Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
As she stood alone on the prairie, Suzette’s intuition would not be ignored. Watching Black Lion ride away, she knew she couldn’t stay here. She was needed there, with him. Somehow, in some way, she had to be there.
Since access to a horse was all but impossible, she picked up the edge of her skirt and stepped quickly toward the show.
Smoke filled the already cloudy and gray sky. It pervaded her lungs, and she could only imagine what those souls breathing the filth of it down there were feeling, they being likely to choke. Voices, screams, shouts echoed through the air, and the urgency filling the heavens prompted her to hurry.
In the distance, a rider broke free from the complex, and even as she watched, he was speeding toward her. Was it Black Lion, who had come back for her? Did he realize he needed her after all?
Her spirits rose.
As the rider sped in closer to view, she discovered it was not Black Lion.
A man pulled in rein as he drew near her. “I am Two Bears. Your husband has asked me to see to you and defend you if necessary.”
She nodded. “Good. Could you give me a ride? I need to be down there.”
Two Bears appeared doubtful. “I do not believe my friend asked me to bring you to him.”
“And yet I must go there. If you will not take me, then I’ll go on my own.”
He looked uncertain and hesitated. She said, “He would have taken me with him had he not needed to rush.”
At last Two Bears nodded. “Hau. Waste. I will do it. Come closer.”
She did so, and Two Bears, reaching down, brought her up behind him onto the pony.
“What is happening down there?” she asked, as they set out over the prairie. “I have heard screams and shouting, I can see the fires, and there is so much smoke in the air.”
“It is the Thunderer, my kola’s enemy. He has come here in the flesh, and he is angry. He tried to kill me. My friend, your husband, saved me. But this is all I know with certainty. Your husband, my kola, asked me to ride out to you and to take care of you.”
“Yes.” She bobbed her head.
It seemed to take forever to get there, and when they did at last arrive, the air was so heavy with debris and smoke it was hard to see, let alone breathe and know what to do.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“He is in the arena with the Thunderer.”
“Please take me there, quickly.”
Two Bears did as asked, and, heading through the entrance, he delivered her into the arena. As he helped her down from the horse, he said, “You should know that Rabbit Leggings is my wife. She is not married to your husband.”
Suzette smiled at the man. “I know.”
And that’s when she saw him. Her stomach turned and twisted, and she grabbed hold of her belly as though in protection. Could this be true? Were her eyes really seeing her husband engaged in a struggle with a man who appeared to be a god? She pinched herself.
Indeed, she was awake.
Had her husband lost his mind?
She had to do something, but what? The men slashed out at each other, both waving knives. If she did nothing, she would lose Black Lion.
“No!” she cried out. Unfortunately, it was the exact wrong thing to do.
Black Lion hesitated. It gave the Thunderer the chance he had been waiting for. As though looking at a play in slow motion, Suzette watched in horror as the Thunderer plunged his knife deeply into Black Lion’s body.
“No!” she cried again. “No!”
But Black Lion wasn’t dead. He sat up, desperately motioning for her to run away, but the Thunderer knocked him down again and drew back his arm, lifting his knife high into the air. He was ready to strike.
She had to do something to help, but what?
That’s when she knew what she was perhaps destined to do.
Without thinking further, she began to sing, shyly, tentatively at first, treading ever so slowly forward toward the two enemies.
“O mio babbino caro,
mi piace è bello, bello;
vo’andare in Porta Rossa
a comperar l’anello!
Sì, sì, ci voglio andare!
e se l’amassi indarno,
andrei sul Ponte Vecchio,
ma per buttarmi in Arno!
Mi struggo e mi tormento!
O Dio, vorrei, morir!”
It was a well-known aria, written by the composer Puccini.
In the opera, a rich man’s daughter pleads with her father to allow her to marry the man of her choice.
Though Suzette doubted this was the song her husband sought, what difference did it make?
At least her actions were having an effect, for the Thunderer had stopped and was listening to her, though he still held the knife high in the air.
So she continued to sing in the six-eight time of the aria:
“O mio babbino caro,
mi piace è bello, bello;
vo’andare in Porta Rossa
a comperar l’anello!
Sì, sì, ci voglio andare!
e se l’amassi indarno,
andrei sul Ponte Vecchio,
ma per buttarmi in Arno!
