Chapters 5 and 6
Chapter Five - Mama Rosa
Milo had to skip to keep up with Oscar who trundled through the busy circus grounds as if an army of tigers was at his heels. Occasionally he pointed at things and shouted something over his shoulder, but Milo could never make out what he was saying through all of the clamor. He shifted his backpack to his other shoulder and took a flying leap over a mud puddle in the middle of the little street. As he landed he stumbled and almost ran into Oscar who had stopped abruptly.
“Hmm…” Oscar made thoughtful noises in his chest and tapped his finger on his chin. Milo looked at him curiously. He was examining three caravans. All of them were painted with elaborate designs and bright colors. Milo looked at them too to figure out what Oscar found so interesting. Finally Oscar leaned down to Milo and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Say, Boy? What’s the best way to pick a caravan?” Milo was confused.
“Well, what are we picking it for?” he asked in an effort to be helpful.
“Pish-posh! That’s a different question entirely!”
“I know it is,” said Milo in defense, “But if I knew what you were picking a caravan for I might be able to help you decide which one is the best.”
“But it’s still a different question entirely! And what is more, I asked you first!” Oscar poked Milo in the chest and nodded decidedly.
“That’s not fair!”
“Is to!”
“Is not!”
“Who says?” Oscar folded his arms.
“What do you mean who says?” Milo glared.
“Nope! I asked you first!”
“But that’s not fair!” Milo shouted. The people in the road paused and looked at him in surprise.
“Shh! Gee-wiz…” Oscar rolled his eyes, “Fine. Even though I asked you what the best way to pick a caravan is (which means you should answer the question) I’ll tell you the answer.”
“Oh good,” Milo sighed in relief.
“The best way to pick a caravan is eeny-meeny-miney-mo.” Oscar nodded with conviction and then beamed. Milo stared at him, dead-pan and silent.
“Eeny-meeny-miney-mo?” he said flatly.
“Uh huh! That’s the one.”
Milo shook his head as if to say, “I have never heard of such a completely ridiculous thing in all of my life” which would probably be true.
“Well, come on,” the clown prompted, “Have a try at it!”
“At eeny-meeny-miney-mo?” Milo asked skeptically.
“What else?” Oscar could not be distracted. He was determined that the only way to pick a caravan, for whatever reason, was to play eeny-meeny-miney-mo, and eeny-meeny-miney-mo is what they played! Milo, unenthusiastically, stepped up in front of the three caravans. People in the street paused and took notice. He took a moment to look at the caravans and decided to start with the one in the middle.
“Eeny-meeny-miney-mo… catch a tiger by its toe. If he hollers let him go,” the boy looked back at Oscar with a humiliated expression. A small crowd had gathered to watch. They were tapping their feet merrily in the dust to the rhythm of his chant. Oscar, smiling broadly, nodded encouragement. Milo felt like a fool as he resumed the rhyme, “My mother told me to catch the very best one, and you are it!” His finger landed on the first caravan. The small crowd of onlookers let out huge cheers of “Bravo!” “Hurrah!” “Hip-Hip-Hooray!” The door of the caravan flung open with a crash and out spilled the roundest woman Milo had ever laid eyes on.
“Mama mia! What are you silly peoples doing on my lawn?” the round woman bellowed, waving her arms around her head like a windmill. “Shoo, shoo, shoo!”
Milo was petrified with fright and wonder. The woman had a wild flying mass of black hair that was showing hints of gray. Her face was as round and as chubby as a plum. Cherry cheeks glowed red under a pair of twinkling eyes. Wrinkles peppered her face and became deeper when she smiled or frowned. She was clothed in a billowing skirt of home-woven fabric and a blouse with puffy sleeves like summer clouds. Over this was a starched, white apron with Italian roses embroidered along the hem.
Milo observed all of these things about her as he stood, motionless, in the smack-dab middle of the territory that she was defending so heatedly. She scowled after the retreating crowd as they scurried off of the patch of dirt that she called “her lawn”. Presently her eye fell on Milo.
