A Clown's Tears

Auguste first looked at his princess when she was only minutes old. Her helpless cry let him know it was his sacred duty to protect her. When tragedy struck, he judged himself the worst kind of failure. A proper father would have made sure she had a mother. He blamed himself for that loss.

The night of the fire that changed their lives left horrific memories. It was like watching an old copy of a frightful black and white film. He could still hear the terrifying sound of his child gasping for air. The bedroom door was shut but a black ghost seemed to be reaching from underneath the door. The two of them shared a room. Angela, seven years old, was asthmatic and wheezing severely. He reached first for her inhaler, gave her two puffs and jammed it in his pocket. Then he soaked a towel from his small bathroom sink and placed it under a door that felt like burning coals. He also placed a damp washcloth on her face.

"Angela, we will be fine. Has Papa ever let you down?"
She had Mr. Wiggles, her stuffed bunny, on her lap. Her tears fell on his crushed curly hair.
Between the tears, hiccups and wheezing, there was a slight smile.

He searched for his cell phone to dial 911.
"A fire at Seventeen Treetop Lane... we' re trapped.. 6th floor bedroom. I can get to a window in the bathroom. There are people on the other side where the door is really hot.... people are crying!"

The dispatcher said, "Do not open that door! We will handle this. If you open it, you could all die."

Auguste cradled Angela in his arms, trying to remain calm, yet praying in Latin.
'Please, God! She is all I have! You must help us!'

The dispatcher's voice crackled in his ear.
"Sir, we are on our way! Get down close to the floor and keep damp washcloths close to your face."

On the other side of the sweltering door were his ex-wife, Angelina, and her boyfriend. Angelina's frenetic cries for help broke his heart. He heard the sirens and had Angela in his arms at the open window. Help was climbing the ladder and his precious child was handed into the massive arms of a New York City Fireman.

Why he did it was a question he would ask himself many times. He knew his child needed him as a parent and the risk to his life could be tremendous but he had to try to save Angelina. He could not let her go and that is why she and her unemployed, useless boyfriend were living in his apartment.

Auguste still saw Angelina as a beautiful angel with full curly black hair that covered him as they made love. Her body was a woman's and watching her breast feed Angela was like a painting of Madonna and child. The love between the two of them had been the real thing on his part.

He believed this bum she was seeing had gotten her caught up in the cocoa bean. She had stopped breast feeding Angela when she was six months old and began acting paranoid and maniac. Her personality was completely different. She couldn't stay in one place, couldn't sleep or stop talking. Her hands shook.

He was trying to get full custody of his daughter by forcing Angelina to make the call. What did she really want? Would her eyes open and see the priorities in life? He didn't understand the power of the cocoa bean. How could she chose that insane love over the joy given by their precious little girl?
Angelina begged him not to take her child away and he was good enough to let her boyfriend, Frelando, stay in the apartment even though they were both junkies. Auguste believed Angela needed her mother at any cost. The truth was he was still bewitched with Angelina.

Now, he had saved his daughter. Without further thought, he opened the door, not even feeling the pain searing his hands. The last thing he saw was an inferno, like Dante's Tenth Circle. It consumed him. He remembered waking up at some point screaming as white hot pain ravaged his body. Then a numbing wall of darkness rescued him.

In the hospital, his first weak words.
"Is Angela ok? Where is my little one?"

He was reassured over and over his daughter was safe, but was crushed that his ex-wife had not survived. Neither had her boyfriend. He had always believed Angelina would clean up her act and even if they had not reunited as a couple, she would be a good mother.

He realized his child needed a normal family. He had the nurses call his sister, Helene Modiere, a social worker who immediately came from miles away.

She looked around at the machines, there were so many with alarms and monitors. She hadn't seen her big brother since Angela's Christening. Helene had seen so many patients and people in painful circumstances that she felt pain for her brother. She couldn't understand why he would risk his life for a piece of trash. She had never liked Angelina; it was a gut feeling. Now Auguste needed her help and more importantly, Angela needed her. Auguste needed hope and distraction. She talked about their childhood.

