by Greg Herren
“Isn’t this what you really came here for?” he asked softly.
Joe resisted. Then, as Derry’s lips parted, he surrendered and allowed himself to be pulled in. He felt Derry’s tongue enter his mouth. He closed his eyes, tasting heat and warmth. His hands found Derry’s body and held on tightly.
Derry pressed into him, and Joe felt the hardness below his waist. He pushed Derry’s T-shirt up and ran his hands over the smooth, muscled skin. Derry lifted his arms, and Joe slipped the shirt off. He bent his mouth to one of the boy’s exposed nipples and bit gently. Derry groaned.
Derry fumbled with the belt at his own waist and quickly undid it. His pants fell to his feet, and his cock sprang forward into Joe’s hand. Joe closed his fingers around it, stroking its length slowly. He fingered the head, and his hand came away sticky.
Derry stepped forward and leaned over the table. His ass was spread out before Joe, firm and round and waiting. Joe hastily undid the buttons of his pants and freed himself. Spreading the cheeks of Derry’s ass, he revealed the darker center and spit into it. Then he pressed himself against the opening and thrust forward.
Derry cried out as Joe entered him. The heat of the young man surrounded Joe’s cock, and for a moment he thought he might empty himself before he’d even begun. He paused a moment, steadying himself, and then began to move in and out.
Derry moaned as Joe fucked him. His hands gripped the edge of the table, which shook each time Joe’s body slapped against the boy’s. Joe held Derry by the waist, pushing deep into him with every return. It had been a long time since he’d been with a man this way, and the wanting he’d built up during those long nights coursed through him.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word…”
The words whispered in Joe’s ear. At first he thought perhaps Derry had said them, but he quickly brushed aside that thought. It was a woman’s voice he heard.
“No.” Beneath him, Derry was pushing his body back toward Joe, who had ceased his movements at the sound of the song. “No. Don’t.”
“Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat…”
“No!” Derry said again, more loudly.
Joe didn’t know who the young man was speaking to, or if he could hear the voice singing, but he responded to the urgency in his voice. He began to pump with renewed force, and Derry in turn tightened himself around Joe’s shaft. Joe closed his eyes, feeling the approaching climax begin.
“And if that billy goat won’t pull, Mama’s gonna buy you a cart and bull…”
“I said no!” Derry cried out. “Leave him alone! He’s mine.”
Joe came, filling Derry with burst after burst of heat. Joe bucked against the boy, moans of relief escaping his throat as his body shook with the force of release. He fell forward onto Derry’s back, still not drained, and lay there as he finished. The young man’s skin was covered in sweat and warm with the heat of the night, and Joe kissed it gently.
“Mama’s gonna buy you a cart and bull…”
The voice was fading, barely audible. Thankful for its leaving, some moments went by before Joe realized that beneath him Derry was shaking. Then he heard the sounds of muffled sobs.
He stood up and pulled the young man to his feet, turning him around. Derry’s eyes were wet with tears.
“Did I hurt you?” Joe asked, worried.
Derry shook his head. “No,” he whispered.
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing and no one,” said Derry. “Nothing and no one.”
“You heard it,” Joe said. “You heard the singing. Didn’t you?”
Derry looked away. “You need to go,” he said.
“Not until you tell me you heard it,” Joe demanded.
Derry said nothing, slumping against the table and looking down at the floor. Joe put a hand under the young man’s chin and forced him to look up.
“Tell me you heard it,” he said. “I know you did.”
“I heard it,” said Derry softly.
“Then tell me who it is.”
Derry shook his head again. “I don’t know who it is,” he told Joe.
“But you spoke to it,” Joe insisted. “You told it to stop.”
“I know nothing else,” said Derry.
Joe looked into his face and knew that whether he was telling the truth or not, the boy had said everything he was going to say. He released him and pulled his pants up. Derry remained where he was, naked and beautiful.
“I won’t ask you again,” said Joe. “If I have to, I’ll find out by myself. But I won’t ask you again.”
