Ignoring him, George pointed at JJ and Rufshod and barked: ‘You two, come with me.’ He about-faced and marched out as quickly as he’d entered. Rufshod groaned as he and JJ followed. George led them inside the acrobat stage tent, where they stood at the edge of the stage before the rows and rows of empty seats. Certain this excursion was to be some kind of punishment for stealing the crystal ball, JJ began to blubber, on the brink of explosive tears.
Rufshod looked at him in disbelief. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ he whispered. ‘You’re cracking up.’
‘I’m scared,’ said JJ. He turned to George Pilo and cried, ‘I didn’t do it!’
Pilo turned, stomped over and pressed his face into JJ’s belly, peering up with malicious shining eyes. JJ could feel George’s lips moving on his stomach as he said, ‘I couldn’t be less interested in what you did or didn’t do if it was spoken in your bitch mother’s eulogy. Today’s prayer meeting. You’re helping me set up. You can cry if you like, but you work while you’re crying. Got it?’
‘Yes sir,’ said JJ, sniffling and wiping away tears.
George disengaged and stomped back across the stage, head tilted back as he examined the rafters. Along them were hooks, pulleys and ropes fixing the stage lights in place. There were two tall platforms at each side of the stage to hold the tightrope, which was presently not tied. The acrobats used no safety net — below the high-flying apparatus was nothing but the wooden stage.
George stared up appraisingly for a minute. ‘Right,’ he said at last and pointed to a spot behind the stage, where several wooden crates sat. ‘See those?’
‘Yes sir,’ said JJ meekly. ‘We see them.’
‘Good. Put ’em up on the rafters. All of ’em. Up there next to that stage light with the X painted on it. Tie ’em in place with a rope that’ll come undone with a hard pull.’
‘How the hell are we supposed to do that?’ wailed Rufshod.
‘I don’t care,’ said George. ‘But if it’s not done in two hours, you’ll be selling pies in Sideshow Alley for the rest of your lives. The Sacked Clown pie shop, just what this circus needs. Now get cracking.’
George grinned, savouring their dismay for a moment before he stalked off. Rufshod examined the crates and threw his arms up. ‘How the hell are we meant to … Look at these fucking boxes! They’re full of sandbags for chrissakes. What the hell’s he want ’em up there for? Can’t even lift them!’
‘I know,’ said JJ. ‘You know that, um, whatchacallit? Trampoline? The acrobats use it. Why don’t you climb up there and I’ll bounce the boxes up to you?’
‘Man, why do I always get these jobs?’ Rufshod muttered.
‘Where’s the trampoline?’
‘Probably in the acrobats’ home tent.’
‘Oh no!’ JJ cried.
‘Oh yeah. And since I gotta risk death and climb up there, you can go ask ’em if we can borrow it.’
‘NO.’
‘Yes.’
‘NOOOOOO!’ This went on until Rufshod pointed out their two hours were now down to an hour and forty. JJ had a vision of working alongside the carnie rats, screamed, and made his way to the acrobats’ tent. When he got there he was treated to half an hour of mockery and taunting while he tried everything he could to win their cooperation. He grovelled, flattered them, tried reverse psychology, threatened a hunger strike, gave them the silent treatment, played hard to get, offered to spy on the other clowns, played the race card … Finally he threw a rock at Sven, which brought them to their feet, inviting him to do it again. At that point JJ cowered and lay sprawled in the dirt, whimpering, which did the trick; they told him he made them sick, to take it and go away. Sobbing, he hauled the bulky trampoline out of their tent, while they assured him that for every scratch they found on it he would suffer three broken bones. JJ believed them and cried harder as he made his way back to the stage tent, pushing the trampoline along on its side like a hexagonal wheel. Carnie rats smirked at him as he passed, tears and face paint running thick down his cheeks. He screamed at them to get away or they’d pay, did they hear him? They’d all pay!
Back at the stage tent Rufshod was perched dangerously on the rafter beams. ‘What took you so long?’ he bellowed, and almost slipped.
‘Don’t take that tone,’ said JJ. ‘You have no idea what I’ve been through.’ He dragged the trampoline onto the stage, and with much complaint hauled the crates beside it. ‘This was a stupid idea,’ he said. ‘How am I supposed to get enough bounce?’
