The Japanese Devil Fish Girl and Other Unnatural Attractions

by Robert Rankin

  ‘I am beginning to wonder about that,’ said George. ‘I am so filled with awe by all that I have seen and experienced of late that at times I wonder whether I am simply dreaming. But do think on this, Professor. There may be no truth at all to what we seek. She may just be legend. There may be no truth to Sayito.’

  Professor Coffin flapped a hand at George. ‘Shush, my boy,’ said he. ‘We must have words with the proprietor of this esteemed establishment regarding that which we seek. But we must do it in such a fashion that the fabulous showman gleans no hint that we actually seek what we seek. Do you understand?’

  ‘I might if I put my mind hard to it,’ said George. ‘Do you think he is actually here?’

  ‘Yonder,’ said Professor Coffin, pointing with his cane.

  To stage left stood a portly fellow, chatting with Tom Thumb.

  He wore a grey suit cut in the American fashion, with portmanteau sleeves and a cuttlefish-skin, triple-breasted waistcoat. Upon his back was strapped an intricate contrivance of polished pine and burnished brass, which belched the occasional puff of smoke from a stovepipe chimney attached to his tall dark hat. The intricate contrivance was linked to the portly fellow’s high brass boots by a complicated system of leather belt-drives and hissing pistons.

  George looked on, a-gawp.

  And as he looked on at the portly gentleman and the extraordinary mechanical paraphernalia that adorned him, matters took a sudden and most unexpected twist.

  ‘Oh,’ and, ‘Ow!’ cried P. T. Barnum, leaping suddenly high.

  General Tom Thumb scuttled away as the clearly rattled Mr Barnum now performed what appeared to be an extravagantly high-stepping dance all about the stage, accompanied by further vocal outcries which rose to an uncomfortable crescendo.

  ‘He is on fire,’ observed George. ‘And his bodily machinery is out of control.’

  ‘Fiddle de, fiddle dum,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘Do something quickly, George.’

  But George did not hear him say this, as George was already hastening to assist the smoking showman cavorting about on the stage. George leapt up onto the stage and tore down one of the curtains. This he threw over P. T. Barnum and wrestled that man to the floor.

  There were great hissings and splutterings of steam and Barnum’s legs thrashed wildly. But George held him down and beat at the smoking firebox that fuelled the apparatus.

  Presently, and much to the relief of all concerned, there was silence and stillness and George unwrapped the showman and helped him to his feet.

  ‘Are you all right?’ George asked him. ‘Or should I summon a medic?’

  P. T. Barnum divested himself of his belligerent backpack, unclipped the linkages to his brass footwear and booted all and sundry across the stage.

  ‘Thank you, young man,’ he said to George. ‘That demonic contrivance would surely have done for me had you not intervened with such inspiration. I fear the world is not yet ready for Barnum’s Patent Pneumatic Pedestrian Perambulators. Mechanical walking aids. I think I might just reconsider Mr Henry Ford’s invitation to invest in his horseless carriage arrangement. Indeed, by golly, yessiree.’

  ‘I am glad I was able to offer assistance,’ said George. ‘You are sure that you are undamaged?’

  ‘Right and round as a silver dollar.’ Barnum dusted himself down. ‘And forever in your debt for sparing me from torment. My name is Phineas Taylor Barnum and I would be honoured to learn of yours.’

  ‘I am George Fox,’ said young George Fox. And shook the showman’s hand.

  16

  PT. Barnum’s office was a wonder to behold. George, to whom wonders had been falling upon of late with such frequent rapidity that he felt he could surely accommodate a few more, just gawped about the crowded room with lower jaw a-dangle.

  George had introduced Mr Barnum to the professor. That certain handshake had come once more into play and the great showman had welcomed the lesser showman as a fellow traveller and invited both he and George to enjoy a drink in private quarters.

  Mr Barnum’s desk was simply huge. Carved from elephants’ tusks, inlaid with tiger teeth and topped with rolled leather from koala pelts, it dwarfed a full-size billiard table and was littered with more curiosa than could reasonably be described. George discerned domes of glass containing foetal skeletons mounted in tableaus representing historic events. The Siege of Troy. The coronation of Queen Elizabeth the First. The Storming of the Alamo. An American planting the Stars and Stripes flag upon the surface of the moon. George rolled his eyes at that one. The wall-mounted heads of stuffed bison and bears gazed down upon George with their glassy stares. A suit of samurai armour, all tortoiseshell and porcupine quills, stood in one corner. A waxwork figure of Jesus Christ, blessing fingers raised above a map of America, stood in another. And many too were the mechanical instruments of copper, brass and steel.

  ‘Seat yourselves where you can,’ advised Mr Barnum, seeking out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whisky and three crystal tumblers. Professor Coffin cleared circus posters from a green leather swivel chair and settled upon it. George wheeled over a massive elephant-foot stool and lowered his bottom upon that. Mr Barnum decanted liquor and pushed the glasses as far as he could across the spacious desk. With much strained reachings and assistance from George, Professor Coffin availed himself of the drinks and took to toasting Mr Barnum.

