The Clown

The mask was slipped on very gently and meticulously. He did not want to disturb the make-up. The eyelashes above the painted eyes were perfect. He thickened the eyebrows into quizzical looks. The red painted mouth extended far beyond his mouth on either sides, upturned into a permanent smile. He then slowly glued on the squishy, red nose on to his. The fluffy carrot top for a wig came next. He aligned it in such a way that none of his own hair would peek out from under it. He looked in the mirror satisfied and grinned broadly at his reflection. He liked what he saw. Those kids would enjoy his antics today for sure. He slipped into his fluffed up baggy, clown costume and zipped it up. The extra large shoes with squeakies under it were pulled on. He lugged his out–of-shape goody bag with toys and magic in it, hoisted it on his shoulder and set off for his next assignment.

The Children’s Hospital always welcomed clowns. Every Tuesday and Thursday were ‘fun days’ for the kids there. The children from the cancer-ward and other terminally ill wings of the hospital forgot all about treatments and medicines and laughed to their heart content at the antics of these clowns. They looked forward eagerly to the clown's arrival. They knew the clowns were in the building as they could hear their squeakies on the clean polished floor. Their ears pricked up and a smile usually broke out on their faces. The anticipation was enormous and week after week they waited for it.

The clown looked around the room. There were children of varying ages. The smallest one was a 1-year-old with tubes running through her nose and an IV attached to her arm, brought into the room on her tiny bed. The oldest one there was a 14-year-old with a shaved head and hollowed cheeks. They said he had six more months to live but the happiness in his eyes was inescapable. They looked at the clown with an eagerness that he could perceive at a distance. This was the moment the clown waited for every week. To bring a smile on those faces and spread cheer among these unfortunate kids was a far greater treasure to him than the paid parties at which he performed. Every week he tried to include a new bag of tricks, a new funny face, a new wig or costume. The kids knew this and they waited for the performance with fervor. The give and take here was palpable.

At the end of the show the clown went around the room hugging every one and handing out a treat. Reluctantly they would all part knowing they would see him again soon. But he knew deep down this would not be the case for some. There were times, occasionally, when he would come around and find one of his favorite from the audience missing. He would say a special prayer, then put that smile on his face back again and continue his performance, as if the entire world was watching him. They would wave goodbye until his squeaky shoes took him all the way down the corridor and out of the building.

The clown had a reason to live and that was the ‘performances’ as he called it. His life was anything but normal as he led a hand to mouth existence and whatever little he gathered went into his shows and sustenance. He was the only clown who biked to work and was a familiar sight on the streets. The painful memories of his family often stole his happy moments away, when in solitary confinement he brooded over it.  Life had dealt him a bad pack of cards and he wasn’t sure why he was singled out or why he messed up. His alcoholism had driven away his wife and with her went his kids, a long, long time back. He had stopped looking for them and had given up hopes of ever finding out their whereabouts. But the alcohol never left him and stayed his companion, in which he immersed his longings, his broken heart and a shoddy life.  The only time he sobered up was hours before his ‘performance’. He found ‘his children’ in every innocent eye that looked up at him, in every smile that broke on their face and in the glee that he could bring to them.

He opened a small envelope addressed to him and found a pink ‘thank you’ card in it. Little red flowers were drawn all over the card and tiny star shaped stickers surrounded it. In the middle was a ‘thank you’ written in a childish handwriting with a gold marker pen. At the bottom of the card was signed the name Sophia. She had tucked it into his hands as they wheeled her away from the room. She had given him a tight hug and said ‘come back soon’. Her father had taken his hands and said ‘thank you’. He remembered the scene all too well. The prognosis for Sophia was not very good but she was a fighter. He could see it in her eyes. The four-year-old had the loudest laugh in the whole room and always clapped the loudest and longest. She was a darling and budding rose among all the violets and geraniums in the bouquet. This was what made him happy and brought on a smile.

 His walls were covered with ‘Thank you’ notes that he preserved year after year. Sophia’s card went up on the wall besides the card from Peter another child who had done well and gone on to live a normal life. Peter never stopped sending him cards. He had informed the clown that he was in the 4 ^th grade and was the captain of their soccer team. A life of opportunities and hopes lay ahead for the boy. Then there was Nancy who had informed him that she was in High School and had a cute boyfriend. The clown laughed. She was the spunky one in the crowd always teasing others and clowning around tirelessly.

Jason was the shy one. He always stood at the back of the room in the hospital during a performance and sometimes peeped from under his blankets with a shy smile and a snigger. But he was a born artist and a natural. His drawings were always about mountains or rivers or birds. The clown always praised his talents to see the glow appear on his face.

December rolled in and with it came the cold wintry days and heaped up snow on the sidewalks making it difficult for the clown to reach his destination faster. The bicycle slipped often and he found himself pushing it along walking besides it. He decided not to wear his squeaky shoes to work as it was cumbersome even otherwise and the snow and slush made it difficult. Some days his neighbor gave him a ride to the hospital and some days he just walked there. He just made sure he was never late. He hated keeping the kids waiting after all this was about them and not him. He rubbed his cold hands. The cold gloves did not help neither did his frayed old winter-jacket. At least he had decided to buy some sensible snow boots from the left over money he had saved after the beach-party performance that summer.

He looked at his watch 15 minutes past 2 P.M. He cursed under his breath. This was not supposed to happen. He was going to be late today. For the first time he was late. Those kids are going to be anxious. They will be seated in the room waiting for me. “My fault! I should have left earlier,” he muttered and got on to his bicycle and rode on furiously. It was just a fifteen minute bike–ride but for him it felt like eternity.

Sophia was ill at ease from morning. She was too young to understand what was going on inside her. She wanted to laugh and clap her hands in glee but something was wrong. Her insides were not co-operating. She could feel the bile rising up and tasting sour. Her eyes were fogging out but she didn’t complain for she did not want to miss the show for anything. She put on a smile and placed her tiny hands in her father’s and held him tight as she urged him to take her soon to the ‘performance room’.   The room had Christmas decorations up already. The green, red and white balloons jostled around for space. A tall Christmas tree stood in the corner with decorations of pine cones, candy canes, tiny toys and colored balls. There was confetti everywhere and the kids knew there would be gifts under the tree soon for them.