The Traveling Man

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  He cried out and dove inside me more deeply, his heart pounding furiously. Two weeks of touching and tasting, waiting and wondering was too much for both of us.

  Kes grit his teeth as his body thrashed against mine, furious and unforgiving. I felt his body tense, then shudder as he came.

  I had tears in my eyes from pain and pleasure. I hadn’t come—it was all too new, too strange, the pain too real, but when Kes looked down at me, his lashes were wet, the same as mine.

  “I love you,” I said.

  Kes screwed his eyes tightly shut, trying to force back the surge of emotion that he couldn’t hide. And then he smiled his beautiful smile, the one reserved just for me. It was like the sun had learned how to shine again, and I was warmed.

  He couldn’t say the words himself, he just wouldn’t allow himself to be that exposed. I was disappointed, but Kes couldn’t hide what he felt, I could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, hear it in his voice.

  But then the world intruded, as it always did.

  “I’d better get rid of this,” Kes mumbled.

  He couldn’t meet my eyes when we both looked down to the see the blood smeared along his dick.

  “Wow,” I said softly. “I guess we really did it.”

  He still couldn’t look at me.

  “I’m not sorry,” I whispered. “Now you can never forget me.”

  His head whipped around and his wide eyes met mine.

  “I won’t … I never … I…” but he still couldn’t say the words.

  We kissed for the longest time, tears streaking our faces, mumbling promises to each other that were lost the moment they were spoken.

  “You have to go get ready,” I said sadly.

  Kes sighed and rested his forehead against mine.

  “This really fucking sucks.”

  I didn’t reply because there was nothing to say.

  We’d spent our last morning together retracing our steps through the carnival: the first time Mr. Albert leapt into my arms, the first time Jacob Jones accepted an apple from me. The first time we held hands, the first time we kissed,

  We ate a coconut, because we’d done that on the first day we’d met, and we rode the Ferris wheel again, alone, riding through the air, trying to frame our memories in forever.

  Finally, we lay on the hard earth behind the Ghost Train and held hands staring up at the sky. I begged the sun to shine forever and the Earth to stop turning; I hated the minutes speeding around my wristwatch. And then time ran out.

  Kes stood up gracefully and put his hand out to heave me up. He didn’t let go as we walked back to the RV.

  I remember everything about that day. The way the sun bounced off the hard ground, burning my feet as I walked. The sky was a steely white, bleached and cloudless. Kes stared straight ahead, ignoring the waves and shouts from the other carnies as if he didn’t hear or see, as if the world he walked in was separate. But I noticed. I felt their eyes slide over me, curious and compassionate, hard and hateful. I noticed the paint peeling from the sign above the Ghost Train, turning it into ‘Ghost rain’. I wondered what ghost rain was like—wetter, colder, or gray and soft like cobwebs?

  I remember the rough texture of Kes’s hand, the grip of his fingers, the soothing caress of his thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of my hand. I felt the fine hairs of his forearm brush against mine. Walking side by side, I could appreciate his height and lean silhouette, his long strides making me trot to keep up. His eyes were narrowed against the sun, or maybe in thought, and I hoped he was thinking of me, of us.

  I remember it all.

  Sorcha was waiting when we reached the RV, tapping her chewed nails against her elbows.

  “You’re late,” she scowled, but Kes ignored her.

  He kicked off his shoes, stripped off his shirt, and sank into the deckchair so she could apply his makeup.

  As the first show was mostly for kids, she toned down the recently-undead look, instead covering his face with gold paint. It was very effective, giving him an angelic quality that was the opposite of real life, and if she wasn’t such a witch, I’d have told her so.

  The day progressed and Kes’s exhaustion deepened. By the time he prepared for his farewell show, tiredness seemed etched into his bones. The change to ultra white makeup and black-ringed eyes seemed apt now.

  He grinned at me loosely, sadness shining in his silver-gray eyes.

  “Last show.”

  “Make it a good one,” I said, kissing his warm lips. “Make it great.”

