Margot Lescaut Prose

A Clown

I am an invisible man. People like me are called unlucky ones. Though I can’t say that my destiny betrayed me because I don’t recall anything from my life to consider it being unlucky. I don’t recall anything special either to call it luck. The luck would never even notice me.

Maybe I have it from my birth. My mother heard about her pregnancy when she was five months pregnant… the rest of four months I did not disturb her with my existence. And the birth was so sudden she even couldn’t make it to maternity. I was born at home.

‘’He is such a quite and calm child, it’s hard to notice him’’

And so I was growing up. No one could even know if I existed.

I was so used to my non-existence that I constantly tried to stay out of sight.  I started playing with my toys when my siblings left the room.

We used to have a large room in an attic for playing. You could see all kinds of things in the room. Starting with toys and finishing with the old stuff. The stuff that my parents didn’t need anymore and  the stuff that they couldn’t get of either.

One corner of the room was occupied by old and neglected things.

The second corner was my sister’s. She had dolls and rubber toys on her shelf. Pencils and drawing papers were on the nearby desk.

The third corner was my brother’s.  He kept a tricycle, a chest filled with beautiful pebbles and stones, colored ping pong balls and different size footballs.

The fourth corner was my elder brother’s property.  He made curved wooden toys and stored them there.

The wooden clown was my favorite. I remember my brother took a long time to curve and paint that toy. He was very proud of his art piece. He separated the clown from the other toys. It was sat in the most honorable place, on the top shelf. That clown could overlook the whole attic and other toys. I was among the other stuff in the clown's field of vision. I would stare at him and make up different stories about his friends and mine.

I had a desire to hold the clown sometimes and to take him to the backyard. Then to have dinner together and go to bed together. There were so many things I wanted to share with him! Bedtime stories. But I knew my dream would never be true. First of all, I was so short that I couldn’t reach the top shelf. Secondly, my brother would take so much care of his clown that he would never let anyone touch it - not even my siblings.

I didn’t have my own space in the attic, so I used to play with my brother’s colored ping pong balls, and sometimes I would swing on my sister’s horse, or I would entertain myself with my brothers wooden soldiers. My clown was the last pleasure. I would put a stool in the middle of the room. I would sit there, staring at him, and then we both would start travelling together. We would chase grasshoppers in the valley. We would spy on frogs by the pond and throw stones at them. We would steal fruit from the trees, sneak into the shed and eat. That stolen fruit was so delicious!

Who knows how many times we travelled to the moon with a flying carpet? How many times we saved the princess from the evil witch, how many heroic things we did together. Only when I heard grandma’s footsteps approaching on the stairs, did I remember it was bedtime. I had to follow her.

Mother rarely was at home. She worked at the Laundromat and very often had night shifts. Granny would always take me to bed but she never lied in my bed with me. She drew back the covers for me, undressed me, put me in the bed, folded the blanket, put out the lights and left the room.

Once, it happened so that my dad accidentally left the ladder in the attic. The roof was leaking, so he dragged the ladder from the yard to fix the roof.

I recklessly rushed to the ladder and dragged it from one of the corners with great difficulty. I put the ladder against my clown’s shelf and climbed up. My dreams of reaching the clown were nearly fulfilled, but the ladder slipped away and I dropped on the floor with the shelf.

…Hooray! For  the first time in my life, everybody noticed me.

I broke my arm but I didn’t care too much about it. I felt so sorry for my clown. I just glanced at him once. His body parts were scattered on the floor.

There was a punishment for me. A week restriction- no visits to the attic! My punishment became severe when Mizzles attacked me. Three weeks passed and I didn’t have any ideas about what happened to my clown.

My birthday was coming… I didn’t like that day because my mom and dad were never at  home. I was constantly waiting. Not for some miracles to happen, but for something new and exciting at least. But that day also would pass like the other days. That is, as long as I didn't count that holiday pie, which my granny used to make.

And there was birthday morning. I smelled a freshly baked pie in bed but I was too lazy to open my eyes. Then, all of sudden, I remembered that they had promised me to let me go to the attic. I jumped out of bed immediately, got dressed and rushed upstairs. I was so excited that I even didn’t look at the breakfast table.

I saw a wooden stool in the middle of the attic. A box was on it with a golden ribbon. With bated breath I rushed over and opened the box....

I didn’t believe in my eyes – there was my favourite clown in the box with a birthday card!

I can’t recall if I had ever experienced that kind of emotion in my life. I can’t even call it joy. I think I didn’t have a name for it because that emotion completely overly captured me.

The broken head of the clown was fastened to its body, and the neck was wrapped with a tiny hand knitted scarf to hide the scar. My sister made that special scarf and my brother fixed the clown.

I don’t remember how long I had my clown hugged closely against my chest. Then granny came up and took me to have breakfast. Everybody was at home, my mom and even dad. Everybody was sitting around the table. The birthday pie was cut into pieces.

