“Did you bring your stuff?” he asked.
David showed him the sack, sadly deflated, then quickly hid it behind his back.
“Is that all you got, kid?”
“I kinda had to leave in a hurry,” David said, glad that the darkness hid the red in his cheeks. “Lost some things along the way.”
Telly shrugged and tipped the brim of his hat back with the handle of the walking stick.
“I see,” he said. “Well, follow me. I’ll show you where you’re staying.”
He turned and beckoned David after him.
“Room and board, that’s all I can offer. For now,” Telly said. “You don’t get any real pay until you’re performing. Can you handle that?”
“Sure,” David said, shuffling after him. Room and board was about all he got from Vern, room and board and a little pocket change each week if he worked hard—not to mention the occasional fist in the face as an added bonus.
“Don’t worry,” Telly added. “It’s good food. Cakey knows his way around the cook stove.”
Telly led him down the line of trailers. At the front, the massive truck rose skyward like some towering beast crowned in smokestacks. They came to the first trailer and stopped at a small, gray door in the side. The door sat ajar, and a reddish glow seeped through the crack. Telly pried it the rest of the way open with his walking stick and ushered David inside.
David squeezed past him and into musty coolness. The back half of the trailer was packed from floor to ceiling with large wooden crates, folds of heavy canvas poking through the slats. The front half of the trailer had been converted into a crude living space, with a row of narrow cots, a small round table with a couple of stools and a lamp stand with an old brass lamp casting a dim glow.
“Only other person staying in here at the moment is Gooty,” Telly said, gesturing toward the beds. “He’s our roustabout. That’s where he sleeps.” He pointed to the cot on one end. A small metal chest sat open at the foot of the cot, overfilled with clothes. “Pick one of the others and set your stuff down.”
It was a space smaller than his bedroom, the cots only a slight improvement over his old mat, with tattered wool blankets and the tiniest pillows he’d ever seen. Still, something about it made him feel comfortable and tired, and he wanted nothing more in all the world than to crawl under a blanket and shut his eyes. And he would sleep well for the first time in years, he knew. Yes, this could be home. He tossed his sack of clothes onto a cot on the opposite side of the room from Gooty’s and took a seat on one of the stools.
Telly remained in the door, a strange little half-smile on his face. Something about his demeanor at that moment, his slumped shoulders, body leaning against the doorframe, made him look sad. David met his gaze, then felt self conscious and turned away.
“Alright, kid, that’s that,” Telly said. “You’re part of the crew now, and, if you cut it, you’ll be onstage one of these days. Are you sure this is what you want?”
Without hesitation, and without looking up, David nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s good to hear,” Telly replied, tapping his cane on the floor. “Because this is the kind of life you really have to want.”
“I understand,” David replied, though, truthfully, he wasn’t sure what Telly meant.
“Good,” Telly said. “You’ll have to earn your way in, that’s the thing. Some don’t take right away to new people.”
“I’ll work really hard,” David said. “I promise.”
“I’m sure you will,” Telly said. “And you’ll get your chance soon enough. For now, try to get some sleep. If you hear any noises outside, don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with it. You stay in here, okay?”
“Noises?”
Telly shrugged. “Rubes causing trouble. Just stay in here no matter what you hear, got it?”
David nodded. He was having difficulty keeping his eyes open, and his head wanted to droop onto the table. Telly lingered a moment longer, then tipped his hat and left. The metal door shut with a clang that jarred David out of his half-sleep. He rose, rubbing at his face, stumbled over to his new bed and collapsed onto it. Sleep seemed to rise up around him, draw in close and pull him down into warmth and darkness. He had never in all his life fallen into sleep with such ease. No rampaging Vern stomping up the stairs, or Mama’s grating voice calling him, no odors wafting through open windows.
He slept hard and woke with great reluctance when the banging of the trailer door roused him a second time. He opened one eye, saw red light flickering on the wall and readjusted himself on the narrow cot, intending to go right back to sleep. Then he heard heavy boots clomping on the floor as someone drew near. David groaned and rolled onto his back. Everything was swimming, but he saw a blurry figure move into the light.