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ said that man. ‘To George, for saving my Baltimore bacon.’

  ‘To George,’ said the professor, raising his glass.

  Drinks were drunk and lips were smacked approvingly.

  ‘And so,’ said P. T. Barnum, ‘what are you two gentlemen doing upon this side of the Great Pond?’

  ‘We are circumnavigating the globe,’ said the professor, ‘aboard the Empress of Mars. The eighth wonder of the world, I believe she has been called.’

  ‘Hm,’ went P. T. Barnum. ‘I have recently been having some discussions with the President of this fair land regarding the construction of a larger and more luxurious version of this airship.’

  George Fox raised his eyebrows and sipped some more at his drink.

  ‘As we were in New York,’ continued Professor Coffin, ‘we just had to visit your museum. It is famous throughout the world. It was not to be missed.’

  ‘One does what one can to provide entertainment, education, enlightenment and edification. I trust that you have not been disappointed.’

  ‘Well . . .’ said the professor, and he paused.

  ‘Well?’ asked Mr Barnum. ‘What should I make of this “well”?’

  ‘I believe that we were misinformed,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘We were told that you had a most wonderful attraction here. The most wonderful attraction that ever there was. What was it called again, George? The Chinese Fish Woman or something, was it?’

  George Fox noted the guarded wink. ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘Japanese, I think, yes, that was it – the Japanese Devil Fish Girl.’

  P. T. Barnum leaned back in his chair, beyond his desk. His round head nodded gently and he made a thoughtful face. ‘The Japanese Devil Fish Girl,’ he said slowly. ‘Well now, there is a thing.’

  ‘We would very much like to see her,’ said George. ‘Is she presently engaged as one of your resident artistes?’

  Mr Barnum’s face now gained a quizzical expression. ‘One of my resident artistes?’ he said. ‘Well, there’s another thing.’

  ‘Opinions in England vary,’ said Professor Coffin, ‘as to what she actually is. Some say a mermaid, others some kind of exotic being the like of which has never been viewed in the West. If you do have her here we would very much like to see her.’

  ‘Would you now?’ said P. T. Barnum. ‘Would you now indeed?’

  ‘Yes, sir, very much so,’ said George.

  Professor Coffin nodded.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Phineas Taylor Barnum, emptying the remaining contents of his glass into his mouth and swallowing them back, ‘I have been more than
sixty years in this profession and I have met with every variety of shyster, double-dealer, sleight-of-hand merchant, huckster and bamboozler, but few of them could indeed hold a candle to you two gentlemen. The subtle charm of the English, is it? Well now, there’s a thing.’

  ‘I fail to understand your words,’ said George.

  ‘I fear that I do all too well,’ Professor Coffin replied.

  ‘And I,’ said P. T. Barnum, rising from behind his desk now and taking up a sword that it was said had once belonged to Major Robert E. Lee, ‘must applaud your audacity and indeed your ingenuity. How was it done, eh? You somehow sabotaged the workings of my Pneumatic Pedestrian Perambulator, that you might be on hand to save me and then inveigle yourselves into my confidence? What?’

  ‘Nothing of the sort, sir,’ said George, all bewildered. ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

  ‘Oh really?’ cried Barnum. ‘Oh really? I think rather that you would seek to steal from me the Greatest Showman’s Treasure of this or any other age.’

  ‘Then you do have her,’ said Professor Coffin.

  ‘What I have or do not have is nothing of your business. Leave my premises at once or I will summon my monkey butler Charles to fling you into the street.’

  Another monkey butler, thought George, with a certain envy.

  ‘Out!’ shouted Mr Barnum. ‘Villains! Footpads! Outlaws! Rustlers!’ And he waved his sword.

  ‘This is all a big mistake,’ said George.

  ‘Let it lie, my friend,’ said the professor. ‘The game is up for us, we must make a dignified retreat. My apologies to you, Mr Barnum. We were foolhardy to think that we could ever pull any wool over your observant eyes. That you would be aware of such obfustication should have been obvious to us. We shall take our leave now and trouble you no more. Come, George.’

  ‘But—’ went George.

  ‘Come, George!’

  George Fox rose from his elephant-foot stool and bowed his head before the master showman.

  ‘We did not mean to trick you in any way, sir,’ he said. ‘We only wanted to know whether you had the Japanese Devil Fish Girl in your employ or not. Surely that is not so outrageous.’

  ‘Out!’ cried Mr Barnum. ‘Out!’

  ‘Quite so,’ said the professor, backing towards the door. ‘Sorry to have bothered you. Goodbye and a fond farewell.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said George, but he too backed towards the door before the waving sword.

  At the office door things became a little more confusing for George. He and the professor became somehow jammed into the opening. George could not for the life of him understand how, given the size of the opening, the two of them had become so jammed. It was almost as if the professor was doing the jamming on purpose.

  P. T. Barnum stormed towards them, swinging his sword on high. George became suddenly aware of the words, ‘Drop to your knees, George,’ being hoarsely whispered into his ear by the professor. And George in an almost instinctive manner dropped straight to his knees.