“Ah ha!” she exclaimed, and Milo half expected her to pounce on him. He jolted a little in terror, but his feet were still rooted to the spot. “Milas, isn’t it?” She asked kindly. Her stormy face underwent an almost instant transformation. What had, a moment before, been a fierce scowl became a warm, loving expression that reminded Milo of Christmas candles and freshly baked brownies.
“Milo, actually…” the boy ventured, still a bit timidly. The woman pulled a little notebook from her pocket quickly and peered at it closely.
“It says ‘Milas’ right here,” she declared firmly.
“Yeah, I know. The clown thought that was my name too,” Milo shook his head, “It’s not. I’m sure that I’ve been called Milo as long as I can remember. Not Milas.” The woman shrugged.
“Well, suit yourself. I’m Mama Rosa.” She extended her broad hand. Milo shook it. “We can’t just stand here all day!” she said as she released Milo’s hand from her vise like grip. “Come into my caravan. You must be hungry and tired.” Actually, after being awake most of the night he was more tired than he had given himself time to realize. Mama Rosa flung the door of her caravan open and delicious smells of fried eggs and other yummy breakfast foods drifted out. It made Milo’s stomach rumble.
He followed Mama Rosa into the caravan. The light was dim but cheerful. Candles flickered in every spare corner, but despite the flames it was surprisingly cool and refreshing inside. Lining the wall to the right of the door were brightly painted bunk beds with hand-sewn quilts folded over them neatly. On the left was a miniature kitchen, a small fold out table and two stools. Mama Rosa indicated a stool to Milo and he sat in it. Despite the extremely small space Mama Rosa managed to “bustle” back and forth in the kitchen. Presently she came back to the table where Milo sat with a steaming plate of eggs, bacon and biscuits. Milo couldn’t help but note that there was not a pancake in sight. He was starving and dug in with a will! Mama Rosa sat down on the stool opposite him and watched him eat, occasionally humming a rambling tune to herself.
As he finished up the last few bites of his delicious breakfast Milo began to realize just how tired he was. His long night awake and the excitement of his adventure had worn him out. He let out a big yawn and stretched his arms. Mama Rosa smiled and chuckled.
“Come on, Milo. You need to get your sleep.” She gathered him into the firm warmth and security of her arms and lifted him off the stool as if he didn’t weigh anything. Milo closed his eyes and sighed happily. Mama Rosa smelled like ginger spice. She snuggled him down into one of the bunk beds and tucked the covers around his chin.
“Rest well, Bambino! When you wake up in the morning I’ll be here.”
Chapter Six - Isabella Bird
As Milo drifted off to sleep Mama Rosa sat down on her stool and watched him closely. Her eyes were sharper and more watchful than they had been when the little boy’s eyes were open. Her mouth contracted into a hard line and the wrinkles around her eyes darkened in a way that was almost sinister. Milo never stirred. His peaceful, little face was turned on the pillow with complete trust. His eyes were closed in the sleep of a clean conscience. After a while even Mama Rosa’s eyes softened again. Her lips relaxed. The shadow of a smile actually crept over her mouth. Sighing she wrapped her arms over her broad stomach and clucked her tongue against the back of her teeth.
“Ahh… Bambino! How sad…How sad…” she mumbled to herself. Suddenly, at the door of the caravan there was a loud clatter of knocking. The old woman jumped in surprise. She jumped from her seat and bustled to the door muttering angry Italian under her breath. As she flung the door open she scowled.
“What do you want?” she demanded sharply. It was Oscar the Clown at the door.
“There’s been a meeting called, Ms. Moma Rosa, Ma’am…” Oscar stuttered, trying to look cocking and smart. Mama Rosa glared.
“You silly clown fool! What do you think I’m supposed to do with the boy? Do you want him wandering around loose? St. Peter, St. Paul and Mary! You really are stupid!” Oscar didn’t really take too kindly to being called “stupid” and “fool” and such. He stuck his finger in his mouth and pouted for a moment.
“You aren’t watching him now are you?” he demanded impertinently with a wounded air. Mama Rosa rolled her eyes.
