Time was generous and cruel to my great-uncle Nathan. Though granting him 97 years of life, in his last days it robbed him of many memories. I was one of them. But each year, when the circus comes to town, I remember Uncle Nathan. I always will.
Uncle Nathan had been a farmer. His only companions as he grew older in rural Iowa were the ghosts in his faded photographs, yellowed newspapers and crumbling scrapbooks. Rusty, his faithful dog, and the water-pump snakes were the only exceptions.
The year I turned 10, Uncle Nathan’s health declined. One night, the phone rang late. “How bad is he?” Mother asked.
Cousin Bessie, Uncle Nathan’s niece, explained. She had found Uncle Nathan unconscious on the back porch steps. Rusty stood guard for hours, keeping the water-pump snakes at bay. But he couldn’t stop the gangrene that traveled rapidly up Uncle Nathan’s leg.
“We’ll come on Friday,” Mother said, hanging up the phone.
Keeping a promise to me, Cousin Bessie greeted us with circus tickets in hand. After the performance, we would stop and see Uncle Nathan.
Casting a disapproving look at my slacks, she said, “The old uncle doesn’t take to women and girls wearin’ trousers.”
So I changed for Uncle Nathan. I hated him for that. Even the excitement of the circus didn’t change my mood. Spangled costumes glittered above my head, exotic beasts roared in the ring below, clowns did all they could to make me laugh. But I felt part of the spectacle-the only girl at the circus in a ruffled dress and patent leather shoes.
It was early evening when we pulled into the nursing home parking lot. Inside, silent, nodding people smiled at me. It frightened me. Burying my face in Mother’s coat, I floated down the hallway in darkness. Hearing the blare of a television, I raised my head.
“More pictures on this evening’s news at 6 o’clock.” said the news anchor. “Isn’t that amazing, Uncle Nathan? They’ve landed on the moon!” screeched Cousin Bessie.
“Hmmmm! It’s all a lie! I want to see the fights! Turn the channel to the fights!” demanded Uncle Nathan. Cousin Bessie did as she was told. Mother and I stood near the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Uncle Nathan saw us. “Well, who are you?” he bellowed.
“I’m Bob’s girl. You know, your brother, Bob?” Mother answered, meekly.
“Hmmm. Well, who’s that?” he asked, pointing a finger at me.
“That’s my daughter. Your brother’s granddaughter,” she replied.
“Bob’s granddaughter, huh? Come here, kid,” he ordered.
I hesitated, but Mother gently pushed me forward.
He struggled to focus on me. Creeping closer I saw his clouded eyes. His large hands, heavy with age and arthritis, lay at his side. His face, cracked from years of wind-whipped abuse, dissolved into his pillow. Propped atop starched white sheets were the angry green toes and leg. Realizing how fragile he was, I lost my fear.
“Well, what have you been up to, kid?” he asked, gruffly.
“I went to the circus.” I answered quietly.
“The circus? I went to the circus once,” he replied, with a faraway look.
“You did?” I asked with surprise.
“Yep. Father took me and Bob. It was a big one. There were buffaloes, horses and . . . Injuns!” he said. I listened closely as he continued.
“I was about your size, 8 or 9, I think. Annie Oakley and Wild Bill came ridin’ in, shootin’ and hollerin’. Boy, that girl could ride. Boy, she could ride,” he rattled on, grinning with delight, telling me all about it.
Cousin Bessie interrupted. “We have to go now, Uncle Nathan. You want the fights on?” she asked.
“The fights? Aren’t we going to the circus, Mother? Where’s Father and Bob, Mother?” Uncle Nathan asked, confused and dissappointed.
“That was last week, Nathan. Bob and Father were there. Remember?” Cousin Bessie replied, smoothing his hair gently.
He glared at the three of us. Then, looking directly into my eyes, Uncle Nathan replied, “Of course, Mother. I remember.”
So do I, Uncle Nathan. So do I.
