Freaks: Alive, on the Inside!

by Annette Curtis Klause

  “He wrapped me in the linens of the dead, my body whole and sound and alive, and I thought I’d go mad before he finished—nay, I prayed I would. No protective amulets were bound inside my wrappings, no spells to open the door of my mouth. No food or drink was left for my ka. None of the proper words were said, although he did indeed speak words of power over me—words to give me life eternal. He lifted me like meat and put me in a rough sarcophagus. He left my eyes uncovered so I could see a spell text on the inside of the coffin lid as he low-ered it upon my living face—a spell written to bar me from the afterlife. If I could have screamed, the walls would have shook with the sound.”

  I could almost smell and taste her horror.

  “He left me deep in the underground passages of the temple of Set where no one would ever find me. I was buried alive.”

  I gasped for breath, as if I, too, lay in the stifling dark.

  Her voice hardened with bitter anger. “I hope Ammit ate his heart when it revealed his sacrilege at the judgment.”

  “Its all right,” I whispered. “You are safe now. It’s over.” Such senseless words, for I didn’t know if she was saved at all. I lifted a shred of fabric at her neck and began to peel it back. It made me itch to see her in those filthy rags.

  “No. Do not do that,” she said. “Not yet. I do not know what is under these wrappings.” My stomach lurched and I dropped the cloth. I wanted to comfort her, yet I didn’t truly know what she was.

  “How did you survive all those centuries and not go mad?” I asked.

  “I lay in darkness so long that I saw colors where none existed, so long that the shadows whispered lies to me,” she said. “I thought I had been assigned to hell and removed from the memory of mankind. After immeasurable time a blinding light flared. I steeled myself for pain, but instead a powerful sweet-ness came over me. I beheld the great ladies, Hathor and Isis, as if through a curtain of water and sunlight. Their voices burbled like liquid. ‘You are here for love, faithful servant,’ said Hathor. ‘I, too, had my lover torn from me,’ said Isis. ‘We will ensure that you will be reunited,’ said Hathor. ‘Till that time let your ka see and hear for you,’ said Isis as she gave my double the gift to travel outside my tomb and view the sky. ‘Let your ka be your messenger in dreams.’ Her gifts saved me.”

  Those dreams—they had truly been her, then? “How did you end up here?” I asked.

  “When my scholar died, his wife, always jealous of his love of study, sold his belongings and arranged for my return to the university that employed him. She put my humble sarcophagus outside on a public highway to await transportation. That skele-ton thief noticed me there and took me when I lay unattended.”

  Her flesh had filled out and her cheekbones no longer threatened to cut through her skin. When had her nose regrown? There were echoes of beauty on her face, and I caught my breath.

  I knew her.

  “But how did we come together again?” I asked, tears prickling my eyes. “It defies logic.”

  “Didn’t you feel me calling you?” she asked. “And who told those boys to throw you from the train, lest you would leave me behind? Who took hold of the courtesan’s hair to rip the truth from her?”

  The night we walked side by side down the railroad tracks, she had told me she could reach out to people through the ring. I remembered the change in Lillie’s heart when her hair tangled with the chain that held the scarab ring, and the blank look on the young clown’s face before he suggested they throw me off the train—he’d seized the ring in the folds of my shirt when he grabbed me. Then there were the dreams and the way I’d yearned to leave home—after I wore the ring.

  The tattoo of approaching feet on packed dirt stole the denial from my lips. Fear spiked my chest as I turned, my arms wide to protect the girl. The canvas slapped as if caught in a wind, and Apollo came panting into the tent.

  “Abel, Abel. Come quick!”

  22

  IN THE EARLY LIGHT OF DAWN I stared into a ditch stuffed with vines, rotten wood, and last fall’s leaves. A stocky, pale arm with a sturdy hand stuck out of the debris. Crumbs of earth skittered down the bank to the place where Apollo had dug away the leaves. The sting of bile rose in my throat, and I took a step back. I choked the bile down and it burned a hole in my gut.

  On the way Apollo had told me how Minnie had woken up crying and insisted he come with her to this place. The distraught Minnie had been left in the care of Bertha and Willie. Moses had accompanied Apollo and me. “It’s bad,” Apollo had told me as we crashed through the riverbank woods. “Awful bad. You’ve got to tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Bess,” I whispered now. I could barely hear myself over the rushing river.