“He’s asleep now you scrubby little booger.” The clown’s eyes lit up.
“Oh! Well, if he’s asleep than you just have to slip out, have the meeting, and get yourself back here licky-split. He’ll never know the different,” he grinned and patted the front of his threadbare vest with pride, “Honestly, how much trouble can a kid get into when it’s asleep?” Mama Rosa thought on this proposition for a while. She clicked her tongue on the back of her teeth again and weighed the odds quickly in her head. Finally she came to a conclusion.
“Bah! Ok! I’ll come. Let me get my shawl.” She slipped back into the caravan. Milo still slept soundly. She snatched up her shawl and slipped out into the afternoon sun with Oscar.
As soon as she disappeared and her foot steps faded away there was a rattling and scuffling under one of the bunk beds. There were sounds of huffing and puffing and scrambling. The noise stopped. There were a few moments of tense silence and then the noises began again. Suddenly a little blonde head popped out from under the bunk. It looked both ways cautiously as if it were going to cross a street and then scuffled and rattled some more until the whole body had followed the head into the open. Attached to the bright blonde head was a little girl in an airy blue dress. Her arms and feet were bare. Her hair hung loose and long around her shoulders. She stood timidly and listened for a whole minute. Once she was absolutely certain that the coast was clear she tiptoed to the edge of Milo’s bunk and peeked at him. As she moved she hardly made any sound at all. Her face was like a little moon and in the moon were two large, glowing blue eyes. They were as crystal clear as a mountain stream and they sparkled even in the shadows. The eyes were framed by long blonde lashes so pale that they all but disappeared against her fair skin. Despite her dirty little hands and feet and the dust smudges all over her dress and her nose she had a rare, captivating beauty like a snowflake. The loveliness seemed to delicate that one warm breath might be harsh enough to destroy it forever! This was the little girl who gazed at Milo as he slept. As she watched him quietly she drifted into deep thought. Her eyes clouded over and her head tilted forward quietly. As she sat there, thinking, with her head forward her long blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders and fell into Milo’s face. The boy’s eyes popped open to see the very unusual little girl leaning over him.
“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Don’t hurt me!” he shouted and he scrambled up into a sitting position. She thought fast and clamped her little hand over his mouth.
“Hush silly!” she hissed and then froze to listen closely. There was no sound. Milo’s eyes shifted back and forth nervously, as large as dinner platters. At length the little girl pulled her hand back and folded it with the other hand in her lap. She sat on the edge of the bunk and quietly waiting for Milo to sit down. Plastered against the side of the caravan, he surveyed her in completely bewilderment for a moment or two. Though she was certainly strange she didn’t seem dangerous. Finally he timidly wiggled back on to the bed and sat cross-legged opposite her.
“Hello…” she whispered like a little breath of wind, timid at the sound of her own voice.
“Um… hi,” Milo answered, awkwardly. Neither one seemed to know what to do. Milo shifted uncomfortably. The little girl remained motionless, her enormous eyes fixed on Milo unwaveringly.
“Um…” he said again, fumbling for something sensible to say, “What’s your name?”
“Isabella Bird…” she whispered again with the same timid quaver in her voice. She had a second thought and added, “You may call me Birdy. Everyone else calls me Birdy.” Milo grinned.
“Ok! Do you live here at the circus, Birdy?”
“Yes…” Milo could barely hear her reply. Silence fell on their conversation again. Finally Birdy asked,
“What’s your name?” Milo was happy to know what to do and answered promptly,
“Oh! I’m Milo. Sorry. I should have introduced myself.” Birdy nodded graciously in reply. Milo continued, “I don’t live at the circus. Well… maybe now I do? Yes, I guess I do now. You see… I ran away from home because my mom stopped loving me. She had too many relatives and they all came to visit. All at once! They invaded our lives! She was cooking pancakes, and I knew something was wrong. You see… my mom just doesn’t usually cook pancakes. I hate pancakes because they always bring bad news. Anyway, so I ran away to the circus. The clown’s came and picked me up in this super weird bus and we got here in no time flat. It was amazing. Then they dropped me off here. I don’t really know what I’m doing here (at Mama Rosa’s caravan I mean), but I guess they’ll give me a job or something soon.” Milo rattled off his story clumsily, glancing at Birdy occasionally but afraid to hold her penetrating stare.
