis was never good at directions, and their quarters were far from the center of the city. But he would never forget that journey, the Florida heat and her quiet calm voice, flatly telling him to go right, then left…

  Ruda had become deeply depressed; nothing he said or attempted to do seemed to distract her. It was then that he asked her to participate in the act; until now she had simply helped the boys muck out and clean the cages. He had not contemplated that she work in the ring with him, he had suggested it now only to give her something to think about. He began to train her, and to his relief her depression lifted, the dark sadness dispersed, but their relationship deteriorated. Ever since the visit to the specialist, she shrank from him whenever he touched her. He let it go, hoping that in time she would come back to his bed.

  The animals, his cats, had brought out a side of her that at first impressed him: She worked tirelessly, fearlessly. No matter how he reprimanded and warned her, she continued to take foolish risks. She almost dared the cats to attack her, dared them to maul her.

  Luis was a good trainer, and a respected performer, a man brought up around big cats. It was he who told her that she must love and nurture the animals. Nothing would be gained from threats or impatience. Everything took time, but above all it was the caring, the loving which would bring results. At first, she refused to heed his advice, and they’d had violent arguments, but he kept on warning her that unless she listened, showed respect for him and for the cats, she would never learn. He told her she was not to tame the animals, but to train them: There was a vast difference.

  Patiently, Luis gave her his time. And when she saw results, she began to smile again. Her wonderful laugh returned. But she did not come back to his bed. When he took a mistress, one of the stable girls at the winter quarters, she had said nothing, and so the pattern began then, all those many years ago.

  And then Ruda bought Mamon, and their relationship took a terrible turn. They had been looking at cats and they had seen and rejected many. Luis was exceptionally intuitive, he had been taught by his father to be very selective, often turning down ten or twelve before he found an animal he felt would work well. One look and he could tell the young lion was trouble: Mamon had been in too many homes, too many circuses, had moved too many times. His previous history would have given any trainer a clue to his temperament, but Ruda did not want to listen, even when Luis refused to pay for him.

  A week later Luis had gone to inspect four Bengal tigers. These were four cats he was quick to buy, because he trusted the owner, and liked the act they had already been worked into. He bought them on a handshake. Then he had returned to discuss the purchase with Ruda.

  During Luis’s absence Ruda had made the decision to buy Mamon. He had been furious, but she had shouted that Mamon was not Luis’s but hers, and she would train him, with or without his help. It had been her money, and Mamon was hers. The argument had grown into a fistfight, but in the end he had given way. When she had said that Mamon was her baby, he had walked away, walked into the arms of…As he sat trying to recall her name, he suddenly realized that Ruda was calling him. She banged on his door, shouting that she was ready, and that the Polizei were waiting.

  Luis looked for a clean shirt and began to dress. Luis had never told Ruda that he had gone back to the gynecologist. He wanted to hear the diagnosis firsthand, since she had refused to discuss it. He wanted to know if they should seek a second opinion. He had cared that much then.

  The doctor had refused to discuss his patient with Grimaldi, even though he was her husband. Ruda had asked him not to. Simply he stated that there was no hope of his wife ever being able to conceive.

  Grimaldi had accepted the gynecologist’s word, and yet sensed that he had not been told the entire truth. When he tried to push for further details, the doctor, without meeting Grimaldi’s eyes, said quietly, “Your wife cannot have normal sexual intercourse, and even if insemination were to take place, she could not carry a child. I am sorry.”

  Though the gynecologist would not discuss his patient’s condition with her husband, he had shared her X rays and tests with two colleagues. He did not identify her by name, he simply showed them the appalling X rays and photographs of her genital area. All her organs had been removed, as if her womb had been torn from her belly. The internal scar tissues were even worse than her external scars. Nothing could be done. The entire genital area had been burnt by what the surgeon felt was possibly an
early form of chemotherapy.

  The colleagues listened in appalled silence. The clitoris had been severed, and the vagina was closed. The crudeness of the stitches and the scar tissue formation had left no opening. The only possible form of intercourse was anal; her urinary tract had been operated on to enable her to pass liquid, and a plastic tube inserted when the infected tract had festered. The anal area was large, denoting that sexual practice had obviously occurred on a regular basis over a period of years, stretching the colon. ■

  The three men examined the X rays. What they had on their screen was a shell of a woman. She had been stripped of her female organs. This was all the more horrible because the butchery had been performed when she was a small child.

  The three doctors commented on the resilience of the human body, but did not talk about the patient’s present state of mind. They couldn’t. Ruda Grimaldi had refused to discuss what had led to her condition, and she never returned to the gynecologist.

  Grimaldi knew something of Ruda’s past, but she would never tell him her full story. Only Kellerman had known more. Ruda had told Grimaldi the first night she had met him that she couldn’t have straight sex. She had told him in her stubborn way: head up, jaw stuck out.

  Grimaldi combed his hair. It was strange to think of it now. He hadn’t cared, he had no thought of marrying her then. That had come many years later.

  He slipped his jacket on, brushing the shoulders with his hands. He had married her, but not out of pity. Ruda hated pity. Grimaldi had married her because by the time she had come back into his life, he was in desperate need of someone. He had been slipping, drinking too much, and his act was falling apart.

  He sighed, knowing he was lying to himself. For reasons he couldn’t understand, he had married her because he had loved her, and he had believed she loved him. Only many years later did he realize that Ruda loved no one, not even herself. No, that was wrong: She loved her angel, she loved Mamon.

  By the time he was dressed and ready to leave the trailer, Grimaldi had made a decision. He had to leave Ruda, but to fight her, making ridiculous demands, wouldn’t work; he had to make it a fair split. He determined that after the Kellerman business was sorted out, he would discuss it calmly and realistically with her, and this time he would not back down.