  “I thought so,” said Apollo, equally quiet.

  Moses whimpered like a dog in distress.

  “Do you think she drowned?” asked Apollo.

  “Then picked herself up out of the water and buried herself in a ditch?” I answered. “I think not.”

  For once, Moses had no opinion. He stared, white faced, at the rigid hand.

  I forced back my nausea and climbed down the bank to dig her out. She wasn’t buried deep; simply a pile of dead leaves and moss had been scraped over her, and a branch from the cottonwood trees above laid down to keep everything in place. She lay naked, her clothes and necessary articles tossed on top. I managed to wrap her shift around her while I shielded her from the boys and tried, out of respect, not to look at her myself. When I pulled her out of the ditch, her head lolled back to reveal a black, clotted gash under her beard. It was a clean slice; the sort produced by a sharp butcher’s knife—or a razor.

  “Someone done cut her throat,” said Moses, finding his voice.

  Ceecee. Had he killed on Mink’s orders? I couldn’t prove that. Could a trained lawman? “Maybe we should go to the sheriff,” I said.

  “The law don’t like us,” said Moses.

  “But Dr. Mink will give him money, and the law will help us,” said Apollo.

  Not good. Mink had been in town. Was the sheriff in his pocket? I rocked Bess. “What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?”

  “Ask Mr. Ginger,” said Moses. “He knows everything.”

  Yes, I wasn’t alone. A burden fell from me.

  I carried Bess back to our camp. Apollo and Moses followed. We made a solemn parade. I didn’t know whether to cry or rage, so I kept my silence clutched to me, but it burned like a pyre. Bess seemed smaller and lighter than when she had been full of wiry, rude life. Beneath her whiskers her face appeared younger than I remembered. Behind the course exterior that had protected her from the world, she had been a young woman with dreams of the future and an honest desire to collect what she deserved. She had been vilely cut down for that, I was sure.

  The children ran from the wagons to meet us, and Mr. Bopp wriggled behind. My breast filled with dread.

  “The kids say you found Bess,” Mr. Bopp said eagerly, and then he focused on what I cradled in my arms.

  “Is she hurt?” he asked, panic rising in his eyes.

  I shook my head, and he must have seen the truth on my face, for the words I could not find were not needed.

  “My girl! My sweet puss!” he cried.

  Another time this description of Bess would have made me laugh, but now it broke my heart. I knelt and placed her on the ground so he might touch her the best he could.

  His cries alerted the others, and Miss Lightfoot came running. I stood to meet her. “Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! My poor little pudding!” she cried. “Oh, the sad little dear!” She yelped when she saw the wound, and pressed her palms to her scaly face.

  Bertha gripped Minnie’s hand until the smaller girl winced and struggled, and Willie tried to hug Moses, but the frog boy pushed Willie away. Angry tears tracked his dusty cheeks.

  Mr. Ginger wove through the tussocks of prairie grass with arms outstretched for balance, like a bad actor’s rendition of a blind man, and I knew his submerged idiot twin was wide awake. �
�What is it? What is it?” he asked, no doubt unable to untangle the view from two sets of eyes, but Miss Lightfoot clutched her bodice, too busy wailing to pay him mind; the children were clustered around Apollo, speechless; and Gunther Bopp hunched, incoherent, in his sorrow.

  Into this scene walked Lazarus Mink, and all fell silent.

  “What in blazes is all this?” Mink cried. He noticed Bess, and his mouth dropped open briefly before he composed himself. Dark anger amassed in his deep-set eyes like a storm. “Where did you find her?” he demanded.

  “In a ditch,” I answered. “Slaughtered like an animal.”

  Billy Sweet and Bonfiglio, like flies drawn to offal, closed in behind him. “It’s Bess,” Billy said. “She’s made a die of it.” To his credit, he at least looked shocked. Bonfiglio was stone faced.

  “The local sheriff should be found,” said Mr. Ginger, who had draped a handkerchief over his forehead and set his vision straight. He still had faith in the law?

  “And what do you suppose will happen then, Ginger?” said Mink. A tic flickered at the corner of his eye. “Those townies think we’re capable of anything. We’re all thieves, ruffians, and whores, as far as they’re concerned, and they love to be proved right. We are all likely to end up at the end of a rope.”

