Amigo Heliotropo

Felix Marti-Ibanez

At noon the circus wagons came to a halt. The country-
side was not very impressive. The sky was lofty and a
radiant blue, but the land was dry and bare except for a few
stunted poplars, which stood there meekly announcing
that, all things considered, this was the best that could be
done. A few rocky hills, covered with lime dust, looked like
buns sprinkled with sugar in the great oven of the desert. At
the foot of the hills there circled a veinlet of faded green
water- The huge sun was like a bell hanging from the blue,
ringing out light instead of sound. And that was all. that and
the houses, white with rust-coloured roofs, of the town of
Santa Ana, which in the distance looked like a group of
.small girls playing at Little Red Riding Hood.

The Great Floriani, owner of the circus and magician,
raised his muscular arm and cried. "Halt!" and then
jumped down from the box of the first wagon,

"Rest!" joyfully shouted Mama Floriani, whose two
hundred pounds in weight and half a century in years
seemed in no way to impair her tightrope act.

"Lunch!" exclaimed Pipo and Rico, the clowns, who by
force of habit always spoke in a duet.

"Nap!" said Samson (according to his billing, the
strongest man in the world), who had clandestinely de-
voured a loaf of bread and a can of sardines on the road.

And Colombina, the bareback rider, always romantic,
opened wide her eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots, and
sighed, "A river!"

The rest of the caravan— Filipon, juggler extraordinaire;

the Rossoffs, animal trainers; Cascabel, the snake man; the
twin sisters, Dora and Rita; the Condor trio, "human
eagles"; the trained dogs, cats, monkeys and birds—said
nothing but their thoughts ran along identical lines. The
similarity in ideas of a circus troupe at lunch time after a
foodless morning is astonishing.

Ten minutes later the four wagons were arranged in a
semicircle; the horses—when travelling, beasts of burden,
when performing, Arab mounts for Colombina—were
grazing on a spare plot of grass; and the animals in their
cages were having an extra ration of water to compensate
for the short changing in food. Mama Floriani and the twin
sisters, Dora and Rita, spread a red and white oilcloth on
the ground; the Great Floriani made a fire with some dry
branches; and the rest of the performers lent a hand here
and there in the preparation of the customary meagre
repast.

After a most unrewarding tour through Honduras, the
Great Floriani Circus had arrived, weary yet hopeful, to
give their first performance in El Salvador. This was, they
had been told, a great country, inhabited by people made
bold and brave by their constant struggle with a hostile
nature. The art of the Floriani Circus would, no doubt,
meet with great critical and box office success. And they
needed it badly. Otherwise, in a few weeks even the
monkeys would disappear, as had Antonini's trained hens.
Poor Antonini! After many years of hard labour he had
worked out quite an effective act. Then came lean days for
the circus. At each performance Antonini exhibited one
hen less. At night he would weep tears of remorse over the
smooth bones, ending up by gnawing at them, tears
streaming down his cheeks. One day Antonini stepped out
on the arena without hens and tried to fill in with a stupen-
dous vocal imitation. But even before he had finished he
stepped out again—right out of the circus.

Mama Horiani was losing weight fast, "which is good
for your act," commented the Great Floriani; Colombina's
horses were so famished that they could hardly lift their
hoofs from the ground, much less prance smartly; the
snake man was growing so alarmingly thin that he feared
that one day he would tie his body into a knot which he
would never be able to untie; Samson had to stuff the
sleeves of his tights with burlap to compensate for his lost
biceps; and the great ferocious bear "brought from the

Russian steppes," supposed to be the piece de resistance
in the animal trainer's act, would lumber over to the chil-
dren in the audience like a meek beggar as soon as he
detected the odour of bread and sausage. But in the face of
hunger they were all closely united, tightening their indi-
vidual belts in collective hope.

