The Tears of a Clown

He had been known as Beppe for so many years that he found it strange when the nurses called him Joe.

At 73 he still didn't consider himself old and he was immensely frustrated by his body's inability to keep up with his still lightening fast brain. He couldn't complain in a way, he'd had a good life: as a circus clown he'd travelled the length and breadth of the country, met so many people, and had thrived on the adrenaline of entertaining.

The circus life was in his blood, born to a circus family, he'd never known any other way of life, which made it so difficult for him to accept the limitations now imposed on him.

The younger men who had since joined the circus still came to see him whenever they were in town, although now he came to think of it, it was at least eight months since he'd last heard from them.

Joe had married at twenty, but they had never had children, and hadn't really missed them. There were always children around them on the circus sites and they travelled as one group.

Joe hated the anonymity and solitude of his new peculiar life. He hated the routine: every day was exactly the same as any other. His slurred speech meant he couldn't articulate his needs or share his thoughts, express his emotions. He felt impotent, trapped, caged. What worried him was that one day the rage would dissipate and he would be left with apathy, resigned to his fate. He missed his old life: this wasn't life, this was just existence.

As he looked down at his red braces, a remnant of his circus days, he sighed. One nurse had seen the unspoken message in his eyes and had put his braces on him today. He was inordinately pleased for such a small gesture.

He knew they saw him as an oddity, this funny little circus man. He'd led an unconventional life, he had little in common with the other residents and had no great desire to befriend them. He wasn't an unfriendly man, on the contrary, "Beppe had been at the heart of the circus life, but Joe wasn't interested in forging new friendships, he just missed the old ones.

Joe sat in his chair, alone in his thoughts. He could see himself in the large functional mirror over the fireplace and he felt ashamed. His once thick, luxuriant hair now fell limply over his ears, grey and dull, his clothes which had once been smart, clean and stylish, were now old man's clothes, beige, polyester. The nurses had dressed him in a shirt, complaining that it was too much bother with the buttons as they did Much to his chagrin, it was washed out, clean but slightly shabby. He looked as he felt, old and worn out.

One of the nurses he felt some kind of a connection with was walking towards him, she had a smile on her face as she approached him, he looked at her, the blank expression belying the anticipation he felt. "Joe, she said, "I've got some good news, you've got visitors. And he looked beyond her to see four young men, exuding an aura of vibrancy and youth which moved with them as they approached. He felt his heart quicken, he tried to sit up straighter and looked over to them.

Hey Beppe shouted one of them across the room, and he ran the last few steps, breathless and excited he placed a folder in Beppe's arms. "We've been dying to see you, and he gestured to the folder. Beppe struggled to move his arm to open it, the young man unobtrusively did it for him, and Beppe saw photos from his youth, newspaper cuttings collected from the towns they had visited, flyer advertisements from years ago.

"One of the women was sorting out a load of old stuff she'd been storing for years, she was going to chuck it but thank god we saw it. Me and the boys thought you'd like it Beppe, I know we don't get to see you too often, but we all miss you, it's not the same you know¦¦..

His voice tailed off, he looked down to see two fat tears fall from Beppe's face onto the album.

"Oh god, Beppe, I'm sorry, I didn't think, we don't want to upset you.

Beppe managed to shake his head, he stretched out a tremulous hand and touched the young man's arm. The man leant down to him, Beppe's voice shook and he desperately tried to speak, "thank you, thank you.

Beppe died two weeks later, he was blessed with a good death, simply falling asleep and not waking again. The nurse found him, his head resting on his chin, a half smile on his face, the album open in his hand. She looked at the photo of "Beppe the clown, smiled, kissed him softly and said "Good night Beppe, sleep well.