David blinked a few times to clear his vision, and the blur became a man looming over the cot. Short, tan, with a bowl of jet black hair encircling his head and deep frown lines around his mouth, he wore faded overalls, a dirty t-shirt that might once have been white and had a pair of coarse work gloves on his hands. Though small, he was wiry, with pronounced muscles like little bundles of taut cord running up and down his arms. David struggled to sit up, clawing at the wall for a handhold. The stranger reached out, snagged him by the wrist and helped him up.
“Thanks,” David said, his voice cracking.
The stranger stepped back, pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto his bed.
“Are you Gooty?”
“I am,” he said, taking a seat on one of the stools. “You don’t snore, do you?” He spoke with a thick southwestern accent—English was clearly not his first language—and David had to concentrate to understand him.
“Snore? I don’t think so.”
“Bueno,” Gooty said, and began tugging off his boots. “I guess you can stay in here with me, then. I sleep light. Can’t have no snoring.”
He removed the boots, dropped them on the floor beside the table, then reached into a pocket of his overalls and produced a small bundle wrapped in a rag.
“Hungry?” he asked. Before David could respond, or even process the question, he tossed the bundle at him.
David made no move to catch it, and it bounced off his chest and landed on the bed. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. A thin rag tied shut at one end, he felt heat bleeding through.
“That’s from Cakey,” Gooty said. “Well, not really. It’s from me. Cakey doesn’t know about you yet. I asked for extra. Open it.”
David fumbled at the knot and finally worked it open. Pulling back a corner, he saw a fresh empanada, still steaming. The smell of fried dough and meat drove the last vestiges of sleep out of his mind.
“Thanks,” he said, before stuffing it in his mouth.
“De nada,” Gooty said.
As David ate, Gooty watched him with an unreadable expression. It was hard to tell Gooty’s age. His soft voice and simple haircut made him seem young, but there were a few gray hairs on his head and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.
“Why do they call you Gooty?” David asked, swallowing the last bit of food.
“Gutierrez,” he replied. “Eduardo Gutierrez. That’s my real name. Sooner or later, Telly will come up with a stupid nickname for you, too. Wait and see.” He rose from the stool, shaking his head, and walked over to his bed. “I come from Southwest Territories, a long way from here. Joined the crew in Tupelo. You know Colonel Joseph Mattock?”
David shook his head. In fact, he had heard that name before, either from Vern or from his old schoolteacher, but he couldn’t recall many details. Some kind of a king, he thought, but better to play dumb to avoid answering questions
“Really? Man, you’re not that far from the east border of Tockland,” Gooty said, taking a seat on his bed. “Can’t believe you don’t know about him. I was gonna brag about how I snuck through his little empire to get to Mississippi, but you don’t know enough to be impressed.”
“Sorry,” David
said. “Who is he?”
“A crazy man,” Gooty said. “A crazy man with a lot of guns. Your little town here is fortunate. He’s too busy pushing into Southwest Territories to come over here and burn this place to the ground. But he’ll get around to it eventually.”
“Well, I won’t be here when he arrives.”
Gooty laughed a low, bitter laugh and lay down. “Claro. You’re one of us now, aren’t you? A traveling man. You gonna be a performer?”
“I guess so,” David said.
“You guess so? Well, are you or aren’t you?”
“I am.”
Gooty was quiet for a moment, then laughed again and said, “I don’t know how well you’re gonna fit in around here. What do you think?”
David wiped his mouth with the rag. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”
“Nah, don’t do your best, man,” Gooty said, pulling his blanket up to his chest. “Just be whoever you are, and if the clowns don’t like it, tell them all to go to hell. Now, let me sleep.”
David nodded and fell back onto his bed. The lamplight was almost out now, a faint glow on the walls and ceiling. He closed his eyes and found sleep waiting for him. And despite the occasional loud snorts and restlessness of Gooty on the other side of the trailer, he slept well.