The scanty meal was soon ready. At the height of noon
the sky was all sun. The thin vein of water had turned into a
shimmering ribbon of silver. The aroma of roast corn
scented the air. The monkeys beatifically picked their fleas
in the sun, and the horses in their lassitude abandoned
their backs to the flies. In the blue distance, the little white
town held out a happy promise, like a white dove.

The Great Floriani wound up the phonograph and soon
the hushed warm air woke to the tender notes of the
melody that for years had been the trade-mark and theme
song of the circus: "In a Little Spanish Town." On the red
and white oilcloth the ears of corn glistened like bars of
baked gold- Mama Floriani artfully decorated a wooden
platter with tomatoes and onions. Samson approached
carrying a head of lettuce in his powerful hands as if it were
a bouquet of gardenias. From the oil bottle there flowed a
shimmering blond liquid. The vinegar drops were ame-
thyst tears in the sun. The salad began to smell heavenly.

It was at that moment that the stranger appeared. No
one saw him come. The Great Floriani was the first to
notice his long shadow and then his tall, emaciated body.

He had a gaunt dark face, and the long hair that tumbled
wildly around his brow was the colour of ashes and chest-
nuts. But his smile was as crisp and fresh as the lettuce
leaves in the salad, and his limpid blue eyes were in
keeping with his smile.

"Hello," he greeted them in a sweet liquid voice. And
pointing to the corn, "It looks tender and the salad very
appetizing,"

Mama Floriani buried her wooden fork deep in the salad
bowl and a delicious aroma accompanied the spatter of oil
and vinegar.

"Corn," she explained, "should be well roasted outside
but tender inside, and nothing could be better than salad in
this heat."

"Who are you?" interrupted the Great Floriani, pouring
water for the coffee.

The newcomer gallantly relieved Mama Floriani of a
pile of wood she had picked up.

"My name is Miguel and I come from Cojutepeque,
Where shall 1 put the wood?"

"There, next to the fire," replied Cascabel, the snake
man, approaching with the plates.

The stranger set down his load together with an
orange-coloured pouch that he had been carrying on his
shoulder.

"May I offer the group something?" he asked.

Samson burst into laughter. "A ham," he suggested
mordantly, looking at the flaccid pouch and dusty sandals
of the stranger.

"And a couple of bottles of red wine," shouted one of
the twins who approached with tin cups for the coffee.

The stranger smiled and, without saying a word, disap-
peared behind the wagons.

"Where did that hobo come from?" Pipo asked gruffly,
for hunger always soured his temper.

But the next moment a great clamour from his compan-
ions brought him quickly to the side of the Great Floriani,
who with eyes wide with amazement was brandishing a
huge ham and a jug of wine.

Mama Floriani snatched the ham from her husband and
gave it a resounding kiss.

"I won't believe it until I dig my teeth into it," she cried.

They all agreed with her, and a minute later, at a signal
from the Great Floriani, the performers were devouring
the ham, letting the corn get cold. The stranger, seated in
their midst, pecked at the salad like a bird. Suddenly his
fork, a piece of tomato on it, stopped midway between the
plate and his mouth. From behind the cage, where the
"wild" animals shared hunger and fleas, a resounding slap

rang out and then Colombina emerged- Not far behind
her, one side of his face afire, Filipon, the juggler, tried
unsuccessfully to hide the mark from the blow. Neither
paid any attention to the visitor as they sat down as far
apart as possible. But for the remainder of the feast the
stranger could no longer eat. Colombina's face, white and
pure as milk, with lips like dark red berries, fascinated him.

When the meal was finished, the Great Floriani
examined his happy surfeited troupe through the smoke of
his cigar. On the oilcloth there remained some purple wine
stains, a few grains of corn, bread crumbs, and, like the
skeleton of a prehistoric monster, the polished bone of the
ham. From the cage came a mew of protest.

"Give the bones to the animals," said Samson gener-
ously. And with a nostalgic sigh, "How fortunate they are
to be hungry!"

While the women went to the brook to wash the dishes,
the others picked up scattered utensils. The Great Floriani,
beaming beatifically at his spouse, turned to the stranger.

