“What is it, then?”
“It’s about your walking stick. I was wondering why you need it. You seem to walk just fine, and I saw you tumbling around onstage the other night.”
“Walking stick?” Telly said. “This ain’t a walking stick. This is a weapon, kid.” He took a few swings with it. “It’s called a shillelagh. The bulbous end is a hollow core filled with lead.”
“Shuh-LAY-lee?” David repeated.
“That’s right,” Telly said. “This is for thumping skulls. I keep it with me at all times. Never know when a skull will need to be thumped.” He took one more swing with the shillelagh, gave David a wink, and strode off toward the trailer.
David waited a bit before heading back himself. As he neared the trailer, he saw Gooty and Karl come around the corner and head to the second trailer. They stooped down and fiddled with something underneath, and suddenly the whole side wall popped up on hinges. They lifted it and locked it in place. The interior was piled high with metal poles and long wooden boards.
“You need any help?” David asked, approaching.
Karl turned to him. He had a head like a cinder block, a neck thicker than a grown man’s thigh, eyes hard and unfriendly. “Sure,” he said.
Gooty shook his head. “Actually, no,” he said. “We got this. Take it easy, amigo. You’ll have plenty of time to help. Go get breakfast in the trailer.”
Karl glanced at Gooty with a dull, unhappy look on his face but said nothing. The tension was palpable, so David quickly exited the scene. He considered heading back to his cot, but he really was hungry, so he walked to the performers’ trailer, mounted the steps and stood there staring at the door. Telly, Cakey and Annabelle would be inside. Breakfast would be uncomfortable, and he expected to get picked on or insulted. But he was hungry, and maybe Telly would stick up for him. He did feel a bit more like he belonged after his first lesson with Telly. He knocked on the door.
“We don’t want any,” came the muffled reply. That was Cakey.
“We gave at the office,” Annabelle said. It sounded like she had a mouthful of food.
And that was it for David. He retreated back down the steps and went to his own trailer and the relative safety of his little cot in the corner. He remained there, idly flipping through his gymnastics book, until lunchtime, when Gooty came to get him. He stood in the doorway, pouring sweat, his black hair plastered to his forehead, stinking of dirt and sweat. The smell of him in the small, too-warm trailer made David gag, though he tried his best not to show it.
“Are you hiding out in here?” Gooty asked.
“I guess. Reading a little bit.”
“I see,” Gooty said. “So how did it go?”
“How did what go?”
“Your class time with the dwarf, man. Did he tell you all the deep, dark secrets of being a clown?”
“He told me about the four different ranks of clowns,” David said.
Gooty smiled, but it was a bitter smile. “Ah, claro, the four different ranks of clown. Troubled, disturbed, deranged and sociopath. That’s your four different ranks of clown.” And he laughed a harsh and unhappy laugh.
David conjured up a hint of a smile, if only to avoid offending.
“He said he’s gonna work me into the show gradually.”
“The show needs another act, I suppose,” Gooty said. “There used to be a tumbling act right in the middle. It was the highlight.”
“Why don’t they do it anymore?”
A look passed over Gooty’s face, a squint of the eyes and a pursing of the lips. “That’s a real good question, man,” he said. “I wish I had an answer for you that made sense.”
“Should I not have asked?”
Gooty shrugged. “Don’t matter. Look, we’re done out there. You should come and see. It’s all set up.”
David shut the book, tucked it under his pillow and followed Gooty outside. They walked around the truck into the open campground, only now a massive tent filled much of the space. It stood forty feet long, thirty feet wide, red and white striped canvas showing quite a bit of wear and tear around the edges. A black cable snaked out of one end of the tent and wound through the dirt all the way to the truck. Karl was on his knees near the tent flap, tightening the last of the screws on the massive aluminum sign—The Klown Kroo, The One and Only. The others stood nearby, Telly and Cakey and Annabelle, all gazing upon the handiwork of Karl and Gooty.
“Why is it spelled like that?” David asked, pointing at the sign.
Gooty looked at him quizzically. “Spelled like what? What are you talking about?”
“Clown is spelled with a C, not a K,” David said. “I think. And Kroo…well, that’s not even close.”