“Yes…” she whispered again with a little smile, “I know. The clowns bring lots of children to the circus.”
“Really?” Milo said in excitement.
“Yes…” Birdy was still very shy but she seemed to be relaxing a little. She buried her tiny hands in her skirt and her eye’s lit up, “Yes! Lots of little boys and girls come here… But Milo…” suddenly fear flew into her eyes and the light behind them disappeared as quickly as it had come. Milo waited, but she did not continue.
“What, Birdy?” he prompted. She shook her head.
“I have to go home now.” Milo felt sad.
“Will you come again?” he asked, blushing a little bit, though he didn’t know why.
“You will see me again soon,” she said climbing down from the bed.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes…”
Milo pushed his glasses up on his nose and climbed down off the bed too. “When?” He was trying to get some idea of what to expect in his circus life. So far it had been very bewildering. Birdy was already wiggling her way, feet first, back under the bed. She paused for a moment half way through.
“Ask if you may go to the circus tonight. Watch… then you will see me. Don’t tell anyone I was here, please?” Her question was so full of poignant earnestness that Milo would have fallen off a bridge before denying her her request.
“I won’t!” he declared firmly, feeling very grown up and strong.
“Promise?” she persisted.
“I promise!” Milo nodded firmly. Birdy rewarded him with a beautiful smile and then wiggled out of sight under the bed. Milo peeked under there, but she had disappeared through a tiny trap door that looked a good deal too small for him to fit through as well. With a sigh he climb back onto his bunk.
“What a funny little girl…” he said to himself quietly. “Isabella Bird.” He thought about her fair, upturned face and the expression that it had before she vanished under the bed. That was not the last he would see of little Birdy. Oh no… not the last at all…
Milo had to skip to keep up with Oscar who trundled through the busy circus grounds as if an army of tigers was at his heels. Occasionally he pointed at things and shouted something over his shoulder, but Milo could never make out what he was saying through all of the clamor. He shifted his backpack to his other shoulder and took a flying leap over a mud puddle in the middle of the little street. As he landed he stumbled and almost ran into Oscar who had stopped abruptly.
“Hmm…” Oscar made thoughtful noises in his chest and tapped his finger on his chin. Milo looked at him curiously. He was examining three caravans. All of them were painted with elaborate designs and bright colors. Milo looked at them too to figure out what Oscar found so interesting. Finally Oscar leaned down to Milo and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Say, Boy? What’s the best way to pick a caravan?” Milo was confused.
“Well, what are we picking it for?” he asked in an effort to be helpful.
“Pish-posh! That’s a different question entirely!”
“I know it is,” said Milo in defense, “But if I knew what you were picking a caravan for I might be able to help you decide which one is the best.”
“But it’s still a different question entirely! And what is more, I asked you first!” Oscar poked Milo in the chest and nodded decidedly.
“That’s not fair!”
“Is to!”
“Is not!”
“Who says?” Oscar folded his arms.
“What do you mean who says?” Milo glared.
“Nope! I asked you first!”
“But that’s not fair!” Milo shouted. The people in the road paused and looked at him in surprise.
“Shh! Gee-wiz…” Oscar rolled his eyes, “Fine. Even though I asked you what the best way to pick a caravan is (which means you should answer the question) I’ll tell you the answer.”
“Oh good,” Milo sighed in relief.
“The best way to pick a caravan is eeny-meeny-miney-mo.” Oscar nodded with conviction and then beamed. Milo stared at him, dead-pan and silent.
“Eeny-meeny-miney-mo?” he said flatly.
“Uh huh! That’s the one.”
Milo shook his head as if to say, “I have never heard of such a completely ridiculous thing in all of my life” which would probably be true.