"Thanks for your gifts, my friend. I had forgotten what
ham tasted like." .

The stranger, seated with his legs crossed under him,
deprecatingly raised a long pale hand with a wrist so thin
that it looked like the ivory back-scratchers used by weal-
thy Mandarins.

"No thanks are due. I shared your salad,"

This was far from true, for his plate lay untouched on the
oilcloth and myriads of sun-spangled flies were feasting on
it.

Only when she heard his velvety voice did Colombina,
languid and detached throughout the entire meal, take
note of the stranger's presence.

"You ate nothing," she said to him in a tone of friendly
reproach. "Have an almond," she added with the air of
one saving a poor hungry soul from starvation.

The stranger took the peeled almond but did not eat it
His radiant eyes sprinkled the round pale face of Colom-
bina with the essence of lilies.

"Where are you going?" she asked him.

"I don't know. Nowhere. Wherever you go."

"We are going to Santa Ana," Mama Floriani explained.
"Tomorrow is May first, the Tree Festival in this country,
and we shall make our debut in the city."

"I shall go there with you." the stranger said smiling.

"Will you come to see the circus?" Colombina asked,
delicately picking the golden crumbs from her white skirt
and placing them within reach of the ants,

"I shall go with the circus," he corrected, looking at her
with dazzled eyes.

"But we have room for no one but the performers,"
protested the Great Floriani.

"I shall work with you."

Samson looked at him with the contempt of a strong
-man.

"What can you do?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid," was the sad answer,

"Where did you work before?"

"Nowhere," the stranger declared. "In Cojutepeque I
tried to make cigars but I was no good at it In Llobasco I
tried to make pots but they all broke. In Ahuachapan I
worked in the mines but I missed the fresh air and I left I'm
afraid I don't know how to do anything," he repeated
sadly,

"Only a great man would make such an admission,"
Colombina remarked, and he thought that all the light of
the heavens had gathered on her fair brow.

"We all do something here," said the Great Floriani.
"Almost all," he corrected severely, looking at Pipo snor-
ing under a wagon.

"I could learn," the stranger implored.

"Why do you want to join the circus?" asked Mama
Floriani, her maternal instinct sharpened by the ham and
the wine.

"Because it fascinates me. It's a perpetual holiday. The
gaiety. . .the colour. . .the music - . .the slow proces-
sions on country roads . , . the arrivals in villages at

sundown when the cows on the roadway fill the air with
golden dust... the nights outdoors, watching the stars
bathing in the ponds . . ."

"The poor man is mad," Dora whispered to her sister.

If the stranger heard her, he paid no attention.
"To sleep in a wagon," he continued, "listening to the
crystal drumsticks of the rain on the roof above ... to
watch the sun light up the eyes of every child during the
performance . . ."

“He is crazier than I thought," Dora insisted to her sister.

But the latter stared at him with languid calf's eyes-
"Either crazy," she granted, "or a poet."
The Great Floriani studied the stranger in perplexity.

“If you were bigger you might fight Samson, if you were
skinnier you might work with Cascabel as snake man
number two, if you knew sleight of hand you might help
me. . . ."

"It would be a great honour," the stranger interrupted
him humbly.

"It's very difficult, young man, very difficult. Look!" His
hand moved quickly in the air and out of nowhere it
suddenly pulled three coloured ribbons. "Just this little trick
took me three years of practice. To be a magician takes a
lifetime."

"I should think so!" the stranger said with admiration.
"Very well. Since you are so eager, you may help me.

Pity you have no specialty."

"I never learned anything, except a little trick," said the
stranger.

He stepped forward quickly, passed his hand over Co-
lombina's hair and pulled out a sprig of heliotrope.
"Que diablos!" cried the Great Floriani, who forgot his

language when he was excited.

"0stras!" echoed his wife, who ran him a dose second.
"Magnificent!" said Colombina, standing on tiptoe just
as she did when greeting her audience.

"Where did you learn that?" Dora asked, while her
sister's mouth formed a capital 0.

