“What do you think, kid?” Sligo asked. “Would you pay money to see this thing?”
“Yes sir,” I said. It was no lie.
“Tell me why. Don’t you know these beasts could kill you in a most deliciously hideous way?”
“Um, yeah, I do. But that’s what makes it so twitchy, ya know.” I pulled my hair closer about my face.
Dr. Sligo was looking at me, curiously. “I don’t remember you. Who do you work with?”
He didn’t remember me? The bastard. “With Stubs Wheaton in the side show. Sir, you hired me four months ago in Greeley. I’m Janus, the Burned Boy.”
“Oh right.” Sligo paused to indulge in a coughing fit, then continued in a wheezing voice. “I remember. We billed you as Janus, god of two faces. It’s a completely brilliant idea. I haven’t caught your act yet. Let’s see your other side. Move your hair.”
Dramatically I admit, I swept my hair away from the left side of my face. People’s first response, well, it always gives me a certain grim satisfaction, while at the same time increasing my self-loathing. I am Grendel. I am Medusa. No one could take that away. Tom winced, the usual reaction. But Sligo, he kept his face straight. No emotion. “Nasty,” he said. “I remember hiring you now. It was a wretched day. A windstorm blew down one of the tents and a lion escaped. How’d that happen to you?”
“When I was ten, some mutants came up from the gutters, attacked my family. They killed my parents, stole my older brother, and then threw me on some hot coals. Or that’s what my foster parents told me, anyway. I don’t remember it. Must have blocked it out.” I let the hair fall back, covering my shame.
“You must come from a fair piece away,” Tom said. “These folks hereabouts haven’t actually seen any mutants. They’s just rumours to ‘em.”
“Yeah, I come from Mid-land, Carmine City. I despise the mutants. I’d pay to see this one just so I could spit at it.”
“Hear that, Tom? I rest my case,” Sligo said. “There are plenty of rumours circulating about these creatures, but very little fact because so few people have seen them up close and lived to tell about it. When I bought him, I thought that would be the draw, like putting a ghost in a cage. Here he is folks, a supernatural legend, as elusive as the Yeti or the Loch Ness monster, real and in the flesh. But then I saw him yesterday and realized I had it all wrong. The mutant’s got something special, a kind of glamour. He can turn that morbid curiosity, that shiver of fear, into another emotion entirely – lust. We’ll make bank. We could charge extra for the lube to take home.” He grinned as if he could count the money already.
“And I’m tellin’ you, Quin, something ain’t right with this monster you’ve bought. It stirs up emotions I don’t want stirred up. Whether it’s fear or lust, I think it’s dangerous. Plus, I’m not happy dealing in human trafficking, which is, of course, illegal. He’s going to need guards twenty-four, seven.”
“You’re such a paranoid, Tom. He isn’t exactly human so, to my reading of it, the trafficking laws don’t apply. It’s either this or you can send yourself a last paycheck because this business is going down the shitter, along with the rest of this sorry world. You and I both know it.” Sligo puffed thoughtfully on the pipe and then eyed me through the haze. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Jareth Nine.”
“Well, now, Jareth Nine, you look like a healthy young man with some muscle. Care to make a little more scratch?”
“How much?”
“Two bucks more per hour for the duration of the tour.”
Ah, now we were talking. “What d’ya want me to do?”
“In between your shows, I want you to watch the freak. That face of yours should scare anyone off. Make sure no one harms him and that he doesn’t harm himself.”
I could feel my teeth grinding. I’ve no self-control sometimes. Already thoughts of knives, guns, poison leaped to mind. “What if I harm him?” I growled.
Dr. Sligo flashed me a yellow-toothed grin. “Somehow, I don’t think you will.”
