Circus Solace

by Chris Castle

  “We, ah, we don’t, um, no we most certainly haven’t…” the waitress stuttered and Matt immediately felt bad for having put her under so much strain.

  “I’m sorry,” he began to say. “It doesn’t matter, really. I’m-”

  “There are no more Three-licks in this place, young man and no more Star-Ships Pies, neither.” Matt and Pa both craned their necks to see the book come down to reveal the gnarled old man behind it.

  “This here’s my diner and we serve what’s printed up top and not any phantoms you might be seeing underneath those pages, you follow?” The man’s voice was gruff and his face was squeezed tight like he’d been eating lemons but somehow, Matt wasn’t afraid of him. There was too much kindness in his eyes to make him mean. He was like a guard dog who barked and barked but who rolled over at the first sign of a tickle.

  “I apologise, sir,” Pa replied and Matt immediately said the same. The man nodded, accepting their apologies and made to go back to his book. He hesitated, as if he was thinking over something that had not yet been spoken and looked at Matt with some curiosity.

  “You just passing through?” he said, pushing the book to one side. From out back, the waitress dropped a plate that smashed with loud, echoing chimes.

  “We’re at the top of the hill. The place on a tilt,” Pa said. Matt saw the man’s eyes widen slightly and he gulped hard, his gullet rolling up and down as if he’d just swallowed a world-sized marble. He composed himself, as if debating on how to proceed.

  “Wasn’t always on a tilt,” he said finally. “Used to be just as right and true as the rest of this town,” he went on, as another plate broke in the distance. Matt wondered just how much the waitresses’ hands were trembling to smash two in a minute and why a simple conversation would scare her so.

  “What made it that way?” Matt asked and braced himself for the old man’s hard stare. Sure enough, it came.

  “I would say life, young man. I think some boys your age wouldn’t know much if an old geezer like me said that but I think you’re a little different than most, aren’t you?” He nodded, almost to himself and didn’t wait for Matt to answer.

  “This used to be a town that was as pretty as its name, young fella. That’s how fine it used to be.” He made a pyramid with his hands and shook his head.

  “Someone’s changed all the street signs now,” Matt said and saw the old man glance out of the window.

  “You’ll do well if you keep your eyes wide open, young man. Something this town could have done well to remember not so long back.” He blinked and pinched his eyes, as if to prove his point. “But like I say, it wasn’t always this way.”

  “Pa,” interrupted the waitress, who appeared at the counter. The nervousness she wore had slipped a little now and was replaced with determination. “Careful,” she said and it seemed as if just that one word was explanation enough for what was going on.

  “If they’re in the house on the hill, I’ll tell it. Needs to be told.” He said, looking at his daughter. There was no threat in his voice, no bullying. He nodded and she wiped her hands, as if to say she accepted it. As she slipped back to the kitchen, the old man rose up and wandered over to their booth. It would not have been remarkable, if not for the fact that he reached almost seven feet tall.

  “Marcus Whiteflower,” he said, offering up Matt his huge, paw-like hand to shake.

  *

  “The history of Moon-Dip Falls,” Marcus said, as their drinks arrived, “began with a gold rush and ended with a silver coin.”

  “It started when the family found their gold nuggets and made their home right here in the Falls. No-one knows why they chose the place. It was different back then, I suppose, with land all open and little more than dust. So they staked their claim and built that house on top of the hill and went about making a dust bowl into something like a home.” The daughter, whose name was Peggy, brought out the plates and drinks. She sat back at the counter listening.

  “So, they built their home and soon enough other folks came through and so on and so forth and out of the dirt grew the town. It was said they named it Moon-Dip on account of the way it always seemed to drop behind the house on the hill, like it was hiding from the town or some such. The town grew and prospered and everything seemed to be moving on nicely enough.

  “When was this?” Pa asked. He had always been fond of history and the books on his shelf almost always had dates along the spine.