"It's nothing, really." The stranger's eyes had turned the
colour of dry leaves. "I learned it when I was a child."

"Do it again. And the flowers are real! Where do you
hide them?" the Great Floriani roared.

The stranger's pale hands fluttered like butterfly wings
and little sprigs of heliotrope sprouted everywhere—from
Mama Floriani's double chin, from Cascabel's mustache,
from the wheel of a wagon and even from the tail of Leal,
the Rossoffs' dog.

"This must be hypnotism," declared Filipon scornfully,
for he was an educated man.

"You're coming with us, my friend," the Great Floriani
declared firmly. "This trick—you'll explain it to me when
we're alone—can be added to my act. You'll be my assist-
ant. But first we must give you a name." 

"Let's call him Amigo Heliotrope," Colombina sug-
gested.

"That will be my name," said the stranger, smiling his
sweet smile.

The next night Heliotrope made his debut with the
Floriani Circus at the Tree Festival in Santa Ana. In the
morning the circus had made a triumphal entrance into the
town to the strains of the perennial "In a Little Spanish
Town." Santa Ana's narrow streets were blindingly white
with lime dust and sun. The washed blue of the sky formed
a lofty arch above the red-roofed houses. The children
astride the green fences cheered as the cage of wild ani-
mals rolled by, and the roosters in the barns provided a
counterpoint. Samson, in his burlap-stuffed violet tights^
lavished his most ravishing smiles upon the dark-eyed
senoritas on the balconies. The air smelted of soap and
lavender.

It was indeed a glorious spectacle the circus afforded, its
bright red tent unfurled in the public square, its multicol-
oured banners waving gaily in the soft May breeze. It was
like a ship with sails ready to soar through the blue.

The show was a great success, such as the troupe had
never witnessed before. The tent was filled for every one of
the three performances. Cascabel twisted his body into
figures of eight; the Rossoffs drew roars—of boredom, no
doubt—from their wild animals; the twin sisters used a
chair for everything except what it was intended for, the
clowns' wintry jokes sparkled with the freshness of spring.
Everyone performed as though burning with the fire of
creation.

Heliotrope, dressed in gold tights, looked like a golden
stalk of wheat. Indefatigable, he was everywhere, helping
everyone. He was usher, groom, maid and announcer. He
served as foil for the clowns and he stood up against the
board to be outlined by Filipon's knives. He even found
time to laugh with the children and, from a distance, to
admire Colombina in her white tulle costume and wig of
silver braids. Finally, he assisted the Great Floriani.

The old maestro was superb mat day. Such feats of
magic had never been seen in Santa Ana. He made coins
vanish into thin air, guessed cards by the dozens, produced
one rabbit after another out of a hat, drew multicoloured
ribbons from the bald head of a man in the first row, and
had Colombina step into a box and sawed her in two. For
the finale, he pointed to different places in the audience
from which Heliotrope promptly plucked sprigs of heliot-
rope, which he then presented to the senoritas in the
audience.

As they were going to bed that night, Mama Floriani
asked the Great Floriani, "How does he do it?"

"Damned if I know!" retorted the great magician, slap-
ping down mosquitoes as noisy as jet planes. "He won't
tell me his secret, but he gives me all the credit Thats all
that matters. Among magicians secrets are respected."

The days that followed were the fulfillment of a glorious
dream for Heliotrope. The whole fascinating country
rolled under the slow wheels of the circus wagons. The
circus traversed the vast, undulating indigo plantations of
La Libertad and unfurled its huge tent overlooking the
glittering Bay of Fonseca, where Heliotrope made Colom-
bina a present of a lovely seashell box—one of the port's
typical arts—for her combs; and in Santa Tecla, at the foot
of the Volcano San Salvador, which made Pipo shut his
mouth in sheer amazement; and in the village of San
Miguel, where the splendour of the silver lodged in the en-
trails of the earth was reflected in the sky on moonlit nights;
and in Santa Rosa and San Vicente, where Colombina
bought herself a hat of gold-coloured straw. In Sonsonate,
Heliotrope shared with his adored ecuy6re one of the
locality's famous cream cheeses and their faces were
anointed with snowy goat's milk.