Derry nodded silently. Joe watched him for a long moment, hoping he would speak, then left the trailer. Outside, the night was filled with the familiar sounds of summer, laughter and music and a hundred voices all running together in a senseless jumble. One of his mechanics had completed the repair on the Ferris wheel, and he could see it turning against the moon.
Joe turned and looked back at the trailer. Part of him wanted to go back inside and take Derry in his arms. Another part wanted to run as far away as he could, away from the boy and the voice that taunted him. Whatever mystery Derry was a part of didn’t concern him, and perhaps if he left the boy behind, he would leave behind everything else as well. It was a comforting thought.
But he knew he wouldn’t, if for no other reason than that he had nowhere else to go, no one else to go to. The carnival had become his world, and he could not leave it. He would stay, whatever doing so brought him.
“A lovely evening.”
Joe saw Mr. Star emerge from the shadows of the tents and step into the light. He smiled and regarded Joe with interest.
“Yes, it is,” Joe replied.
Star raised his cane toward the sky, indicating the multitude of stars glittering in the darkness. “Orion the hunter is out tonight,” he remarked. “I wonder, Mr. Flanagan, what it is you yourself are hunting for.”
“I’m just walking,” Joe replied.
“Just walking,” repeated Star. “As a fellow wanderer, I understand the compulsion. Sometimes I feel almost as if something, someone, is calling me to venture out into the unknown. The voice of the universe, perhaps.” He laughed. “Sometimes that voice sends us on a fool’s errand, I think. It’s wise to be careful.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” Joe said. “I just enjoy being out.”
“Yes,” Mr. Star said. “No harm in that, I’m sure. And since you are out, my friend, would you like to walk with me?”
Joe wanted to do anything but spend another moment with Star, but he sensed that refusing the invitation would invite more suspicion than would agreeing to it. He nodded at Star and followed him as he began to walk through the tents.
“I can’t help but notice that you have yet to visit my Tent of Wonders,” he said. “May I ask why not?”
“I’m busy with my work,” Joe answered.
“A very polite excuse,” said Star. “But not, I think, the true one.”
Joe began to protest, but Star held up a hand to stop him.
“You needn’t spare my feelings,” he said. “I am well aware that what I have to offer is not to everyone’s liking.”
“It seems to be to a lot of people’s liking,” Joe commented. “You always have a crowd waiting.”
“The curious, the daring, and the unbelievers,” Star said. “They come to prove me a charlatan and my children fakeries.”
“And how do they leave?” asked Joe.
“Ah,” said Star. “That is an excellent question. Some of them leave convinced that they are correct; others, that everything they have ever believed is a lie. It depends on how open their eyes and minds are to what they see.”
Joe said nothing, and the two of them walked in silence for a minute. Then Star said, “A word of unasked-for advice. I would be wary of Derry Stroud.”
“Derry?” said Joe.
Star continued. “He is a lovely young man, and I am very fond of him. He does, however, harbor certain pe
culiarities.”
“I don’t understand,” said Joe.
“He has been known to become infatuated with certain gentlemen,” Star said carefully. “Several times it has led to unpleasantness.”
“He seems like a nice enough kid,” said Joe.
“Until his attentions are rebuffed, yes,” Star replied. “Then he can become, well…” His voice trailed off, the sentence left unfinished.
“Can become what?” Joe prodded.
“He has been known to become violent,” said Star. “Unpredictable.”
“Are you saying he’s hurt people?” asked Joe.
“I am saying that it is best not to get too close,” Star said. “Nor to believe too much of what he might say.”
He stopped and looked into Joe’s face. “Do we understand one another?”
Joe shrugged. “I suppose so,” he said.
Star smiled. “Good,” he said. “As I say, I am very fond of Mr. Stroud, and I believe I am very fond of you as well. I would not like to see anything happen to either of you.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Joe told him.
“I’m sure none of us have anything to worry about,” said Star. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have some unbelievers to convert.” He gestured at the long line of visitors who waited outside the Tent of Wonders.