“Yeah, right,” Gooty said. He leaned in close, reeking of grime, and said, “That’s Karl’s fault. Telly had him paint the sign but didn’t tell him how to spell it, so he spelled it all wrong. But the little jefe took to it, for some reason, and that became the name of the show.”
“Telly liked it spelled wrong?” David asked.
“Yes,” Gooty replied. “Or else he didn’t want to pay for the paint to fix it.”
David spied movement out of the corner of his eye, a large, dark shape rounding the bend, and he heard the creak of axles. When he turned, he saw a group of people entering the campground, pulling a large wagon behind them. He counted a dozen men and women, Hess in the lead. The wagon was an old flatbed trailer, the hitch removed and long handles welded onto the front corners. Two large metal drums were strapped down in the back, surrounded by small crates of various sizes.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Telly said, dropping the shillelagh and rubbing his hands together. “Looks like it’s payday.”
“Barrels of diesel fuel,” Gooty said. “But if they’ve got fuel, why are they pulling the wagon by hand?”
“Don’t question good fortune, Goot,” Telly said, retrieving the shillelagh and hurrying to meet the approaching wagon.
“I don’t question good fortune, enano,” Gooty replied, under his breath.
The locals struggled to drag the wagon across the rutted campground, and Hess kept turning back to wave them on. Many of the people looked sick, and when Hess called them to a stop in front of the tent, some of them collapsed.
“This is it?” Hess said, gesturing toward the tent with his hat.
“This is where the excitement happens, my good man, yes, yes,” Telly said, doffing his top hat and bowing. “Tonight at sunset. Bring all your friends.”
“Friends, yes,” Hess said, humorlessly. “We got ye some gas, like ye wanted. Crates of supplies. Rope, wool, linen. Good enough?”
Telly made a show of walking around the wagon, cupping his chin in his hand and examining the contents.
“This’ll do,” he said. “Now, look, we can cram a couple hundred folks in the tent here, so bring all you can. Our show is suitable for all ages. No bad language or nudity. Just thrills and chills and a lot of laughs.”
“A lot of laughs,” Hess said, blandly. “Sunset?”
“That’s right. When the sun goes down, the lights come on, and that’s when the fun begins.”
Hess nodded and glanced at the other performers, his gaze lingering on Cakey. Then he flapped his hat at his people and pointed to the barrels. “Get it unloaded. Move!”
Some on the ground rolled their eyes, but Hess flapped the hat more fervently, and they roused themselves. In their overalls and ragged clothes, growling and sweating, some close to passing out, they went to work unloading the wagon. Broken and tired and sick people. David had to wonder what they would really think of a bunch of slapstick clowns prancing around a stage.
Suddenly, his stomach hurt again.
Chapter Seven
Blood on the Stage
The lights above the stage flickered to life with a high electric whine. Expecting a full room, Telly had ordered Karl and Gooty to push the benches back along the edges, leaving a broad open space in front of the stage.
“Gonna pack the rubes in tight,” he said by way of explanation. “See if we can get the whole town in here.”
“Why? They ain’t buying tickets,” Gooty said.
“Better energy, Goot. Better energy.”
Everything in the tent gleamed a strange yellow in the unnatural light. Annabelle was onstage, setting up her spinning plate act, inserting long wooden poles into evenly spaced openings in a metal stand. Cakey paced in the background, his gloved hands clenched into fists and his eyes shut.
“Sun’s almost behind the trees,” Telly said from the tent flap. “Karl, go put your face on.”
Karl gave a last kick to one of the benches to knock it into place, then nodded and headed out of the tent. The others were ready. Annabelle in her frilly silver pants and blouse, white face, small crimson lips painted over her real lips. Telly in his coat and tails, top hat firmly in place, black circle around his mouth, triangles under his eyes. Cakey had never bothered to remove his make-up or costume, but he had done a bit of work on the orange wig, fluffing it up and combing out the knots. As for Gooty, his only concession to costuming was a red and silver jacket with the words Klown Kroo stenciled on the back.
Karl returned after a few minutes, his make-up applied so thickly, it dripped in clumps down his cheeks and neck. A white face with two little dots of blue under each eye and a smile drawn crookedly in blood red beneath the big, bushy moustache. He was pulling on gloves as he entered.
