“Three days?” McMurphy squeezed his cigar into pulp between his molars.
“Yessir. Could’ve been much longer.” The engineer jerked his head toward the whitewashed shack at the end of the tracks. “We’re lucky that telegraph station was working. Two days to get the parts from Kansas City, another day to replace the bearing. This train ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til it’s repaired.”
McMurphy spat shredded tobacco onto the ash-littered gravel of the railroad spur and surveyed the low, rolling hills surrounding it. There was a reason he never stopped in this part of Kansas. Wheat fields didn’t care about exotic animals, or clowns, or freaks, and they certainly didn’t carry cash.
He turned back to the engineer. “How much is this going to cost, Harry?”
“Five hundred, and that’s only because the stationmaster in Kansas City owes me a favor.”
It was two hundred more than McMurphy kept in the contingency fund, but he wasn’t going to tell Harry that. He’d have to raid the payroll again. “This raggedy show is going to bleed me white. Fix it. Maybe I can get Rumpelstiltskin to spin me some straw into gold while I wait.”
He shoved his hands into empty pockets and trudged back along the line of rail cars, their red and yellow paint blistered and flaking from years of neglect. The gilt letters proclaiming “McMurphy’s Fantasmagorical Wonder Show” were barely readable now. A few heads poked out of the coach car—men, women, and freaks calling to him.
“Why’re we stopped, Boss?”
“Something wrong with the train?”
“We gonna make it to Salina tonight?”
“Train’s broke. Burned-out axle bearing, and we’re stuck here for three days!” he hollered back.
The heads withdrew, moaning and grumbling. McMurphy reached the caboose and hoisted himself aboard.
Bishop Wentworth was waiting for him. The genteel limey had been McMurphy’s ringmaster and de-facto second-in-command for nearly ten years, and probably understood him better than anybody on earth.
“We’re knackered, eh, Jim?”
“We’re not going to make our date in Salina, and Kansans value punctuality almost as much as abstinence. Yes, my friend, we’re knackered.”
“How much for the repairs?”
“Five hundred.”
Wentworth whistled. “Have to delay payday again, I expect.”
“It’s not like our employees have anywhere else to go. They’ll get paid after the next show.”
“Any idea when that might be?”
“No.”
“I thought as much. I’ve an idea about that.”
McMurphy leaned forward. “I’m listening.”
“Well, as we’re marooned here for a few days, why not put on an impromptu show for the locals?”
“What locals?”
“Someone must be tending all this wheat.”
“No doubt, but I don’t know where to start looking. It’ll be a long walk for somebody if we send them in the wrong direction.”
“Ask Cecile.”
“That old humbug? You’re not serious.”
“She was right about Saint Joseph, Osceola, and Dubuque. Found us a fine till in the first two and got us out of town ahead of a mob in the last. You can’t deny she has a way of knowing things.”
“She gives me the willies.”
“You’d rather I ask her?”
“No. It’s my show. I’ll do it.”
Cecile Rochambeau had her own compartment in the back of the coach car, partly in deference to her age, partly because no one cared to spend much time in her vicinity. As Wentworth observed, she knew things, often things a person would rather she didn’t know, and she wasn’t shy about sharing that knowledge.
McMurphy closed the door behind him. Cecile sat at a table in the corner, sliding cards from an oversized Tarot deck and snapping them onto the tabletop with knobby, be-ringed fingers. A wide hat with a black lace veil covered her head, the veil fluttering with each raspy breath.
Snap. “Pay will be late again, Mister McMurphy,” she said.
McMurphy fumed, but nodded curtly as he pulled a chair up to the table opposite Cecile and sat down.
Snap. “You need more money for the repairs.”
“Yes.”
Snap. “You wish to know where we might put on a show.”
“Just tell me which direction to send the advance team.”
Cecile returned the cards to their deck. “An odd place, this. The future is quiet here. Three readings I’ve done this morning, all identical.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Never before.”
She shuffled the deck and laid three cards on the table.
“Theatrics are wasted on me, Cecile,” McMurphy said.
“Silence. See this? The Shattered Tower, The Wheel, and The Emperor. Always the same.”
“What does it mean?”
“Disaster, change in fortune, and immense power.”
“Well, we’ve had the disaster, and I could sure use a run of better luck, but power? In Kansas? I think you’re losing your touch, Cecile.”
“If you do not wish my help, leave.”
“Just answer my question. Which way?”
“South. Two miles. They will pay all that we need, and more than you expect.”
“Now you’re talking. You’re sure of this?”
“I told you. It is calm here. The portents are stable.”
“Well, let’s see if we can put a little excitement into their lives.”
“They will not change. We might.”
“They’re rubes, old woman. We offer them something they’ve never seen before, and they fall all over themselves to pay us for the privilege.”
“As you say.” Cecile swept the cards back into her deck, shuffled them, and began dealing another set.
Snap. Tower.
Snap. Wheel.
Snap. Emperor.
“All right. Howie, you find the mayor, or selectmen, or whatever, and let them know we’re here and we need a place to pitch the Big Top. Offer them the star bucks, extra cotton candy, whatever you have to do, short of a share of the take. Bill, go wake up Rattles, douse him with coffee, and help him touch up his paint so he can pass out the paper. Keep him on a short leash. I don’t want a repeat of Dubuque.”
“Yessir, Mister McMurphy.”
“Off with you, then. Be back here by two with an invitation so we can bring in the wagons today.”