  “Time’s a little of a mystery when it comes to Moon-Dip history,” Marcus said smiling. “See, we got so good at fudging the dates of things, we even made it rhyme a little.” He winked at Matt and it reminded him so strongly of his ma, he almost shuddered.

  “So it was a small town like any other until one day, when a small group of folk came through. Their horses were little more than bones with hair, their carriages falling apart like they were made of sticks and paper. They pitched up on the far edges of town and soon folks got to worrying about these strangers living on the fringes. Rumours started about them being odd looking, practising dark arts, all sorts of foolish tittle-tattle. So soon enough, the man who lived on the hill-he was known as The Gent-by then, he went and paid a visit to these men and women on the limits.” He stopped for a second and looked out the window as if what he was re-telling was alive outside their window. Matt peered out, imagining some magic at work, but there was nothing on the street save the cracked street lamps.

  “Now, remember these were different times. Folks back them, they carried as many guns as they did rules and many a cruel and stupid folk settled disputes without so much as a word. Luckily, The Gent was not one of these men. He was a fair man and took no pride in what riches he’d accumulated but rather hoped in what they could create. He walked up to the campfire on his own and he met the weary travellers and spoke with them, face-to-face.”

  “These folks, yes they were different, some were too tall like me and others were small almost to the point of being shrunken into nothing. Others were missing limbs and others had too many, like they had the right amount of pieces but shared them up wrong. The Gent, he spoke to every one of them and didn’t flinch or wince at the sight of them and when there were those who spoke in broken, muddled sentences, he was patient and waited for them to finish. So they all spoke but they all told the same story; how they were a travelling group, who performed tricks and entertained. It had been a good thing until a weary, god-fearing landowner, who was disgruntled by the joy they seemed to inspire, spread lies against the band and rounded up the townsfolk against them. From that moment on, their name was tarnished.”

  “Now, The Gent listened to all this and offered them safe haven in the town. He said he would speak to the others but imagined no problem. The troupe, in reply, offered up their show and The Gent accepted. But, he said, if there were those among them who did not want to perform, if there were those who did not seek the spotlight and wanted more peaceful, calmer times, then jobs would be offered also. This set him apart, in their eyes, for he saw them not as freaks but as real folk, the same as him, just born a little different, no more no less. The Gent shook hands with each of them and the Moon-Dip Circus Show was born that night.”

  The old man paused and drank some coffee. He looked tired telling the story and Pa asked him if he didn’t want to continue this on another evening. Marcus shook his head, not angrily, Matt thought, but with some determination. It was clear that he was a man who did not finish until the tale was told.

  “So that was Moon-Dip for year after year. Some of the carnival folks performed and many others began a second life as carpenters, locksmiths and a dozen other jobs. Their addled limbs and unusual gait made them perfect for certain jobs. Annabel Cramer, who was born with fourteen fingers, became the best typist in town and there were plenty more successes where that came from. The Gent oversaw the town and sometimes appeared with his baby daughter, to cheers and high applause. Many married and some stayed with the group and even the advent of the moto
r car and the wireless didn’t seem untoward in a town that prided itself in seeing nothing strange in any people, save those who displayed surly manners.”

  “It went on thus until the day a young boy, not much older than you, young fella, took a shine to Annabel Cramer. He brought her roses and tried to woo her; he was a rich man’s son and lingered around the office she worked in while the others did his labours. He pursued her with all the selfish vigour of a man born to money and reacted as such when he was rejected. At first and many times after, she was polite and at last, she was firm. This man, unable to understand why he’d been rejected, did what many foolish men did: he sought to find fault in her than inside his own self.”

