The Pilo Family Circus

by Elliott, Will

  Her heart raced and she had to fight the urge to get up right now, bolt the doors, switch off the lights. She had to wait, capture as much of the vision as she could for clues. Finally it faded; the last glimpse was of Mugabo standing over her burning body, teeth bared, screaming. Once the vision was gone she rose from her bath, towelled herself off, alert for the sound of footsteps outside. She ran to her hut, locked her door and sat, thinking hard. Then she took her charts from the wall, her tarot cards too, and headed for the home of her lover to hide out. It was going to be a busy night.

  The resounding BOOM from the direction of Mugabo’s hut some time later turned many heads. They saw a pillar of fire shoot skyward, as though a comet had landed on a gigantic trampoline. A wave of hot wind swept through the showgrounds.

  The fire occurred two minutes after Mugabo wandered into his potion lab and saw what had become of his sanctuary. He’d held off until he’d made it onto the roof, where he now lay unconscious, all his energies spent.

  Kurt Pilo peered out the window of his trailer as the last flames dissipated. He raised his eyebrows then sat back at his desk. The magician was obviously rehearsing for his private show — a stroke of managerial brilliance, that. Whereas Pa would have skinned the magician, sodomised him, then fed them to the funhouse creatures one spoonful at a time, Kurt Junior met the performers halfway. That was what good management was made of, yes sir. ‘Going to be quite a show,’ Kurt said to no one.

  The acrobats had spent the day in Sideshow Alley, charming the womenfolk and chumming it up with the men. They returned late to discover the vandalism of their equipment and furniture, and there was unanimous consent: the clowns were going to be pissing blood and shitting their own teeth over the coming days.

  ‘No no no,’ said Randolph, ‘we should play it cool, let them sweat for a while, wonder wha’ss coming.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Sven replied, ‘but whatever we do is going to settle this bullshit, once and for all.’

  ‘Once and for all? Only way to settle it is to take them all out,’ said Tuskan.

  ‘Then maybe tha’ss what we should do,’ said Sven.

  ‘You don’t mean kill them all?’ said Randolph.

  ‘At least one or two,’ said Sven.

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘That old bastard. How about him?’

  ‘Winston?’ said Randolph. ‘No, he’s hardly the worst of them. Someone else.’

  ‘Who, then?’

  ‘That new guy,’ Randolph suggested. ‘That redhead, the one who’s been hassling the gypsies. Wha’ss-his-name.’

  His name was JJ and Randolph didn’t trust him for a second. The others agreed he’d make a fine example for the other clowns.

  JJ put the ball away and lay back, wondering if there was any way to prevent the face paint getting rubbed off in the night by the pillow. He was about to go ask Rufshod to paint him up come morning when his hands felt something under the pillow, a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and saw it was a letter from Jamie. Presumably he had been meant to find it first thing that morning. It read:

  Dear JJ,

  I’m sorry I used so much of the powder, but there was no other way for me to get to sleep, waking up with blood all over me like that. I know we’ve had our differences, but I would like to propose a truce.

  Apparently after a few years of using the paint I’ll be gone altogether. In the meantime, let me be, I’ll let you be. What do you say?

  JJ crumpled the paper in his fist and threw it away. A grin spread over his face. ‘Here’s what I say, chumbo.’

  Past the lion tamer’s hut and under the wooden gates of Sideshow Alley crept a figure through the shadows. Only the keenest eyes could have seen him, JJ the clown stalking like a scarecrow with an axe in his hands, sometimes twirling it around like a walking stick, sometimes propped on his shoulder like a parasol. Just faintly there came the sound of him whistling ‘Que Sera, Sera’.

  None heard him gently prying open the door of the shack behind the ‘shoot a duck, win a prize’ stall. Inside lived — for the moment — a gypsy woman who made necklaces from seashells. She was the oldest carnie in the show, had been around before Kurt Junior inherited the circus, and could remember the furious sounds of Pilo Senior’s voice railing against his underlings, could recall what happened back in those days to gypsy girls who made the mistake of being born pretty.

  Some heard the sharp scream she made as her time in the show came to an end, some heard the dull thud of the axe head striking, thump, thump, thump. None got up to investigate, for this was nothing new. The carnies did what they always did when something went bump in the night: double-checked their doors and windows were bolted, crossed themselves and went back to bed, wondering whose turn it was this time.