‘This is acrobat show gear,’ said Rufshod. ‘It isn’t for decoration. Their gear is where their act comes from. This stuff works.’
JJ tipped one of the crates up onto the trampoline, expecting the wood to tear the canvas, but it held firm, bouncing and creaking the springs. He jumped on the crate, trying to get some momentum. To his surprise the crate was soon airborne and rising higher with each bounce, an ominous sight as it spun end over end, but its course stayed perfectly straight. ‘Told you their stuff works,’ Rufshod called down. ‘Don’t know how I’m meant to catch it, but we’ll see.’
There were only a few seconds in which to work it out because the crate was soon cartwheeling in the air beside him. Rufshod made a grab for it as it hit its peak height and just managed to get it resting on the rafter before wrapping thick ropes around it and tying it in place. They got the second up there without too much trouble and to Rufshod’s delight his toes were crushed under it as it landed on the rafter beam.
George Pilo had wandered in and was watching them work. They didn’t spot him until the last crate was on its way. As Rufshod made a grab for it, George announced himself by bellowing, ‘Wasn’t so hard, was it?’
This distracted Rufshod just enough for him to lose his balance and fall from the rafter. He plunged to the ground one second before the crate, which landed on top of him with a crunch like a giant egg shattering. Rufshod made one loud wheezing sound then lay motionless.
JJ gaped at George, whose face showed nothing as he reached into his pocket and pulled out two velvet bags. ‘Two crates’ll be enough,’ he said. ‘For your troubles.’ He tossed one bag to JJ and another towards Rufshod, then bustled off without another word.
JJ heard a moan from beneath the crate and ran over as Rufshod’s legs twitched. Somehow he was still ticking. ‘Can you hear me?’ JJ said. Rufshod made a gurgling sound; a blood bubble poked out one nostril and burst.
JJ considered his options, one of which was finishing off the only person capable of ratting him out for his part in the crystal ball theft. He settled on swiping Rufshod’s velvet bag and bolted for the clowns’ tent. The others were playing poker as he entered — except Goshy, who was lying on the ground beside the table making chirping sounds. JJ stood panting in the doorway.
‘What did George want?’ said Gonko.
‘Rufshod … He’s DEAD!’ JJ cried in the tone he had mentally rehearsed on the way over. He burst into tears, then added, ‘almost.’
Gonko didn’t even look up from his hand. ‘Joke?’ he said.
‘No sir!’
‘Inconsiderate shit!’ Gonko yelled, throwing down his cards. ‘I’m on a straight draw here.’ The group of them headed over to the acrobats’ stage tent, though no one seemed in much of a hurry. They found Rufshod twitching beneath the wooden crate, a pool of blood slowly leaking onto the grass. He was moaning quietly in pleasure, if JJ was not mistaken.
‘Ah, JJ, you got my hopes up,’ said Gonko, poking Rufshod with his boot. ‘This is nothing. This is a fix for Ruf, probably the highlight of the week for the sick fuck. Takes more than this to kill a clown, my lovely. Clowns take some killing, make no mistake.’
Gonko lashed at the crate with his boot, cracking the wood; it rolled sideways to reveal Rufshod’s blood-soaked shirt and a chest horribly flattened and lumpy. ‘Right,’ said Gonko. ‘JJ and Winston, you two are the girliest, most nurse- like pair we got. Peel him off the ground and get him back to the tent. If you kill him en r
oute I’m docking your pay.’
They carted Rufshod back to their tent and tossed him onto his bed, where he lay with his eyes bulging and face soaked in sweat. JJ, who’d felt entitled to a share of the attention, sulked until five o’clock, when Gonko summoned the clowns together and they made their way to Kurt’s prayer meeting.
The acrobats waylaid them. Two nearby carnies scuttled out of the way as they sprang out of an alley, blocking the clowns’ path. ‘YOU!’ said the one called Sven, pointing at JJ. ‘Where’s our trampoline?’
‘It’s where I left it, you dumb fairy,’ said JJ, who was taking no lip from these guys when the other clowns were here to do the fighting for him. ‘So fuck off!’ he added.
‘What did we tell you, little man?’ said the one called Randolph, squaring his shoulders and stepping towards JJ. ‘If you didn’t bring it back, we’d break you in half. I think tha’ss wha’ we said.’
‘Yes, sounds about right, love,’ said Sven.