"To share this cheese between us," whispered Helio-
trope, "is to take communion from the same Eucharist."
And she, more orthodox, pretended to be frightened by
his profanity.

Heliotrope earned no money with the Great Floriani.

They offered him no remuneration and he asked for none.
With the coins the people tossed him for pulling sprigs of
heliotrope out of nowhere he bought little gifts for Colom-
bina, and this was all that mattered to him. She, like the
Great Floriani and the others, tired of asking him to explain
his trick and finally came to regard it as just another act.
Just the same, Colombina, a child who had never quite
become a woman or a woman who had never ceased
being a child, never stopped being thrilled at her friend's
ability to offer her at any hour of the day or night a sprig of
the tiny fragrant blue flower.

And soon the emaciated young man with dreamy eyes
and the courageous girl with supple ankles began to ex-
change tender glances above the tiny bouquets. While
their travelling companions watched them with wise smiles
and friendly whispers and the Florianis dreamed of
another bond within the circus family, Filipon raged in
silence. Even before Heliotropo's arrival he had sought
Colombina's favor in vain. His carefully trimmed mus-
tache, his man of the world manners, his brilliantined hair
and his spectacular knife-throwing act, though now he
outlined Heliotrope Instead of a dummy, had failed com-
pletely. His attentions had elicited no more response from
Colombina than stones tossed into an empty well. And
now the simple, meek Heliotrope was eliciting from her the
same exalted response as a great artist achieves with his
violin. Things went on in this way while the circus wheels
rolled past the shadows of the volcanoes San Miguel and
San Vicente, Izalco and Santa Ana, past the trembling
mirror of the thousand rivers of the Lempa and the Paz, the
painted lakes, the Guija and the Llopango, the plantations
of wheat and rice, the woods of Peru balsam and the
indigo, the fields of pochote and frijoles, the biblical flocks
of sheep and goats. The circus, and with it Colombina and
Heliotrope, marched on with the inexorability of an astro-
nomic phenomenon. Until one night they came to a village
on the Guatemalan frontier.

It was a hamlet with a few houses huddled together at
the foot of a towering green mountain. The wagons
stopped at the edge of a lyre-shaped lake with quiet grey
waters. In the trees that solemnly watched over the sleep-
ing lake, invisible birds sang as though enchanted. A hawk
fluttered in the twilight blue, like an evil omen in a witches'
tale. The bells of a white hermitage, which hung like a nest
on the side of the mountain, underscored the peace of the
evening.

The Great Floriani, feverish from a cold, soon took to his
bed, but the others were having a fine dinner, old wine,
songs and dancing by a crackling fire. The night slowly
reclined upon the treetops, sultry and voluptuous like an
amorous odalisque. With the last carmine rays of the set-
ting sun, the underbrush yielded its wild aromas and the
crickets burst into their staccato singsong.

When they went to bed—all except Filipon, who de-
voured by jealousy and mosquitoes lingered on to spy in
the shadows—Colombina and Heliotrope were alone by
the dying fire. The glowing embers tinted the round little
face of the girl rose. The lake, invisible in the darkness,
lapped gently against the shore. The moon was hidden but
a thousand yellow stars blinked brightly, though not as
brightly as the stars that leaped from the fire. It was the
languid hour of midnight

Colombina and Heliotrope, holding hands, silently
gazed at each other. From their lips hung a kiss that like a
timid little bird dared not assert itself. The romantic mes-
sage that had grown through long hot days, moonlit nights
and hours of work, insomnia and hope, struggled silently
to make itself known.

Finally Colombina rose. He followed her silently. She
climbed into the wagon where she slept alone among
many a prop and bale. From the top step she looked down
at him. her lips shimmering with scarlet tremors.