  Then there was confusion and tumbling as P. T. Barnum tripped over George and fell forwards into the corridor, dropping his sword, which Professor Coffin kicked beyond his reach. Then there was a considerable struggle as Professor Coffin leapt onto the prone showman and bestraddled his chest, pinioning his arms and restraining him in a most undignified manner.

  George stared on in disbelief as Professor Coffin now produced a slim glass phial from his waistcoat, carefully unscrewed the cap and then held it to the nose of Mr Barnum.

  ‘We are going to return to your office now,’ said Professor Coffin to the now non-struggling showman, ‘and there you will tell us everything that you know about the Japanese Devil Fish Girl. Do you understand me, Mr Barnum?’

  Mr P. T. Barnum nodded. ‘Everything I know,’ said he.

  17

  They returned to Phineas Barnum’s office, and George was most perplexed. Mr Barnum moved like an automaton. All stiff-legged and staring ahead, he crossed to his ample desk, then dropped into his chair like a sack of potatoes.

  ‘Whatever have you done to him?’ George asked of the professor.

  Professor Coffin counselled silence. ‘Just leave this to me. Please close the office door, George. And I spy a key on this side, so kindly lock it also.’

  George did as he was bid, with much shaking of his head, and some worries too, for what was going on here seemed altogether odd.

  ‘Sit down, George,’ Professor Coffin told him. ‘I don’t want you to miss any of this. It might prove most important.’

  George reseated himself upon the elephant-foot stool and looked on as Professor Coffin settled down once more into the green leather swivel chair and spoke across the desk to Mr Barnum.

  ‘It would please me, sir,’ said he, ‘if you would now tell George and I everything that you know about the Japanese Devil Fish Girl. Omit nothing. Tell us everything.’

  The great showman’s eyes looked glazed and sightless.

  Softly then he cleared his throat. ‘I will tell you everything,’ he said. ‘I have kept this terrible secret for too long – I will be glad to tell you the tale.’

  Professor Coffin nodded. ‘Tell your tale to us,’ he said.

  The eyes of P. T. Barnum seemed to focus, as upon some far and distant point. ‘So long ago,’ he said, ‘so very long ago . . . I have, as you know, lived a long and extraordinary life in my chosen profession. I believe that I have eclipsed all those who have gone before me in the world of showmanship. I have presented to the public many unique attractions and all of the very special people that I have exhibited have profited from their professional relationships with me. I—’

  But Professor Coffin raised his hand. ‘I am well aware of your venerable career – I own a copy of your autobiography. Please speak only upon the subject that I requested you to speak of. The Japanese Devil Fish Girl.’

  ‘There are always rumours,’ said P. T. Barnum, ‘in the showman’s world, of some great attraction, far greater than all the rest. Always beyond the next hill, in the next country, far across the next ocean. In the area upon the old maps that reads “HERE BE DRAGONS”. I first heard of the being of which you speak whilst I was in Oregon. There is a mysterious area there, a few miles from Grants Pass, that is known as the Oregon Vortex. A weird magnetic geographical anomaly, where gravity plays tricks with you and nothing is quite what it seems. I was considering the idea of purchasing the area and opening it to the American public as the Strangest Place on Earth. It was there that I met a man by the name of Farl.’

  ‘Macmoyster Farl?’ asked George, amazed.

  ‘His father, Sebastian Farl. At this time two sisters were wooing American audiences with their spiritualist performances, clicking the joints of their toes to mimic replies from the deceased to those sad folk who sought their solace with them. Sebastian Farl mocked the two sisters – he recognised them at once as charlatans and he presented himself to me as one of the few true psychics upon the planet who could actually communicate with the dead. I could see that there was novelty to this act and that if presented as the only true Apocalyptical Examiner, he might become the very epitome of sensationalism. It was necessary, however, for me to test his claims in some way. Not necessarily to prove them genuine, you understand, but to see how convincing they appeared.’

  ‘And were you convinced?’ asked Professor Coffin. ‘And where, pray, is this leading?’

  ‘It is leading to me answering your enquiries.’ P. T. Barnum’s voice became shrill. ‘You demand answers from me and I feel compelled to supply them. You asked me to omit nothing, therefore allow me to tell my tale.’

  George glanced towards Professor Coffin. There was something deeply wrong about all of this. It made George feel sick at heart and he felt that he wanted no more.

  ‘This is very important,’ Professor Coffin whispered to George, sensing all too well the young man’s concern. ‘This may not be altogether pleasant, but it is necessary. This i
s your fate, young George. This is of the utmost importance.’

  George held his counsel and P. T. Barnum continued.

  ‘Sebastian Farl held a seance in the cabin on the edge of the Oregon Vortex and there I spoke with the spirits.’

  ‘The spirits of the dead?’ asked George, the hairs rising up on his arms.

  ‘So I was given to understand at the time and jolly convincing it was too. Sebastian Farl coined the term “channelling” to describe what he did. He “channelled the spirits”, but not of the dead, as I found out to my cost. All over the country, and indeed all over the world at the time, there were others such as Farl, each believing that they spoke with the dead. None of them actually charlatans, but none of them actually “channelling” the spirits of the dead.’