Ten Thumb Sam (2 page)

“You're up early,” his father said as Sam stumbled out into the kitchen the next morning. Max was seated at the kitchen table. There was an empty porridge bowl in front of him and a mug of coffee in his hand. “How's your stomach feeling?” he asked.

“Okay,” said Sam.

“Good. Then grab a bowl and fill it up. We've got our work cut out for us today.”

The gray lumpy mass in the porridge pot did nothing to improve Sam's mood. He stared at it gloomily for a moment before lifting the ladle to serve himself. The porridge made a squelching noise as it landed in his bowl. With a sigh, Sam sat down beside his father.

The Triple Top Circus visited a new town each week, but the routine was always the same. Today was Monday. On Monday mornings the circus performers
took down the high wire, dismantled the trapezes and packed away the tents. By lunchtime the Fritzi sisters' horses—the only large animals in the Triple Top— were in their trailers. By afternoon the circus was miles down the road.

They continued driving on Tuesday. On Wednesday they reached their destination and began setting up for their opening night on Thursday evening. There was a second show on Friday night, two more on Saturday and a final matinee performance on Sunday. A week from now the cycle would begin all over again. It was always the same.

As Sam picked at his porridge, his brothers and sisters began to emerge from the back of the bus. He tried to ignore them as they served themselves and settled noisily around him at the table, but it was impossible.

“If I sit here, you're not going to barf on me, are you?” Annabel demanded as she took the chair beside Sam.

“Oh, be quiet,” said Sam.

“Just checking.”

“Leave your brother alone,” Max said as he rose from the table. “He's got a lot to think about.”

“Like what?” said Louise.

“Like what he's going to do next, right, Sam? The high wire didn't work, so he's going to find something else. No room for quitters in the Stringbini family.”

“Don't even
think
about the trapeze,” Elizabeth warned.

“You might want to try something a little closer to the ground,” Andrew suggested.

Sam felt his face grow warm. “Maybe I could try juggling with Martin.”

Sam's middle brother shrugged. “Sure, whatever. I could teach you a few things.”

Sam had his first juggling lesson later that afternoon, once the circus trailers were loaded. He listened carefully to his brother's directions, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to keep more than one ball in the air at a time.

“Loosen up,” said Martin. “Relax. It's just throw and catch, throw and catch. You've got to find your rhythm.”

“I don't
have
any rhythm,” Sam protested.

“Keep practicing,” said Martin. “You'll get it eventually.”

Sam practiced for weeks with everything he could get his hands on: tennis balls, rubber balls, beanbags,
even bars of soap. At night he dreamt of golden balls spinning high above him in a shining arc. But when he woke up he was still Ten Thumb Sam.

“All right, enough already,” Martin said as he dodged a wayward beanbag one afternoon. “You're hopeless at this!”

“But I'm still learning,” Sam protested.

“Learning what, exactly? You
still
can't keep more than one thing in the air at a time. But, hey,” Martin shrugged, “you tried.”

Sam crossed juggling off his list and went to see his cousin Tony Zuccato. He found him practicing his tumbling act with the other Zuccatos in the big top.

“What do you think?” Tony asked the others after Sam had explained the purpose of his visit. “Shall we give the kid a try?”

Tony's sister, Tina, grinned at Sam. “Why not?”

Sam was determined to get it right this time. He watched his cousins closely and listened carefully as they explained every move they made on the tumbling mat. But when it was his turn to tumble, he could barely manage a simple somersault, let alone a triple cartwheel or a flying leap.

“I'll get it,” he promised through gritted teeth.

Sam threw himself into his new sport. He practiced every moment he could. When the Zuccatos were performing inside the big top, Sam was outside on the grass, attempting handstands and backflips. But for all his hard work, Sam just couldn't get his limbs to cooperate.

After being knocked flat for the seventeenth time in one morning while assisting his young cousin, Tony Zuccato had to speak up. “I'm really sorry, kid. You just don't have the moves.”