"Come," she said to him, and entering the wagon she
closed the door.

Heliotrope did not move. Filipon, who had witnessed
the scene from the shadows, went to his own wagon blind
with pain and rage. Heliotrope, standing still, was like a
statue burnished in silver by a curious moon.

Sleepless, trembling. Colombina waited in vain. Her
door never opened again that night.

"In a Little Spanish Town" ... The melody an-
nounced the opening number. The circus was giving a gala
performance in the mountain village of Cojutepeque.
Colombina, her eyes red and swollen, passed Heliotrope
without even glancing at him and went through her act
with waxen face and pale lips.

Unfortunately the Great Floriani was too sick to per-
form. After a feverish night, visited by severe fits of cough-
ing, he lay exhausted on his cot under the hot poultices
the' inexorable Mama Floriani applied to his vast chest
every few minutes. A short consultation had taken place at
his bedside. It was agreed that Heliotrope would do all he
could to entertain the public, and then as a finale they
would put on Filipon's invariably spectacular knife act.

The Great Floriani gave final instructions to a shaking
Heliotrope.

"Do all you can," he implored him. "At least make a
coin vanish or change the colour of a ribbon or two."

The roll of drums, which usually heralded the entrance
of the Great Floriani and was now announcing Heliotrope,
sounded to him like the prelude to his execution. The dais
he had to mount in the centre of the ring was the guillotine,
the sand reminded him of the cemetery, and the audience
was the Roman mob that with a turn of their thumbs
brought death upon the victim's head.

He bowed clumsily and became even more flustered
when he noticed Colombina staring at him with eyes of
steel and a mocking smile. The anxious faces of the chil-
dren in the first row made his fright mount to new heights.
He tried the trick with the coin but it fell to the ground. Just
as he was beginning the ribbon trick, the blue banners of
the next trick dropped out from under his cape- He tried to
draw flame out of a hat and almost started a fire-

Filipon's resounding guffaws mixed with the shouts of
protest from the audience. Heliotrope, completely discon-
certed, looked around for some means of escape. But
something in Colombina's eyes stopped him.

Suddenly, without hesitating, Heliotrope approached a
little boy and no sooner did he make him put out his hands
than they held a nest of quivering white doves. Then he
picked up a handful of sand and tossed it in the air, and
instead of sand a cloud of gold spangles drifted down to
the ground. The audience began to applaud. Heliotrope,
pale but smiling, next changed the rope round the ring into
a garland of flowers, the old tired horses into multicoloured
zebras, and the wrinkled, paper peanut bags into canaries
of yellow flight and golden song. Never before had an
audience seen such skill. The performers, standing to-
gether, stored at Heliotrope in stupefaction. Heliotrope
raised a pale hand and there fell from the canvas roof a
shower of coloured confetti, streamers and balloons. From
between the knees of a young man he produced a white
pony bedizened in gorgeous velvet and silver mail. In the
centre of the ring he called forth a fountain of feathers and
pearls, and from a paper envelope he drew a twenty-
foot-high palm tree with coconuts and monkeys high up in
the branches. The audience went completely mad. It was
then that Heliotrope, as his finale, signalled to Colombina
to lie in the box in which she was sawed in two by the Great
Floriani. At that moment, the Great Floriani, who had been
kept apprised of the extraordinary happenings by an as-
tonished and stammering Cascabel, uttered a bloodcur-
dling scream.

"Look!" he cried to Mama Floriani. "There is the
painted rubber saw with which I cut Colombina in two, and
yet I saw Filipon take out a saw for the act. He must have
taken the one used for cutting wood."

He had to say no more. Mama Floriani executed a truly
astonishing leap, considering her weight, and darted out of
the wagon toward the circus. The Great Floriani, bathed in
a cold sweat of terror, at any minute expected Mama
Floriani to walk in with a bloody Colombina under her
arm. What a monstrous revenge! The jealousy-crazed Fili-
pon had arranged for Heliotrope to cut his beloved in half.
The Great Floriani thought he could hear Colombina's
screams, which Heliotrope would mistake for the false
cries she lavished on the audience every time Floriani
pretended to cut her in two with the imitation saw. And this
time the legs held up to the public would be real and not
artificial ones dripping with red paint.