  “Before long, this man began to rally against the carnival folk, who by now, were simply thought of as town-folk and nothing else. People dismissed him at first as little more than a spoilt brat, screaming over a broken heart when he should have been moving on. But like all the biggest mistakes that come to pass, it was left unattended, so it only grew bigger by being left unchecked. Like an ungodly weed, little by little, this man’s hate spread, first at his rich boys club, then further to those offices where influence counted more than friendship and finally to the men and women on the streets who were finding work hard to come by and were feeling more anger than joy. By the time The Gent realised the tendrils had climbed into most parts of town, an election had already been called and a dark sway followed his rival.”

  “This character was a boy trapped in a man’s body, yet he was a handsome devil and could charm folks who were not used to being the centre of things. He also pulled a trick that was as ingenious as it was insane. To counter The Gent and his show, he established a performance of his own, one solely based on clowns. He dressed in full regalia to campaign and set up shows to entertain the masses between speeches. It was noted that the shows themselves were cruel things, steeped in other people’s mis-fortune and relying too heavily on prat-falls over finesse. Yet, it left the audience in stitches, while the true art of The Gent’s show was attended by fewer and fewer.

  By the time the clown won, no-one was really that surprised. A sea change had fallen over Moon-Dip Falls. Less folks tipped their hats and offered up their seats. More and more forgot their manners and looked out only for themselves. It was thought that some voters were bribed with silver dollars. The man was installed and accepted to office still wearing the clown’s outfit. The Gent went on with his work but the show fell on hard times and eventually it closed. It was said that the sadness of closing the show brought on The Gent’s demise. The town grew cruel and soon, many of the troupe were bracketed once more as outcasts and chased out of town. The daughter, left alone in the house, offered them safe haven but all of them disappeared fearing as much for her safety as their own. It was said that even amongst the tears, she offered up a wink and a hint of a smile, to send them on their way with a small glimmer of hope. She left when she turned eighteen, no longer wanting to stay in a place that had fallen so low, so quickly.”

  “So now the man rules with an iron fist, dressed in full regalia on every public outing. Everyone is ‘reminded’ to attend his god-awful performances and everyone is expected to laugh. He’s changed the road signs to boost morale and widened the sidewalks to accommodate his big, flapping clown shoes. So now we are all made to summon up a laugh and each time we do, it reminds us of what we once had and what we have lost. And that, young fellas, is the story of Moon-Dip Falls.”

  “So why are you still here?” Pa asked. Marcus nodded his approval at the question, as if he had been waiting for it all along.

  “Well, you see, I’m the example. The one freak that’s left on show as a warning to all the others in case they ever think to come back to town: I’m the man who owns a shop that no-one wants to visit. I think the clown thinks of it as one of his jokes; one that’s not very funny to anyone bar himself.” Marcus shook his head and Matt agreed. It was the kind of idea of a joke that only cruel people would find funny. Everyone else would just think it was sad.

  “Do you miss your friends?” Matt asked. Even though he had only heard it as a story, the troupe seemed a strong, warm group and close-knit, the way soldiers would have been in old times.

  “I miss them every day. I get letters on occasion but it’s not the same. I hear that some of them never made it much further than the swamps and fields at the edge of The Falls but I’m not sure how much stock I put in that. It sounds like tall-tales to me, the type of stuff ma’s tells their children to stop them wandering too far from their coat tails.” Marcus finished his coffee and set the cup down carefully, signalling the end of things. Matt looked over to the waitress and saw her eyes were glassy, as if she were close to tears.

  “And now you’re there, at The Gent’s old house. I don’t know what to make of that, I’m sure. Looks like you’ve got reasons, I’d bet that much. Maybe some good will come of it but be careful, you two. Don’t you go upsetting the applecart and have the man come looking for you, you understand?” Marcus looked at Matt with cold, hard eyes. It was the same glare he’d offered up when they’d stepped through the door. A look fit for strangers.

  “Yes sir,” Matt answered quickly. He noticed something in the air and realised what it was: silence. Pa had not offered up any agreement or promise.

  “We’ll see what we see and find what we find,” he said at last. Matt noticed how Marcus almost winced at hearing the words and wondered what that meant. “We won’t go looking for trouble but we won’t be told by others what our business is or isn’t. What do we owe you for the meal?”