Joe looked at them all. They were mostly young men, some not yet fully grown. Each was willing to pay to see what amazements were contained in the three tents. And what would they find? Joe wondered. What had the boy he’d seen led from there by the hoarse-voiced woman seen?
He didn’t know what to make of anything: the voice that came to him, Derry, the bones, and now Star’s warning. Somehow they were all tied together, but he had no way of knowing where to begin to untangle the truth from the lies. Had Derry killed someone? Joe couldn’t imagine it. But he had seen him with the bones. Perhaps Star was correct and the bones’ owner had been a victim of Derry’s rage. If so, Joe thought, had he placed himself in danger by going to the young man?
Suddenly he recalled something that Derry had cried out in the trailer. “He’s mine,” he’d said. The importance of the words struck Joe with a force like a thunderclap. “He’s mine.”
He looked back in the direction of Derry’s trailer, a new fear enfolding him in its black wings.
Chapter Six
“Those freaks are the best thing that ever happened to us.”
Harley was sitting at his desk, the cash box open and a wad of dirty bills in his hand. Several piles of neatly stacked bills were lined up before him. He was counting. When he finished, he slapped another pile on the desk and laughed.
“Nearly doubled our usual take this week.”
It was Monday morning, and like clockwork, Harley was figuring the accounts from the weekend. How he managed to keep them straight, Joe never knew, but somehow he did, even hungover and bleary-eyed, as he was now.
“Here’s to Mr. Star and his sideshow,” crowed Harley, raising a glass and taking a drink.
“Isn’t it a little early for that?” asked Joe.
“Ah, it’s just water,” Harley said, grinning.
Joe looked at the money on Harley’s desk. It was more than he’d seen there in a long time—a lot more. And he knew Harley was right. It was the freaks who were bringing them in. Every night the crowds outside the Tent of Wonders were larger and more excited. News spread quickly in the small towns, and by the second night the carnival was open, curiosity seekers from miles around were handing over their hard-won money to see what all the fuss was about.
“What’s the matter?” Harley asked his friend.
Joe shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just that I don’t see why folks are so excited about what’s in that tent.”
Harley laughed. “Makes ’em feel normal,” he said. “Makes the things that really scare ’em seem pretty in comparison. Cannibal Mary and Pretzel Man are things they can look at. A war isn’t. So they come to see the freaks and leave feeling better about everything.”
Joe regarded Harley curiously.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Harley told him, guessing what Joe was thinking. “You spend enough time in the carny and you learn a thing or two about people. I may not be a genius, but I know some truth. You been in that tent yet?”
“No,” Joe answered.
“Go,” said Harley. “Tonight. Take a walk through there and look at the people. You’ll see what I mean.”
Joe looked down.
“Go,” Harley repeated. “Ain’t nothing in there that’s gonna bite you.”
“All right,” said Joe. “I’ll go.”
Harley nodded, satisfied. “Now, get out of here,” he said. “I want to be alone with my money.”
Joe smiled as he stood. He waved good-bye to Harley and went outside. It was too early for most of the carnival’s residents to be up. They were still in their tents and trailers, snoring and dreaming. Around noontime they would begin to emerge, stretching, yawning, and blinking at the sun. He would have much of the day to himself.
He spent it going over the machines, oiling and greasing and inspecting everything for needed repairs. Losing himself in the engines and mechanisms kept him from thinking too much. Certainly it kept him from going over the events of the past days. He’d done too much of that, getting nowhere. He hadn’t seen Derry since the night in his trailer, and his sleep had been untroubled by nursery songs. Still, however, there remained the mystery of the bones. His conversation with Star had introduced new doubts regarding them and regarding Derry. But was Star to be believed? That, too, was in question.
Joe pushed all questions from his mind. The gears and pistons became his sanctuary, and he occupied his thoughts solely with them. These things he could understand. They behaved in predictable ways, their actions controlled by their purpose. Never did they surprise him, and never were their intentions in doubt. This was why he loved them.