The two foremen scurried away. McMurphy leaned back against the coach and inspected his cigar. He figured he could nurse this stogie along for another week, if he was careful. Heat shimmered in waves over the swaying stalks of wheat, and a hawk called out somewhere in the distance. From the other side of the train, he could hear Wentworth giving directions to the roustabouts as they unloaded and stacked all the bits and pieces of their little circus.
He chuckled. There wasn’t anything out here. Maybe a couple of leather-skinned dirt scratchers and their scrawny offspring, but it wouldn’t do any harm to pretend he was going to put on a show. It would keep their minds and bodies busy for a few hours—better than sitting on the train stewing about their delayed wages.
Bill, Howie, and Rattles returned an hour ahead of schedule. McMurphy heard them coming a long way off, thanks to the collection of hardware hanging from Rattles’ tattered coat. The clown was sober, thank heaven for small miracles, but all three men were giddy with excitement.
“It’s a full-up town, Mister McMurphy! At least eight hundred people!”
“They gave us a three-acre plot at the end of the main drag, rent free—said they ain’t never seen no circus before!”
“And they took every paper!” Rattles chimed in. “Gang of kids showed up and offered to pass ’em out while I put on a little show of my own. I ain’t had so much fun since, well, since ever!”
McMurphy had never seen the little clown so animated without a few shots of whiskey under his belt. “Old witch was right after all. Looks like we got us a show, boys. Pass the word and get everybody lined up.”
Thirty minutes later, McMurphy’s Fantasmagorical Wonder Show was in parade formation, marching along a dusty trail bordering the wheat fields to the skirl of an asthmatic calliope. Acrobats and jugglers, elephants and ponies, clowns and freaks, swinging along merrily despite the oppressive heat. Rattles led the way. The Bishop, in his gold-braided ringmaster uniform, followed a few steps behind. McMurphy sat beside Howie at the reins of a team of Belgians pulling the tiger wagon. Rajah and Fatima stretched and yawned behind the iron bars like exiled feline royalty in mangy fur coats.
McMurphy glanced back at them and shook his head. Why the hell did he get into the circus business? He felt as caged as the tigers.
He clamped down on his cigar and squeezed the reins.
Buildings rose ahead, church steeple and angled roofs lifting from the horizon like another crop sprouting from the endless sea of farmland. The town sat in a little basin that had hidden it from sight at the railroad spur. All the buildings were painted white and laid out in a die-straight grid, not the random clustering of tumbledown shacks McMurphy was used to seeing in this part of the country. He wondered if there was a Masonic Lodge here, or perhaps a Surveyor’s Guild chapter.
As the parade drew closer, people emerged from the buildings and began to line the central boulevard. They looked like ordinary farmers—men and boys in overalls and straw hats, women and girls in calico dresses with white pinafores, all fair-haired and fair-skinned. Probably a colony of Swedes or Norskies—sober, honest, and eminently shill-able.
McMurphy smiled and twitched the Belgians’ reins as Sarah Ann bridged the calliope from its Sousa march into a warbling rendition of “Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.” The acrobats flipped and tumbled, riders of ponies and elephants smiled and waved, and everybody else danced and capered along the margins of the street, glad-handing the crowd and tossing colored beads and penny candies. Rattles zigzagged ahead, clattering and pratfalling and squirting water from the huge celluloid daisy on his lapel. Bishop Wentworth kept a dignified pace, tipping his black top hat at intervals.
The townsfolk clapped, but without the hooting and hollering the circus performers were used to hearing on parade. Instead of gasping or swooning at the distorted features and twisted bodies of the freaks, they watched with a placid, sad contemplation. Several tilted their heads, doglike, as if trying to understand.
It occurred to McMurphy that these sodbusters might be Mormons—moralistic and poor as dirt. He hoped to God it wasn’t so.
The parade complete, a team of roustabouts worked their way back along the thoroughfare, shoveling the droppings of horses and elephants while the performers arranged their wagons on the grassy field the townsfolk had provided for their use. Two more work crews dragged out the canvas and poles for the Big Top.
McMurphy located the fellow who seemed to be the mayor, though they called him “Elder,” and pumped his hand, thanking him for his town’s hospitality. The Elder was a tall man, pale of hair and complexion like the rest, with a lined face and a perpetually solemn manner, like an undertaker.
He slid his bony hand from McMurphy’s and leaned forward in a slight bow. “This place is yours for the next three days.”
McMurphy grinned and mopped his brow. It felt hotter than Hades, though the locals didn’t seem to mind. “In exchange for your extraordinary kindness,” he said, “I guarantee you one hell of a show. One you won’t soon forget.”
“Your men said your train is broken. Do you need assistance repairing it?”
“No, no. Parts are on the way, and my engineer can handle what needs to be done.”
“I see. May our children watch as you assemble your tent? We’re farmers, but we’re also builders, and they’ve never seen temporary structures of this size before.”
“As long as they stay outside the ropes and don’t heckle the roustabouts, they can gawk all they want. We’ll be ready for the first show at seven tonight. Will that suit you?”
“That will be fine.”
“There’s a small admission fee.” McMurphy clutched his hat, eyes downcast, and shuffled his feet. An air of humility always helped at this point. Country folk, particularly the religious ones, were tightwads, and he’d lost more than one show when his hosts balked at the cost. “Twenty-five cents for children, fifty cents for adults. Additional ten cents for the sideshow, elephant rides, et cetera. Peanuts and cotton candy, nickel a bag. It’s customary.” He lifted his gaze to the Elder’s face in watery supplication. “Have to feed the tigers and pachyderms, you know.”
