THE BRIEF AND TRAGIC HISTORY OF CIRCO DE LA SUERTE

I am trying to figure out how best to tell you what little I know of the Circo De La Suerte. The Circus of Luck. Most briefly, I would say they were a short-lived band of performers in Mexico. Their very beginnings were on the streets of Mexico City. But, I suppose I should tell you of Loolah and Cannonball first, and how I met them. All that I know of Circo De La Suerte, I learned from them. So let me back up to two weeks ago from this very day.

Funny the way you can look and look sometimes for a story, but it is nowhere to be found. Little ideational roads in the mind keep turning into dead ends. So interesting, on the other hand, how sometimes out of nowhere a story finds you. When I drove away from town, it was out of utter boredom. Nothing like the highway for blowing the carbon out of a sluggish brain.

Tularosa, just north of White Sands sounded interesting, if only because of its name. Something about a rose. Yet,I suppose it is so named because of the abundance of reddish reeds that flourish along the banks of Rio Tularosa. Or maybe as much with the desert rose blush of the Coyote Hills on the horizon. A rose atop a fresh grave in a small cemetary as you come into town, may simply be some counter-point to some dark history of blood. I never found the conclusive answer to why Tularosa was so named, but I did run into some interesting people there. And an interesting, albeit bittersweet, story. The story of a period of time in the lives of Loolah and Cannonball, as it was played out in an arena known briefly as Circo De La Suerte.

I first met them in a motel lounge on the outskirts of town. I was the only one pulled up to the bar but I could see a couple at a table nearby out of the corner of my eye, and in the mirror behind the bartender. And I could hear bits of their softly spoken exchanges and laughter. Whoever they were, they seemed to be having a good time.

I asked the bartender how Tularosa came to be so named. According to him, it got its name back when this place was a simple watering hole for those traveling west. It started as a trading post where the Mescalero Apaches from a settlement nearby would bring their native goods to exchange for things that had been brought in from the east. Chief among the Apache offerings was a Mezcal liquor. Mescal aguaves were abundant in the area. Supposedly, there was a woman at the trading post named Rose. She sold mezcal to the travelers from the east. So, that's how Tularosa got its name. It sounded plausible, and perhaps a story to explore. But it was so far away in time, and besides, the man and woman at the table were beckoning me to join them.

"Cannonball," he said, standing and extending his hand as I approached. He slapped me on the back and shook my hand vigorously. "Pull up a chair," he said. "This here is Loolah," he said, as he sat down and put his arm around her.
"Hi Loolah, I'm Jackson," I answered, reaching out to shake her hand. She had long and slender fingers, and a silver ring on every one.
"Don't tell me, let me guess," she said. "You're from Tennessee."
"Yeh," I nodded in surprise. "How'd you guess? My accent?"
"Uh uh," she answered with a laugh. "We saw the license plate on your car over at the Waffle Wigwam this morning." I watched as she picked up her drink and sucked it through a straw, her eyebrows lifting in delight. "Yum!"
"A green martini?" I asked.
"Uh uh. It's an Apple Mezcaltini. I like it 'cause it's the same color as my iguana's belly."
"I like it 'cause of the way it makes her lips pucker up," Cannonball said with a hearty laugh. He reached out and pinched Loolah's cheek. "What'll you have, Jackson? We're buying."
"I wouldn't mind a stiff shot of that," I said, nodding toward the bottle of Mezcal in the middle of the table.
"Now you're talking, son!" He gestured to the bartender for a glass.

Two hours and several rounds passed in mostly idle chatter. I got to know them in increasingly blurry-eyed glimpses. They both had come from small villages in Mexico. Cannonball had worked in the south, as a hand on a wealthy cattleman's ranch. His broad shoulders and barrel chest spoke of arduous labor. Wheelbarrows of manure. Back braces of adobe brick carried three dozen at a time. Hard days spent beneath a blazing sun.

Loolah wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and looked at me, blinking her eyes slowly. Her words were softly slurred.
" I am from a land further north. Zacatas. My ancestors were Zacatos. But, the Aztecs conquered them long ago. Then those blood lines intermingled. The blood of both such lines runs through me. I am then, a fourth generation 'Aztacos', as some would say. The Aztecs called us half-breed sons of dogs. It doesn't bother me really. Mostly I am simply me. Loolah the Lizard Lady."

I looked back and forth at Loolah and Cannonball, not sure what to say. Loolah, with her neon blue eye-shadow, and with her slinky body hugged by a stretchy long shimmering green dress, did look a bit lizard like to me. They both burst out in laughter. I laughed along with them, although not sure about what. We had one more round to wrap up the night before we staggered out the door, and disappeared in opposite directions.