‘So then,’ said Randolph, flexing his leg slowly and levelling his heel with JJ’s face. ‘The rest of you, stand back. This will be quick and painful.’
Gonko sighed. ‘Come on, fellas. We copped your little smoke bomb prank on the chin. Let poor li’l JJ off the hook, what do you say? We’ll call it even.’
‘Smoke bomb?’ said Randolph. ‘Don’t know wha’ you’re talking about. Don’t blame us when your show falls apart. Bunch of amateurs wouldn’t know entertainment if it kicked you in the face. Watch!’ Randolph made a graceful flying leap towards JJ with his heel raised to strike. It was so graceful JJ found himself admiring the body in motion rather than getting out of the way. Gonko, however, wasn’t similarly enthralled; he leaped between Randolph and JJ, whipped an iron bar from his pockets, and clobbered the acrobat in the ribs with a dull musical thud. Randolph flew through the air, spinning around like a high diver before landing roughly in the grass.
The other acrobats watched their comrade’s body come to rest and turned to Gonko, surrounding him with an air of intimidation JJ wouldn’t have thought possible for men wearing tights. Gonko rounded on them and held the iron bar aloft, his teeth bared, his head nodding. Then something unexpected happened: Goshy saved the day. All present, probably everyone on the showgrounds, clapped their hands over their ears as an unbearable noise attacked the air, shriller than an air raid siren, loud as an explosion. The clowns and acrobats dropped to the ground, heads buried in their arms. Then the acrobats scrambled to their feet and ran.
JJ had been first to hit the ground. He glanced sidelong at Goshy, whose face was pulled back taut into those doughy ripples around his mouth and neck. What JJ found strangest was that Goshy faced away from the rest of them, and had his eyes fixed intently on the tent peg of a nearby gypsy stall. It was impossible to believe he’d been keeping track of the confrontation, or that his outburst had been designed to end it; it was quite likely something he’d been going to do anyway. A drop of blood leaked from his ear.
Finally the shriek subsided. Doopy ran to his brother. ‘Goshy!’ he said in an awed whisper. ‘You done gooood. You done real good, Goshy!’
Goshy’s arms were locked stiff at his sides. He turned to face Doopy with three shuffling steps, stared at him as though he’d never seen him before, and uttered a low whistle. Gonko removed the ear plugs he’d pulled from his pockets and slapped Goshy on the shoulder. JJ shuddered as Doopy wiped the blood from his brother’s ear.
The clowns went on their way. Carnies peered from windows as they passed, wondering what the hell had made that noise. All others on the showgrounds wondered the same thing. Even Goshy.
A patch of Rufshod’s blood still coloured the grass by the stage. The clowns were second to arrive. First were the acrobats, who stared daggers at them from across the room. Gonko blew them a kiss. The other performers soon arrived to delay, if not ease, the tension. Among them were the woodchoppers, burly denim-clad musclemen who, judging by their manner, didn’t need the muscles to support a great weight of brain matter. They scratched themselves and stared about vacantly. There were a few members of the freak show present, including Yeti, seven or so feet covered in long hair, a profoundly mournful and gentle face. Fishboy wheeled the severed head in a shopping cart. The freaks settled at the back of the room and Fishboy cast friendly waves around at everyone. He seemed the only one without any enemies, and JJ wondered how he managed it.
Mugabo stumbled in as though by accident and sat at the far left of the room, looking confused. Shalice came next, her eyes smouldering as she peered around to take everyone’s measure. JJ ducked behind Doopy to avoid her gaze. George Pilo stormed in after her, four feet of bitter rage, and stood some distance behind the podium, not sparing a glance at anyone else. He was looking intently at the crates tied to the rafters. Another rope had been added, presumably by George himself. It ran down the trapeze support beam and its tip lay at George’s feet.
JJ suddenly noticed that the crates were perched directly above where George had put the podium, and he went pale beneath his face paint as he realised what they were for. George was about to assassinate Kurt — and he, JJ, had helped set it up! Fear flooded through him like ice water, and he squirmed in his seat. Maybe there was time to go warn the boss …
In he came, strolling down the aisle between the rows of seats, hands in his pockets, gazing around at his employees with that smile. He went straight to the podium and raised his hands as though to quiet the audience, though no one spoke. JJ cringed lower in his seat, afraid to watch.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Kurt in a rich deep voice. ‘How are we all? How am I? Fine, I suppose. Nothing has killed me since last we spoke, and the same could be said of you, which is lovely. We’ve had a busy week. Two shows. That’s busy indeed, and you are to be commended. Almost everyone lived up to the high standard of entertainment that the Pilo Family Circus expects of its performers. It is our aim to provide an experience of unforgettable entertainment to anyone who visits our show. That is how you survive so long in this business, folks. You entertain. Everyone deserves entertainment.’