“People gathering at the entrance to the campground,” he said as he walked toward the stage.
“Alright,” Telly said, anxiously tapping his shillelagh on the ground. “Ladies and gentlemen, get backstage. David, you stay out here and observe. Blend into the crowd, if you can.”
“Okay,” David said, looking around nervously. He wandered over to a bench in the corner and sat down.
The others headed backstage. A blue curtain of heavy felt hung from a wooden framework down the middle of the stage. Karl pulled it shut behind him. Telly remained at the tent flap, gazing outside. David could hear the people now, distant voices and the shuffling of feet, and a little needle of queasiness worked its way through his guts.
Telly leaned outside and began calling to them. “Come one, come all! It’s the one and only Klown Kroo! We’ve got chills and thrills and spills, derring-do and belly laughs. Come on down, folks, don’t miss it! There’s room for everybody! Fun for all ages! The one and only Klown Kroo!”
David heard the crowd getting closer, saw shadows passing along the crack at the bottom of the tent. The setting sun cast everything outside in shades of dark red. He had seen the show before, of course, but being part of it, even if he was only observing, made it feel different, magnitudes different. As the first of the locals slipped past Telly into the harshly-lit interior of the tent, it felt like enemies entering the camp. That made no sense. This was their audience, their paying customers, yet there was some vague sense of hostility as they began filling the space in front of the stage, glancing around, wide-eyed. David slid to the end of his bench where the shadows were deepest and hunkered down.
“Come one, come all,” Telly shouted again, beckoning people into the tent with the shillelagh. It did not escape David’s notice that he was beckoning the people with a weapon. “The show is just about to begin! Come one, come all!”
The locals mostly avoided the benches, filling the open space and packing in tight. A sea of strange faces, that’s what they were to David, bleary-eyed yokels with ill-fitting clothes and ugly features. The women had long hair, largely unadorned except by the occasional handkerchief or bit of rag. The men were unshaved and dirty, and the children all seemed scared, eyes peeking out from behind the adults. David counted at least twenty sick people, glistening, scabby heads and patchy hair, but there could have been more—many heads were covered. Still he’d never seen so many sick in one place. Hess was among them, holding his hat in his hands. The crooked purple scab on his bald head shone out under the bright lights like a grim but deliberate decoration.
They kept coming, squeezing past Telly in single file, men and women and children—David noted a curious lack of elderly—until the press of the crowd became uncomfortable, forcing David to stand up. Even then, the air grew stuffy, and the bodies forced him against the canvas. The air reeked of stale sweat, bad breath, farts and sickness.
Telly worked his way through the crowd and climbed the stage. He doffed his hat and bowed to scattered applause, then tapped his shillelagh loudly on the stage and gestured toward the curtain.
“Ladies and gentlemen of West Fork,” he said, his tinny voice finding just the right frequency to strain the ear. “We welcome you to tonight’s performance of the one and only Klown Kroo. What you’re going to see tonight is very real. The danger is real. I ask only that you keep off the stage, and, parents, keep your children close at hand.”
At this, there were murmurs in the crowd and questioning looks. David wrapped his arms around his torso and clenched his teeth. He had no easy escape, no safe place to vomit.
“Tonight we will defy gravity, sanity and mortality,” Telly said, thrusting the shillelagh up over his head. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Bubbles the Clown!”
And with that, he swept to one side of the stage, and the curtain parted. Again there was scattered applause and a few barks and whistles. Bubbles stood center stage, a stack of ceramic plates in her right hand. She curtseyed, the forefinger of her free hand touching the tip of her chin, and that earned her another round of faint applause. Then she stepped up to the row of poles, swung her arm and popped one of plates up into the air. It landed on top of the leftmost pole. She quickly reached up with her other hand to steady it, then set it to spinning. As it spun, it wobbled slightly, and the pole did a little shimmy back and forth.
David realized he was holding his breath and let it out between his teeth. Inwardly, he was thinking of the absolute horror of being onstage himself with all of these eyes staring back. How would he ever manage it without passing out?