I clung dizzily to the wooden posts and rails along the boardwalk that would lead me back to my motel room. I didn't even realize I had lost one shoe along the way. In the alcoholic haze, I had two simple objectives. Don't black out. And remember which room was mine. Certainly though, some story had its beginnings in this night. Some vague mystery had begun to form in the pickled darkroom of my mind. Like the cold glowing tip of an iceberg in a black sea, just as the moon is rising. (Mezcal said that.) There would be more to know about Cannonball... I blacked out... And Loolah... Face down.... The Lizard Lady... Across the bed........

Cannonball and Loolah waved to me from a booth in the Waffle Wigwam, as I pushed and stumbled through the swinging glass door. I felt like a wreck. But Loolah and Cannonball seemed all bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Smiling away, like it was just another day in Tularosa. I sat down sheepishly, realizing I didn't remember half of last night. I was hoping I hadn't drunkenly come on to Loolah. I've been known to do such as that after a drink or few.

I got more relaxed when it appeared that this was, in fact, just another day in Tularosa. We were laughing away over heuvo rancheros, and exchanging patter about the night before. Cannonball said,
"I can't believe you were still a virgin at twenty three.." ( I couldn't believe I told them that.) Loolah laughed,
"You are so cute when you are drunk, Jackson. (I wondered what else I might have said.) You must come and let us make dinner for you." Cannonball leaned forward and patted my hand.
"And you must stay with us. We would not have you stay in that shabby motel room." Something about the way his huge meaty hands squeezed my hand in emphasis made me think it was an offer I couldn't refuse.

I checked out of the motel and drove away, looking down at the crude map drawn on the Waffle Wigwam napkin. Some ten miles out of town. In the desert. In a bend in the Rio Tularosa. It looked remote. The paranoid me was thinking, 'Oh God,they are planning to kill me'. But then , the me that was hoping everything would work out, thought it sounded like heaven.

Their simple adobe sat right on the bank of the river. Several large mescal agave adorned the desert floor around them. A long-horned steer wandered lazily around by the water's edge. Loolah was hanging laundry on a clothesline. She waved enthusiastically as I drove up. She was in that same dress she had on at the Waffle Wigwam, which was also the same dress she wore the night before in the bar. The lizard dress. As it turned out, she had seven identical lizard dresses. In fact, two of them were hanging on the clothesline. Just as I was stepping out of the car, Cannonball emerged from the adobe with a large knife in his hand.
"You are just in time, Jackson," he said, waving his knife as he spoke. He motioned for me to follow him. The paranoid me was thinking, 'I must have said something stupid last night, and now I am going to die'. And even the me that thought everything would work out, was having second thoughts. But it seems my fears were so mistaken. It wasn't anything like that. We were only going out back to kill a goat. I had never done such a thing in my life, but it sounded better than dying myself.

The rest of the morning was spent in preparation. The goat was laid splayed out over the fire pit, its hooves pointing to where the four winds blow. It rested on a low grid of angle-iron rails that once were likely bed rails. We would cook through the sunset and into the night. With the work done, we mostly sat about poking and replenishing the mesquite embers. Loolah came and went from the house. Sometimes bringing spices and herbs to throw on the meat. Sometimes bringing liquor. Sometimes, she just slow danced and swayed around us. The glitter of her lizard dress sparkled with yellow and red reflections of the fire.

In the utter darkness of pre-dawn, we huddled by the smoldering fire eating cabrito, tossing home-made mezcal, and chasing it with beer. Whatever was said that raucous night was long forgotten upon waking alongside the smoldering fire pit late next morning. I sat up breathing a smoky air of mesquite ash and goat meat. Loolah and Cannonball had taken the course of least resistance too. Both were sound asleep on the opposite side of the pit, and the blackened carcass. I was in a bit of a daze. Loolah sat up abruptly, looked around, and said,
"Coffee!!" She wandered into the house. Cannonball sat up and stretched, looked over at me, and laughed.
"What a night, eh? Welcome to Circo De La Suerte!" He waved his arm out toward a large grey weathered barn behind, and off to one side of their adobe. I looked over to it. On the side facing the highway was a large hand-painted sign that said "Museum of Circo De La Suerte, and Loolah's Lizardarium." Off to the side of that, it said, "Admission One Dollar per Person, Children Free". Loolah came out with a pot of coffee and three cups.
"This should wake us up, and then we will take you to the museum!"