  I remembered how the sheriff in Horizontal had treated us, and I believed him.

  Ceecee lurked in the doorway of the tent, across the campground. His eyes and mouth were slits of anger. “What if we all testify that he carries a razor?” I said, gesturing at the accused. Miss Lightfoot squeaked. Ceecee faded back into the shadows.

  Mink didn’t even look. His lip curled in a snarl. “Weren’t you seen throwing knives in the woods by local brats?” he asked. How had he found that out? “Don’t think the sheriff won’t weigh their words heavier than yours. You’ll be in the jail before you can say ‘habeas corpus.’ And you”—he pointed at the others with a skeletal finger—“will be charged with aiding and abetting a murderer.”

  Miss Lightfoot cringed from him.

  Mr. Bopp had stayed out of the discussion until now, too intent on rolling his forehead across that of his beloved, washing her face with his tears, but now he raised his ravaged face. “It was you gave the order, you murderous varmint. You was always afraid of the fine, strong lass.”

  Mink actually laughed. “Me, afraid of your hairy strumpet?”

  Mr. Bopp launched himself from the stump of his frame with a powerful jackknife. He crashed into Mink’s legs and lunged with his face. His teeth sank into Mink’s calf, and Mink howled. “Get him off!”

  Bonfiglio pulled the human torso away and ripped Mink’s trousers in the bargain, revealing the knot of Mink’s knee bone.

  “Get a crate,” Mink yelled, and Billy Sweet ran, while Mr. Bopp writhed in Bonfiglio’s hands like a demon worm, bellowing curses.

  I moved to intervene, but I felt a hand on my arm. “Choose your fights,” whispered Mr. Ginger fiercely, and I realized Mink had pulled out a gun.

  Bonfiglio and Billy Sweet wrestled Mr. Bopp into the crate and nailed it shut. Mink watched with a smirk on his face. “Stow him in his wagon,” said the skeletal showman as he tucked his pistol beneath his jacket. “He’ll soon come to his senses without a meal or a pot to piss in.” Mink strode off, a purposeful look on his face, his suit legs flapping.

  “He’s gone to find Ceecee,” said Mr. Ginger. “He’s furious.”

  “He didn’t order Bess dead,” Miss Lightfoot said to me. “We’re his meal ticket.” How could she defend Lazarus Mink?

  “Neither does he want to give up Ceecee,” said Mr. Ginger. “He’s too greedy.”

  “But he murdered Bess!” I exclaimed. “None of us are safe.” I had already been murdered in one lifetime; I didn’t want to end this life the same way.

  Billy Sweet hustled back with a shovel. “I’m right sorry, miss,” he said to Ruby Lightfoot. “Honest I am. Can I dig you a hole?”

  “I reckon you must, Mr. Sweet,” she said. She raised her chin. “Mr. Ginger, I doubt if we will be calling on the services of a preacher; may I trouble you to speak some words? Mr. Dandy,” she said to me, “would you please bring Miss Tuggle to her carriage, that I might dress her for the occasion?” Poor Miss Lightfoot. She had nothing to hide her fear behind but decorum.

  “Apollo,” I said. “Dress the young ones appropriately. See if they know a hymn to sing.” That would give them something to do.

  After I left Miss Lightfoot to her duties, I realized there existed one who had been left ignorant of today’s events.

  Earle Johnson, the fat man, sat on his cart in the tent that had been built around him. He glanced up from his newspaper when I entered.

  “Hey, new boy,” he said. “Was you entertaining last night?” He winked. “Coulda sworn I heard a lady’s voice next door when I woke up once.”

  “You were dreaming,” I said. I told him the news about Bess while he shook his head.

  “Man alive, don’t that cap the climax?” he wheezed when I’d finished, and his chins jiggled as if they agreed. “That puts a new coat of paint on what I saw.” Excitement glinted in Earle’s buried eyes. “Dr. Mink and that he-she came through here not a minute ago, and the doctor was cussin’ Ceecee up one side and down the other. ‘She was a troublemaker,’ says Ceecee. ‘That bitch would turn us in sooner or later.’ ‘Not so,’ says Mink. ‘You was just out of sorts ’cause she was a real freak, not a made-up one. You always had a problem with that. If you needed to test your razor, you shoulda done it on Dandy. He’s a troublemaker, and he ain’t got a freak act.’”