“Well, come on,” the clown prompted, “Have a try at it!”
“At eeny-meeny-miney-mo?” Milo asked skeptically.
“What else?” Oscar could not be distracted. He was determined that the only way to pick a caravan, for whatever reason, was to play eeny-meeny-miney-mo, and eeny-meeny-miney-mo is what they played! Milo, unenthusiastically, stepped up in front of the three caravans. People in the street paused and took notice. He took a moment to look at the caravans and decided to start with the one in the middle.
“Eeny-meeny-miney-mo… catch a tiger by its toe. If he hollers let him go,” the boy looked back at Oscar with a humiliated expression. A small crowd had gathered to watch. They were tapping their feet merrily in the dust to the rhythm of his chant. Oscar, smiling broadly, nodded encouragement. Milo felt like a fool as he resumed the rhyme, “My mother told me to catch the very best one, and you are it!” His finger landed on the first caravan. The small crowd of onlookers let out huge cheers of “Bravo!” “Hurrah!” “Hip-Hip-Hooray!” The door of the caravan flung open with a crash and out spilled the roundest woman Milo had ever laid eyes on.
“Mama mia! What are you silly peoples doing on my lawn?” the round woman bellowed, waving her arms around her head like a windmill. “Shoo, shoo, shoo!”
Milo was petrified with fright and wonder. The woman had a wild flying mass of black hair that was showing hints of gray. Her face was as round and as chubby as a plum. Cherry cheeks glowed red under a pair of twinkling eyes. Wrinkles peppered her face and became deeper when she smiled or frowned. She was clothed in a billowing skirt of home-woven fabric and a blouse with puffy sleeves like summer clouds. Over this was a starched, white apron with Italian roses embroidered along the hem.
Milo observed all of these things about her as he stood, motionless, in the smack-dab middle of the territory that she was defending so heatedly. She scowled after the retreating crowd as they scurried off of the patch of dirt that she called “her lawn”. Presently her eye fell on Milo.
“Ah ha!” she exclaimed, and Milo half expected her to pounce on him. He jolted a little in terror, but his feet were still rooted to the spot. “Milas, isn’t it?” She asked kindly. Her stormy face underwent an almost instant transformation. What had, a moment before, been a fierce scowl became a warm, loving expression that reminded Milo of Christmas candles and freshly baked brownies.
“Milo, actually…” the boy ventured, still a bit timidly. The woman pulled a little notebook from her pocket quickly and peered at it closely.
“It says ‘Milas’ right here,” she declared firmly.
“Yeah, I know. The clown thought that was my name too,” Milo shook his head, “It’s not. I’m sure that I’ve been called Milo as long as I can remember. Not Milas.” The woman shrugged.
“Well, suit yourself. I’m Mama Rosa.” She extended her broad hand. Milo shook it. “We can’t just stand here all day!” she said as she released Milo’s hand from her vise like grip. “Come into my caravan. You must be hungry and tired.” Actually, after being awake most of the night he was more tired than he had given himself time to realize. Mama Rosa flung the door of her caravan open and delicious smells of fried eggs and other yummy breakfast foods drifted out. It made Milo’s stomach rumble.
He followed Mama Rosa into the caravan. The light was dim but cheerful. Candles flickered in every spare corner, but despite the flames it was surprisingly cool and refreshing inside. Lining the wall to the right of the door were brightly painted bunk beds with hand-sewn quilts folded over them neatly. On the left was a miniature kitchen, a small fold out table and two stools. Mama Rosa indicated a stool to Milo and he sat in it. Despite the extremely small space Mama Rosa managed to “bustle” back and forth in the kitchen. Presently she came back to the table where Milo sat with a steaming plate of eggs, bacon and biscuits. Milo couldn’t help but note that there was not a pancake in sight. He was starving and dug in with a will! Mama Rosa sat down on the stool opposite him and watched him eat, occasionally humming a rambling tune to herself.
As he finished up the last few bites of his delicious breakfast Milo began to realize just how tired he was. His long night awake and the excitement of his adventure had worn him out. He let out a big yawn and stretched his arms. Mama Rosa smiled and chuckled.
