Touch of the Clown Read Online Free

drink?”
    â€œOh, goodee,” Livvy slips into her baby talk and claps her hands together, forgetting they are bruised and scraped. “Ow, ooo.” Tears well in her eyes.
    â€œWhere do you want to sit, Livvy? The patio chair or the bench?” It is enough to divert her attention. I search in the survival bag and bring out the scrapbook and crayons. “Why don’t you draw a picture of Bingo ball?”
    â€œI want to draw a picture of Cosmo and Bingo and those other balls.” She has her tongue between her teeth as she starts to color on a blank page. She is still creating the picture whenCosmo returns carrying a tray with an ice-cream pail of warm water, a washcloth and a towel, and a smaller tray with drinks in tall glasses.
    â€œMmm. Yum-yum.” Livvy abandons the picture when she sees the lemonade.
    Cosmo has turned the scribbler toward him so he can see the drawing. “Wow.” He makes big eyes at Olivia. “Maybe we should rename her Olivia da Vinci. Now let’s take a look at these wounds.”
    He is very gentle, sponging off the dried blood. With the blood washed away, we can see the actual damage: the gash on Livvy’s forehead, a scrape on one arm, scraped hands, and one knee skinned. It takes two glow-in-the-dark Band-Aids to cover the knee, one on her forehead, one on each hand and three on her scraped arm. Livvy seems to gather strength with each patch. She is enchanted with the Band-Aids, twisting her arm back and forth, admiring her knee.
    We sit at the patio table. The sidewalk is beginning to be busy with people going home from work. They look at the three of us sipping tall glasses of lemonade, with little trickles of moisture running along the sides of the glasses.A small, quiet picnic in the middle of rush hour.
    â€œHey, buddy,” a bearded man lurches against the picket fence. “That lemon gin?”
    â€œNot a chance,” Cosmo laughs.
    â€œYou gotta cigarette, man?”
    â€œDon’t smoke.”
    â€œWell, this ain’t my idea of a party.” He grins and tips a greasy baseball cap to us before weaving off down the sidewalk.
    â€œPar-tee,” Livvy purrs. “I love parties.”
    â€œThe patient is recovering,” Cosmo whispers to me. “Now tell me about yourselves, Miss Barbara and Miss Olivia. I know you’re on summer vacation, but what grade are you going into this fall?”
    Livvy mugs a smile at him and holds up two fingers.
    â€œShe’s going into grade two,” I say, “and I’m going into grade eight.” What else can I tell him? “We live with Dad and Grandma over on the street with the churches. We were just coming from the park.” And then I make a bold move. “Are you an actor?” I ask.
    â€œActor, magician, dancer, juggler, clown,” Cosmo laughs, “and sometimes a waiter.”
    â€œA waiter?”
    â€œYeah. Waiting for jobs.” The afternoon sun makes his hair look like soft gold. It is short hair, thinning on top. “Sometimes waiting on tables.’
    â€œA clown!” Livvy shouts.
    â€œYes, Miss Olivia de Havilland Kobleimer. A clown. In fact, right now I’m doing clown work-shops downtown. I’ll be finishing this first one next week.”
    â€œA clown!”
    â€œYes. That is, when I’m not running down little kids on my bicycle.”
    His arms move a lot when he talks, and the bandage swoops and darts like a bird on his wrist. I can see there are bruises along his arms, and I think he must have been hurt more than we thought when he ran into Livvy.
    â€œNow, tell me what you’re going to be when you grow up,” he says.
    â€œI’m going to be a fireman,” says Livvy through the long slurping sounds she is making at the end of her lemonade.
    Usually when people ask me this, I say life-guard. I can see myself at a big sandy public beach, sitting high up under the sun in a life-guard chair,