"Do you remember the time we got caught coloring the Holy Water right before Mass?"
It was a one sided conversation.

The curtain was pulled back and Auguste's nurse entered. Helene began a conversation with her. Cindy Sloan was a novice R.N. and appeared shaky but sweet. Helene had seen this extent of burns and even worse on children. Sometimes the predators were the parents.

Auguste's eyes were brown and beautiful, now the long, lush eyelashes and brows were singed. Cindy put drops in them to lubricate. She hated to put pads back over them although it was best to keep them moist.

Auguste had breathed in a lot of smoke. They had a terrible time getting a tube into his nose or mouth due to swelling but eventually got one in. His face was sliced from the glass that was embedded in it. You could tell that his hair was brown and had been long but now it was patches and beyond combing. Cindy lifted his hand from the bed and tried to get him to squeeze hers but he wasn't able to. His right hand wasn’t burnt but the left and both arms were. Pieces of fabric had to be picked from the skin by debriding.

He would eventually be lowered in to a whirlpool and then all the clothing would be removed along with dead skin. His breath sounds with a stethoscope were very noisy. Cindy suctioned some of the mucus from his chest so he could breathe easier. The area across his chest and most of his abdomen was bandaged. Areas that were open were black and bloody and the smell was awful.
Helene looked at his legs and one of his boots was still on, burned to the flesh. He had an intravenous line in his groin.

Helene was grateful that his pain seemed to be controlled by medication. She knew he was hovering on the brink of death and right now, she was not going to tell Angela anything.

Helene picked Angela up from a foster family and she quickly became a part of her large family. When Auguste realized how disfiguring his disabilities were, he wrote on a board that Angela be told he had died.

Helene only went along with this because of his mental state. There wasn't a way this fragile child could cope with his disabilities and the confusion, rage, depression that his medical condition had caused. She knew the narcotics didn't help this since he was now addicted to them and it required more and more to help him. Whenever the staff tried to lower the dose he became combative and had to be restrained. It was a good Burn Unit but always understaffed and constantly changing with their patient's needs.

He had seven surgeries over time on his face and upper body. In spite of drugs, he screamed when the nurses removed dead tissue in a whirlpool. In surgery, donor grafts were used for reconstruction. Infection set in twice and the burns seeped with the terrible smell of dead tissue. His fever climbed, adding to the confusion so he was placed on a ventilator to give his congested lungs and fighting body a rest. He was so close to death that Helene finally believed Auguste had been right about keeping Angela in the dark.

It was so hard for Helene to keep the truth from Angela. At first, she wanted to see her Papa and was told he was too sick to see anyone. She thought her love would cure him. She made pictures for him and jewelry. She cried herself to sleep every night. She accepted the fact that her mother was gone. She knew her Momma was drug sick and was in a better place.

Angela found her Papa eight months after the fire. She never believed he had died. She told Helene that she had to try to find him because she would feel it in her heart if he was truly gone.
She was so smart, she had called hospitals saying she was " the child of a dying father and no one would tell her where he was."

She sobbed until she found the right sympathetic operator; even though Papa’s name remained unlisted.

She managed to talk a nurse into taking her in to see her Papa. She had to put on mask, gloves and gown. The raw terror in her innocent eyes was Auguste's true mirror. He saw the monster he had become. She ran from the room screaming. The staff then realized who this little person was and it took a couple of hours to calm her down. They even had to give her a sedative.

She kept crying.
"That's not my Papa. It couldn't be him".

Helene and psychiatrists tried to reason with Auguste to let them talk with her about it. In his head he heard her screams at what he had become. He could not put her through that again. He insisted that he knew what was best.

Over all, Angela's life was good. At nine, she had many friends, was in the Drama and Art Club, and was taking Ballet classes. At ten, she was begining to like boys but still really missed her Papa.
She told Helene, "There will be a time when Papa and I will see each other again."

During Rehab, he lived in a home for burn patients and bonded with many. He became depressed at the number of them who couldn't move past their disabilities and heal internally. The pain would always be there and if they didn't constantly work their muscles and bones, their bodies became stuck in abnormal positions.