“Come on, Milo. You need to get your sleep.” She gathered him into the firm warmth and security of her arms and lifted him off the stool as if he didn’t weigh anything. Milo closed his eyes and sighed happily. Mama Rosa smelled like ginger spice. She snuggled him down into one of the bunk beds and tucked the covers around his chin.
“Rest well, Bambino! When you wake up in the morning I’ll be here.”
Chapter Six - Isabella Bird
As Milo drifted off to sleep Mama Rosa sat down on her stool and watched him closely. Her eyes were sharper and more watchful than they had been when the little boy’s eyes were open. Her mouth contracted into a hard line and the wrinkles around her eyes darkened in a way that was almost sinister. Milo never stirred. His peaceful, little face was turned on the pillow with complete trust. His eyes were closed in the sleep of a clean conscience. After a while even Mama Rosa’s eyes softened again. Her lips relaxed. The shadow of a smile actually crept over her mouth. Sighing she wrapped her arms over her broad stomach and clucked her tongue against the back of her teeth.
“Ahh… Bambino! How sad…How sad…” she mumbled to herself. Suddenly, at the door of the caravan there was a loud clatter of knocking. The old woman jumped in surprise. She jumped from her seat and bustled to the door muttering angry Italian under her breath. As she flung the door open she scowled.
“What do you want?” she demanded sharply. It was Oscar the Clown at the door.
“There’s been a meeting called, Ms. Moma Rosa, Ma’am…” Oscar stuttered, trying to look cocking and smart. Mama Rosa glared.
“You silly clown fool! What do you think I’m supposed to do with the boy? Do you want him wandering around loose? St. Peter, St. Paul and Mary! You really are stupid!” Oscar didn’t really take too kindly to being called “stupid” and “fool” and such. He stuck his finger in his mouth and pouted for a moment.
“You aren’t watching him now are you?” he demanded impertinently with a wounded air. Mama Rosa rolled her eyes.
“He’s asleep now you scrubby little booger.” The clown’s eyes lit up.
“Oh! Well, if he’s asleep than you just have to slip out, have the meeting, and get yourself back here licky-split. He’ll never know the different,” he grinned and patted the front of his threadbare vest with pride, “Honestly, how much trouble can a kid get into when it’s asleep?” Mama Rosa thought on this proposition for a while. She clicked her tongue on the back of her teeth again and weighed the odds quickly in her head. Finally she came to a conclusion.
“Bah! Ok! I’ll come. Let me get my shawl.” She slipped back into the caravan. Milo still slept soundly. She snatched up her shawl and slipped out into the afternoon sun with Oscar.
As soon as she disappeared and her foot steps faded away there was a rattling and scuffling under one of the bunk beds. There were sounds of huffing and puffing and scrambling. The noise stopped. There were a few moments of tense silence and then the noises began again. Suddenly a little blonde head popped out from under the bunk. It looked both ways cautiously as if it were going to cross a street and then scuffled and rattled some more until the whole body had followed the head into the open. Attached to the bright blonde head was a little girl in an airy blue dress. Her arms and feet were bare. Her hair hung loose and long around her shoulders. She stood timidly and listened for a whole minute. Once she was absolutely certain that the coast was clear she tiptoed to the edge of Milo’s bunk and peeked at him. As she moved she hardly made any sound at all. Her face was like a little moon and in the moon were two large, glowing blue eyes. They were as crystal clear as a mountain stream and they sparkled even in the shadows. The eyes were framed by long blonde lashes so pale that they all but disappeared against her fair skin. Despite her dirty little hands and feet and the dust smudges all over her dress and her nose she had a rare, captivating beauty like a snowflake. The loveliness seemed to delicate that one warm breath might be harsh enough to destroy it forever! This was the little girl who gazed at Milo as he slept. As she watched him quietly she drifted into deep thought. Her eyes clouded over and her head tilted forward quietly. As she sat there, thinking, with her head forward her long blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders and fell into Milo’s face. The boy’s eyes popped open to see the very unusual little girl leaning over him.
