Freaks: Alive, on the Inside!

by Annette Curtis Klause

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, and left.

  Hot, sticky night drew in close, but her gentle warning chilled me. If I understood her correctly, I was right in thinking Dr. Mink was the sort of villain who would steal a child for personal gain, and if he had taken Mr. Northstar’s son, then he or someone in his employ had killed Mr. Northstar’s grandmother. Yes, I would be careful of him. He was cultivating Apollo’s friendship and binding the boy to him. Who knew what he would do if he found I had plans to take Apollo away.

  15

  I HELD THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN in the world in my arms, her vibrant, lithe body pressed to mine. Slowly I lowered my lips to hers. The evening air was perfumed by the flowers on the vines that concealed us. The throaty songs of frogs serenaded our love.

  Then came the thrash and hiss of ripping vines behind me and a man’s incoherent shout.

  She stared over my shoulder, eyes wide and stricken. “We have been discovered!”

  I tried to shield her with my body, but brawny field servants tore us from each other, and a man with a shaved head, in the linen robes of a priest, struck my face—her husband. His lips pulled back in a snarl that revealed blackened teeth. I struggled for a weapon I could not reach and cursed his name, Sethnakhte.

  He towered above us like the god of destruction he prayed to. “How dare you betray me?” he roared at his wife. “Observe what happens to adulterers, for you are next.”

  Servants stripped me despite my thrashing, while others flourished their whips. They pulled off a tube bound to my waist, and the hide split when it hit the ground. Out unfurled a map.

  “Stop!” cried her husband, and the world stood as still as pictures in a tomb except for the man who reached for the stolen document. His face grew thunderous as he examined it.

  “So,” he said to me, “you are a traitor to your king, as well as to your friend.”

  “Not my king,” I said, knowing I sealed my doom.

  “I should never have begged you to come back for me,” my love cried.

  “If you bear witness against him as a spy and say he forced himself upon you, I will protect you,” said her husband. “If not …”

  “Yes,” I cried. “It was I. She tried to fight me off, but I was too strong.”

  There was not a second of debate in her eyes. She raised her chin and defied her husband, her face a mask of despair. “I gave myself willingly,” she declared. “I love him and will never betray him.” She condemned herself because of me. Oh, my love. My heart broke. I could not save her.

  The servants forced me to my knees. I saw the biggest man raise a sharp sickle. My love screamed and screamed. My perception shriveled to a burning hole of fear and pain and flashing lights and falling, falling, falling….

  A voice whispered in my ear, “Don’t let anyone take me from you again.”

  I woke in a sweat, my blanket a knot around my knees, and reached in panic for my darling.

  “Abel, watch your elbow.” Apollo kicked and scuffled his way out from under the wagon.

  I crawled after him, suffused with sorrow, and sat in the early sunlight, confused and muzzy. I truly felt as if those events had really happened, and those last words—it was almost as if someone was sending me a message. Oh yes, I thought. I removed a pebble from beneath my rear and laughed at myself. Lady Adventure is a real person luring me to her with exciting stories of romance. What kind of a woman was able to do that? Yet I thought of the buxom curves and inviting lips of the dream dancer, and I thrilled at the notion of finding her.

  The day was already hot, and I couldn’t eat. Miss Lightfoot pressed an apple on me and insisted I should save it for later. The sight of tears in her eyes distracted me from thoughts of my dream.

  “Are you crying, ma’am?” I asked.

  “Bless you, sweetie toes,” she said. “I am not. I am unable to perspire because of my skin. This is what happens instead. I am afraid it does not keep me cool, however.” She sighed. “It will be a difficult day.”

  When I climbed into my driver’s seat, the lingering melancholy of the dream evaporated with the rising sun, until at last I could see the woman’s face no longer, nor feel the pain of being parted from her.

  Perhaps my passengers had their own dreams to consider, for the ladies were quiet, and I was left with my thoughts until we paused for our luncheon. Nobody appeared to have much appetite, and it was not long before Dr. Mink spurred us on again. I made a quick trip to the bushes, and when I returned, I saw the others gathered around my wagon.

  “We don’t have time for your vapors,” Mink snapped at Miss Lightfoot, who sat crumpled over on the tailgate.