The Elder’s attention was focused somewhere in the distance over McMurphy’s shoulder. “And the people, I presume. Fair enough.”
McMurphy relaxed his grip on the hat. “Then I’ll look for you tonight. I’ll save you a good seat, a star buck right at the center ring.”
“I would prefer priority be given to the children. I will sit wherever there is space.”
“As you like. We’ll keep the first two rows reserved for kiddies ten years old and younger, then.”
“Thank you.” The Elder turned and walked slowly back into town. McMurphy watched him for a few moments. Odd birds, these blond farmers. He hoped they had plenty of money. He dusted off his hat, donned it at a rakish angle, recovered the stogie from his hip pocket, and went to supervise the arrangement of the sideshow.
The mingled aromas of cotton candy, roasted peanuts, and livestock wafted across the circus grounds as McMurphy reviewed the gate tally with Bill. Add to that the sweet smell of cash—the entire town had turned out, nine hundred and eighty, by Bill’s count. Including the anticipated receipts from food, elephant rides, and sideshow, McMurphy figured there was a good chance they’d clear enough over three nights to pay for the train repairs, meet the performers’ salaries, and have a little left over for the next rainy day.
Howie emerged from the Big Top and trotted over to the barker’s stand. “How’s the take, Boss?”
McMurphy grinned and lit his stogie.
“Wow. That good?” It was a historic event when the Boss actually burned a cheroot. “Somethin’ strange ’bout these rubes, though. Y’may want to stick yer head in the tent and take a look fer yerself.”
“Strange? How do you mean?”
“Don’t know. Just feels different in there. It’s like they ain’t enjoyin’ the show—or maybe they don’t understand it.”
“Show me.” McMurphy stubbed out his cigar. He needed three good nights. An unhappy crowd meant a smaller turnout on the second night and maybe the bum’s rush out of town on the third.
Howie held the tent flap open, revealing a full house of towheaded children, straw-hatted farmers, and bonneted women. Sarah Ann was trilling merrily through the Saber Dance on the calliope. Miss Katya, the trick rider, held a wobbly handstand atop Frisco as the ancient, swaybacked show pony cantered stiffly around the center ring. On the left, Rajah halfheartedly pawed at the chair Jungle Bob was jabbing at him, and on the right, Rattles was working his way around the inside of an invisible box. In the rafters, Paulo and Antonia were setting up for the trapeze act, waving arms and jabbing fingers at one another.
The crowd was silent. Every face was set in a neutral expression of mild bewilderment. The children would occasionally point at something and whisper to each other, but otherwise they stuck in their seats as if someone had varnished their pants. McMurphy gnawed his cigar. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
Katya lifted one arm with a flourish, transitioning to a one-handed handstand, and the crowd applauded. Bless her heart, the little trouper. It wasn’t riotous applause, but maybe they comprehended the difficulty of what she was doing. She got a similar response to her next couple of tricks, then she dismounted with a double back flip, lurching a little on the landing but holding her balance with a brilliant smile. The audience stood up this time, returning to their seats after about ten seconds of sedate clapping.
“See what I mean, Boss?” said Howie. “In Saint Joe, th’ crowd went wild after that stunt.”
“Mm-hmm. They did say this was their first circus. It might take ’em a little longer to warm up than we’re used to.”
“Hope you’re right.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Katya led Frisco around the ring to the children’s section, waving them in to pet the horse’s silky nose. A few complied, hesitantly at first, but soon all of them rushed forward, Katya cautioning them to stay clear of Frisco’s hindquarters. Each one touched the horse, then they looked at one another, their eyes puzzled and sad. One little girl seemed on the verge of tears. They returned to their seats in silence, and the show continued.
Overhead, Paulo and Antonia were still arguing about something. McMurphy figured it was a domestic squabble—he prayed they’d keep their fight out of the performance. The acrobats’ marriage was on the rocks, and Paulo had a habit of dropping Antonia when he was especially upset with her. It rankled McMurphy that their unpredictability forced him to hang a safety net below them.
The calliope sang out a fanfare, and the performers instantly stopped their argument to smile and bow to the crowd below. The first pass was fine. Antonia spun from her trapeze, grabbed Paulo’s arms, and swung gracefully to the far platform. The crowd yielded its perfunctory applause, though McMurphy noticed many of the farmers and their wives pointing and whispering as their children had done earlier. Antonia swung out again, executed a flawless double somersault, reached for Paulo—and tumbled into the net when he pulled away from the catch. McMurphy slapped his forehead and cursed. Paulo continued swinging back and forth, upside-down, grinning like a demented bat. Antonia climbed back to the trapeze, fixing her partner with a glare that could have split steel. The rest of the act was uneventful, and the audience peered upward without emotion.
Howie tugged at McMurphy’s sleeve. “So, Boss, when you think they’re gonna warm up?”
“Oh, shut up.”
At ten o’clock, the roustabouts began dousing the lanterns to alert the crowd it was time to go home. Despite a few hiccups, things had gone well enough, and McMurphy held tight to his hope that they’d clean the town’s pockets good and proper before moving on. He smiled and tipped his hat at the departing patrons, who nodded gravely in return.
There was some commotion off to his right, and he walked over to investigate. A little girl and her mother emerged from the sideshow exit. The child was weeping, and she rebuffed her mother’s attempts to comfort her. McMurphy snatched a multicolored lollipop from a vendor’s tray and bent down to offer it to the girl. “Pretty scary in there, eh? Well, don’t worry, young lady. It’s all part of the show, all pretend.”
