By Hanns Heinz Ewers 1921
Translated by Joe E. Bandel 2008
Copyright 2008 by Joe E. Bandel
Protected under United States Copyright Law as a derivative work of a foreign Author originally published prior to 1923
*
He climbed the shaky gangway up onto the Hapag steamer. A tall, blond, blue eyed officer came to greet him and shook his hand vigorously. Frank Braun recognized him immediately. They had traveled the South Sea together years ago.
“How’s it going?” He asked.
“If you’re coming, great!” The German cried, “The Eggman comes again!”
Frank Braun laughed. “Eggman”, that was what they used to call him. He had been the only passenger and popular in the officer’s mess. When he was along they were all served passenger fare. The officer’s mess didn’t include eggs.
“That’s right,” he said.
He turned around and saw a couple of men and women standing at the rail. “They’re passengers aren’t they?”
The second officer nodded. “Yes, they are, but steerage only! They are all over the ship! We have an entire circus on board! They are headed for Guayaquil, Ecuador.”
Then the Captain came up with an agent that read them the telegram about the assassination of the heir to the throne.
“It means war over there!” The Captain said. “Vienna won’t take that quietly, not that!”
The Second slapped himself on the thigh, “It has already taken much too much from those vermin. They deserve three good knocks.”
Then he whistled, “Prince Eugene, the noble knight”.
The Circus people had made themselves comfortable on deck. Little tents had been pitched near the cages. There were three lions, a magnificent tiger, a mangy old wolf, a Syrian dancing bear, a pair of hyenas, baboons and long tailed monkeys. There was also a Turkish Angora tomcat, a poodle and a bulldog. There were other animals too, Cockatoos, parrots, and of course eighteen horses and nearby a donkey.
The circus director was a fat, very fat and puffy woman out of Toulouse, France. There were two brothers out of Maestricht in the Netherlands. One was the lion tamer and the other was the sword swallower and juggler. There were two equestrians and two dancers. All four were very beautiful. There were several clowns, the handlers and finally Louison. She was a blond thing only eleven years old and the Director’s foster child. She danced on the highwire.
She was all over the ship, climbing in the masts, downstairs in the engine room with the engineer, up on the bridge playing games with the Captain and officers, in the kitchen with the cook and even down in the stern with the carpenter.
Every sailor, every stoker knew her and each always had a little something for her. Whenever her mama needed something she sent Louison and you always needed something when you were on board a ship with a circus, twenty people and fifty two animals.
One Sunday they lay in port at Arequipa, Peru. The clowns, dancers and sword swallower gave a little performance in the Plaza. In the evening the main performance was on board and the Captain did the honors.
The bear danced, the clowns beat themselves and the monkeys played soldiers. The fat director led the parrots around, the dancing girls leaped and the sword swallower devoured ten sabers.
Some of the ship’s company thought he was better and others thought the dancers were. But there was one thing everyone was in agreement about. It was the little Louison that gave the greatest performance.
A highwire had been strung the length of the ship from one mast to the other. At the top of each mast burned Bengal torches, a green one forward and a red one aft. It didn’t feel right to the Captain, those colors always meant port and starboard, but he let it go. It was what Louison wanted. His heart leapt at how she scampered up the mast.
“Look at that fellows!” He cried to the sailors, “You can learn something from her!”
Louison wore a rose red vest. She laughed and her blond hair fluttered in the night breeze. The man in the crow’s nest gave her a long bar. Both ends were decorated with large Chinese lanterns, one red and the other green.
She gripped the rod firmly in the middle, pushed her left foot out testing the cable like a pony tests the loose desert sand. Then she stepped out onto it. The seamen stared breathlessly, no one spoke a word.
Then suddenly the ship’s cook gave a quick laugh, “She’s got the green lamp on the port side and the red on the starboard!”
No one laughed. The Captain threw an angry look at him. Those standing near the cook hissed at him, but little Louison had understood him completely. She stood swaying on the cable, pulled her lips tightly together and carefully turned the bamboo bar. The right side rose and the left sank as she turned it end for end until the lamps were right. She nodded lightly, graciously to the bridge, to the captain and winked at him with clever little eyes.
He growled out of his brown beard, “little girl! Brave little girl!”
But thick pearls of sweat beaded on his forehead.
No one said a word. No one clapped. They all stared up with tight throats, with baited breaths, up at the rose red child that danced among the stars in the night sky under the Southern Cross.
Slowly step by step she moved lightly swaying in the air from the red torch to the green torch. When she reached the foremast a sailor caught her, took the bar out of her hands. Then the little Louison bowed, threw kisses down as thanks for the clapping of the callused hands, for the hoarse screams of the seamen. She signaled that she wanted to go back but the Captain wouldn’t allow it.
“Never,” he said. “I would rather do it myself than feel such fear!”
Louison went around with the plate collecting money and everyone gave something. All the ship’s crew had a few coins secretly hidden away. But the Captain took her to his cabin, searched around in a drawer, gave her a ribbon with the ship’s name, “Thuringia”. Then he gave her a silver napkin ring with the Hapag logo on it. Little Louison kissed him.