I sipped my coffee as Loolah began to tell me the story.
"It all began with Ramon in Mexico City. I was living there at the time. Me and Alfredo. My iguana, Alfredo. I would take Alfredo on walks with me. Mostly I carried him, but sometimes he would walk beside me on a leash. I would always stop on this one corner because there was a Mariachi singer who played and sang there every day. That was Ramon. People would stop and listen, and drop pesos into a can at his feet. And they would often ask me about Alfredo. I would proudly show them how Alfredo could stand upright on his hind feet. I let the children pet Alfredo. Alfredo would remain aloof, acting like he was more than worthy of such adoration. He is very self-centered that way. One day Ramon told me he was moving his location to a nearby plaza. At first I was worried that perhaps he was mad that Alfredo and I were getting such attention on his corner. But then, he asked me if I would go too. So, that was the start of it all."
"You mean the start of Circo De La Suerte?" I asked, feeling somewhat hypnotized by her story.
"Yes. But we didn't call it that until after we decided to travel to Monterrey together. We talked along the way about working together, and I came up with the idea of a green dress that would match my Iguana's pretty belly. But, come Jackson," she said, holding out her hand. " We will talk more along the way." We walked slowly toward the barn. The museum.
"That's where they met Pedro and Lydia, in Monterrey." Cannonball said, as he followed behind us.
"Let me tell this part, Cannonball. Then you can tell the part that is so hard for me to talk about." She put her arm in mine, and we continued along. "Yes, we met Pedro there. He was a juggler extroardinaire. He could juggle anything. Once I saw him juggle three young children. And he was a knife thrower too. He would juggle big knives, and then one by one throw them and pierce balloons taped to a tree. And Pedro's wife, Lydia was a flamenco dancer. And Pedro loved her so. She was working the streets too. She had music in a boom box, and would dance to it. Well, as it turns out, Ramon can play flamenco style guitar quite well. Suddenly we had an act together. All four of us. It was so much fun, and we drew big crowds in the parks.
"Loolah and Lydia were like sisters," Cannonball added. Loolah nodded, but her face seemed to sadden.
"Well, here we are," Loolah said, as we arrived at the big wooden door to the museum. "Cannonball can tell you now about how he met up with us, and all that happened then." Cannonball unlatched the door and began to slide it open.

"You see, Jackson, a long time ago I was known as Captain Cannonball." I peered into the dark museum lit only by streaks or stripes of light streaming through gaps in the old barn-like structure. Suddenly I saw it. The cannon. It was huge. Maybe fifteen feet long. And it was mounted on a long flatbed trailer, and its barrel was up about 30 degrees or so. The painted placard along the length of the flatbed read, "CAPTAIN CANNONBALL". My jaw dropped, and Cannonball laughed. "Wanna take it for a ride?" I shook my head no, as I entered the museum and walked slowly toward the cannon.
"No way would I ever do that. You mean they shot you out of the cannon?" He nodded as we approached it.
"Long time ago," he said. " I was working with the Cole Brothers back then. But, a man's body can only take so much punishment, so I gave it up." I walked around the cannon, looking it over. "Its spring-loaded," Cannonball said. "The flash and the sound of the blast is just for effect. So anyway, I retired down in Juarez and mostly spent my time drinking and whoring. Until I met Loolah, that is."
"That's right," Loolah laughed. " And lucky for you, Cannonball, darling." She turned to me. "Cannonball saw us performing on a plaza in Juarez. And we were so excited to know he had once been Captain Cannonball! He took us to his house and showed us his cannon. It was in the yard behind the house. We schemed and schemed to get Cannonball to make a come-back as the big star main attraction of Circo De La Suerte. Tell them what happened next, Cannonball." We all sat down on the several benches that were there. I was facing toward the opposite side. A sign with an arrow to another room. It said, Loolah's Lizardarium."
"I'll show you that later," Loolah said, her eyes following my gaze. I looked back at Cannonball.
"Well," Cannonball began. "We was all sitting around a campfire one night passing the bottle around. Everybody was talking about me making some kind of amazing come-back. And somebody came up with this crazy idea."
"It was Pedro who thought of it first," Loolah chimed in.
"Yes, Pedro. Pedro started talking about the notion of setting the cannon up on the banks of the Rio Grande, and shooting me over to the other side. To El Paso. Well, I thought it was the nuttiest thing I'd ever heard of. But then, he said there was a place along the bank where it is only 130 feet to the other side. Well, I know for a fact that I'd done 160 feet. In fact it was the world record for a little while. Well, I still complained about it. You gotta do a lot of calculating to know just how to set the cannon, and where to place the net on the El Paso side. And you gotta factor in the winds. But, nobody was listening. they were drawing lines in the dust with sticks, planning the lay-out for the stunt."