  “Oh, let the girl have her bath,” growled Bess. Her beard bristled.

  “Miss Lightfoot needs a bath ’cause it’s hot and she might die,” said Apollo to me, all the while glancing from Miss Lightfoot to Dr. Mink and back. The fine hair on his face floated like gossamer in his nervous breath. He moved as if to tug Dr. Mink’s sleeve but jumped back as the skeleton man flung up his arm for attention.

  “Move out,” Mink ordered. “Anyone not aboard gets left behind.”

  Billy Sweet ran for his wagon. The giant shambled after him, shaking his head. Apollo ran off too.

  “Well, I’m not shifting,” said Bess, brawny arms akimbo.

  “Please, sugar,” said Miss Lightfoot to her faintly. “I’ll be all right.”

  “You’ll shift,” said Dr. Mink, and he nodded at Bonfiglio.

  The big man flexed his arm muscles, enjoying his moment, and then he scooped Bess from the ground as if she were a doll.

  “Hey,” I cried. He had her arm bent up her back.

  Bonfiglio tossed Bess past Miss Lightfoot into the wagon and turned on me, fist raised. “I guarantee Dr. Mink will not mind if I knock you down,” he said, eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t, Abel,” said Bess as she struggled to her knees and rubbed her arm. “Don’t give him the pleasure.”

  I hesitated, not sure what to do, but then Apollo returned with a bucket of water and a sponge. He strained to lift it up to Miss Lightfoot, but it was too unwieldy, and he slopped water everywhere. I was proud of him. “Good lad,” I said.

  Mink wheezed with laughter. “Look at that. A doggie with a heart of gold.”

  I glared at Mink and Bonfiglio, then fished out the dripping sponge and handed it to Miss Lightfoot.

  “Oh, you sweethearts,” Miss Lightfoot declared. “I thank you.” She dabbed her arms and face with the welcome water.

  Mink grabbed Apollo by his scruff. “A valiant act, my lad,” he said, and dragged him away. I couldn’t believe Apollo looked pleased despite his pulled hair.

  That afternoon a thunderstorm took us by surprise. The wind whipped up, the air grew chill, and dark clouds descended like the four horsemen of the apocalypse. I tried to lean back under the canvas bonnet, but the wind drove the rain in on me, and it soaked me like a drowned rat in the blink of an eye. The track we followed churned into a river of mire, and we plodded along with frequent stalls and jolts when the wheels stuck in the mud, then spat dirt as the persevering horses pulled them out again.

  At least Miss Lightfoot will be more comfortable now, I thought, and I glanced over my shoulder to see her sitting at the rear of the wagon, with the canvas curtain raised to catch the spray.

  As the lightning flashed and forked overhead, I wondered whether it was good or bad that there were few trees. Were you supposed to stay away from them or hide under them? I had a terrible feeling that it wasn’t good to be the tallest thing around in a prairie storm. I prayed I wouldn’t see a funnel cloud.

  The storm ended as quickly as it had begun, and the only sign that it had ever been was the line of boiling dark that retreated across the sky, leaving a vaporous white that deepened to blue once more. The grasses sparkled with jewels, and the air tasted of fragile fairy-tale oceans.

  We built a fire that evening from dry twigs and sticks Bess had been smart enough to stow away in a b
ox. All of us gathered around the flames—except Mr. Ginger and the giant, who felt poorly once more. Mink had a cane propped beside him. It had a silver skull handle.

  “You need to take the giant to a doctor,” said Bess to Mink.

  “All giants are complainers,” said Mink. He made me think of a skeleton I’d seen in a medieval picture—Death bringing the plague.

  “Giants get sick easy,” replied Bess. “You want a giant to show, don’t you? How’s he gonna sit there if he’s sick?”

  Mink glared at her. “I’ve a bottle of stomach bitters in my wagon I’ll give up for him. That’ll set his digestion right.”

  Bess didn’t look convinced, but she let the matter drop.

  We were all damp and uncomfortable, and no one talked much as we ate tiresome beans again, not even Apollo. “Well, you could have had your bath after all, Ruby,” Mink said, meshing and cracking his bony fingers. He had a satisfied sneer on his thin, cruel mouth. “You could have stripped naked and dangled out the back of the wagon. I guarantee you, my dear, no one would have cared to look.”