Mi struggo e mi tormento!
O Dio, vorrei, morir!”
Somewhere amid the song, another voice had started to harmonize along with hers.
Could it be? Yes, it was Irena. Irena was here, raising her voice along with Suzette, as though to give Suzette confidence.
Glancing quickly behind her, Suzette met her grandmother’s gaze, and, for a moment, her spirits lifted.
Looking forward again, Suzette saw the two men were no longer fighting; indeed, they looked as though they were both held in suspension.
The aria had only the one verse, and she began to repeat it, only this time Cody’s Wild West band had arranged themselves back in the arena.
Though slow to start, they began to play along with her.
Stepping right up to the two men, Suzette came down onto her knees beside Black Lion.
He was bleeding from the hip, but he sat up in recognition of her.
So she sang, the pleading in the song perfect, for it fit the pleading in her heart:
“O mio babbino care,
mi piace è bello, bello;
vo andare in Porta Rossa
a comperar l’anello!
Sì, sì, ci voglio andare!
e se l’amassi indarno,
andrei sul Ponte Vecchio,
ma per buttarmi in Arno!
Mi struggo e mi tormento!
O Dio, vorrei, morir!”
Midway through the song, another voice joined hers. It was low, it was male. Black Lion sang every word along with her as though he had been born Italian.
She touched Black Lion’s face, running her fingers slowly down his cheek to his breast. It was the only way she knew to demonstrate her love for him. How she loved this man, and if it were destined that she were to lose him, she would have him know of her devotion.
Glancing up at the Thunderer, she saw the hatred still etched within his gaze. But still, he did nothing, and it gave her hope. With full accompaniment now, she sang the song once again:
“O mio babbino caro,
mi piace è bello, bello;
vo’andare in Porta Rossa
a comperar l’anello!
Sì, sì, ci voglio andare!
e se l’amassi indarno,
andrei sul Ponte Vecchio,
ma per buttarmi in Arno!
Mi struggo e mi tormento!
O Dio, vorrei, morir!”
Suzette stumbled toward the god, falling to her knees and grabbing hold of his hand. Placing her face against his hand, she sang out the song’s last refrain, pleading:
“Babbo, pietà, pietà!” Daddy, have pity, have pity! “Babbo, pietà, pietà!” Daddy, have pity, have pity!
The music ended. Suzette by this time was unable to hold back the tears, and not another sound could be heard within the arena.
The Thunderer’s arm, which had been holding the knife, came down, as though now that the music had stopped, he was at liberty to kill her. It was obvious he would do it.
“No!” cried Black Lion, throwing himself in front of his wife. “No! She is with child.”
It was difficult to know what went through the Thunderer’s mind. But as he gazed first at one of them, and then at the other, his features changed. He glanced at her stomach, then into her eyes. As she stared back at him, she watched as the hatred seemed to drift away.
His arm dropped to hang limply at his side, and shaking his head so very slightly, the Thunderer let the knife fall to the ground.
He said in his booming voice, “Go! Both of you! I grant him his life. I grant you life. And I will not do to you as has been done to me. I will not kill your child. Go!”
Suzette gasped aloud, and sitting back, she at last let the tears fall freely.
The spectacle wasn’t over. The clouds above them parted, and a single beam of light fell directly into the arena.
Within that light were four figures, all of them half bird, half human.
Suzette didn’t need to be told it was the Thunderer’s children.
Moreover, they were laughing and singing as though all these thousands of years had never happened.
“Father!” they cried out one after another. “Father!”
Suzette, gazing up into the Thunderer’s face, thought she had never seen a man more on the verge of tears.
He called out, “My children! You are alive! You are alive!”
It was then, at this very moment, that the impossible happened: The Thunderer did, indeed, cry.
Meanwhile, the audience, who had witnessed the entire affair, at last came alive, as though they, too, had been held in suspended animation. Amid the bravos and the applause, as though this had been a performance like none other, they came to their feet in a standing ovation.
But there was to be no repeat performance this day. Instead, a better, a more proper and a kinder ending of the Wild West Show happened this day. Because of a song and a child, a great thousand year old hatred and curse was gone from the world.
Perhaps, it is true. Perhaps music, indeed, can show the beauty of the soul.