She reached for the lollipop, pausing to look back at her mother for approval. McMurphy stood up and hooked his thumbs into his suspenders. “Sorry about that, ma’am. The sideshow’s a bit much for the wee ones. That’s why we post a sign at the entrance: ‘Not recommended for children, expectant mothers, and persons of delicate constitution.’”
The woman stared at McMurphy with that infuriating, canine bewilderment he was beginning to hate. “No, it’s important that she see and understand.”
“But I d-don’t understand,” the girl sobbed. “Why are they broken?”
“Hush. We’ll speak of this at home.” Taking her daughter’s hand, the woman returned her attention to McMurphy. “Thank you, sir. I apologize for this disruption. Your show was most enlightening. We will return again tomorrow.”
“Please do. Different show every night, and, here…just a minute.” McMurphy pulled a notepad from his coat pocket and scribbled on it. “Show this at the ticket booth. Good for a free cotton candy and an elephant ride.”
“How generous. Thank you.”
Howie walked over as the mother and child departed. “Never seen you give anything away before, Boss.”
“I can’t afford to lose a single customer on this run. What was that idiot thinking, taking her little girl into the freak house?”
“They all went through, Boss. All nine-hundred-some-odd of ’em. Men, women, kids, and nary a word, ’cept a few little ones bawling.”
“So long as they paid their dime, I don’t care if the lot of them spouted scripture and sang hymns.”
“No hymns tonight. Guess they ain’t Frizbiteerians.”
“I suppose not.”
The circus grounds were quiet. The animals were settled in their pens and cages, and most of the performers had retired to their wagons for the night. McMurphy straightened up from his inspection of a loose peg on the Big Top—he’d have Bill fix that in the morning. Cecile emerged from her fortunetelling tent, and he waved at her. “Evenin’, Cecile. How’d you make out?”
“Without a doubt, the best night I ever had. Not a single person inquired about their future.”
“What? Not one? Sounds like a disaster to me.”
Cecile stopped and smiled. “Oh, they all paid, and quite generously. They wanted to know about me. My hometown, my family life, my childhood memories. How I ended up in the circus. It was both strange and refreshing. There were no problems to solve, no destinies to reveal, no jilted lovers to comfort. I liked it.”
“Hmph. Guess I can’t complain if they all paid for the privilege of listening to you waltz down Memory Lane. I’ve got some questions about the future, though. How do you see our run here? How much will we bring in?”
“More than enough to meet all your obligations, Mister McMurphy.” Her eyes were inscrutable behind the black veil. “However, you may need to adjust your expectations. Some rewards come without dollar signs or the clink of silver.” Cecile turned away and walked toward her wagon with slow, dignified strides.
“Crazy old bat,” McMurphy muttered as he watched her go. Everything in life came with a price tag, especially rewards.
That night was moonless and silent. McMurphy should have slept well, floating through happy dreams of full tents and overflowing cashboxes. Instead, he tossed and turned amid visions of blond children tossing him back and forth across the Big Top like a beach ball. Tiring of their game, they flung McMurphy into the center ring, where six roustabouts picked him up and carried him on their shoulders, like a coffinless corpse, to a cage labeled “King of Freaks.” They locked him inside, heedless of his screams, as the rest of the company looked on with grim faces.
He woke sweaty and breathless. A shot of bourbon later, McMurphy still wasn’t inclined to re-enter the land of dreams, so he pulled on his trousers, suspenders dangling, and went outside for a walk.
The moment he stepped from his wagon, he knew something was wrong. He felt a tingling at the base of his skull, the prickle of gooseflesh along his arms, the brush of an instinct that had kept him one step ahead of trouble for twenty years in the circus. He scanned the wagons. Everything was in its proper place, a single lantern hanging at each door the only sign of life. Even the animals were sleeping.
He grabbed his own lantern from its hook and walked outward, checking under wagons and behind crates for trespassers. Nothing. The tingle continued to gnaw at his subconscious. He heard a sound. It was faint at first, barely as loud as a light breeze or the chirrup of a cricket, a low hum that began to buzz in his teeth and bones as he neared the perimeter. It rose and fell like waves on a pond, familiar somehow, and almost musical.
Lifting his lantern high, he saw them. The farmers’ children stood together at the edge of the field, hand in hand, ringing the circus grounds. The uptilted faces of the ones nearest McMurphy were portraits of eerie bliss, lips pursed, eyes rolled back to leave only the white visible.
McMurphy raised the alarm. “Hey!” he yelled, “Hey!” Lights began to move in and among the circus wagons amid a rumble of groggy, confused voices. The children stopped their humming, dropped their handclasps, and watched with somber indifference as the circus people approached at a trot with lanterns and clubs.
Bishop Wentworth was first to arrive. “What in blazes is going on, Jim?” he asked as he knotted the sash of his embroidered dressing gown. “What are all these children about at this hour?”
“That’s what I want to know.” McMurphy snatched at the arm of the nearest boy. “Come here, you little hooligan. Show wasn’t enough for you? Thought you could have some more entertainment at our expense?”
Blank eyes, blank face. “No, sir.”
“What are you up to, skulking around our camp in the middle of the night?”
“We just wanted to help, sir.”
“Help? You mean, help yourself to some leftover cotton candy? Let the animals out of their cages? Untie a few ropes?”
“No, sir.”
“I don’t know how they expect children to behave in this godforsaken wilderness, but where I come from, naughty boys and girls who go sneaking and spying in the night get a sound thrashing.” He turned the child around and started to bend him over his knee.
“That won’t be necessary, Mister McMurphy.”
McMurphy spun about. The Elder was there, looking down on him with that moronic horse-face.