  Miss Lightfoot lowered her eyes.

  “Aw, Doc. You shouldn’t talk to a lady like that,” said Billy, surprising me.

  “Sweet on Ruby are you, Billy Sweet?” wheezed Dr. Mink. “Billy Sweet on Ruby.” He chuckled at his own crude joke. “A weasel and an alligator, well, well, well—that would be miscegenation indeed. Keep me informed. I’ll have a job for the offspring.” As he left, he swiped a nasty blow at Billy’s knees with his cane.

  Billy yelped and grabbed his legs.

  “Don’t talk back to me,” Mink hissed, and his brawny bodyguard laughed.

  “Why do you stay with him?” I asked after they had gone. “There are other shows.”

  “Why, he’s going to make us rich, of course,” said Billy Sweet. “He’s taking us to Cally-forn-eye-ay, where the streets are paved with gold. Venice, young feller, named after the city in Europe.”

  “They have canals with real live imported gondoliers from Italy,” said Miss Lightfoot. “And there’s shops, hotels, theaters, fancy Roman statues, and a pier out into the Pacific with a Spanish galleon restaurant.”

  “That sounds marvelous,” I said. “I’d really like to see that.”

  Billy Sweet nodded knowingly. “All they needs is some tenin-ones. It’s a prime spot for a freak show.”

  “And I’ll train the children,” said Apollo, his eyes wide with excitement. My enthusiasm waned. I didn’t want Apollo to go there; I wanted him to go home.

  “Mink says it could be the new Coney Island,” continued Billy Sweet. “Ain’t much competition in California, Mink says. We can make big money. They got money comin’ down from the Klondike goldfields. Mink’s gonna be the new Barnum, and we’re gonna grow rich with him.”

  “No one’s gonna get rich with that old miser,” grumbled Bess. “The only one who’ll end up with money will be him, unless you all get wise and ask for your dues after each show. If we stood together, he’d have no choice.”

  This had the feel of an old argument. So old no one bothered to argue back. In the silence that followed, I offered to take a plate to Mr. Ginger.

  The two-headed man glanced beyond me, and for a second he appeared disappointed, but then he greeted me with shy affection and offered me a stool. The little face in the center of his forehead slept as I told Mr. Ginger of the cruel behavior of Dr. Mink.

  “That fiend Mink,” said Mr. Ginger. I hadn’t expected such strong emotion from him. The eyes of his twin flickered, as if he sensed his brother’s anger. “He betrayed Miss Lightfoot, you know. Lured her from her home with promises he never meant to keep, and now she is compromised and can never return.”

  His words shocked me into silence.

  “I can’t bear to see a gentle soul mistreated in that way,” said Mr. Ginger.

  I nodded in agreement. “But what’s your story?” I asked. “A man of your unusual appearance could find work in much bigger shows. You could earn a fortune. You could draw huge audiences.”

  Mr. Ginger sighed. “I have no need of a fortune, merely a living, and to be honest, I have no love of large audiences. This suits me fine.”

  I was rudely persistent. “Why this show if you despise Mink so?”

  “I have hopes,” he said, and left it there.

  On the fourth day we crossed the Mississippi and entered Iowa. We must have traveled almost one hundred miles.

  At midday we pulled onto a waste lot at the edge of a small town to join a wood-paneled caravan painted with Gypsy patterns and Mink’s name. As the troupe climbed to the ground, a figure rose from the caravan’s back steps and approached us. I wasn’t sure what this person could be, for it wore a flowered wrap and a turban but walked like a man in a man’s boots. Billy Sweet greeted the new person with a sibilant name that sounded like “see-see.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked Bess.

  “Oh, he calls himself Cecil-Cecilia, like he’s a girl and a boy,” growled Bess, “but we call him Ceecee for short. He says he’s a hermaphrodite, but his real name is Theodore Spittle, from Hoboken, New Jersey, and he’s as male as you … or do you have a secret?” She stared at me head-on, which meant crotch level.

  I caught myself moving my hands to cover my privates, and Bess laughed.