I don’t recall if I had ever experienced that kind of joy in my life. I have never been that happy before or since.

Then my mom died. She got sick in the laundry mat and pneumonia killed her. Then there was my elder brother’s death. He suffered from a strep throat infection and he died despite the doctors attempts to save him. 

Two years later my dad went away to war. He never came back. My granny became so weak from the disaster that she also passed away. Our relatives sold everything that we had and they took us with them to live.

The only thing I took from my house was the clown. The clown and a pair of clothes were tied up together in a sack. That clown was the sweetest memories from my past.

I was taken to the town of my aunt and uncle.

They had a beautiful house. My uncle was a banker and he was a respected man in the whole town, I never saw him smiling. It seemed like a smiling face was regarded as a shame for a respectable person. His reputation would be badly affected if he ever smiled. He didn’t treat me either badly or kindly. In fact, I didn’t exist for my uncle. My aunt was also very busy with her errands. Very often the days passed so that no one would even talk to me. Though I always had my devoted listener, my clown. I never spent even one day without him.

Once I went to the bathroom to take a bath and I left my clown on the bed. When I returned, the clown wasn’t there any more. I wen to my aunt and frantically asked her where my clown was. She told me that she bought new clothes for me and she ordered the maid to get rid of my old clothes. She added that the maid probably threw my clown away also. I was running down the stairs when I heard her last words. I rushed to the garbage can.  The clown was wrapped in my old clothes and was sitting there. I took him, hugged him, and locked myself in my room.

I left the house the next morning…

I travelled around to so many places and met with so many people in order to find shelter. Meanwhile, I was already turning sixteen when I came across the travelling circus and became a member of it. At first, they gave me some odd jobs to do. I was working as hard as I could. I didn’t need to be very responsible in what I was in charge of doing. I was surviving with the money I was earning.

One day, a little circus clown broke his leg and he was off from the group for six months. The circus director didn’t think much to find the replacement and I got the job offer to be a circus clown. It was such an unexpected proposition for me, that I got so confused that I didn’t accept it and I couldn't refuse it.  He noticed how hesitant I was and he gave me some time to think about it. I was so exciting and thrilling that I couldn’t manage to sleep that night. That job was so strange and so close at the same time for me. It seemed like I had to put on my precious friend’s shoes. The friend, who used to share all my worries and joys.

How could it be possible to become famous all of a sudden? At least, for the person who would never been noticed in his life. I had all of those thoughts before it became dawn. The morning appeared, and I was more courageous than I had been that night. I accepted the job.

After two week trainings my new life began.

Before performing, I would choose one of the spectators from the audience and imagine that they were my toy clown. I would dedicate my performance to them. I was so deep into my role that I wouldn’t notice where the clown ended in me and where I would begin. Where I started and where the clown began. The simple applause I got was my payment. Though I deceived myself again. As soon as I left the stage and removed my makeup in my carriage, I became myself again. I still became ‘’whatever’’ and was still was lonesome with my wooden clown. I still shared my daily experiences with him.

One day, when I was usually looking for a spectator to choose, I noticed the most beautiful girl sitting in the second row. She had golden hair waving on her shoulders. Her blue eyes were so shining with happiness, that I completely forgot my clown. At the end of the performance I realized that I just played for that girl and not for my friend.

For the first time, I had betrayed him.

I was wandering around the city until late thinking about the golden hair girl and my clown dumped on the bed.

When I returned to the carriage, I was feeling so guilty that I didn’t tell any bedtime stories to my friend. This was the first time I had ever done this.

This continued for the following four months.

The girl noticed that all my attention was paid to her, and that is why she would never miss a single performance. I played just for her. Then I was wandering around in the city. I returned home late and went to sleep without saying anything.

One day, after my performance, I went to the carriage to remove my makeup. I left to go wandering around the city. I heard footsteps following me. I turned around and saw the girl. She was following me. I was so excited - I felt dizzy and couldn’t move.

She approached to me and asked:

"I always wanted to know where clowns live; can you show me your place?"

Before I could manage to answer her, she held me and pushed me so hard as if she was the hostess and not me. I don’t remember how I strolled to the carriage. I helped her to climb up the stairs and we went inside.

"Now I see where you live" she giggled and sat on the only chair. She glanced around the room. Suddenly she saw the clown, sitting in a clothes box (Since I stopped talking to him, I put him in that box). The girl sprang from the chair, and grabbed the clown from the box.

"How much he looks like you!" She screamed with surprise.

"I look like him." I said.

"How is that?" – She asked me, as she started comparing us.

"First he was, and then me." I replied. 

"What’s the difference, you both look the same to me, both funny clowns." she said. 

"Maybe you are right. We’ve been living together for a long time."