At this point, dear reader, I am going to write down how this part of the story played out, as they told it to me. Cannonball agreed to the stunt. A day was set. Several of the troupe went to the other side of the river and began setting up the net. They also distributed flyers around the city of El Paso announcing the amazing event. When the day came, large crowds had gathered along both sides of the river. Loolah stepped up on the cannon platform, and waved enthusiastically over to the opposite side. She was beaming proudly, and resplendent in a new shimmering metallic green lizard dress. Captain Cannonball then appears in a silver body suit with a big black shiny belt, and black boots that wrapped around his silver pant legs. And then, last but not least, a long red satin cape hung from his shoulder. The roars from the crowds on both sides seemed to echo back and forth across the river. Cannonball disappears down the barrel of the cannon with his goggles on, and waves a final goodbye. The crowds counted down from both sides. 10...9...8...Loolah waves a flaming fire stick about...7...6...5...she reaches down to the cannon's end with the torch...4...3...2...she sets off the gunpowder charge and pulls the lever releasing the spring...1...BLAM!!! Cannonball soars out and up into the sky. Flying with his arms stretched out in front of him just like Superman. His cape flapping bravely in the wind. He recalls looking ahead at the distant net and the way it was looming closer. His speed was estimated to be 70 miles per hour as he made his plummeting descent. He nailed it. He landed squarely in the center of the net and bounced high in the air several times as the net recoiled from the impact. The crowds went crazy. Border Patrol and Immigration people were already there, and he was arrested. There was a loud angry chorus of boos when the awe struck crowd saw the Captain in handcuffs. But the press was there, too. And it was clear in the newspapers, and on the radios and tvs within hours, that Captain Cannonball had been catapulted into international super-stardom. He was released from custody later that day, and with official apologies.

As Loolah and Cannonball told the story of that day, I was mesmerized and had goose-bumps. We walked around the barn and I saw photos of Circo De La Suerte. Ramon in his mariachi sombero, Pedro in a blousy satin shirt with a sash around his waist and holding up two fistfuls of shiny daggers., Lydia in a proud dancer's pose, Loolah, the Lizard Lady in her lizard dress, Alfredo sporting a black bow tie, and Cannonball in his flashy flying togs, standing chest out, hands on his hips like Captain of the Americas. And there were yellowed newspaper clippings tacked to the walls, several of which showed photos of the captain mid air over the Rio. It seemed they were destined to become a phenomenon with a future as glittering as Vegas itself. But then came that other day only two weeks later. The day Loolah found difficult to talk about. As the Captain began recalling the day, Loolah sat with her head down, her hands clasped on her lap. Cannonball stood and began to quietly speak.

"We played on the El Paso side for awhile. Numerous small towns as we followed the border west. And then we came to Deming. That's in western New Mexico, not too far from the Arizona line. Well, we set the cannon up on the central plaza, even though I was not planning to jump that day. It made a nice backdrop for the others to perform. Pedro had taped some balloons to a nearby tree, and was juggling about six knives in a big circle in the air. Ramon was playing his guitar, and Lydia was dancing. Loolah was walking Alfredo around and letting people pet him. One by one, Ramon's knives began flying away and popping balloons. The last knife missed its mark, and struck Lydia squarely between the shoulder blades. And, it was in her to the hilt." Cannonball walked over to Loolah who had begun to sob. He put his arm around her, and looked up at me. "Lydia was like a sister to Loolah. To us all, really." His voice quivered and he paused to regain composure.

Lydia died that day. In Pedro's arms. A hush fell over the circle of horrified on-lookers. The plaza was absolutely still. It was as though time stopped. Lydia's tragic death spelled the end of the Circo De La Suerte. They were still much sought after. But they had lost all heart. Pedro buried Lydia in a small cemetary in Monterrey, and buried his knives with her, as well as his heart. He was never the same. Cannonball and Loolah retired on the state side in Tularosa, a little town I stopped at quite by chance. And where the story presented itself to me in a cheezy motel lounge over a bottle of Mezcal. As told by two former members of the troupe, Cannonball, and Loolah the Lizard Lady. I will always remember them, and hope to see them again one day. Meanwhile at night I have dreams of flying through the air the way Cannonball did. Of being shot from a cannon across some boundary in my mind. Or of drifting lazily through the Lizadarium following Loolah's slinky shadow.




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