Gerard, in this small group of circus women, was already feeling the wave of hysteria that his stepfather had witnessed during his adventure. They were getting worked up, shrieking and shouting, all asking him questions at the same time.
The little Zigano, starting to demand her rights of discovery, stamped her feet and pushed away the encroaching shrews, continuing her chant:
“I’m the one who found him… I’m the one who found him…”
Fever Blister stood as tall as she could and stretched out her hideous, pathetic little hands of a withered doll and, in a sharp voice, said:
“Shut up already! Don’t you see that you’re hurting him?”
They quieted down, but their glistening eyes stared at Gerard in a way that made him turn pale under his plastic make-up. ‘
Bloody Hell, as Teddy would say, are they going to end up seeing that it’s fake?
But Fever Blister seemed more humane than the others. She asked him kindly:
“Tell us, my boy, what happened to you?”
Gerard repeated exactly what Teddy Verano had told him. He sighed, turned his head away and in carefully chosen voice, designed to break their hearts, he murmured:
“A woman.”
“What? A woman? What did he say?” Mother Zigano, who shined no brighter than her daughter in the realm of intelligence, started waving her arms.
The amazon cut in:
“Be quiet! Let him talk.”
Fever Blister, as usual, saw more clearly:
“A woman did this to you?”
“Yes,” Gerard sighed, playing his role of victim.
And he pronounced the word, the keyword that, if Teddy Verano was not mistaken, would open him up to all the sympathy of the Crucifer Circus:
“Vitriol.”
The furies cried out, started talking together again, while Gerard nodding his head when the miniature mummy said:
“Jealously, eh? You cheated on her?”
He answered only with sighs. Finally, he talked a little, said that he was “out of work” and had wound up in Amiens, not knowing what to do.
Bertha—being close to the Ringmaster—mentioned that, at least in Amiens, they needed some laborers. Although there was no tent to set up, the carnies had other problems, faced with their responsibility of the building made available to them by the city. The others agreed and they decided to hire him on the spot, even just for a few days.
Gerard was dizzy. It was too perfect, going too well and too fast. But it was true that Teddy Verano had prepared a good plan. A monster had every chance to be welcomed quickly into such a society.
Afterward it was easy. The Ringmaster with the pig face hired him officially, not without visible sympathy. Other members of the troupe whom he helped right away with cleaning the stands and the ring also scrutinized him. He recognized them just as Teddy Verano had described them. He found them hideous and understood how right the detective had been. They had taken good measures because he, too—at least in appearance—was facially handicapped.
He saw Crucifer, who looked him up and down, said little, but approved his verbal hiring by the Ringmaster.
He did not see, at least right away, Miss Mahlia, who seemed to stay in her trailer all the time, coming out only for the performances. And this was just fine with Gerard. He had no desire that Miss Mahlia show the same interest in him as the other members of the troupe.
Because, he told himself, if she really is Mephista, as Teddy believes, won’t she be a little suspicious?
Of course, Gerard had never met Olga Mervil when his stepfather had sided with Edwige Hossegor in the duel of the two Mephistas. But, in spite of everything, he knew he would feel uncomfortable in her presence. This woman had claimed to have commerce with the Devil…
With broom in hand, he was trying to prove his helpfulness when he heard a thin little voice call out:
“Hey you, new guy!”
Gerard held his broom and turned around. Being informed in detail by Teddy Verano, he recognized Mirk. This small, crooked man could be none other than the strange, sinister scarlet clown. Teddy’s stepson was more disturbed than ever, horribly ill at ease.
The gnome was exactly as Teddy Verano had described him, swaying on his twisted legs and watching Gerard closely.
“Very good,” he said, “very good.”
Gerard kept the attitude he had adopted, that of a man struck down very young by bad luck, becoming clumsy, awkward, shy and not very talkative.
Mirk looked very satisfied with the new recruit of the Crucifer Circus.
“You did well coming to us. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine here. What’s your name?”
“Jacques.”
It was the name he had told the Zigano girl. Afterward, they had hired him verbally and, in theory, for a few days. There had been no question of legality. Moreover, if they wanted more information, or asked to see his identification, he had papers in his pocket drawn up at the Verano Agency that gave him a false identity with a social security number and everything.
“Well, Jacques,” the scarlet clown went on, “you’ll be very happy with us.”
The false Jacques figured it good to say something anyway.
“If you decide to keep me. If Monsieur Crucifer needs me when you leave Amiens.”
“What’s that?” Mirk shouted. “Let you go? A guy as interesting as you. Don’t even think about it. Crucifer and I and the others are adopting you. You’re one of us now.”
The diabolical little eyes twinkled and Gerard felt them boring into his skull.
“One of us, you hear? You deserve us. But don’t worry, you won’t be unhappy. Quite the contrary. You’re going to discover such joys among us! Listen, listen good…”
Gerard felt the twisted fingers of the little man crushing his flesh when he grabbed his arm.
“You like girls, right? Beautiful girls?”
“Yes… yes,” Gerard said quietly, more and more worried, on the verge of nausea.