“These kids were trespassing!” blustered McMurphy. “You’re lucky we didn’t shoot them!”
Wentworth nudged McMurphy in the ribs and shook his head in a brief twitch from side to side.
The circus boss scrambled to regain his composure, remembering the cost of offending his hosts with two shows yet to come. “That is…er…it’s dangerous to wander about the grounds at night. No one’s tending the animals, and there’s all manner of ropes and sharp objects to trip over. We can’t be responsible for any tragic accident that might happen.” McMurphy cringed. It sounded lame, even to him.
“Of course,” the Elder replied. “I apologize for our children’s behavior. They’re high-spirited, but they intended no mischief. They will not disturb your camp again.”
The knot in McMurphy’s gut loosened a bit. “I’m so pleased you understand, sir. It’s just that, you see, we circus folk aren’t always welcomed with open arms. We get a trifle jumpy, particularly at night.”
“You have nothing to fear from us, Mister McMurphy. We mean no harm to you or your people.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope to see you again at tomorrow night’s show. It’ll be a humdinger, I guarantee!” McMurphy turned to face his bewildered troupe. “Just a little misunderstanding. Everyone back to bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“Yes. Yes, you do,” said the Elder. “I will escort the children to their homes. Good night, Mister McMurphy. Pleasant dreams.”
The Elder led the long line of children toward the village. McMurphy stared after them until they vanished into the darkness.
Wentworth leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Strange. What do you suppose they were doing?”
McMurphy swabbed his face with a handkerchief. “I think they were…singing.”
“Singing? Why?”
“I don’t know, but we’re not staying in this hick town one minute longer than we have to. After the last show, I want everything packed up and back on the train by midnight.”
The next morning dawned bright and sunny. McMurphy made his way to the chow wagon, noting idly that almost everyone seemed to be up and about earlier than usual. Some of the acrobats and animal trainers were already working on their acts.
He was still shaky from his confrontation with the children and the village elder. McMurphy couldn’t get the image of the children and their crooning song out of his head. It was like some kind of black magic ceremony. He’d have to ask Cecile about it later. He shuddered. He was spending far too much time in her company these days.
“What’ll it be, Boss? The usual?”
McMurphy gazed blearily across the serving line at the furry face of Jeannie Cornette, the Wolf Girl. She had a heart of gold under all that hair, and her cooking was the closest thing to heaven McMurphy had tasted since he left home. Such a waste.
“Two over easy, hash browns, and a stack of flapjacks, Jeannie.”
“Excitement last night sharpened your appetite, eh? Comin’ right up.”
He settled into a chair. Even after all his years with the circus, he couldn’t think of them as human beings, exactly. He knew all their names, he could make small talk with them, but he kept his distance. With the freaks he was fifteen years old again, peering through a knothole in the dark, skin crawling.
McMurphy surveyed the breakfast crowd and paused on an unfamiliar face. He looked closer, and his jaw dropped. “Rattles? Is that you?”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the little clown out of greasepaint. Rattles always drank himself into a stupor inside his wagon after the show and didn’t emerge until late afternoon the next day. He might well have been sewn into his costume. Yet, here he was, awake at the crack of dawn, shaved, hair neatly combed, wearing a crisply pressed shirt and trousers.
“Good mornin’, Mister McMurphy. Ain’t it a fine day?”
“Just peachy. Are you feeling all right?”
“Never better! I’m through with it!”
“Through with what?”
“The drink. When I woke up this mornin’, it felt like somebody’d pulled an anvil off my chest. It’s ten years now since I lost my Susie, but I could swear she was whisperin’ in my ear ‘Vincent, you done mourned enough. Throw that curs-ed booze away and go live yer life.’ And so I did. I was a-feared I’d have the delerium from drinkin’ so long, but look at this hand—steady as iron!”
“Vincent?”
“Yessir. That’s my name, my Christian name. Ain’t it awful?” He laughed. It wasn’t his usual half-drunk, half-hysterical cackle. It was clear, and solid, and full of joy. McMurphy felt a little dizzy.
“Here’s your eggs, taters, and flapjacks, Boss.” Jeannie set a heaping plate of food in front of McMurphy. “Oh, botheration. Just a moment.” She plucked a wisp of fuzz from the hash browns. “I’m so sorry, Mister McMurphy. I think I’m shedding. Must be the heat. I’ll bring you a fresh plate if you like.”
“No, never mind, Jeannie, it’s all right.” He was too preoccupied with Rattles’ transformation to be concerned about a bit of fluff on his dish. He speared an egg with his fork, then stopped in mid-bite as Katya sprinted up to the table, waving her arms and babbling in Russian.
McMurphy set down his fork and rubbed his eyes. “Now what? Slow down, missy—and speak English.”
“Mister McMurphy! Come see! Is miracle! Come see!”
With a last, mournful glance at his breakfast plate, McMurphy levered himself up and followed the jabbering trick rider to the animal pens.
She pointed at one of the stalls, beckoning McMurphy to approach. “Here! See!”
The stall held a glossy-coated chestnut stallion contentedly chewing a mouthful of hay.
“Wait a minute. This is Frisco’s stall. Where is he? What’s this horse doing here? I didn’t authorize any livestock purchases!”
“Is Frisco!”
“That’s impossible. This horse is at least five years younger than Frisco, his back is straight, and there’s not a blemish on him. You think I was born yesterday, Katya?”
“Look!” Katya gently grasped the stallion’s head and turned his upper lip over to reveal the identifying tattoo. “See, MM-124. Is Frisco!”