I didn’t know what else to say.

"You know, we are leaving tomorrow and I just came to say goodbye." She said. A terrible feeling surrounded all over me upon hearing this.

"Can you give me this clown as a gift? I want to have it as a memory from you. I will give you my hair clip in exchange." The girl told me. She removed her hair clip and handed it to me.

My heart started beating hard. My ears plugged up. All my body started shaking.

Two infinite things collided in me: My entire past and my love. My love was standing in front of me,

looking at me with the same face she would look at me with during the performance. I would feel

devastated if I refused giving the clown to her. I already had her hair clip, holding it tight.

As I opened my mouth to say yes, I took a furtive glance down at my clown. It was being held in girl’s

hands. All my childhood memories started floating around: my stool that I spent half of my childhood

 on it, my broken arm, my birthday, my family, all the heroic things my clown and I did together. I told

 her everything.

I saw tears in her eyes. She handed the clown to me. She slowly approached me, tiptoed and kissed

me with a crooked smile on her face.

"I will still give you my hair clip." She said. I didn’t see her off. I even didn’t look at her…

I don’t remember how long I was standing still. When I came to my senses, I grabbed my forgotten friend, hugged him hard and started crying loudly. First time in my entire life, I started crying out loud.

Since then, no one could disturb or intervene in our friendship.

I used to travel from town to town. I still looked for a single person in every audience who would replace my clown. I already passed the age of 30, and the circus group was slowly splitting up.

I appeared in the streets unemployed, I didn’t have any education, any knowledge or qualifications. So, I decided to become a clown again. A street clown who would entertain people who would pass by. I slept in the streets at night. I always had money to have food. Some people would bring food to me and I survived from month to month.

One day a taxi stopped in front of me and a little girl jumped out it. 

"Mommy, mommy! A clown! Can we get close to him?" – she called out loud as rushed towards me. She even didn’t wait for her mother’s permission.

I looked at her and time stopped… the same eyes… the same golden hair waving on her shoulders…

She was followed by her mother. I could hardly imagine that this elegant lady used to be that child. A long time ago that child was a copy of my only love.

"Let’s go, we don’t have enough time!" The mother said strictly. She grabbed the girl and she took her to a nearby candy store. 

Before they left the store I managed to crawl into my cave. I changed my clothes, washed my face and followed them to find out where they lived.

They crossed the street and walked. After chasing for several minutes they stopped at one of the houses. They walked up the stairs, opened the door and went inside.

After that, every evening, after finishing my working day, I would go to their house. I would sit on the bench hidden in a flower bed under their willow tree, and look up at their windows.

I almost returned to my past. Sitting on the stool, in the attic, staring at the clown with dreamy eyes. Making up thousands of different stories. I was the same little boy, but there was something unreachable on the shelf in front of me.

Who knows how many nights I spent on that bench… Sometimes drunk, sometimes sober…

How many times that elegant woman (who had transformed from the little girl that I used to know) passed by without saying hello. It is not surprising that she couldn’t recognize me. How could she recognize me without my makeup?  It is surprising that she even didn’t notice me. For her it was the same with anyone who was sitting under the willow tree. It was the same for her if the bench was empty or if somebody was sitting on it.

One morning, when the woman was taking her little girl to school. The little girl asked her mother:

"Mom, who is this man who is always lying on this bench?"

"He is probably a tramp." the mother replied.

I didn’t spend that night there. I returned to my cave. I went to that house in the morning again…

It was pouring down rain heavily. The paper box which I had brought from my cave was getting wet. I took my rain coat off and wrapped the box in it.

I passed the willow tree and the bench. I crossed the flower garden. I walked up the stairs and rang the doorbell.

A servant opened the door. The little girl was standing behind the servant, peeping out from behind her back.

I unwrapped the box from the raincoat and handed it to the girl.

"What is this?"  - she asked me smiling.

"This is a gift for you." I replied.

"A gift? What kind of gift? Can I open it?" She said as her eyes started sparkling impatiently.

"This is a toy clown and a hair clip. But please don’t open it now. Take it home."

"Thank you! I will show it to my mom!" – she said as she ran with the box inside.

The door was locked behind me. I left. I crossed the street and hid under a tree.

The door opened again. The mother came out at that time. She walked down the stairs. It was

still raining very hard. She didn’t have her raincoat on. She was looking around confused. She didn’t

know where to go. She couldn’t decide. She was obviously looking for someone.

That someone was hiding behind the tree and he secretly was looking at the only live and familiar

face from his past. Soon she was going to disappear behind the door.

She was standing in the rain for a long time. She turned back soaked, she walked up the stairs. Before

I could hear her slam the door shut I left the area…

My door had been already locked. So what was the use of hearing her slam the door shut behind

me?

 Translated by Madona Seliamshvili

Edited by Robby Delaware