Fifty-three

They Are Afraid of Her appeared in the rooftop restaurant the next morning near the end of our breakfast hour. The museum was not yet open for the day; the dining area was full of employees. It was the warmest morning of the year, the sweetest smelling, and even those curmudgeons, like Clarissa and the conjoined twins, who always insisted on breakfast in their rooms, had come blinking out into the sunshine. I sat with Maud and Thomas, admiring the way the sun illuminated the orange juice in my glass. They Are Afraid of Her appeared in the doorway and stood there without moving for close to a minute.

“Look who it is.” Thomas put down his fork and made a futile attempt to smooth down his hair. “The Indians never come up here. She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?”

“Look what she’s wearing,” whispered Maud. “That was one of the Martinetti daughters’ dresses, wasn’t it?”

Thomas looked at his plate. I had only ever seen this woman in the plain layers of beige muslin that all the Sioux women wore, with the same, barely tailored blue overdress. Now, as she stepped uncomfortably into public view, she wore a skirt of raspberry taffeta buoyed up by a layer of tulle just visible at her ankles. She had buttoned herself into a dove-gray velvet jacket, hiding the top of the gown. She must have been terribly hot.

“Maybe the dress doesn’t fit her,” Maud commented.

They Are Afraid of Her looked straight ahead as she stalked between the tables to the edge of the roof.

“She probably pillaged what the Martinettis left behind.” Maud sniffed. “What is she doing up here?”

“From what I understand, she would prefer us to the company of her brethren,” I said.

“That’s awful,” Maud muttered.

They Are Afraid of Her looked out over the city. When she finally turned back toward the restaurant, Thomas jerked to his feet as if he were attached to a string. In his crooked gait he fetched her.

Her new costume accentuated the fine scars slicing across both cheeks and made her shorn hair all the more striking. With scarlet cheeks she sat among us and carefully folded a napkin onto her lap. Thomas poured a glass of juice for her from our pitcher and stared at her until Maud prodded his knee.

“My goodness, dear,” Maud began. “It seems as though you’ve ventured far from the nest.”

“Maybe she couldn’t stand the fighting last night,” I commented. “Lord knows it kept me up.”

They Are Afraid of Her looked between our two faces, smiling vaguely. “Hello,” she said.

Thomas whistled and sent his finger in a long arc from right to left, impersonating an arrow flying across the gallery.

“What is happening out there?” he asked her. He shot the arrow again, this time impacting it against the flat of his other palm.

She stared at his raised hands. When she lifted her glass to her lips, she clenched the stem of the goblet so tightly I expected it to snap. She shook her head and hissed a few words in her language.

Thomas nodded sympathetically.

The Indian regarded him and then glanced over her shoulder toward the stairwell.

“Our enemy” — she paused, looking into her glass — “is come.” Her voice was much calmer speaking these words than in her own tongue. We all stared.

“You must be a better teacher than you thought,” Maud observed. “She’s speaking English much better.”

“Someone in her own group is teaching her,” I said. “It appears that she’s the only one among them who isn’t fluent already.”

They Are Afraid of Her shook her head and pointed toward the floor. “Our enemy.”

“Are you married?” Thomas asked.

Maud covered her face with her napkin. “Thomas!”

They Are Afraid of Her pointed at the stairwell and spoke words that sounded like they came from the middle throat, damp and hollow. Her brow furrowed and she made a fist of her right hand, shaking it furiously. She looked at Thomas the whole time.

“It won’t end,” she finished in English. “They are devils. Always. This is my home now.”

Of course we were at a loss and our silence was awkward.

“I wonder if Mr. Barnum knows about this,” Thomas said.

“I doubt that. If he did, he’d probably put the two tribes on a stage together and see what happens,” Maud said bitterly.

“He wouldn’t go that far,” I said.

“Wouldn’t he?” Maud was tiring of the conversation, I could tell. Soon Thomas and They Are Afraid of Her rose from the table, with Thomas saying something about finding someone to translate for them, so they could continue talking.

“Good luck,” I said as they walked away. “I think I’ll sidestep that conversation.”

“No good will come of that,” Maud commented when they were out of earshot.

“What, Thomas’ obsession?”

“No. The girl leaving her tribe.”

“This museum strikes me as one of the best places to leave your tribe. She could just take up with the Circassians, or learn an art that would keep her employed.” Compared with what the Sioux elder had told me about the woman’s history, a life in the museum would be easy.

“But she is fundamentally defiant. Couldn’t you see that in her? She will fight what contains her, whether it’s a tribe, a museum, whatever. I’ve seen women like that before. She brings trouble.”

“You sound like an oracle, Maud. Do you have secret talents hidden away?”

“I just might. Shall we have a walk before retiring to our cages for the day?”

“That sounds lovely.” We strolled along the promenade, pausing occasionally to peer over the edge of the building to see the swarm of humans below.