  JJ was still grinning when he inscribed Jamie’s reply on the cupboard door with a bloody finger. He left a second message in pencil on the wall outside in case Rufshod came to paint him up come morning, telling him to leave him be this time. JJ wanted Jamie to see this.

  Jamie saw it. He woke to the babble of the circus preparing itself for the coming show day and overcame a moment’s surprise — he hadn’t expected use of the body again for a good while.

  His eyes strayed to the cupboard door and with despair he remembered last night’s killing. In blood on the door were the words:

  it’s a deal

  He pushed a box in front of the door, hoping for some uninterrupted time to think. The plan had worked, and the plan had been to get another day as himself; JJ had taken the bait. He’d outsmarted his clown incarnation. If it could be done once, it could be done again. But somehow he had to keep it up, provoking more payback jabs and somehow blank out his mind when it came time to put on the face paint.

  He went to Winston’s room and knocked on the door. A sleepy voice answered, ‘Aww, what now? Can’t I sleep in for one bloody morning?’

  Jamie went in and told him what had happened from the point Rufshod painted him up yesterday, and explained his need for more powder. Winston listened, nodding his head like he’d figured most of it out already. ‘I’ll do you a deal, Jamie,’ he said. ‘I have enough powder to keep your memories hidden from him, probably for as long as we’ll need to. I hardly ever use the stuff, gives me the creeps and makes me feel plain wrong. So, if you come to me as Jamie, I’ll spot you for however much you need. If you come as JJ, I’ll tell you to take a hike. But in return, I want something from you.’

  ‘Sure, anything.’

  ‘Give me the crystal ball. I didn’t want to take it, cause it’s puttin’ me at risk of more trouble I can do without. But I thought it over. It’s too risky for JJ to hold onto it. Far too risky. Could live without him seein’ our every move.’

  Jamie sighed as he imagined how angry this would make JJ, but he was in no position to argue. He nodded.

  ‘Good lad,’ said Winston. ‘I’ll put it somewhere safe and you’ll understand if I don’t tell you where. Now, get yourself ready for the day. It’s Kurt’s birthday. Put on your best poker face. In fact if I were you, I’d use some powder straight away and paint yourself up. Better you decide when JJ appears than to have Rufshod bring him out when you ain’t ready. If he catches you unawares and you haven’t cleared your head, we’ll —’

  Winston stopped and cocked his head; there was a commotion out in the parlour, shouts and the sound of something breaking. ‘What’s this?’ Winston said with a groan. ‘Hell with it, they can sort it out. I’m gettin’ some more sleep.’

  Winston tossed him a velvet bag then threw himself back on the bed with a storm of creaking springs. Jamie thanked him and left. As he passed the parlour he heard a wooden crack ring out like a shot, and saw an acrobat fly through the air, landing roughly on the ground. Jamie paused to watch, keeping most of his body hidden in the hallway and poking only his head around the corner. Gonko stood near the acrobat with a two-by-four in his hands. Goshy, Doopy and Rufshod were beside him; it seemed the end of a very brief fight.
‘He was doin’ somethin’, Gonko, I swear he was!’ Doopy cried. ‘Look what he had in his hand, Gonko, just look!’

  Gonko bent down and picked up something from the ground, a syringe full of clear liquid. ‘Right as usual, Doops,’ he said. ‘You always were the perceptive type. He was doing somethin’. He sure was.’

  The acrobat was trying to get to his feet but his knee was bent at an odd angle. Gonko strolled over and gently prodded him so he fell onto his back. ‘This ain’t a tetanus booster, Sven, I think it’s safe to say. What’s the deal? What’s with the whole slinking into our tent thing?’

  The acrobat tried to stand again and Gonko kicked him in the chest, not so gently this time. ‘You’d better let me go,’ Sven spat. ‘I’ll have you on odd jobs the rest of your life. You’ll never do another show.’

  ‘You know the rules,’ said Gonko. ‘You’re in our tent without our say-so. We can do whatever the fuck we like to you. Spit it out. What have you got against JJ?’

  Jamie’s eyes went wide.

  ‘You know what you did,’ said Sven. ‘You brought it on yourselves. We owe you.’