“But I'll keep working!” Sam pleaded. He looked around at the rest of the Zuccato team. His cousin Harry had a bruise under one eye. Frankie's arm was in a sling. Only Tina, who was holding a block of ice to her knee, was able to meet Sam's gaze.

“Sorry, Sam,” she said. “No hard feelings, but you're just too clumsy to be a tumbler.”

Sam offered to help Mr. Poponopolis with his dog act.

“Don't see why not,” Mr. Poponopolis said, scratching his bald head thoughtfully. “The dogs certainly seem to like you.”

It was true that Mr. Poponopolis's dogs liked Sam,
especially when he scratched them behind their ears or stroked their bellies. But liking someone is one thing and obeying them is quite another. No matter what Sam ordered them to do, the terriers just wagged their short tails and stared up at him blankly. He tried begging them, pleading with them, bribing them with soup bones and doggie treats. In desperation he even got down on all fours and demonstrated the actions he wanted the dogs to perform. They didn't budge.

“I don't understand it,” said Mr. Poponopolis. “I've never seen anything like it. Roll over,” he said to the nearest dog. The dog rolled over.

“Roll over,” said Sam. The dog stayed put.

Mr. Poponopolis shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, Sam.”

The Fritzi sisters were grooming their champion stallions when Sam approached them and asked if he could work with the horses.

“I don't know,” said Erma Fritzi, biting her lip. “They're high-spirited animals. They can be very dangerous. They're not ponies, you know.”

Imelda Fritzi rubbed her skinny hands together anxiously. “Are you sure it's all right with your parents?”

“I'm sure,” said Sam.

“I don't know,” Erma repeated.

“It's not that we don't trust you,” said Imelda.

“We do, of course—”

“Trust you, that is—”

“It's just that it's so risky, working with large animals—”

“Please,” said Sam. “I'll be careful.”

The two sisters exchanged nervous glances. “Well, if you have your heart set on it,” Erma said reluctantly.

“Of course,” said Imelda, “we'd have to let them get used to you slowly. You could start by cleaning out the horses' trailers every day.”

“Then I suppose we could teach you to groom them,” said Erma.

Sam nodded. “I can do that.”

“Are you sure?” Erma asked. “It's not glamorous work, believe me.”

“We'd understand if you changed your mind,” Imelda added.

“I'm sure,” said Sam. “I won't change my mind.”

“You're very determined, aren't you?” Erma said with a sigh. “All right then. If the horses get comfortable with you, we'll see about getting you into the saddle. Then we'll go from there.”

But the Fritzi stallions never did get comfortable with Sam. His clumsiness made the horses nervous. They whinnied and shied away whenever he was near them. Once again, Sam was forced to admit defeat.

A few days after Sam called it quits with the Fritzi stallions, Max found Sam sitting alone under one of the bleachers in the big top.

“How's it going?” Max asked, crouching down beside his son.

“Lousy,” said Sam. “I don't fit in anywhere. I can't do anything.”

Max put his hand on Sam's shoulder. “C'mon. You're not giving up already, are you?”

“Already?” said Sam. “I've tried everything! It's hopeless.”

“You haven't tried everything. Have you talked to the clowns yet? You'd be a natural with them.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“But why not?” asked Max. “If you tripped over your feet, the audience would think it was part of the act.”

Sam shook his head. “I don't want to be a clown! I don't want people laughing at me. I want them to clap and cheer the way they do for you!”

Sam's father was quiet for a few seconds. “Well, you know I already have an assistant—”

“You don't have to say anything,” Sam interrupted, looking down at his feet. “I understand. I'd just mess up your act anyway.”

“Now wait a minute,” his father said, holding up a hand. “As I was saying, I already have an assistant. What I don't have is an apprentice.”

Sam looked up. “An apprentice?”

Max nodded. “Every great magician should have an apprentice, don't you think?”

“You mean it? You're really serious?” A grin spread slowly across Sam's face. “Thanks, Dad. I won't let you down!”