Bubbles got two of the plates spinning, then stepped back and did a graceful pirouette. A few people in the audience whistled appreciatively. At least, David assumed it was appreciation. As she finished the pirouette, the first plate was close to falling. She made a graceful hop toward it, got it spinning again and moved down the line. She set a third plate to spinning, then a fourth. David saw Hess lean over to a woman beside him and whisper something in her ear. The woman smiled at him, showing blackened gums.
Bubbles now produced a short wooden rod from behind her back, stuck one end of it between her teeth and set the last plate spinning on top. Then she did another little curtsey. It was an impressive feat, but it got less applause. She was not winning over the crowd. At best, they were mildly amused. Telly stepped out front, gesturing with the shillelagh.
“Isn’t she great, folks?” he said. Fishing for more applause, but he didn’t get it.
That was also the cue for Karl, as Touches, to wander onstage. He came stumbling out like a drunk, his arms thrust out in front of him. Bubbles pretended not to see him, as he walked right into her and gave her a shove. The plate and rod flew out of her mouth, but she caught them both in one hand and spun away. This got more audience response than anything yet, gasps and giggles and a hearty chuckle from Hess. Other plates were falling now, and Bubbles rushed to catch them. Two in one hand, one in the other, one on the end of her shoe. Touches stumbled after her as she retrieved the plates and attempted to set them spinning again. Back and forth they went in ever-increasing absurdity, Bubbles never missing a beat, catching each plate as it fell and setting it right. A low buzz of excitement was building in the crowd.
The interplay between Bubbles and Touches went on for a while. David had seen the act before, but he was more impressed now, particularly by Touches, who showed a remarkable spry energy for someone who was cut like a marble slab. They had the crowd in the palms of their hands. Eyes were wide and mouths op
en, children jumping up and down and laughing. Hess scratched idly at his head, jagged fingernails producing fresh scrapes, but he was grinning from ear to ear.
And then Cakey made his entrance. He stormed through the back curtain, his oversized shoes clomping on the wood boards. This caused all the plates to fall at once. Bubbles caught two in one hand, a third in the other. But the fourth plate fell and looked like it would shatter. The crowd gasped. Then Touches dove, flipped onto his back and caught the plate between his teeth. Gasps gave way to the first rousing applause. Touches rose and bowed. Bubbles curtseyed. David found himself clapping as well, then grew self conscious and stopped. Was it proper to applaud now that he was part of the show? He didn’t know, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back.
Cakey stopped center stage, hands on hips, and glanced from Touches to Bubbles and back, an exaggerated grimace on his face that could be read even through the make-up. Then he walked over to Touches and tapped him on the shoulder. Touches turned, and Cakey snatched the plate out of his mouth, tossing it over his shoulder. Bubbles leaned to one side and caught it between two other plates. Touches smiled and pointed at her, but Cakey ignored him. He balled up a fist and thumped Touches on top of the head. It was a stage hit, pulled at the last second to avoid causing any real pain, and Cakey stomped a foot at the moment of impact to make it sound worse than it was. But Touches rolled his eyes in mock agony and went down to his knees.
David laughed without realizing it and was surprised to hear his soft laughter boom out over the crowd. They had grown deathly still. Every eye was on Cakey. Smiles gone, eyes narrowed, children pressing themselves against their parents.
Touches hopped to his feet, and Cakey socked him right back down. Someone in the crowd moaned. Bubbles glanced at the rubes, and David could read the anxiety on her face. For some reason, they were losing the audience. Cakey grabbed Touches by the collar and pretended to toss him across the stage, though it was mostly Karl’s own strength that propelled him. He stumbled, fell, and rolled right into Bubbles, knocking her feet out from under her. She went down on her butt but somehow kept hold of the plates, though they clinked and clanked. Touches bounded up and, with a sly wink, reached down to help her up. She refused the help and leapt nimbly to her feet. Touches shrugged, spun and came at Cakey in mock outrage. This began a long sequence of back and forth between the two of them, an acrobatic routine comprised mostly of Cakey abusing Touches with slaps, kicks and pulled punches. It was an impressive bit of comedic choreography, but it played mostly to dead silence. The crowd clearly did not enjoy the apparent bullying of Touches.
Shadows of Tockland Page 7