  “Always,” he said, his smile curving upward.

  And it was great. He was great. I was totally enraptured with the boy-man standing in front of me. He was the ultimate performer, the showman, a man of many faces.

  But when he called for a volunteer and a hundred voices yelled, “Choose me!” his eyes turned toward mine.

  I shook my head, my eyes wide as he prowled toward me.

  Yes, you! his eyes said.

  He held out his hand toward me, and the woman sitting in the next seat gave me a little push.

  “Go on, honey!” she said encouragingly. “Once in a lifetime opportunity. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Go on now!”

  Kes pulled me into the center of the arena, and I was vaguely aware of my sneakers sinking into the sawdust, scattered to soften the percussion of the horses’ hooves.

  Usually Kes blindfolded his volunteers, on the grounds that if they jerked suddenly because he was throwing sharp knives at them, he might end up injuring someone. But he didn’t offer me a blindfold.

  His eyes glimmered with trapped emotions as he positioned me onto the wooden frame.

  He smiled his devilish smile as he aimed the first knife. I tried to keep my eyes open, fixed on his as they seemed to glow in the dusk, but I couldn’t. I quivered and squeezed my eyes tightly shut, feeling the thud next to my left ear.

  The oohs and aahs of the crowd became distant.

  Then the knives seemed to rain down around my head, and it was all I could do to keep standing. I was almost grateful when Kes barked at me, “On your knees!”

  I dropped down, feeling a sharp stone dig into my kneecap. I could have sworn that I felt the breath of the final knife streak past as it flew over my head.

  Someone in the crowd screamed, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see one of my ears on the ground, but then the sound turned to one of delight and I opened an eye.

  “Look behind you,” Kes commanded.

  I twisted around to stare at the wooden target. My mouth dropped open in awe. He’d framed me with a jagged row of knives, forming the shape of a heart. The last knife was the point at the bottom.

  Stunned, emotional, and tired beyond words, I stared at the steel heart. Then I felt Kes’s hand on my shoulder, and he was helping me up.

  The crowd roared and cheered, and a few people whistled, but when his mouth crashed down on mine and he kissed me in front of hundreds of people, I couldn’t hear any of it.

  Grinning, Kes bowed to the crowd who yelled their approval, and then he handed me over to Blake, who escorted me from the ring, one hand hovering around my waist because he could see that my legs were shaking so badly, either from shock or lust. Maybe it was the same thing.

  Kes took his bows and made a final circuit standing on Jacob Jones’ back, before leaving the arena to loud applause.

  “Are you okay?” Blake asked me, his voice halfway between amused and anxious.

  “I think I’m going to pee myself,” I said faintly.

  He laughed with relief. “You did great. I’ve never seen him get so close to a target before. I think he cut off some of your hair.”

  “What?” I gurgled. “He did what?”

  Blake laughed again, more nervously this time. “I’m probably wrong about that. Just the angle I was standing.”

  “Bullshit!” I snarled.

  Blake tugged me to a stop. “Take it as a compliment,” he said, his smile turning harsh. “The kid kn
ows what he’s doing. You want to be a carnie’s woman, well suck it up, little girl. Suck it up.”

  He stalked away, leaving me angry and a little afraid.

  Kes was talking to Dono, his shoulders sagging with tiredness. But when he saw me, his gaze brightened.

  “How’d you like the show?” he sniggered.

  “You’re evil!” I huffed, crossing my arms across my chest. “Brilliant, but evil mastermind.”

  He laughed loudly, and even Dono seemed amused.

  “You did good, kid. You can have five minutes before we start the takedown. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  Kes scowled but didn’t argue.

  I expected that now: the times Kes tried to argue with Dono ended with a backhander. No one could win an argument with Dono.

  Kes sighed and slung his sweaty arm around me. “Takedown’s gonna be most of the night. You want to go home? I should be able to get there maybe four or five in the morning.”

  “I could help,” I offered. “I must be able to do something.”

  He shook his head.