The circus grounds seethed in an anthill of activity. Roustabouts raised tents; the concession owners set up trailers on the midway; horses whinnied; elephants trumpeted; lions roared. Pungent, familiar smells enveloped me: sawdust, gasoline, horse shit, frying grease, buttered popcorn, and human sweat. This was the circus. It was home now. My other home was gone. My foster family was done with me, having told me to get out. Partly my fault I supposed. I walked through the commotion with the self-contained calm of someone isolated from the rest of my fellows and therefore having no need to concern myself with them. Why had I accepted the job from Sligo considering my feelings about mutants? Well, first off, there were the increased wages to consider. I was saving to get out of this hellhole, to take myself off to some desert island where I could be alone, without staring eyes or stupid questions. That was my goal. Then, there was curiosity. I wanted to see this mutant for myself, wanted to know if I had the balls even to be in the same room with it, because the very idea knotted my guts. I’d heard the rumours, that they raped people and shot some kind of weird stuff up in ‘em that corroded out their insides. That was the stuff of nightmares, enough to give anyone the willies, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it. There was something else. A call perhaps. I didn’t know, then.
Dr. Sligo had refused to say exactly where and how he’d picked up the creature, but he had admitted that it had cost him a bundle, an investment, he said, and that the truck had arrived last night with the cage. They’d backed it up to the tent that would be the mutant’s new home. Apparently, it had required an electric cattle prod to get it to move from the cage in the truck to the one in the tent. I approved of the cattle prod. So far the creature’s whereabouts were top secret and that put me in possession of a valuable bit of scratch in the circus community. Gossip.
I decided to stop by the trailer I shared with Esmeralda, the bearded lady, and tell her. We had a good arrangement, Ez and I. We were both single, needed a place to crash, and the rent on the trailer, being that it was a piece of shit, was cheap. Anyhow, neither of us needed much space. No one wanted me for the night, and so my preferences made no difference, and she often spent her nights catering to weird kinks in whatever town we were in. She was quite a sight, as big as she was, tooling off in the evenings on her huge black motorcycle, her rear sagging off either side of the seat.
It happened today that I found her in her room, seated in front of the mirror, boobs erupting from a push-up bra, carefully gluing on her beard.
“Oh there you are, Jareth honey,” she said, her voice as deeply resonant as a man’s. “Show tonight, you know. They sent over a new costume.” She waved a meaty arm at an open box on her bed from which spilled something lacy and shiny green. “It’s even worse than the last one. I’m gonna have to wear a corset to get into it. Could you be a luv, and get some whisky for me – with ice.” She batted her lovely brown eyes at me.
I obliged.
“This stuff is expensive you know, Ez,” I called down the hall as I pulled the bottle from the cupboard, opened the freezer and got some ice, which I tossed in a glass. I listened to the glug of the liquid as I poured. “Maybe you should lay off.”
“Maybe you should lay off the pipe,” Esmeralda hollered back.
“My smoking’s medicinal,” I retorted. Yeah, that’s what all the dopers say. I padded down the hall with its ripped shag carpet, orange and red, even more hideous than my face, and walked into her room. “Helps with the pain.”
“So does this.” She took the glass, raised it, cubes clicking.
“I have some news.” I straddled a chair backwards and rested my chin on my forearms. Oh, this was going to be good.
“What’s that?” She was frowning at the mirror.
“There’s a new freak. They just brought it in last night.”
“It? What’s an ‘it,’ honey? Is it some old department store mannequin?”
“Oh, it’s real all right. I heard Sligo and Tom argui
ng about it. Tom says it gives him the creepy-weirdies.”
She paused in her gluing attempts, the beard half hanging off her round black face. “Okay, Jareth, quit fooling. Spill. What is it?”
“A mutant.”
“Huh? A what? One of those things that lives in the big-city ghettoes? Honey, I thought they was just stories to scare people with. Something to sell the tabloids.”
“Not stories, Ez. Remember, the mutants are the ones that burned me. Or didn’t you believe what I told you?”
Her eyes flinched away. She took a gulp of the whisky. “To tell you honest, honey, what I thought about that story you told was that your foster parents made up somethin’.”
“Why would they do that?”
“A hundred reasons, young’un. All having to do with protectin’ you from the truth. So, this thing is real? And Sligo has the nerve to bring it here? Uh huhn.” She rolled her eyes.
“Yep and he gave me the job of guarding it, between shows. Got a raise to do it.”
