Why the Clowns are sad?

This reading a book, watch carefully what the figures illustrate that, then rose to his eyes filled with my eyelashes and asked:
- Ma ... why the clowns are sad?
His little finger indicates a huge tear shining on a face very white, very red mouth with a black eyebrow.
The answer may be conventional, the usual, known in these cases or, as the kids say, "easy": "Because this love with the beautiful écuyère who, in turn, loves the indifferent and slim domador that ... ".
I nailed the dark and intelligent depth of his gaze, one that knows that you really tell a truth. This I know because they have been under much cold or heat from a circus tent and she calls me unknowingly from the deep faith of his innocence until the respect that I deserve. So my answer is a story-one-more of the many clowns who knew and who feel like one another.
They are not particularly sad, I reply: on the contrary are happy, because unlike other men do what they chose, what they like: being artists, and make the kids laugh. And neither will count as large eyes of the child and put them face lights up with a bunch of children when they see them doing such nonsense full of wisdom! The clowns are men like everyone has family, a beautiful family that grows with the circus, like a plant, very together as a bouquet of wisterias; united in a common world of costumes with sequins, with cheerful pots of makeup, distances travelled as the most powerful ricacho.
Obviously, there's a time when we are sad, very sad clowns, clowns all: when no longer be. I saw them, I swear that you saw. And many were, with a sore remoteness, with a dry tears in the eyes worn. Would you speak of one? One, in its common name: Olegario was called. He had the round face and blue eyes. From what I looked chiquito in his dressing room, when used alchemy of albayalde, the dressing room and the black and put some of their costumes, so beautiful, green, yellow, blue, full of bright, with large flowers, butterflies or know I cut in mostacillas.
And in the ritual that face painted comic dichoso what was Olegario! It ceased to be that this anonymous man to become the clown "Trompito" companion of Tony "Chocolate", a sweet black and famous that was lost in his suit and dropped his pants endless.
Step long-in-a lifetime that ceremony, listening to the music of what it called banda, and stripping of paint, leaving the track and make laugh, with little or much public, with some physical or mental pain and gather silver to buy their own circus, chiquito, cute, walking jumping by the Argentine countryside as a little bird cheerful, happy as his blue eyes.
Of course, for all the years pass. And Olegario-or "Trompito-and could not go along with its flying bird. I am still in a remote house to which filled with flowers. Ultimately stacked chairs, tarps, appliances and kept their trunks between circus big, old, almost like the Cat in Boots. Inside they slept their clothes, sprinkling of applause and lights.
One day I went to visit him. I fell by surprise. He was there, surrounded by souvenirs, programs, photographs. On the kitchen table, spreading out, as a last resting restless, one of his clown suits. Bright and spent his satin, with many sequins, with a large peacock wearing open its tail in an array of multicolored canutillos on the chest, resembling a huge decoration of joy.
Olegario moved slowly, hampered his walking, legs burdened by osteoarthritis. Beside the suit was with the sewing thread, needles, scissors and a wide and long strip of gold lamé. The clown had clothing on their backs the deep wound of an opening. My question was first in the eyes, then became a word.
Olegario Then I responded and found him in any child whom he had cheered and which had been put on Rondon in its pure soul of man.
- Is that ... I was a kid. And I must be prevented, maybe someday I get back, if only to encourage any party child ...
The blue eyes shone in a mixture of hope and tears.
He took his hands shaken. In silence I asked him not to say that this could not be. It's so nice to have an illusion! Finally, since expired, and with that authenticates lagrima not fell painted on one side but by the long caminito their wrinkles, added:
-- One night, one! All that remains of my life by night ... circus!
Now you know that clowns are not sad. It saddened when no longer be called "Trompito" to be simply "Olegario"