He dreamed but only of shadows and voices. He was curled up in the corner of his old bedroom, listening to the echoes of Vern and Mama fighting, but instead of words, they were making animal noises at each other, Vern braying like a donkey, Mama barking like a dog. The violence of it rattled the walls, threatening to bring the whole house down. David drew a corner of his bed mat over his head, hoping it might shield him from broken beams and jagged shards of aluminum.
Then Mama’s voice faded, and it was only Vern. The braying became words, but the words were unintelligible, Vern shrieking in an unknown language. And David knew the cruel old man was coming for him. Done arguing with Mama and coming for him! Soon he would hear the thud of heavy feet on the stairs and see that big fleshy face, rolls of fat hanging down from his chin like carcasses, rheumy eyes popping out.
David thrashed his way out of sleep. The braying sound became a voice screaming, and he realized it was his own. He opened his eyes, his throat raw, and clapped a hand over his mouth. The old bedroom was gone, pulled back like a veil, and only the dim mustiness of the trailer remained. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. A band of sunlight drew a line across the floor and slashed at an angle across his bed. The door was open, and Gooty was gone. He lowered his hands to his lap and took a shuddering breath.
“I’m losing my mind,” he said into the shadows.
Chapter Three
Unpleasant Introductions
David sat in the darkness, clutching the burlap sack containing his meager possessions, and waited for something to happen.
It must have been close to half an hour before he heard hushed voices outside, then the creak of a shoe on the steps and the clank of the door handle. Light flooded the room, and the tiny silhouette of Telly stood in the open doorway.
“We’re hitting the road, kid,” he said.
“Am I still going with you?” David asked.
“Of course,” Telly said. “You’re already hired. Are you having second thoughts?”
“Oh, no, no.”
“Why ask the question, then?”
David shrugged. “Just making sure, I guess.”
Telly shook his head, turned and stepped down from the door. “Come on, kid. You’re riding in the performers’ trailer with the rest of us.”
David hoisted the sack over his shoulder and followed Telly out of the trailer. He gazed across the empty field back in the direction of Mountainburg. Trails of chimney smoke rose here and there above the trees.
Gooty was bent over between the first and second trailer, checking the hitch. When Telly drew near, he rose and gave him a questioning look.
“Time to go,” Telly said. “Fire ‘er up.”
“Donde vamos?” Gooty asked. “Which way?”
“North. The planned route is West Fork, Fayette, Benton Town. I hear tell the rubes number in the thousands up that way.”
“Annabelle’s good with it?” Gooty asked.
“Heck, no,” Telly said. “But that’s the way we’re going. Fire it up.”
Gooty nodded, wiped oil-stained hands off on the legs of his overalls and headed for the truck. As he passed David, he bumped against him with his shoulder.
“Finally getting out of here,” he said. “This is how it all begins, man, a new life.”
“Yeah,” David replied.
Telly led David to the last trailer. In the daylight it looked even more like a little house, with a rain gutter along the edge of the roof, lace curtains over the window, a cloth awning above the porch.
“This is where the performers stay,” Telly said, tapping the side of the trailer. “Eventually, we’ll have you bunking with us, once the others warm up to the idea. There are no empty rooms, at the moment, but we can make a space for you in a corner. For now, you ride in here when we’re on the road and bunk up there with Gooty at night.”
They rounded the corner to find the others standing on the porch. Cakey was closest, leaning on the railing and gazing with extreme disinterest in the direction of town. Oddly, he still had his stage make-up on—chalk white face, a single blue eyebrow, green dot on the end of his nose, blood-red mouth both smiling and frowning—and the make-up was flawless, not a drop or drip, not a single smeared line. He had his wig on, as well, a shock of neon orange hair like some alien plant erupting from his skull.