“Well now, that’s pretty good. Won’t it be dangerous though? From what I’ve heard, those mutants have some weird powers that can mess with your head. If the stories be true.”
“It’s in a cage, Ez.”
“You sure they haven’t jus’ found some poor starvin’ kid and put a costume on him, like they did last year with that girl that had the fake twin coming outta her side?” She chuckled.
“Maybe. Wanna find out? Let’s go see it.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
She sighed, took another swallow, set down the empty glass, then pulled off the beard, wincing as it came free. “Ow! Damn thing. Guess we better check out the competition, huh honey? Gimme a minute or three to get dressed.”
Yeah, who could resist a genuine freak? She was now as curious as I was.
We found the new tent set up in the sideshow row – Freak Alley we called it. For now, there were no glaring signs, nor was there a talker stirring up a crowd, all of which would surely be there later. The tent was a nondescript blue and white stripe, just like the others, but already a small crowd of the community had gathered outside, all buzzing like cicadas on a hot June day.
Pavel, one of the lion tamers, with his mop of curly blond hair, stood outside. He raised bare arms, exhibiting tufts of underarm hair like so much dandelion fluff and said, “All of you keep your fuckin’ pants on. I know y’all wanna see it. Me too. But Dr. Sligo gave the orders and my ass is hamburger if they’re not carried out. No one’s to disturb it. Nobody. I think it’s sick or something. Wait ‘til the crowds get here tonight. If ya wanna see it, come back then.”
“What and pay for the privilege? I don’t think so,” Renny the clown hooted. He was always a loud mouth. He was wearing pyjamas and had shaving cream on one side of his face, so he must’ve come at a run. “Ah come on, Pavel, just a peek.”
Another clown named Sparks said, “Yeah, what’ll it take? A bribe?” He held up a pipe, which immediately got my interest, but Pavel glowered at him.
Esmeralda spoke in my ear, “Shove up there, honey.” She raised her voice. “Hey, coming through on Sligo’s business.” Esmeralda’s girth made for a formidable plough and we managed to jostle ourselves through the twenty or so circus folks, who gave us sour looks.
“What do you want, kid?” Pavel said, bending down to look at me, then snapping his gaze away. Like usual.
I looked him in the eye. “Dr. Sligo said I’m supposed to watch the mutant between shows. He’s paying me to do it. Didn’t he tell ya?”
“Yeah, but if I let you in now, there’ll be a riot. This ain’t the time.”
“But...”
“Later, like I said.” Pavel stood up straight and folded his massive arms, looking like some genie from old vids that I remembered as a kid. “That goes for all of you,” he roared.
Grumbling, the crowd dispersed. Esmeralda shrugged. “You heard him, sweetie. I’m sure in a few months we’ll all be sick of looking at this thing, whatever it is.” She went off with them.
Being stubborn, I wasn’t going to let it go so easy. There was more than one way to turn a trick and I’d learned to be a master at not getting noticed. I headed down the line of tents until I was enough distance away from Pavel’s beady eyes, then I slunk through a gap between tents and came around the back along the dry dirt tracks where the trucks drove. I found the rear of the mutant’s tent and partially unzipped the service entrance. For a moment I rested my forehead against the rough fabric and thought I could feel something, like a humming in my ears, or white radio noise. I pushed the flap aside and entered.
It was hot in there, stifling, and stunk like canvas. I came up behind the platform they’d erected, one of those portable stages. On it sat a cage, about six by six feet. Black curtains hung from the ceiling ribs on either side. It looked like it was meant for an animal. That gave me a strange feeling. What was this thing? There were rows and rows of chairs set up on risers in a semi-circle around it. Clearly, they expected a big crowd. But if there were chairs, that meant an act of some kind. My show had a different set-up. I was stashed away in one of a series of booths, each with its own freak. People filed by in the semi-dark. No one stayed long enough to sit down. Some gawked for a few moments, but most took a look, shuddered, and went on. What was so damn fascinating about this thing that it could attract a sit-down audience? The humming sensation in my head increased.