  Gonko looked around at the other clowns, confusion on his face. The acrobat tried to crawl away. Goshy began making the kettle noise. Gonko raised the two-by-four like a golfer preparing to swing, but he was interrupted by George Pilo. ‘Hey!’ George screamed from the doorway. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Hullo, George,’ said Gonko, the plank still raised above his shoulder. ‘I think I’m protecting our premises. Was about to give this guy a … what’s the opposite of a facelift?’

  ‘Squash smash face,’ said Doopy. ‘That’s what it is, Gonko, I think so, me and Goshy was just talking about it. Squash smash face.’

  ‘Well put, Doops. Yeah, George, this feller was sneaking in here with a murder weapon. What do you make of that?’

  ‘I don’t give a damn about your squabbles,’ said George, marching to Gonko and putting his face in the position, pressed into Gonko’s navel, his wet white eyes gleaming upwards balefully. ‘I don’t want to see you squabbling with other performers, Gonko. You’re a senior member of the show. You’re supposed to set an example.’

  ‘I was setting a kind of example, George,’ said Gonko.

  ‘I’m cutting your pay for tonight’s odd jobs,’ said George. Gonko twitched, and for a moment looked like he was about to perform a squash-smash-face procedure on George Pilo — but he dropped the two-by-four and smiled pleasantly. ‘Tough but fair, George, as usual,’ he said.

  George turned to the acrobat. ‘Look at your leg, you idiot. We have a show coming up and you go and get yourself incapacitated. Drag yourself over to the MM for repairs. I’ll let him know you’re coming.’

  A shadow of fear passed over the acrobat’s face and a smirk appeared on Gonko’s. George marched off. The acrobat crawled away, leaving the clowns to enjoy a round of backslapping. Jamie made himself scarce, but two minutes later Gonko stood at his door. ‘JJ?’

  ‘Yes?’ said Jamie. ‘I was just going to put the paint on now —’

  ‘You been fucking with the acrobats?’ said Gonko.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why do they wanna kill you?’

  ‘I didn’t know they wanted to kill me.’

  ‘Looks like they do. Doops said this one was sneaking in here early this morning. Doops locked him in the closet then went back to bed. Acrobat got outta there somehow, tried to sneak into your room to give you a shot of something. I don’t think they were treating you to a hit of morphine.’

  Jamie shrugged. ‘Why me?’

  ‘That’s just what I wanna know, feller. You didn’t do anything to ’em? No throwing mud, anything like that?’

  ‘No. I swear it.’

  Gonko watched him closely. ‘Maybe you’re right, or maybe you’re a top-class liar. Either way’s fine with me. But don’t do anything, not yet. Time’ll come and we’ll get ours. For now it’s all happy love vibes, you got it? Live and let live and all that cutesy-pooh shit. Now is a time we clowns wanna lay low, believe me. Some joker’s running around knocking shit over and whatnot. The boss won’t put up with it much longer, I’ll bet my brightest penny.’

  Jamie nodded.

  ‘And paint up,’ said Gonko as he shut the door.

  Chapter 21

  Trouble Brewing

  AROUND midday the clowns headed over to their performance tent for Kurt’s birthday celebration. There was a spring in JJ’s step, for he was glad things had settled down a little with his counterpart; Jamie had put the face paint on first thing this morning, so it looked like the games were over. If it stayed that way, JJ might just ease up on him … Little chickenshit hadn’t really understood who he was dealing with at first, but he’d learned his lesson. He’d better have.

  The clowns were last to arrive at the stage tent, aside from Kurt. Gonko and Rufshod laid the weakly thrashing body bag on the ground beside them. Kurt had pretended not to arrange this gathering by sending gypsies out to do it for him. As he walked in he feigned surprise, clipboard in hand as though he’d wandered in on some regular maintenance check. All on hand had seen it many a time before; as instructed, they let out a chorus of ‘Surprise’. Kurt blushed, paws to his cheeks in pretend embarrassment, gushing ‘This is too much!’ and ‘Oh, you!’, and making limp-wristed get outta here! swishes at the air. He stood just before the stage and gazed around expectantly at everyone.