“Someone could have faked the tattoo. One of those farmers’ kids.”
Katya glared at McMurphy, hands on hips. Muttering something caustic in Russian, she put a halter on the horse and led it out of the stall toward the Big Top. “Come!” she called over her shoulder. “I will prove!”
Ten minutes later, Katya and the horse had completed the show routine, plus a few extra tricks Katya hadn’t been able to use for several years.
She locked eyes with McMurphy, arms folded across her chest.
He sighed. “Okay, already. Mind you, I’m not saying this is Frisco, and if somebody shows up with a bill for a new trick horse, I’ll send this one straight back to wherever it came from. Until then, use him in the show.”
Katya grinned. “No bill. Is miracle, like I said.”
Bishop Wentworth sipped his coffee. “You know, Jim, there’s an old proverb about not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
“I already did. He had my tattoo inside his lip.”
“Where’s the harm? Rattles is both happy and sober, Frisco’s rejuvenated, and the tigers…”
Coffee sloshed from McMurphy’s cup. “What’s wrong with the tigers?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Bob told me this morning that Rajah and Fatima were, well…intimate.”
“Those two moth-eaten hearth rugs? Impossible.”
“You’ve not seen them. They’re every inch the king and queen of the jungle now, and a bit frightening, if you ask me. I’ve no idea how Bob is going to handle them tonight.”
“That might get the farmers’ attention.”
“You’re not serious.”
McMurphy gnawed on his cigar and spat out a gobbet of tobacco juice. “Maybe you’re right. I really can’t complain about everybody being happier and healthier, so long as the show doesn’t suffer for it.”
“Admit it, Jim, we’ve been on the skids for a long time now. How do you suppose it happened, this sudden change?”
“I don’t know. Something in the air around here, or the water…maybe it was that heathen ritual those little brats were doing last night.”
“Did you ask Cecile?”
“She won’t talk to me. She’s been locked in her wagon all day, listening to her Victrola and singing along with Enrico Caruso.”
“Fancy that.”
“How about you, Bishop? Feeling all happy-go-lucky today?”
“Not especially, but some demons are easier to exorcise than others. It’ll take more than country air and folk magic to set the two of us to rights, I’m afraid.”
“Amen, brother.”
Howie trotted up, a haunted look in his eyes. “Mister McMurphy, I think you need to see something.”
“Good gawd, Howie, you too?”
“It’s not me, Mister McMurphy. It’s the freaks. You’re not gonna believe this.”
“What? Have they gone on strike? We’re only two days away from the biggest paycheck they’ve seen in months.”
“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of the sideshow performers since breakfast,” said Wentworth.
“This ain’t no strike, it’s…”
McMurphy held up a hand. “Don’t you dare say it.”
“Another miracle?” asked Wentworth.
“If it shuts down my sideshow, it’s not a miracle, it’s a curse.”
“I’m ruined. Why didn’t anybody tell me about this?”
“I’m sorry, Mister McMurphy, we didn’t know what to do. It just happened, and once it started, nobody wanted to do anything but stay and watch.” Jake McAlister, the Reptile Man, scratched his arm. A few iridescent scales fluttered to the floor of the sideshow tent. There weren’t many left. If McMurphy didn’t know Jake was a freak a few hours ago, he wouldn’t have guessed it.
The sideshow performers sat and stood in a loose circle at the center of the tent—crying, laughing, or just staring in amazed silence. Jeannie’s fur was gone, revealing a beautiful young woman. The armless and legless wonders’ missing limbs had regrown, the new skin pink and wrinkly, like a newborn’s. Harriet the Fat Lady was barely chubby now, and the Human Skeleton’s once-cadaverous frame carried at least fifty pounds of new, firm flesh. All the bizarre deformities that marred the bodies of the freaks had vanished.
Something tugged at McMurphy’s trouser leg. Little Jerry Atkins, Captain Molecule, gazed up at him. “So, Boss, what do we do now?”
“How come you didn’t get fixed, Jerry?”
The midget frowned. “Whaddya mean, ‘fixed?’ What’s wrong with the way I am?”
“Well, nothing, I guess…and you’re still worth something to the show. Anybody else not changed?”
“Ned and Ed were afraid they’d get separated, but they’re still Siamese twins. Gabby the Geek hasn’t lost his appetite for chicken heads. Sheila can still tie herself into a knot. There are a few others like her, the skill performers, but just about everybody with a physical condition is cured.”
Jerry rubbed his neck and looked up at McMurphy with pleading eyes. “They’re afraid you’re gonna cut them loose, Boss. Most of us have been freaks all our lives. We don’t know anything else.”
“Perhaps there’s an alternative,” said Wentworth. He strode to the center of the tent and called for attention. “Obviously, we need to make some changes in the show tonight. Anybody have another talent or hobby that might be useful? Jeannie, you’re still our cook—no doubt there’d be a riot if you left. Anybody else?”
Hands shot up. “I can sing.”
“I play piano.”
“The two of us can still do everything we did with just arms or legs—juggling, knife throwing, balancing stuff.”
“I’ve been practicing card tricks and slight-of-hand on the side, for fun.”
McMurphy scowled. “What are you getting at, Bishop?”
“We’ve enough material for a fine sideshow here—just a different sort of sideshow.”
“It won’t pay. Nothing brings in money like freaks.”
“We’ve never tried this, Jim. I imagine these farmers will find it more entertaining. They don’t seem to enjoy grotesque spectacles.”
“Give it a shot, Boss,” said Jerry. “You’ve still got me and the twins for anybody who wants to gawk.” Other voices clamored in agreement.
