Practicing to Walk Like a Heron

After the Lion Tamer

88 After the Lion Tamer The juggler dances into the center ring, tosses a red pin toward the top of the tent, then flings a green one, then a yellow, one red, one green, one yellow all tumbling after one another, he catching, tossing, catching the red one, the green one, the yellow one, the red, the green, the yellow, red, green, yellow, and then he hops on a star-covered ball, keeps the red, green, yellow pins spinning up to their peak, then down, then he extends one leg and loops a silver hoop around his ankle. He stands onelegged on the spinning ball, the pins spinning, the hoop spinning, the world spinning, and then the cymbals crash and he flips backward off the ball, kicks the hoop into the air, while each pin falls fast into his hands, the silver hoop following down to land around his neck. He bows. There’s a drum roll, a soft swish of cymbals and scampering through the entrance, a Chihuahua in a striped and pointed hat. It jumps onto the juggler’s outstretched hand, stands on its front paws as the juggler elegantly turns full circle to show the crowd, then tosses the tiny dog and it lazily arcs its way up 89 toward the lights then down to land on his other hand. He grabs an umbrella from a purple stand and tosses it, the dog now following the tumbling umbrella. Then he adds a bright blue derby hat, the three chasing one another in a hallucinatory Mobius strip painted by Magritte, all moving as if there is no wobble in the world. Suddenly, a pistol shot rings out. The umbrella drops, its tip sticking in the sawdust. The juggler leans on it with sparkling insouciance, extends his hand like a common dandy and the dog lands. Then the derby spins down, jauntily settles on the juggler’s head, a bullet hole dead center. ...