He worked on the machinery until afternoon arrived and the fairgrounds came to life once more. He gave each ride a final check and then retired to his trailer for a rest before the real workday began.
When he awoke, it was evening. The heat of the day still lingered, and he found it hard to shake the sleep from his head. When he went outside, he found the carnival bustling quietly, as if the heat muffled the sounds of merriment. There was no breeze to break the spell, and even the calls of the men who worked the midway sounded weary.
Remembering his promise to Harley, Joe walked in the direction of the Tent of Wonders. Only there was the buzzing of the crowd in full force. The people formed a dense thicket around the tent as they waited for entrance. In the middle of them, standing on a wooden box, was Star. He presided like a minister in black, his hands outstretched to his congregation as he enticed them.
“Such wonders you have never seen!” he cried joyously. “Such miracles await you!”
The throng thrilled to each new promise, clamoring excitedly as they handed their money to Star, who took it and placed it in a bag at his waist.
“Come see the Sargasso mermaid,” Star called. “Come see Sheba, the half-man-half-woman. Come see all the Tent of Wonders holds.”
Listening to him, Joe was tempted to leave. He didn’t want to be part of the madness he saw in the eyes of the waiting customers. Their fervor, their eagerness to see the oddities in Star’s tent, disturbed him.
He was turning to go when Star, seeing him, called out above the crowd. “Mr. Flanagan!”
Joe faced the man, who was smiling and beckoning. The crowd, not looking at Joe, seemed to part, allowing him passage. When he arrived at Star’s pulpit, Star leaned down.
“I knew you would come,” he said happily. “Enter and be amazed.”
He gestured to the tent flap. Joe moved forward, pushing aside the black curtains and stepping inside. Almost immediately the noise of the crowd seemed to disappear. Although the tent was crowded, an awed hush pervaded the space.
People spoke in whispers, an occasional laugh breaking the stillness.
The freaks were scattered throughout the tent, each on an individual platform designed to highlight her or his particular uniqueness. Visitors wended between them, gathering around particular favorites before moving on in a progression that, Joe saw immediately, was carefully designed to push them through to the next tent to make way for those coming behind them.
The first few attractions were only slightly out of the ordinary, beginning with Melody the bearded lady and the tattooed Reverend Upshall. Each was entertaining a sizable crowd, Melody by allowing a child to pull on her beard, and the Reverend Upshall by exhorting his listeners to return to God. Joe passed them quickly, pausing briefly to watch Eleanore and Sally-Mae Kittery display their talents at a small piano on which they performed a duet, their four hands working in unison as they took turns singing verses of “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree.”
Beyond the Siamese twins, things grew more unusual. On a small stage, the shark boy, Ranku, ate live fish from the hands of gawkers who paid an attendant a nickel each for the privilege of putting their fingers near his forbidding teeth. Gasps of amazement erupted each time the boy took another fish and chewed it, displaying the shredded innards before swallowing.
In the space beside him was the promised Sargasso mermaid. She sat in a large tank, her tail beneath the water, and her torso above. Her breasts were exposed, and it was at these as much as her tail that the crowd stared in wonder. She combed her long hair and sang, seemingly unaware of the onlookers. Behind her a painted drop cloth depicted sailors throwing themselves from the deck of a ship into the waves as she looked up at them, smiling.
As if proving the power of the mermaid’s song, a young man dashed forward, holding out his arms to embrace her. At the last moment he was pushed away by a sturdy, ruddy-skinned fellow who stood in front of the tank, arms crossed and with bits of cotton stuck into his ears, presumably to make him immune to the siren’s song.
Joe had seen mermaids before and knew that their tails were generally rubber and painted scales. Still, the Sargasso mermaid was lovely, and whether she came from the sea or not didn’t seem to be a question her guests cared about. Joe left them gazing at her and walked on. Beyond the mermaid was the entrance to the second tent. He ducked through and found himself standing before the famed pretzel man, who was in the process of entwining his legs and arms in an intricate knot.