  The competition for gifts had been overshadowed by the recent vandalism and was not as intense as years gone by. The acrobats had taken a safety-first approach and gave him a plastic bag full of teeth, the same gift they’d presented four years back, earning themselves diplomatic immunity in all the squabbles they’d been involved in at the time. It had been acrobats versus the sword-swallower in those days, since they’d shared a tent. The acrobats had won out, the sword-swallower had been relegated to Mugabo’s tent until, in a literally heated exchange, Mugabo turned him into a pot roast. But that was in the past, and the acrobats seemed to sense they’d been outdone this time. Their glances towards the clowns, who sat smugly by their writhing body bag, were plain murderous.

  The acrobats gave Kurt the teeth first up, and Kurt was pleased. Not thrilled, but pleased. ‘Got a good feeling about this,’ Gonko whispered to his troupe.

  Shalice, not terribly happy with either of the Pilos over their handling of the theft of her crystal ball, went to no bother at all; she presented Kurt with an ivory-handled toothbrush — something she’d found in Sideshow Alley — a gift just good enough not to avoid any serious recriminations. Kurt was graciously disappointed, sighing as might a wistful schoolgirl at a poster of some famous heartthrob, forever out of reach.

  The lion tamer was clearly out of touch with Kurt’s present interests, and seemed to think Kurt was into birdwatching, as he’d been a year before. He gave Kurt a caged parrot he’d taught to say ‘Happy Birthday’. In the audience, Goshy bristled for some reason when the bird was unveiled, as though he’d spotted a rival. Glancing at him sidelong, JJ knew only that the more he learned about Goshy, the worse off he was.

  Kurt wasn’t happy with the parrot at all; his fish lips were smiling, but he said not a word of thanks and his brow darkened like storm clouds gathering. The lion tamer walked back to his seat with a tremble in his step, looking much paler than when he’d stood.

  The woodchoppers surprised everyone by proving themselves somewhat on the pulse; they gave Kurt a giant crucifix they’d constructed from redwood logs. As the four of them hauled it in Kurt glowed, showering them with praise. Gonko decided the time was ripe. He motioned to Rufshod and the pair of them carried the body bag to the stage, the priest moaning and wriggling like a netted fish inside. Gonko had tied a pink ribbon around the bag at the waist. ‘What’s this?’ said Kurt, already delighted as they laid the bag at his feet.

  ‘Little something we thought you might like, boss,’ said Gonko. ‘All yours. Enjoy.’ Kurt gushed
again as he untied the ribbon, guessed at what it might be, joked that he hoped it wasn’t another pair of socks — not that anyone had dared give him a first pair — and undid the zipper.

  ‘What’s going on?’ the priest said in a croak. ‘I’m thirsty … please …’ He blinked at the gathered crowd, recoiled from the effusive seven-foot monster bending over him. Kurt’s monstrous eyes took in the priest’s collar, black robe and crucifix, and he looked like he might well burst with pleasure. ‘Oh my!’ he said. ‘Is this the genuine article? Not an imitation?’

  ‘Nothing but the best, boss,’ said Gonko, grinning viciously at the crestfallen acrobats. ‘No generic brands for you. Swiped him from a parish in Perth. All yours.’

  Kurt was overcome. ‘Oh my!’ was all he could say. He gripped the priest’s head in his hands, his fingers engulfing the man’s skull easily. He poked a thumb into the priest’s mouth, lifting a gum and inspecting the teeth as one might do to a farm dog. ‘Oh my,’ Kurt whispered.

  ‘Since he’s here, we figured maybe we could use him at Goshy’s wedding,’ said Gonko, ‘if that’s okay with you, boss. Make it official and all.’

  ‘Oh, sure!’ said Kurt, hauling the priest — who couldn’t stand for cramp — over his shoulder. The priest’s limp body seemed tiny so high above the ground. ‘You can borrow him, of course. The rest of you, just leave your gifts by the door of my trailer. I simply must play with this one right away.’ Kurt loped off and the performers cleared out of the tent.

  Gonko was in high spirits as the clowns returned home. ‘See the look on his face? We’ll have our show back tomorrow, I’ll bet my left nut.’

  JJ left them to celebrate and went to his room, intent on watching what Kurt got up to with that poor bastard. He propped a barricade against his door, reached under his bed for the pillow case, and —