beneath his gruff exterior had been a man of unparalleled generosity and compassion. It had been his pleasure to help other people, particularly 'freaks'-yes, like me-for whom the Statler Brothers Circus was a home where we could earn a living and live and love with dignity. But something had happened to Phil Statler or his circus, really the same thing. He'd lost his circus, and with it his livelihood, his dignity, and finally his health. This man who had helped so many others had been unable, unwilling, to ask for help himself. He had been like a father to me, and I knew I had been wrong to lose touch with him.
'Jacques,' I said, drawing myself up and taking a deep breath, 'I want this man transferred to the first private or semiprivate room that becomes available; I want him out of this corridor, off this ward. I also want the best specialists available to take care of him. I'll cover all the expenses. Who do I see to make the arrangements?'
Jacques grunted. 'The cashier downstairs, man. What you want is going to cost you some shekels.'
'It doesn't matter. When he's well enough to leave here, I want him moved to my place. With Garth married and living up in Cairn, his apartment in the brownstone is empty. When it's time to move him, I'd appreciate a recommendation from you for a private nursing service.'
'You got it, Mongo,' the Haitian said quietly. 'You really love this man, don't you?'
I nodded. 'I guess I never realized just how much until I saw him lying here.'
'You make the financial arrangements downstairs, and as soon as I get the okay I'll take care of things up here. I'll keep an eye on your friend, man. Leave it to me. Don't worry. And I'll get word to you as soon as he comes around.'
'Thanks, Jacques,' I mumbled, then turned and headed back down the corridor as tears once again began streaming from my eyes.
Chapter Two
Phil regained consciousness a day later, but he wasn't talking-not to his doctors, not to Jacques, and not to me. The first time I walked into his room his recognition of me was clearly reflected in his pale blue, watery eyes, but then he quickly averted his gaze and wouldn't look at me again. It was the same the next day, and the day after that.
They released him from the hospital on the sixth day, into my care. The doctors had cleared up his pneumonia and a half dozen other infections on and inside his body with antibiotics, but he was still very weak. They estimated he would need a minimum of two or three weeks of rest before he would be strong enough to be on his own-presumably to return to his life on the streets. I was strongly advised to keep him away from booze. I'd contracted with a private nursing service for Phil's at-home care, and I had him transported by private ambulance from the hospital to my brownstone on West Fifty-sixth Street, where I put him to bed in Garth's apartment on the third floor.
He still hadn't spoken, and he still wouldn't meet my gaze.
Fearing that brain damage, Alzheimer's, or some other condition had robbed him of reason or speech, I checked once again with the doctors and was told once again what I had been told before-brain scans had indicated no organic damage, and there was nothing to indicate his mental faculties and vocal cords were not intact. Their suspicion was that Phil's muteness was caused by the same bone-deep depression that might have prompted him to take to the streets in the first place. Antidepressant drugs were contraindicated for the present time because of the other medications which had been administered to him.
And so I was just going to have to wait. Each day I popped up at frequent intervals from the offices downstairs to check with the nurse on duty to see how Phil was doing. I'd sit next to his bed and talk about anything that came to mind, but he would always turn his head away and remain silent. The plastic bag containing the circus posters I'd returned to him lay unopened on the night table next to his bed. I'd anticipated-dreaded- having him ask for a drink, but he didn't even do that.
On Thursday, four days after I'd brought my former boss home, I was in my office working on a report for a corporate client when the day nurse stuck his head in the door.
'Dr. Frederickson, I think you'd better go upstairs to see Mr. Statler. He just told me I was fired.'
I paid the nurse for the rest of his shift, then bounded up the stairs to the third floor, fearing that the reason for Phil's sudden burst of animation was that he'd caught a glimpse of the well-stocked bar in the living room of the apartment. But Phil wasn't at the bar. I found him sitting up on the edge of the bed; he'd found the clothes I'd bought for him. He'd managed to pull on a pair of corduroy pants and was trying, with badly trembling fingers, to take the pins from a new shirt.
'I can't afford nurses,' he said in a low, hoarse voice as I entered the room and approached the bed. He didn't look up but simply kept talking very rapidly, occasionally shaking his head from side to side for emphasis. 'I can't afford that private room you put me in at the hospital, and I can't afford those fancy doctors you sent around. I wanted to walk out of there, but I was just too goddamned weak. If you think Phil Statler needs the goddamned dwarf he plucked off a farm in Nebraska to take care of him in his dotage, you've got another think coming. I don't know how right now, but I'm going to pay you back every goddamned cent you've spent on me.'
It was the terribly injured pride of a terribly proud man speaking. I just let it go on. When he paused for breath, I stepped close to him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and hugged him to me.
'Oh, God, Mongo,' he sobbed into my chest, encircling my waist with his arms. 'I'm so ashamed to have you see me like this.'
'Be quiet, Phil,' I said softly, rocking him back and forth like a child. 'Finish putting your clothes on, and I'll show you around the offices of Frederickson and Frederickson. Even though my brother's my partner, I insisted on having my name listed first.'
'Where's your big brother?' Phil asked in a slightly less hoarse voice as he sipped his third cup of coffee.
We were sitting at Garth's kitchen table, close to a window where the sound of heavy rain splattering against the glass almost drowned out his weak voice. I judged that Phil was at least forty pounds lighter than when I'd last seen him, and Garth's bathrobe hung around his now-frail body like a shroud. My former boss was going to need a lot of tender loving care, some fattening up, and something else I had no idea how to give him.
'He got married, and he's happy as a clam in a mud bank. He married a woman by the name of Mary Tree. They're living in her place, in a town called Cairn; it's about fifty miles north of here, on the Hudson. He quit the force a few years back and came into partnership with me.'
'Mary Tree the folk singer?'
'That's her.'
'Antiwar activist? Pacifist?'
'Ex-pacifist.'
'Good-looking woman.'
'You've got that right.'
Phil sipped at his coffee, holding the cup with two trembling hands. Then he set the cup down, stared into its depths. 'I lost the circus about two and a half years ago, Mongo,' he said to the cup. 'After that I lost myself; things just kind of got out of control. Now it's all sort of an alcohol blur to me.'
'You don't have to talk about it, Phil,' I said quietly. 'You don't owe me any explanations.'
'I want to explain.'
'If it'll make you feel better, go ahead. But, like I said, you don't owe me anything.'
Now he glanced up from his coffee cup, and his pale blue eyes glinted with what might have been anger. It was the strongest hint of any feeling but depression I'd seen in him yet, and I decided it was a healthy sign. 'I appreciate what you've done- what you're doing-for me, Mongo. The kindness you've shown to me is the kind of debt a man can't repay, but I'm telling you that I'm going to find a way to pay back every penny you've spent on me.'
'Sure,' I said evenly.
He stiffened. 'You don't think I mean it? You don't think I can work and pay you back?'
'Of course you can.'
'Then don't 'sure' me like that. I'm no welfare case. I may have lived on the streets and eaten out of garbage