  My mouth dried.

  “It’s strange,” said Earle. He shifted his bulk and the cart groaned. “You’d think someone as big as me would be hard to miss, but for some reason it makes people even more likely to ignore me—like I’m too big to see. That a new ring you got? I don’t recollect that.”

  “Mink was mad at Ceecee, was he?” I said, turning the conversation back to business.

  “Oh, he was wrathy,” said Earle. “He was cussin’ hard enough to raise Sam Hill. ‘If you ruin one of my acts again, I’ll ruin you,’ he says. ‘I’ll have Bonfiglio turn you all girl, and the only work you’ll find for the rest of your life will be in secondrate cooch shows.’”

  He paused. “You ever notice how fine spoken the hoodlums are in these Police Gazette reports?” He rattled the pink newsprint in his pudgy hand. “You think that’s because they live in the big city?”

  I thought it more probable that the writers were novelists who needed to pay the rent. “Could be, Earle,” I said, my mind still on Ceecee.

  “I been reading stories like this for years,” Earle said. “But it beats the Dutch to be in one. A fat feller like me, he gets to sit a lot, and read a fine yarn if he’s lucky. Travelin’ with this show is the closest I usually get to adventuring. I still won’t get to be a hero, nor win the girl, but I can be a chum and tell you that you’d better hightail it out of here while you can. Thems as runs away gets to fight another day.”

  I agreed with him completely. Unfortunately, I had others to think of too. I should devise a plan. The idea left me in a panic sweat.

  As I turned to leave, Earle called me back. “Um, could you do me a favor?” he said. “Could you empty my convenience?” He pointed down under the cart. For a moment my spirits lightened. At least I wasn’t trapped in a cart, able only to shit through a hole into a pot below. I could do something about my troubles. I would.

  Mink didn’t come to the funeral, and he refused to pull up the tent to let Earle out or let Mr. Bopp attend. Bonfiglio still sat smoking his pipe on top of the crate that imprisoned Mr. Bopp.

  Ceecee appeared, however, dressed once more in his dark evening attire. He glided to the grave’s edge like a wraith, his dark eyes burning. His smile was as thin and glittering as a razor blade. He bowed his head and put his hands together in mock prayer. Miss Lightfoot flushed in anger, but Mr. Ginger held tight to her arm so she
didn’t speak. The children huddled with Apollo as far away as possible, at the other end of the open grave amid the prairie grass. Their eyes remained riveted on Ceecee as if he were a rattlesnake. How dare he come here? I wanted to raise my fist and strike him to the ground, but Mr. Ginger shook his head at me, and I decided that this event would be hard enough for the children without their seeing me murdered in front of them, which would no doubt be the outcome of my protest. “We are here to honor and bid good-bye to our dear friend,” I began through clenched teeth.

  Minnie held her corn dolly up in both hands, as if to let it see Bess Tuggle dressed in her Sunday best and wrapped in a fine cotton sheet that should have been for her trousseau. Bess reminded me of Tauseret, who lay in her own grave wrappings, but I didn’t think Bess would ever open her eyes again. This was the second burial I had attended in a matter of days, and I had never been to one before this summer. I had to get Apollo and the children out of here before there was another.

  Mr. Ginger recited some lines of Milton, and the children sang a disorderly but touching rendition of “All Things Bright and Beautiful” in trembling voices. From that day on, I would see a giant and a dwarf when I sang the words “all creatures great and small.”

  We all tossed in a handful of soil, then Billy Sweet began to fill up the hole. Ceecee bowed to no one in particular and left. He was humming.

  “Revenant! Ghoul!” Miss Lightfoot cried, and burst into tears. Mr. Ginger held her and let her cry it out on his shoulder.

  Apollo and I led the unnaturally quiet children away. Each shovelful of cold clay earth thudded an echo within me.

  Late afternoon, the shows began as usual, and I sat in the tent protecting the jars once more. A gloom hung over me like a wet fog, and despair curled in the pit of my stomach. Tauseret lay motionless, and I wondered if last night was a fantasy, but her lips appeared fuller than they had been yesterday, and I detected the slight curl of a smile upon them. I yearned to wake her and prove everything true, but thought it prudent to let sleeping mummies lie while Mink and his henchmen were out and about.