  “You’d just get in the way.”

  I know he didn’t mean to hurt me, but he did.

  “Oh, well okay then. Guess I’ll see you later?”

  I turned to walk away, but Kes stopped me.

  “You can wait in the RV if you like,” he said softly. “I could pull my bed out for you. If you want. You don’t have to. I mean, it’ll be pretty noisy. Only if you want to…”

  There’d be hell to pay if my parents decided to check my room. It was a remote possibility—neither of them seemed to care much what I did. And tonight was my last night with Kes.

  I nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  A look that could have been relief passed over his face.

  “Okay, great. Um, the sheets should be pretty clean.” He gave me a sly look. “I haven’t used them for the last two weeks.”

  I grinned back at him. “Sounds good.”

  He pulled open the RV’s door and Mr. Albert leapt down, chattering angrily, annoyed at having been cooped up, and he scampered off into the dark.

  “Will he be alright?” I asked worriedly.

  Kes shrugged. “Sure, but don’t be surprised if you wake up to find him on the bed.” He looked embarrassed. “Because, um, he does that most nights when I’m here. He’s kind of pissed at me that I haven’t been around so much lately.”

  I snickered quietly as Kes folded up the tiny kitchen table and pulled out his cot bed.

  “Must be because you found someone else to sleep with!”

  He grinned and hooked his arms around my waist. “Must be,” he agreed, then slid his tongue into my mouth, thrusting with casual slowness, until Dono yelled for him again.

  “Gotta go,” he said. “But I’ll see you later.”

  I curled up on the rough sheets that smelled like him, and stared through the open door at the stars sprinkled above the canvas buildings of the carnival.

  I wondered what it would be like to sleep like this every night, to see the same stars from a different town. What it would be like to be traveling, traveling, always moving on?

  As the sounds of the carnival being torn down filled my ears, tears filled my eyes, and finally, finally, I drifted to sleep.

  At some point in the night, Mr. Albert came home, creeping into my arms so we were curled up together.

  I vaguely remember hearing him chatter his complaints as Kes plucked him off the bed and sank down next to me. He kissed the back of my neck and we were asleep.

  We were woken by the sounds of shouting.

  “Where is my daughter? What have you done with her?!”

  Kes was instantly awake and swearing softly.

  “Fuck, I meant to get you home before now. Shit, I overslept.”

  I sat up, my eyes sore from lack of sleep, tears and tiredness, but my heart hammering as adrenaline surged through me.

  I stumbled out of the RV behind Kes, my hand flying to my birds nest hair. I was met by my father’s furious glare and the cold-eyed stare of Sheriff Smith.

  “Miss Andersen, are you alright?”

  “Yes, yes! I’m fine,” I stammered.

  Dad grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him so hard that I stumbled.

  “Hey!” Kes called out.

  “Keep back,” the Sheriff warned.

  Suddenly, Dono was walking up behind Kes, his stern presence calming him, his strong hand restraining him.

  “Just two kids who want to be together, Sheriff,” he said. “No harm done.”

  “No harm?!” shouted my father. “She’s fifteen!”

  “I’m sixteen, Dad!” I snapped. “I turned sixteen two weeks ago!”

  He tugged on my arm again, a clear message that I should shut my mouth.

  Dono’s voice was cold and hard.

  “My grandson is also sixteen. Whatever they did was consensual. The girl has been hanging around every day for two weeks.”

  I couldn’t believe Dono had thrown me to the wolves like that. It hurt so bad: I was ‘the girl’. I wasn’t Aimee; I wasn’t one of them; I was ‘the girl’ who’d brought trouble to their door. Maybe it was his way of defending Kes, but that didn’t lessen the sting. Not yet.

  “Grandpa…” Kes began, but Dono slapped him almost casually across the cheek.

  “You can speak when I tell you to,” he said harshly.

  Kes was knocked back against the side of the RV, his cheek imprinted with Dono’s hand.