  “The first meal’s on the house. Show kindness to strangers and then they’ll be friends. That’s what The Gent always used to say and it’s something I’ve tried to live by.” The hard eyes cracked a little and warmth came flickering through.

  “You got the same stubbornness as the girl,” he said and shook his head. “I wonder if she taught you or if you always had it.” Matt realised they were talking about his ma and for a moment his heart raced.

  “Guess I’ve always had it,” Pa replied and rose up from his seat.

  “Thank you for the meal, sir,” Matt said, standing up.

  “Well, you’re welcome, young man. You come by if you feel the need for a slice of cake or some such. Maybe I’ll find that old recipe for Star Ship Pie one evening.” Marcus winked and his daughter gave out a loud tut. “Maybe I’ll have the last laugh, after all,” he said finally, looking at his daughter and then back to the two of them as they walked to the door.

  *

  Matt and Pa drove back in something like a stunned silence. At different times, each of them opened their mouths to speak but no words, or the right words, would quite come out. As they reached the driveway, the shadow of the house came into view but it was no longer threatening or some strange, alien thing. Now, it looked more like a bruised, beat-up old friend. Something that had seen better days, no doubt, but still had that faint aura of good times clinging to it. As they parked the car Matt tried to figure out what was different about the old place. Pa cleared his throat as they walked up to the door.

  “Some story,” he said and glanced over to Matt.

  “Some story,” Matt repeated, still struggling with all the commotion and tumbling feelings the old man’s story had created in him.

  “It can’t be true, what he said but…” Pa said, his voice trailing away, at a loss.

  “But it didn’t feel like he was lying,” Matt finished and saw Pa nod his head, as if the last piece of the puzzle had just slotted snugly into the heart of the picture.

  “You said it, Matty…but it can’t be true, not really. If it were true, then…” his voice trailed off again as they reached the steps. Matt drew up next to him. For the next few moments, they mirrored each other’s actions; tilting their bodies to the right, craning their necks slightly. Something about the house had changed.

  “It’s not your grandpa’s house…it can’t be,” Pa whispered.

/>   “It’s not…” Matt went on. Pa reached out and took his hand. Together, they took the steps one at a time, until they reached the door. The lock turned easily, the angle smoother than it was just a few hours ago when they arrived, fitting in with the new development; Matt swore the house was no longer slanting as much as it had been when they’d arrived that morning.

  *

  Matt woke up early and spent a long time looking out to the back of the house. A large field ran up to the horizon, trees thick in the distance. It looked unkempt but not quite wild, as if it had been waiting for them and keeping itself in check just enough to not appear unruly. Even though Matt had thought of nothing else apart from the diner story, he had not dreamed. For the first time, his ma had not come looking for him in his sleep. It’s because she’s already here, a voice whispered and Matt shook his head. Matt had kept his door open last night, as always but had not heard Pa sleep-talk to her as he had done every other night.

  Dressed, he faced the window, closed his eyes and tried to imagine the group of abandoned folks gathered on the edges of the field. Without trying, he visualised them sitting around a smouldering campfire, sometimes laughing, something crying, but always together. The images were so clear, Matt felt as if he were looking at a photo rather than his imagination. Every feature in each face was clear and every nuance defined, even down to the eyelashes. The names would not come but their voices were clear echoes in his mind, as if their whispers were carrying from the tips of the tree tops. Finally, he opened his eyes and for a moment, Matt saw a flash of something, someone, flicker amongst the shades of the tree trunks.

  “Matty?” Pa’s voice brought him back from his reverie and broke the connection. He turned round, his eyes wide and saw Pa was fully dressed.

  “Looking out to the fields, huh?” he asked. Matt nodded and noticed the bags under Pa’s eyes looked just a little lighter. “Maybe when we get back from the town, we should go exploring, what do you think?”