“Sure, I know. They tell me a girl made you what you are. But you’ll get your revenge. You’ll make her suffer… and you’ll make others suffer too, because you’ll soon become the most beautiful boy… you’ll make the girls die for you. You’ll become a new Apollo.”
Gerard/Jacques was having a hard time playing his role, but once again, he figured he had to respond.
“You’re funning with me.”
“You don’t believe me? I understand. But here, everyone gets it, everyone believes. They know. I’m going to give them beauty. And I’ll give it to you too. Do you trust me?”
He hopped around bizarrely and Gerard felt more nauseous.
“Tonight… tonight… I’ll tell you… I’ll show you. You, just you, because you’re nice to me.”
Gerard’s head started spinning when he heard this.
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“You’ll see… you’ll see. After the show, I’ll take you. But hush!” He looked around and then squeaked, “Don’t say anything to them… to these cursed females.”
And he disappeared.
Leaning on his broom, Gerard was stunned. The Ringmaster yelled at him because he was not working. He got back to work in a flurry, but thought fast. What did this mean? Was Mirk suspicious of him? Did he know who he was? This could all be a trap!
But when the wine is open you have to drink. In for a penny, in for a pound. But maybe I could learn something important, and then Teddy will be happy. He thought about him, and about his mother who, at least in part, knew about his mission and must have been going crazy with worry.
The day seemed to go on forever, only broken by a short meal. Everyone, except for Crucifer and the invisible Mahlia, was there. These carnies, it was obvious, were not your normal carnies. During their meager fare, they broke out in laughter, fought, but immediately quieted down, then laughed hysterically again.
The little Zigano girl near Jacques/Gerard kept reminding everyone that she was “th
e one who found him.”
Bertha wanted to touch his so-called wounds. He felt himself turn pale under his make-up but, once again, it was Fever Blister who yelled that “they should leave him alone,” and they dropped the sick idea.
He had a sigh of relief when they asked him to go and clean the cages. He was less afraid of the wild cats than of this band of lunatics. Besides, he was happy to work around the homes of the ferocious animals, empty out the dirty hay and put in some fresh one. The Ringmaster and lazy-eyed acrobat were responsible for entering the cages themselves.
They showed him a corner, where he understood he was to sleep that night. Thus, he would be “well protected from the cold.” And he could watch over the big cats because there could always be an accident, a fight among them, and they would have to be alerted right away.
The false Jacques accepted everything passively and spoke as little as possible, just saying that he was satisfied with his lot. He did not even try to roam around the trailers too much, because he did not want to raise any suspicions.
He wondered, however, what all this was hiding as he pursued Teddy Verano’s investigation on his own, waiting for something to happen. He would have liked to find out about the enigmatic Miss Mahlia, but it was obvious that Crucifer was the only one who could enter the manager’s trailer. Sometimes, Fever Blister or Mirk did, but only very rarely.
Anyway, his mission had a specific goal, at least at the start, that took priority over anything else: Yes or no, was Agnes Percheron, who had vanished 24 hours ago from her parents’ house, at the Crucifer Circus?
Gerard noticed that the carnies often listened to their radios, especially at the news hour. They all listened to RTL, France-Inter and Europe 1. Furthermore, the television antennas on a few of the trailers led him to believe that, in spite of their attitudes of hysterical savages, worthy of the Middle Ages, the Crucifer performers were up-to-date.
Were they watching the news to know whether the police was still looking for Agnes?
Gerard had listened carefully to Teddy Verano. Something was supposed to happen at the circus within three days. Mirk had one last chance to “find it,” to “succeed.” Did this have something to do with Agnes’ kidnapping?
If a girl is being held prisoner in one of the trailers, I’ll find out pretty quickly.
Were Crucifer, Mirk and company guilty?
Like Teddy Verano, Gerard leaned toward the affirmative. But why did they take her was another question entirely…
This could only be the result, logical or not (whatever logic there was), of the violation of Viviane’s grave and the photos taken against all decency of poor Claire’s body.
This very painful day was finally coming to a close for him. He found Lack-o-Luck, the ape-faced magician, pretty friendly, as well as Wildor the acrobat. He drank some hot grog with them. They tried to get him to talk, but he shook his head sadly when they continually brought up how he had been transformed into a monster by sulfuric acid.
Now it was time for the show.
After putting on a kind of crazy uniform with ornamental braiding, the so-called Jacques helped in the ring, carefully rolling in and out the carpets, making noise behind the big cats, helping set up for the acrobats, bringing various props for the magician Harsen (or Arsène, a.k.a. Lack-o-Luck) and the great fortune-teller Madame Vassia (a.k.a. Fever Blister).
Finally, he saw Miss Mahlia, exactly as Teddy Verano had described her.
He was breathless. Not only because her body would, without question, affect any man, but also because, as secretary general of the Teddy Verano Agency, he was the one who took care of all the files. He had handled all the studio photos of Olga Mervil, the girl who had just missed becoming the biggest international star ever, whom Teleor and Hollywood had showered with money, who was supposed to dethrone Edwige Hossegor, the first Mephista, and who had, they believed, come to a tragic end in the fire during the red mass of the Satan worshippers.