This banal spiel continued for several minutes, and the performers’ eyes wandered anywhere but the podium. JJ watched Kurt nervously as he towered over all present, his huge hands rending the air around him with civilised gestures, like a lion with table manners. ‘Now. I have some unpleasant business.’ Kurt’s smile turned to the good-natured frown of a patient schoolmarm. ‘Seventeen people have taken the Lord’s name in vain. Shalice did it twice, while copulating, so I suppose that could be forgiven … Though Shalice, begging the saviour to fuck you is a little much. There is only so much we can ask of him. Nugget of the freaks did it once, while talking in his sleep — nice work, Fishboy, you run a tight ship. Of the clowns, Rufshod did it six times, Gonko ten, Winston twice, and JJ thirty-two times. My dear brother George did it eleven times. Now, there will be no breach notices delivered this time around, but please keep it tasteful. There are so many words. Why use the Lord’s? Let’s bear that in mind.’
At the mention of George, JJ scanned the stage, but George had vanished from sight. Then a movement caught his eye and he saw something tugging at the rope which ran across the roof and up the trapeze tower. Up above, one of the crates gave a tiny jerk, tipped sideways, and both crates fell.
Down below, Kurt didn’t miss a beat of his speech, even as both crates thudded into the stage to either side of him. In his hand was the umbrella the clowns had loaned him, raised just above his head a split second before the crates would have hammered into his bald skull. The performers snapped back to attention at the cannon-blast of the crates hitting the wooden stage, where they broke on impact, the ripped sandbags spilling their contents with a faint hissss.
Kurt didn’t even glance at the fallen crates. Behind him, George’s face was turning red, his arms were flailing around like a chimp having a seizure. Kurt calmly folded the umbrella and put it aside as he reminded his charges it wasn’t a matter of asking what Jesus
could do for them, but what they could do for Jesus.
JJ bit his nails. Nothing was happening. Gonko and Winston looked only mildly interested in the attempted murder. ‘Winston!’ JJ whispered. ‘I put those crates up there!’
‘So?’ said Winston.
‘SO? Are you fucking dense?’
‘Quiet, please,’ said Kurt from the podium. JJ yelped in fright before he could stop himself. Winston leaned across to JJ and said, ‘This is nothin’ we ain’t seen a thousand times already. Doesn’t matter if you helped George. Kurt’ll probably ask you to help him bump off George next week. Just do what you’re told and keep your mouth shut.’
Kurt was winding up his speech. George made a quiet exit, tripping over his own feet, his body shaking with rage. ‘Looks like George thought he was in with a chance that time,’ said Winston.
‘Gonna be fun taking orders from that shit tonight,’ said Gonko. He spat.
Kurt concluded by urging people not to go overboard with birthday gifts this year, though they could go a little overboard if they really wanted to. The performers stirred, all of them relieved the meeting’s end was in sight.
Suddenly there was a creaking sound, a loud one. It seemed to come from the rafters. JJ looked up, startled, as the whole tent seemed to sway. The trapeze towers wobbled and a hush passed through the audience. Winston immediately ducked down under his seat. Even Kurt paused and gave a slow curious look around. At that moment the support beams toppled forward like falling trees, and there was a ruffling sound like a flag being unfurled in strong wind. A banner opened across the horizontal rafters, tied to the same rafter beam Rufshod had been perched on earlier. It was a white sheet, and painted on it in red was one word: FREEDOM.
Then the tent collapsed. The support beams went down, the rafters fell inward and there was a huge ripping noise. A shriek went up outside the tent as the whole thing caved in on itself, burying everyone under thick canvas. There were great thuds as the wooden and metal supports broke and slammed into the rows of seats. JJ just had time to hide under his seat as a pole landed next to him. The ground quivered with its impact
The Pilo Family Circus Page 17
