Sequel

^Sequel A Short Story by L. J. Schneiderman It was right after Burt and Francine died diat I began die saga of Joey Moxey die clown. Tillie was too young for details, I thought, so I spared her —and myself. Burt had taken his wife to Warsaw where he had been invited to perform some of his music. Though she couldn't go, Tillie had been part of their excitement. When they brought her to stay with me she couldn't wait to trace her parents' journey on die map. She stumbled over her suitcases in her impatience, and there amidst die clutter we both followed her small finger over die rumpled countries from the bed to die floor. Never. Tillie grasped die concept right away. She repeated it to fix it in her mind. I saw die pain enter, briefly scorching her bright, solemn eyes. They closed deliberately and it was buried. She plucked at a bandaid on her ankle. They'll never come back now. Somediing went wrong widi the plane and it fell down. She was seated on die edge of die table I had been sanding. Her face and limbs were scrawny, intense, her hair gritty, like blonde static. The smell of sawdust was still in the air. I pulled the plug out and wrapped die cord around the sander. I could not endure any more machinery noise that day. Never. It struck me diat a child's world is made up of such categorical imperatives . Experiences are unique. Laws are absolute. You cannot have any candy. At Tillie's age it meant you can never have candy. You must go to your room meant you must go diere forever. My adult world by dien had perverted nature, admitted relativity, forgiveness, recompense. I had grown soft. In order to come to terms with what I had rediscovered — die uncompromising absurdity of die universe, I began to create die character of die clown. I told myself I owed it to my granddaughter, Tillie, to keep everything intact. Events were like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, I said to her. By themselves they might look . . . well, weird. But diey all fit togedier. 'Copyright c 1980 by Confrontation. First published in Confrontation (Spring/ Summer 1980): 60-67. Reprinted by permission of Confrontation and L. J. Schneiderman. Literature and Medicine 5 (1986) 75-63 C 1986 by The Johns Hopkins University Press 76 SEQUEL The trudi is I had myself to persuade. Burt, my only son, was dead, and all the music die world would ever get from him ended. God knows it could have done with more. At first the adventures of Joey Moxey were ordinary enough. He was your typical clown: bald widi a fringe of long hair around his head, red nose, baggy clothes, big feet. The feet were so big that in Joey's case one shoe also served as a sports car. Naturally he made his entrance by driving his shoe into the arena and when he stopped dozens of clowns tumbled out to die astonishment and delight of the children in die audience. They loved Joey Moxey and there was no better place in the world than under the enormous circus tent. Joey had many adventures and he picked up a variety of friends in his travels, including a bird who made her nest on his head and flew out every time he took off his hat, Tina die cat, Oogak the jungle boy, and last but not least, Sadie Donut, a policewoman who followed him everywhere, presenting him widi innumerable speeding tickets and parking tickets because she was so much in love with him. Their adventures would end in breathtaking escapes and Joey would hurry back to the circus tent just in time for die show to begin. It was not long before my imagination ran out and it was up to Tillie to suggest subjects for the stories. Tell me about Joey Moxey falling off his bike, Tillie would say on a day she had had a catastrophic fall off her bike. And my story would begin, "It just so happened Joey Moxey did fall off his bike . . . ." And in the hundreds...