McMurphy waved them off. “All right, all right. Put it together, Bishop, but if the take goes down, I’ll be shopping for a new crew of freaks. I’m running a business, not a charity.”
McMurphy pulled Bill aside as the barrel-chested foreman emerged from the ticket booth. “What’s the damage?”
“Damage?”
“Don’t play stupid with me. How much less did we bring in tonight?”
“Gate’s same as last night, Boss. Every farmer, wife, and moppet present and accounted for.”
“What about the sideshow?”
“It’ll be a few hours before I know for sure, but I think we’ll double our take. Most of ’em headed straight for the freak tent and went right back to the entrance after they came out.”
“We’re getting repeat business this early in the evening? Incredible. The Bishop was right.”
“You think maybe we ought to stick with this new show, Boss?”
“I’m not sold yet. The hicks from the sticks might be happy with a half-baked Vaudeville revue, but city folks want freaks. They’ve always wanted freaks.”
“I think it’s a good thing. I mean, Jeannie and Jake and the others can live a regular life now. They can walk around in broad daylight and not worry about scaring little kids, or getting laughed at, or beat up.”
“Right. It’s a real miracle. I’m so happy for them. We can send them Christmas cards from the poor house.”
“Not if tonight’s any indication.”
“These aren’t your average yokels, Bill, and…what in blazes are you eating?”
Bill grinned sheepishly. “Something Jeannie whipped up. Wentworth put her on concessions, and she’s got all these newfangled ideas. Calls it a popcorn ball. Rolls ’em up with corn syrup, molasses, and a little circus color, and we sell ’em like candy apples.” He held out the half-eaten concoction. “Mighty tasty. Want a bite?”
“No, thanks. I’ve lost my appetite. I’m heading over to the Big Top.”
McMurphy could hear music and applause as he passed the sideshow tent. All the proper sounds were missing—there were no gasps or cries of dismay. The world was turning upside-down, and it seemed he was the only person who wasn’t pleased.
In his distraction, he nearly stumbled over a little girl—the same one he’d comforted the other night. He knelt down and pushed a stray lock of blond hair from her eyes. “Hello there, young lady! Did you get your free elephant ride?”
To McMurphy’s surprise, she smiled incandescently. “Not yet. I want to see the sideshow again!”
“Not so scary now, eh?”
“Oh, it was never scary. I just like it better now that the people aren’t broken.”
The girl’s mother tugged at her arm. “Come along, dear. I think we have time for one more walk-through before the big show begins.” She flashed an enigmatic grin at McMurphy.
“Good evening, Mister McMurphy. Thank you again for the lollipop and free tickets.”
“Er…you’re welcome, ma’am. Enjoy the show.” He tilted his hat and scratched behind his ear. “Crazy sodbusters can smile after all.”
The townspeople were already filing into the Big Top as McMurphy arrived, and they were much more animated than on the first night. Everyone was smiling. They waved to their neighbors and exchanged greetings. The children moved to their assigned seating in their usual orderly manner, but there was a fair amount of laughing and skipping in the ranks. The strange transformation of Rattles, the animals, and the freaks seemed to have spilled over into the audience. They were more like the crowds McMurphy was used to.
Howie appeared at his elbow. “Looks like they finally got the hang of things, Boss. This’ll be a fine show tonight.”
“We’ll see. If their good cheer sells more popcorn and cotton candy, I may join in the frivolity.”
“Now, there’s a sight I’d pay to see.”
“I’ll hold you to that. Why aren’t you supervising the roaming vendors?”
“They got their orders, and Jeannie asked to take the lead tonight, so I’m just overseeing, so to speak. Look, there she is.” Howie pointed across the tent, where a radiant Jeannie was passing out her colorful popcorn balls from a tray. “Ain’t she a vision? I mean, she weren’t that bad a looker even when she was the Wolf Girl, but now…” He shook his head. “Thunderation.”
Jeannie noticed McMurphy’s vacant stare and smiled even wider, giving him a wink before returning to her business. He wiped the sweat from his brow and fumbled in his back pocket for his cigar. “Thunderation, indeed.”
It was a show to remember. Even in its glory days, McMurphy’s Fantasmagorical Wonder Show was a second-rate circus, but this night, they could have matched up with anybody. Every stunt landed on cue. Katya defied gravity atop Frisco’s back. Rattles seemed to be everywhere at once, sending the staid farmers into paroxysms of laughter. Rajah and Fatima gave poor Jungle Bob a run for his money, but he managed to stay one step ahead of his invigorated tigers, guiding them in soaring leaps from platform to platform, onto their hind legs in snarling defiance, and through flaming hoops without singeing a whisker. Bishop Wentworth was a regal presence, standing tall and proud, his face beaming, his voice baritone thunder that sliced through the din filling the Big Top. Everyone gave their all, from the performing dogs, to the dancers, to the tumblers and jugglers.
McMurphy lit his cigar.
Sarah Ann sounded a fanfare on the calliope and Wentworth directed the crowd’s attention to the rafters, where Paolo and Antonia stood ready to take the flying trapeze.
But they weren’t ready. They were arguing again, and Antonia was crying. The audience hushed, every face an emotionless mask, and McMurphy stubbed his cheroot against a tent pole in disgust. He waved at Sarah Ann to repeat the fanfare.
The trapeze artists took up their positions, Paolo swinging upside-down, Antonia leaning out from the platform with the bar clutched in her right hand. McMurphy held his breath as she swung out, released the bar, and leaped across space to Paulo, who caught her without mischief and smoothly transferred her to the opposite platform.