The wagon door was suddenly pushed open. The Great
Floriani clenched his fists. But his wife was alone.

"I can't believe it," she panted, sitting down on a mus-
tard plaster in her confusion, "That boy is the greatest
magician in the world. He pulled a giraffe out of a hat
and threaded a needle with a rope. And—you'll die,
Floriani!—he really did saw Colombina in two and then
put her together again as good as new. No, I'm not crazy.
And you have heard nothing yet It was not sleight of hand.
He did it with a real saw and she thought it was the same
old trick. And then he stood up for Filipon to throw his
knives at him. I swear he threw them at him to kill! Right at
his heart! And Heliotrope, smiling, changed them into
golden lilies as they came at him."

Nobody slept that night, nobody in the town and cer-
tainly nobody in the circus. Filipon had fled, his teeth
chattering with terror. The Florianis made great plans for
the future and dreamer of Heliotrope's becoming the star
of their troupe. The other performers waited in a frenzy for
morning to come to express their admiration to Helio-
tropo. Colombina spent the night interrogating the lofty
stars with tearful eyes. After the show Heliotrope had left
for the hermitage on the mountain, explaining that he
wanted to spend the night alone. They had respected his
wish.

At dawn, Colombina could wait no longer and knocked
atthe door of the Florianis' wagon. Mama Floriani, her hair
dishevelled and her eyes red from a sleepless night, opened
the door.

"Mama Floriani," Colombina implored, "you must
come with me to find him."

"Where did he go?"

"To the hermitage on the mountain."

They left Floriani snoring under layers of blankets and
began their climb to the hermitage. The sky was tinged by
the pink of dawn. Birds burst into early song to frighten
away the last star. The scent of rosemary perfumed the air.
From a pool a single frog stared at them with beady little
eyes. Invisible cocks crowed, giving the sun the signal to
rise. Colombina, pale and anxious, climbed the path
lightly, followed by her hard'-breathing companion.

The hermitage was small, white and sad, like the deep
sigh of a tearful child. Outside the sun polished the roof
with its gold emery board. Inside there were wooden
benches, a small altar with a stone saint, the aroma of
flowers, and an early-rising friendly hermit. When he saw
the two women staring with ecstatic faces at the saint, he
approached them with a benevolent gesture.

"Are you admiring the angel San Miguel? Fine manly
figure of a saint. You won't believe it but he was a sinner in
his youth. There is a beautiful legend about him. In his
lifetime God punished him for breaking his vow of chastity
with a girl. His penance was to return to earth time and
again dispossessed of his miraculous powers, which he
had abused once to please a woman- God commanded
him to wander over the earth until he could withstand the
temptation of a woman's love. Only then would he again
recover God's grace and with it his power to perform
miracles. The Lord, however, allowed him in his peniten-
tial wanderings one little miracle: he could make flowers
appear anywhere. But until he could prove that he pre-
ferred divine grace to a woman's arms, he would have to
wander through the world, a young man of light head and
yielding heart. This is his statue and these his flowers.
Don't you smell the perfume of the blue heliotrope, the
favourite flowers of the angel San Miguel?"

Once again night and silence have descended upon the
circus. Performers and animals are in deep sleep. A moon
as huge as heaven itself bathes the circus in its chaste tight.
The air suddenly stirs with the footsteps of a divine pres-
ence. And in the morning Cascabel wakes up in silk tights
embroidered with gold; the horses are harnessed in the
finest wrought silver; the twin sisters find bolts of gold cloth
at their feet; Samson's weights are filled with precious
jewels; the Florianis' wagon is a princely chariot, all pre-
cious metals, silk hangings and brocades. And Colombina
opens her eyes and finds in her hand a sprig of heliotrope.