Cautiously, I walked up the stairs onto the stage, peered through the bars, and found myself looking down into the eyes of a being of startling and ethereal beauty.
Yelping in surprise, I stumbled backwards, and sat down hard on the stage. Slowly, I summoned the nerve to look again. He hadn’t moved. I stared at him and he stared back with brilliant, heavy-lidded eyes as deeply blue as the sky at twilight. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cage with his hands resting on his knees, wearing nothing but a pair of black leather jeans. I thought he looked a little older than me, maybe in his early twenties. The artist had some details right: a heart-shaped face with a sharp chin and high cheekbones. His hair, cut short and spiky around his face, shone platinum blond, almost white. The back was plaited into five braids that hung down to the middle of his back. His body was slim and athletic: strong arms, belly muscled like a washboard, and broad, bony shoulders. Small brown nipples decorated his chest, no hint of breasts there. Torque tattoos like flames encircled his biceps. The one physical flaw that I could see was a long white scar nestled in the crook of his right arm.
To my eye anyway, there was no difference between this creature and some stunning, androgynous boy model from one of the fashion zines, the kind that I couldn’t get enough of, the kind that I stared at for hours while locked in my room with my hand firmly in my pants. He didn’t look exactly human though. Not completely, because he seemed to glow. I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. Luminous, that’s the word. It was how I imagined an angel would look. Not an angel like we think of in white robes, strumming a harp. No, he looked like a biker-gang angel. Fey and dangerous. I could only sit there stupidly, and stare.
And then he spoke.
“So, you’ve come,” he said.
It was like he’d been expecting me. Like he’d been sitting there waiting all his life until I came along. I can’t tell you how that threw me.
“Huh,” I said even more stupidly.
He merely blinked, one slow blink. His eyes hadn’t done the little flinch and dart away like most of the others did. It was as if he was looking past my face into some hidden part of my soul. That messed me up worse than any flinch had ever done. I dropped my head, shaking my hair over my face. “What are you?” I asked.
“I am Wraeththu.”
That was the first time I heard that name but it gave me the shivers as if I’d heard that word before. Strange and not strange. His voice was extraordinary: soft, modulated, like singing, rather than speaking; the timbre neither male nor female, but some kind of fluted mix
of both as if manipulated by a synthesizer. It was a bedroom kind of voice that people would pay to hear, hypnotizing and erotic.
“That’s your name?” I asked.
“No, my race. You are human scum; I am Wraeththu, the chosen ones.”
Now that pissed me off. “Hey, butt-hole, not an attitude you should cop, sitting there in a cage with a bunch of human scum all around, who’d just as soon use you for target practice as look at you.”
He raised his chin. “They won’t use me for target practice.”
“Confident of that, huh?”
“No, just practical. If they’d wanted to kill me, they’d have done it already. I’m to be a spectacle. A freak. They’ll come to gawk.”
“What’s to gawk at? You look just like us, no different from any kid down the block. Just uglier.” Not true in any stretch of the imagination, but my mean streak was asserting itself. He merely smiled in a superior manner that made me want to punch out his pretty face. Sliding his hand down his belly, he stopped at his crotch, patted it. “You think we’re the same, do you?”
I shivered with some kind of primal intuition, while at the same time I was wondering what the hell he was talking about. Half-man, half-woman, the ad had said. So I asked him, “What do you mean?”
He laughed, then stood in a fluid motion, body long and lean, walked over to the cage bars, and pressed his face against them. My heart was in my throat. He said, “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”
“I don’t want to find out anything,” I said, standing to face him. “I came to spit at you.”
“You came to see the freak, a real freak, not just some accident of nature. You pitiful beings don’t even know that when you look at me you’re looking at your death. But on some level you do know it. That’s why you’re afraid, why you want to stare. Your kind isn’t long for this world now. Change is coming.”
Now I could feel anger surging through me. “They’ll break you!” I hissed. “They’ll spit on you and starve you and beat you until you wish you were dead. And I’ll be there to laugh.”
Paragenesis: Stories of the Dawn of Wraeththu Page 9