Beside Cakey stood the girl, apple-cheeked and dark-eyed, in old jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. Black hair fell in curls on either side of her face. Next to her was the big man, Karl, arms crossed over his chest, muscles bulging through the tight fabric of his shirt. He had a blunt face with a heavy brow, a crooked nose undergirded by that enormous mustache. David found the whole lot of them so intimidating that he eased behind Telly and hunkered down a bit, hoping to escape notice.
Cakey glanced at Telly, spotted David over his shoulder and shook his head. “Boss, tell me you didn’t do it. Tell me you didn’t.”
Telly took off his hat, set it on top of his walking stick and ran a hand through the few strands of hair on top of his head. “Listen up, you clowns,” he said. “I want to introduce you to our newest performer.” He stepped to one side, leaving David helplessly exposed.
David attempted a smile, failed and settled for an ugly tight-lipped smirk. He lifted one hand in an awkward wave.
“What is he, twelve?” Annabelle asked.
“Be nice,” Telly said, setting the hat back on his head. “He’s practically an adult.” He glanced over his shoulder. “How old are you again, kid?”
“Seventeen,” David replied.
“See there?” Telly said. “Practically an adult.”
Cakey pressed his gloved hands together and touched them to his lips, a strange little gesture that struck David as sinister.
“What’s your name?” Annabelle asked, leaning out over the railing. There was mischief in her eyes, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. David could see she was trouble. He choked on his own name and managed only a gurgle.
“David’s the name,” Telly said. “David. And despite appearances, he is a fairly talented young man. Give him some time to get over his stark terror of us, and you’ll see for yourselves.”
“Well, what can he do?” she asked.
“Flips, tumbles, all kinds of acrobatics,” Telly said. “Self taught, I understand, and you’ll see it all in due time. In due time.”
“Sounds exciting,” Annabelle said, and David couldn’t quite tell if she was being sincere or mocking him. She extended her hand to him, but David’s feet were stuck. He tried to make them move, but everything had locked up.
“Come on, kid,” she said. “Take a breath, come over here and shake my hand.”
David set
his sack of clothes down and took a step toward her, thrusting his hand out, but she was still out of reach. He managed another step. Annabelle smiled and hopped down off the porch.
“Oh, David, you’re the worst one yet,” she said. She strode up to him, and he almost turned and fled. Only the stiffness in his limbs kept him in place. Annabelle grabbed his hand, placed it in hers, and shook it. “There you go. Now we’re formally met.”
“Yes,” David replied.
Annabelle returned to the porch. She spared a glance at Telly, one eyebrow raised, and her smile faltered.
Karl had not moved, but he grunted suddenly, lowered his hands to his sides and sniffed. “You ought to get our opinion first before you make these kinds of decisions,” he said. “We gotta be okay with it, too, you know?”
Telly started to say something, but Karl turned, opened the door, and stepped into the trailer, slamming it shut behind him. Annabelle made an O with her mouth and wagged a finger at Telly.
“I think you made Karl mad, boss,” she said in a whisper.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Telly said. “Won’t be the last. Look, we needed another performer. Numbers are down. No sense arguing about it.”
Cakey still had his hands pressed to his lips, but now he leaned back, slid his hands down the shiny sides of his costume into his pockets and opened his mouth.
“Numbers are down?” he said. “Numbers?”
“Let it go,” Telly replied. “You know what I meant.”
“Numbers,” Cakey said again. He tipped a salute to David. “Enjoy being a number, rube.”
Then he spun around and followed Karl inside, leaving Annabelle alone on the porch.
“Strike one, strike two,” Annabelle said. “You’re not exactly winning them over, David.”
David felt ill. All he could do was shrug and bite back a whimper.
“A bunch of damned babies, that’s what they are,” Telly muttered, stabbing his walking stick into the ground. “Annabelle, will you talk to them?”
Annabelle’s frowned, looking from Telly to David and back to Telly. “That’s not really my job, is it?” she said. “You make the decisions, boss, and you deal with the consequences.” She turned to the door, as if to leave, but paused. She glanced back at David, winked and said, “You know, it’s not too late to back out. Think it over.”
Shadows of Tockland Page 3