  “Where are the puppies?” Mink called.

  Ceecee spoke in a high voice with a mean edge. “They were a nuisance, so I locked them up.” The creature inspected its nails.

  “And Earle?”

  “I sent him out to drum up business.”

  “Taking your chances, aren’t you?” Dr. Mink snapped.

  “Little Beauty said you’d be here.”

  “Christ Almighty, Ceecee,” Dr. Mink exclaimed. “And you believed her? That clairvoyant bull crap’s for the marks.”

  Ceecee shrugged. “She’s been right before.”

  Mink turned his back on Ceecee in disgust and barked out orders. The usual bustle of setting up camp commenced.

  As I unhitched and hobbled the horses, I couldn’t take my eyes from the painted wagon. That Ceecee talked like he’d locked up a litter of dogs, but was Mr. Northstar’s missing child inside? Finally I couldn’t stand to wonder any longer. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, walked up the caravan steps, pulled the outside bolt, and opened the carved back door.

  I reeled at the stench and almost fell down the stairs.

  A pot lay spilled on the floor, and soaked newspapers were covered in odorous piles. There are dogs in here after all, I thought. Then over the edges of the built-in bunks and around from the back of a trunk peered solemn little faces of all shades. Human faces.

  16

  I REACHED IN TO DRY THE TEARS of the nearest child, and she flinched away. The weight of her distended head toppled her backward, and when her delicate hands hit the boards to save herself, feces oozed from between her fingers. She had water on the brain. The poor little mite would probably never become a woman, and this was her childhood.

  I clenched my fists. I didn’t want to deal with this, I wanted to grab Apollo and run, but my parents had taught me better than that. Having to take charge made me angrier than ever. I looked around for Mink and found Bess behind me. Words stuck in my throat.

  She nodded at me, and her eyes matched my fury. “Mink!” she yelled.

  The showman walked over, twirling his death’s-head cane, and my heart pounded. Apollo trotted behind him.

  “Go on,” said Bess, giving me the lead.

  “How can you treat children this way?” I demanded. My voice cracked.

  Mink’s knuckles went white as he tightened his grip on his cane. “I expect they were making a nuisance of themselves,” he said through his teeth. He cared more about my insolence than their condition.

  “See?” said Bess. “It’s not just a troublemaking dwarf who notices. A complete stranger knows the tune.”

  “They’re filthy,” I said, taking strength from her suppo
rt. “They could get sick and die from those conditions.” I jabbed a finger at the wagon.

  Mink appraised me with a cold look and then examined the scene in the wagon. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips, and I thought of a snake. “Ceecee!” he shrieked.

  “Dr. Mink?” Ceecee sauntered through the other performers, who had gathered to see what the commotion was about. He had the remnants of colored powder over his left eye and the start of a beard on his right cheek. A cigarette in his hand sent a thin line of smoke skyward.

  “What are you?” Apollo asked, and I winced.

  Ceecee’s laughter sounded like a whinny. “Who is this boy?” he asked, and he looked Apollo up and down in a greedy way I didn’t like at all. “I am the star of the show. Cecil-Cecilia—half man, half woman, wholly unique.” He bowed, then curtsied, showing a leg of trouser under his flowered wrap.

  “Stow that star-of-the-show bull. This feller tells me you’re diseasing my investment,” Mink said.

  “Disease?” Ceecee’s eyes widened, and he yanked his wrapper close around him.

  “From the shit, you imbecile!” Mink roared.

  “You should put Abel in charge of them,” said Bess. “They’ll last longer.”

  Ceecee snarled, “You hairy little bitch.”

  “She’s right, you’re done with them,” said Mink. “You can drive the gentlemen performers. Billy will drive the brats, and … this fine lad is now in charge of them.” He tugged Apollo over by his whiskers.

  Apollo yelped and rubbed his cheek, but he managed to grin.

  Ceecee swiveled his mannequin head between Bess and me, his eyes slits. He couldn’t seem to decide whom to hate more. He flicked his cigarette into the observers, who ducked and scattered. “Who are you to interfere?” he hissed at me. He reached inside his robes with a spidery hand and stepped closer. I didn’t know his intent, but I moved back as a chill ran through me.