So far, so good. McMurphy exhaled. Antonia recovered the trapeze bar and swung out again, gathering momentum for a double somersault. She released the bar, spun once, twice, and extended her arms toward Paolo.
She missed. Paolo clutched frantically at her, but got only a partial grasp of her hand. She tumbled downward, hitting the edge of the net at an awkward angle and falling hard onto the sawdust floor of the Big Top, limbs askew. The only sound was a strangled cry of agony from Paolo, who dropped into the net and swung down to cradle his wife in his arms. McMurphy and Howie rushed over to join them.
“Lay her down, Paulo,” whispered McMurphy. “Gently now. Howie, go get Stitches.” The circus medic wasn’t a licensed doctor, his expertise limited to simple first aid, but he was the best they could afford.
“I didn’t drop her, Mister McMurphy!” Paolo howled. “She’s been sick all day. I told her she must not perform, but she wouldn’t listen!”
“I know, Paolo. I saw.”
Antonia’s face was white, like putty, her lips tinged with blue. She’s wasn’t breathing. McMurphy stood up and shouted to the crowd, “Do you have a doctor here? A real one? This woman needs help!”
As one, the audience rose from their seats and moved to encircle the entire performing area, all three rings.
McMurphy seized a club lying nearby, left over from the jugglers, and brandished it as the circle tightened. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop it! Get back, you bloody ghouls! This isn’t part of the show! She’s dying!”
The farmers, their wives, and their children joined hands, closed their eyes, and begin to croon the same eerie tune the children had sung the night before. Electricity prickled across McMurphy’s skin, and the air thickened, like a wave of warm molasses, sending him sprawling onto the sawdust. He lay there, transfixed, as the song went on and on, and his mind flooded with images his brain couldn’t process.
Disembodied eyes with glowing irises, sprouting from scaly, iridescent vines at impossible angles. Mist, green and pulsing, smelling of garlic and gingerbread. Threads of light that looped and twisted around and through his body.
The song faded, and the visions evaporated. McMurphy found himself sitting upright in the center ring, brushing sawdust from his hair, with the blond farmers watching in silence—smiling.
He heard a groan behind him and turned, muzzily, to see Antonia, alive again, embracing Paolo, laughing and crying and seemingly none the worse for wear.
Howie ducked under the ring of clasped hands, Stitches in tow. “What happened, Boss? What’s going on? Is she all right?”
“I think so. Stitches, look her over, just to be sure.”
McMurphy staggered to his feet, recovered his hat, and jammed it on his head. Scanning the audience, he found the Elder. “You! I want some answers. Who are you people? What are you people?”
The Elder stepped forward. “As I told you before, Mister McMurphy, we are farmers and builders.”
“So what do you call this, this thing you just did?”
“Building. Or, perhaps, re-building. It’s all the same.”
“You think I’m a fool? All this hocus-pocus isn’t natural! It isn’t human. You’ve taken over my show and jumbled everything around, without so much as a by-your-leave. It’s…It’s un-American!”
“I see. Would you like us to change it all back?”
“What I would like…” McMurphy stopped. He looked over his shoulder at Paulo and Antonia, at Bishop Wentworth, Rattles, Katya, Jeannie, and all the rest, who had come into the Big Top to see what was happening. Performers, workers, freaks, former freaks.
People.
His people, all waiting for his reply.
He pulled out his cigar, studied it for a few moments, then flung it away. “No.” He turned to face his troupe, and he shrugged. “I don’t want to change a thing.”
“I think it would be best if we all return home now,” the Elder said.
McMurphy nodded. “Guess so. Show was just about over anyway. Everyone come back tomorrow. No charge this time. You’ve been fine hosts. It’s the least I can do.”
Paulo and Antonia moved to stand beside McMurphy. Paulo ducked his head. “Mister Elder, sir, my wife and I, we want to thank you for saving her life.”
“Thank you for providing us such wonderful entertainment. We wish you many years of happiness together, you and your child.”
The Elder tipped his straw hat and led his community out of the Big Top, toward the town.
Howie whistled between his teeth. “Who d’ya suppose them sodbusters really are, Boss?”
McMurphy sighed. “No idea. He never answered my question.”
“They’re gone?” McMurphy rubbed his eyes, trying to bring Bill into focus against the brilliant sunrise.
“Town’s deserted,” Bill said. “Men, women, and children, all vanished. The houses are still there, all the town buildings, furniture, curtains, even the china dishes. Ever’thing but the people.”
“No sign of where they went?”
“Nary a footprint.”
“Well, I can’t say it’s stranger than anything else that’s happened the past two days.” McMurphy slipped his arms through his suspenders. “Guess they won’t be getting that free show I promised. Tear down the Big Top, Bill. I just hope the train repairs are finished.”
“They are. Just got word from Harry. Seems we didn’t need the parts after all. Bearings are rolling smoothly again and axle’s solid as the day she came from the foundry. He says he can’t explain it, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“That makes two of us.”
A thousand miles to the north, a tall man with a pale, lined face adjusted his straw hat. This was a good world. The need to frequently relocate the colony was bothersome, but there was plenty of room to build and grow and certainly no lack of broken things to repair.
And there was always something new to learn. The settlement looked nicer with a splash of color—red, blue, and gilt trim flashing here and there among the white clapboard houses. Nearby, a group of children laughed and squealed as one of them dangled by his knees from an improvised trapeze hung on a sturdy oak tree.
The Elder smiled, and resumed his building.