  No one but me seemed to care, and Sheriff Smith simply asked, “Are you here of your own choice, Miss Andersen?”

  “Yes!” I gasped, shocked to my core.

  He looked back to my father. “I think we should leave it there, Adam.”

  Dad’s face was grim and he didn’t reply. Instead, he turned on his heel, dragging me after him, walking so fast, I almost lost my footing.

  “Kes!” I shouted, but Dad just yanked my arm so hard it felt like it was being pulled out of its socket.

  I heard yelling behind me, but I couldn’t tell who was speaking.

  A number of carnies had been roused by the noise, and were there to see my humiliation as I was dragged from the field and stuffed into Dad’s car.

  “Do not speak,” he ordered icily. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I’m ashamed of you.”

  Tears started to burn my eyes, but I wouldn’t cry in front of him. I wouldn’t.

  Mom was waiting anxiously at the front door, but she wasn’t allowed to speak to me. I was sent to my room and told to stay there. Probably until the world ended.

  I could hear Jennifer’s voice in the hallway, but Dad yelled at her, too, and the house fell silent except for the crash of pans and plates in the kitchen.

  I felt dirty. What I had with Kes was so wonderful and special, and my own father had dragged me through the mud. I hated him for that.

  I was in love. We were in love. What was wrong with that? Just because we were young, it didn’t make it any less real. If anything it was more real, because we weren’t jaded and we could still believe that love conquered everything.

  Later, it was hard to remember that I’d ever been so idealistic, but at that moment, righteous indignation burned brightly inside me.

  How dare my father treat me like that? Treat Kes like that? And call him such ugly names. I became angrier and angrier, until I felt like screaming.

  It was only when I realized that my hidden cell phone was ringing that I took a breath. Fumbling and frantic, I grabbed it from the back of the drawer where I kept my bras, and then crawled under the covers so my voice would be muffled.

  “Kes!”

  “Jesus, Aimee! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “No, I’m alright. Well, I’m locked in my room. What about you? Dono looked mad.”

  He started to reply, then said, “You sound really weird.”

  I giggled sadly. “I’m hiding under the covers in case anyone hears me.”
<
br />   “Oh right.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Leaving,” he said, his voice already distant.

  “What?!”

  “Yeah, Dono wanted me out of the way in case that asshole Sheriff came back. Look outside right now, Aimee.”

  I scrambled from under the covers and ran to the window.

  Kes’s RV was already turning out of the carnival field. I could see Dono at the wheel, and Kes leaning out the window waving at me.

  “I can see you! I can see you!”

  His voice went muffled and I could hear shouting in the background. “Fuck’s sake! Stop the fucking car!”

  There was an odd bang and the call was disconnected. I tried to call him back, but the phone rang unanswered. On my fourth try, his phone was turned off.

  I watched disbelievingly as the RV disappeared toward the horizon, followed by Blake driving the truck with the horse trailer. I kept waiting for the vehicles to stop, for Kes to come running back for one last kiss, something, but all I could see was a cloud of red dust rising into the air as the boy I loved drove into the distance.

  All the anger fell away and I cried and cried.

  It was two days before I heard from Kes again, and when he did call, he was subdued.

  “Oh, thank God you called! I’ve been going crazy. What happened?”

  He sighed. “Dono.”

  “I guess he was pretty angry.”

  “Yeah. How about your old man?”

  “Oh,” I laughed thinly. “He’s been okay. He’s not speaking to me. That’s fine because I’m not speaking to him either.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “Well, she’s feeding me, but I’m still grounded. I’m just allowed bathroom breaks.”

  I was trying for funny. I knew it was feeble, but if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry, and I’d cried enough tears.

  But Kes didn’t laugh.

  “I have to see you,” he said, lowering his voice as if he was afraid he’d be overheard. “I can’t stand this.”

  I was thrilled to hear him say that, and heartbroken because there was nothing we could do about it.

  “Our last show is Thanksgiving. The week after that I turn 17. I’ll have a full license. I’ll take the truck and come see you.”