It had been three years since the fire. To have a normal life he had to push himself. He took a partial disability and overcame the need to feel sorry for himself. He found a way to do something he could enjoy and give back in his own way.

He found a bright apartment with a lot of light and covered it with plants. He combed the city for thrift stores with really good furniture. He was proud of his bargaining power. People had good hearts and much was given to him. His home soon looked like a show place. There was a room for a teenage girl, complete with a mattress on the floor with a lovely pink satin coverlet, pillows in the shape of hearts and a wicker chair hanging from the ceiling. He found a deal on a stereo and TV. His heart sung with joy and hope for what could be.

He sat before his show mirror preparing his mask; the paint could not touch the tender scarred areas. He had found an expert to work pro bono to mold his face with a silicone substance and fashion a lightweight mask to apply makeup. He always auditioned in full make up. It all worked brilliantly.

He was "the Clown of the Circus". It was perfect because he truly was in disguise yet he let his inner sparkling personality show through. Since he had constant pain, he had to find a way to deal with it. There were opoid pain patches he could wear after surgeries to loosen contractures. These helped with his gift of putting himself in a magical world with others who lived there.

He watched Angela over the years. In makeup he watched her go to school, playing with her cousins outside, even in a play. He had pictures everywhere and letters and calls from Helene about his brilliant lovely daughter. Now she was twelve and Helene said she still cried for her Papa at night.

While Auguste believed he was being cagey, his daughter was following his tracks just as thoroughly through the papers and reviews of his excellent performances.

One evening there was a soft knock on his door. He opened it to his beautiful Angela. She looked like her mother; long curly black hair, almond eyes and a flawless olive complexion. Her face was alive with the spirit of goodness. Tears ran down his mask, washing away his makeup, his whole body trembled with the need to hold her.

She said, "I love you, Papa. You are the very best clown".

She caught his loving tears on her fingertips, like precious jewels.

Auguste also didn't know that Helene had been taking Angela to burn units at hospitals to volunteer.

Angela told him how she was thirteen when Aunt Helene said, "I think you need to know about disabled people. It is good to volunteer for your fellow man. Jesus taught us that."

She said, "The patients look like something from a movie. They feel like their burns make them different. I had to dress in a gown and wear gloves and a mask. I help them eat and read to them. Some families didn’t come to visit at all. Can you believe that? Talking to them helped me understand you."

"I’d come home and think about you and Mom. I was glad she died so she wouldn't suffer. I don't think she could have been brave like you and she would have hated not being beautiful."

Auguste pleaded, "You must not judge your Mother, why do you think I loved her so very much? She had qualities you never knew and I only wish you could have known her."

"Papa, don't you think I know she had the drug sickness? She never could have coped with pain and being disfigured."

He hugged her. "You are so much smarter than I am. I can not think straight when it comes to your mother."

Then he tried to explain why he kept his burns from her.

"I don't understand. Those burns are badges of love and courage, Papa."

She was very excited and so proud of him. She wanted him to come to her school for Career Day to show them what he does for people, making them forget their problems and laugh.
Helene had told Angela the remarkable story of the day when her own Papa had saved her and then tried to save her Mom.

Auguste picked her up, whirled her around and hugged her close. He had caused both of them heartache because of his own fears.
"My love, because of my stupidity, we have lost precious time and must make up for it".

So Auguste spends time in Adult and Childrens' Burn Units and schools. He shows them both his real face and then a special clown's face. Watching their faces go through a range of emotions is wonderful. They are frightened at first, then perplexed and finally, they laugh and cry.

He tells people, "My young daughter taught me so much. We are all the same inside, so we must smile and greet each other as equal souls. We will feed each other as Jesus and Gandhi taught us."

His show brings all people the healing power of laughter. He speaks of wasted time.

Auguste always tells teachers, children, patients and staff, "Young children are our teachers. I believe they are closer to God. They are not scarred by our false worship of superficial beauty. Their love is unconditional like the love of our Heavenly Father."

By Kathie Stehr
Edited on August 26, 2011