Mephista…
It was her, he was sure of it. Even more sure than Teddy Verano.
At the end of the show, the scarlet clown, whose buffoonery had made no one laugh, came up to him and grabbed him with his bent hand.
“When you’re done with your work, come and see me.”
A little later, after the public had left, the animals were back in their cages and the carnies in their trailers, the clown, now out of his costume, waved to Gerard. Yvonne Verano’s son told himself that he was about to strut into the lair of this new kind of sorcerer.
CHAPTER XII
“Come on… come on.”
Mirk entered the trailer. It was exactly like the others. On its white side, the words “Crucifer Circus” had been painted in red.
Gerard had only been in one trailer, that of the Ringmaster, because that was where they all ate together. In that trailer, he had seen all kinds of Gypsy junk, Spanish carpets, dolls, old costumes, photos signed by the great stars of the music hall and circus, etc. A charming, warm chaos, impregnated with the odor of make-up and powder since the trailers also served as their dressing rooms.
In Mirk’s, at first sight, it was the same thing, the kind of studio/dressing room/living quarters that one expects to find in such places. But the scarlet clown took him to the back, lifted a colorful curtain, and pushed him inside.
Gerard shuddered. From this moment on, he felt like everything was happening too easily, as if they were making Teddy Verano’s meticulously prepared investigation as smooth as possible.
To leave was out of the question, so Gerard tried to call up all the reserves of self-control that he could muster. He thought about his lessons in boxing, judo, karate and wrestling either with Teddy Verano or his friends when the detective had gone back to train with specialists and brought his stepson as his partner.
Because behind the richly brocaded curtain that closed off the back of scarlet clown’s trailer and separated it into two, he was in a very dark room, entirely decorated in black. He noticed right away that black drapery made the place unpleasant and created complete darkness in the frightening space. He felt more uncomfortable than ever, wondering if they were not about to jump on him, tie him up, or just kill him outright.
The truth was completely different.
“Wait here. I’m going to give us a little light.”
Mirk fiddled with something in the dark. There was a click and what lit up the room was not exactly a glaring headlight, but just a kind of night-light, more like a funeral lamp.
The so-called Jacques blinked, which made Mirk giggle.
“You’re a little surprised. Yes, you can’t see too well yet, but you understand that here we don’t need much light. They are so fragile! Bright light hurts them.”
Who or what was he talking about? False Jacques thought it best to be cautious until further notice, so he asked no questions. He figured that he was going to be told everything, and he was not wrong. As if the new member of the circus had really become a great friend, the scarlet clown gave him the honor of seeing this unusual room.
“You see… no, you don’t see well... Wait, I’ll show you. (He lifted up the lamp). These photos… they’re going to give you some idea of what I am, of what I’m looking for… what I’ve almost found for the happiness of those who believe in me… for your happiness, too, since God—and when I say God I might mean someone else—has led you to us just when I’m about to succeed.”
He swung the lamp with his scrawny arm that floated in the sweater he had put on after taking off his sequined, scarlet costume. More than ever, he looked like a gnome out of some fantasy story. Gerard saw, with a knot in his throat, the individual photographs that were stuck to the walls on the black background.
Faces…
Men, women, children…
But all of them had been taken with a flash after death had already closed their eyes.
There was no mistaking it. These people, of all ages, but mainly young men and women, some very young, had their li
ps shut tightly, their noses pinched, their facial muscles relaxed, all the typical symptoms of death. The choices must have been carefully made, because, in spite of the Grim Reaper’s touch, they had all been very beautiful, even the oldest ones, when alive. A few had their eyes or mouths slightly open, making it even more dramatic. All of them, however, in this carousel of death, formed a creepy circle, a morbid, unpleasant atmosphere and Gerard found it harder and harder to breath.
Nevertheless, he forced himself to murmur:
“I… I don’t understand.”
“Patience, my boy. You’ll get it when I’ve shown you the other thing. But do you see here the choice? People who are no longer part of this world and whose pictures I could get. Beautiful faces, right? Enough beauty to give to all those like you, like our friends in the Crucifer Circus, like so many others throughout the world who have been afflicted either from birth or by accidents.”
He raised his crooked fingers and Gerard shivered with terror and disgust when he felt those nails graze his fake scars.
“Don’t be scared, my lovely,” the gnome giggled. “I’ll get rid of all this when the time’s right. An Apollo, I told you. That’s what I’m promising you will be.”
Gerard had stopped himself from moving away because it was absolutely necessary that the scarlet clown, or anyone else in the Crucifer Circus, not realize that he did not want them to touch his supposedly mutilated face.
Mirk, however, did not press on and went instead to dig around in a corner. It was so dark that Gerard could not see what he was searching for. He saw him pick up something that looked like a big book and that turned out to be a photo album. Gerard was not surprised when the gnome opened the album, after putting it on a table, and he saw a series of small snapshots, all very eerie, taken on death beds or in some morgue.
Mirk turned the pages lazily showing him certain images of young men.
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