“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Don’t hurt me!” he shouted and he scrambled up into a sitting position. She thought fast and clamped her little hand over his mouth.
“Hush silly!” she hissed and then froze to listen closely. There was no sound. Milo’s eyes shifted back and forth nervously, as large as dinner platters. At length the little girl pulled her hand back and folded it with the other hand in her lap. She sat on the edge of the bunk and quietly waiting for Milo to sit down. Plastered against the side of the caravan, he surveyed her in completely bewilderment for a moment or two. Though she was certainly strange she didn’t seem dangerous. Finally he timidly wiggled back on to the bed and sat cross-legged opposite her.
“Hello…” she whispered like a little breath of wind, timid at the sound of her own voice.
“Um… hi,” Milo answered, awkwardly. Neither one seemed to know what to do. Milo shifted uncomfortably. The little girl remained motionless, her enormous eyes fixed on Milo unwaveringly.
“Um…” he said again, fumbling for something sensible to say, “What’s your name?”
“Isabella Bird…” she whispered again with the same timid quaver in her voice. She had a second thought and added, “You may call me Birdy. Everyone else calls me Birdy.” Milo grinned.
“Ok! Do you live here at the circus, Birdy?”
“Yes…” Milo could barely hear her reply. Silence fell on their conversation again. Finally Birdy asked,
“What’s your name?” Milo was happy to know what to do and answered promptly,
“Oh! I’m Milo. Sorry. I should have introduced myself.” Birdy nodded graciously in reply. Milo continued, “I don’t live at the circus. Well… maybe now I do? Yes, I guess I do now. You see… I ran away from home because my mom stopped loving me. She had too many relatives and they all came to visit. All at once! They invaded our lives! She was cooking pancakes, and I knew something was wrong. You see… my mom just doesn’t usually cook pancakes. I hate pancakes because they always bring bad news. Anyway, so I ran away to the circus. The clown’s came and picked me up in this super weird bus and we got here in no time flat. It was amazing. Then they dropped me off here. I don’t really know what I’m doing here (at Mama Rosa’s caravan I mean), but I guess they’ll give me a job or something soon.” Milo rattled off his story clumsily, glancing at Birdy occasionally but afraid to hold her penetrating stare.
“Yes…” she whispered again with a little smile, “I know. The clowns bring lots of children to the circus.”
“Really?” Milo said in excitement.
“Yes…” Birdy was still very shy but she seemed to be relaxing a little. She buried her tiny hands in her skirt and her eye’s lit up, “Yes! Lots of little boys and girls come here… But Milo…” suddenly fear flew into her eyes and the light behind them disappeared as quickly as it had come. Milo waited, but she did not continue.
“What, Birdy?” he prompted. She shook her head.
“I have to go home now.” Milo felt sad.
“Will you come again?” he asked, blushing a little bit, though he didn’t know why.
“You will see me again soon,” she said climbing down from the bed.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes…”
Milo pushed his glasses up on his nose and climbed down off the bed too. “When?” He was trying to get some idea of what to expect in his circus life. So far it had been very bewildering. Birdy was already wiggling her way, feet first, back under the bed. She paused for a moment half way through.
“Ask if you may go to the circus tonight. Watch… then you will see me. Don’t tell anyone I was here, please?” Her question was so full of poignant earnestness that Milo would have fallen off a bridge before denying her her request.
“I won’t!” he declared firmly, feeling very grown up and strong.
“Promise?” she persisted.
“I promise!” Milo nodded firmly. Birdy rewarded him with a beautiful smile and then wiggled out of sight under the bed. Milo peeked under there, but she had disappeared through a tiny trap door that looked a good deal too small for him to fit through as well. With a sigh he climb back onto his bunk.
“What a funny little girl…” he said to himself quietly. “Isabella Bird.” He thought about her fair, upturned face and the expression that it had before she vanished under the bed. That was not the last he would see of little Birdy. Oh no… not the last at all…