by E. B. Huffer
And then she noticed the mirrors. There were hundreds of them, covering just about every inch of space in the room. No two mirrors were the same size or shape and each one was beautifully crafted. There were hanging mirrors attached to the ceiling, the doors and all four walls. There were hand held mirrors on every surface and in every drawer.
Slowly, shakily Margie eased herself off the gigantic bed and shuffled over to the wardrobe. Inside she found the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. It was a simple blue coat-dress pinched in at the waist with long buttoned sleeves and a calf-length bell-shaped skirt. Margie couldn't help pulling the dress towards her and admiring how it looked in one of the many mirrors. And then she noticed her reflection. Was that really her? Margie released the dress and leaned in closer to study her reflection in more detail. She looked pale, thin and ill and her original white dress hung off her in rags. Margie felt sad and ashamed.
She pinched her cheeks to rouse some colour, tidied her hair then shuffled over to the window and peered outside. Margie was shocked by the hive of activity that she saw. Compared to Limbuss, where everything felt half-asleep, it was pandemonium. The market extended as far as the eye could see in every direction, along narrow twisting alley ways, crammed full of people frantically buying and selling. Very quickly Margie realised that this wasn't just an ordinary market.
Everyone seemed perfectly presented, their clothes were exquisite. The women in particular looked as if they were dressed for court. Their dresses, although beautiful and ornate, seemed overly exaggerated. Collars, cuffs, buttons and petticoats seemed excessively embellished (almost desperate) and the larger-than-life bustles were almost obscene. Everything was exaggerated: the women wore thick layers of white paint on their faces and great circles of rouge on their cheeks and their poufed hair was so primped and festooned with feathers, beads and ribbons that their heads wobbled under the weight.
The men’s attire was no different. Margie was sure she had never, in all her life, seen anything like the gold-embroidered knickerbockers they wore.
Everywhere she looked, in every direction, people were fighting over items like hyenas. Others seemed in a hurry to buy as much as they could physically carry, barely even looking at what they were purchasing.
The Giant returned a short time later with a large flagon of milk.
"Giant," asked Margie. "How can we afford to stay in a room like this?"
The Giant looked surprised and confused. "It were the cheapest they had."
"Even so, it's a very nice room. It must have cost you quite a lot."
The Giant shifted uncomfortably. "I got me some money."
"How?"
"Nothing in particular," he replied shaking his head dismissively. He pointed the empty flagon. " My, you was thirsty."
"Giant," gasped Margie, "You joined the circus didn't you!"
The Giant's rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs anxiously and his eyes welled up. "I didn' mean to. It jus' happened!"
"Giant," soothed Margie. "It's okay, really. I just think we should find somewhere cheaper, that's all!"
"Margie," said The Giant for the second time, "this is the cheapest room in Avaricia."
The rest of the day passed slowly. Feeling much better, Margie ate a feast of bread, fish, eggs and bacon. She had forgotten how nice it tasted to eat; it had been such a long time since anything other than water or milk had passed her lips. She quickly regretted eating such a mountain of food when her stomach bloated to twice its normal size. As she lay on the bed groaning from the pain, she noticed that The Giant was pacing.
"Are you okay, Giant?" she asked suspiciously, "You seem nervous?"
The Giant stopped in front of the wardrobe then turned to face Margie as though he was about to make an important announcement.
"There's a dress in the wardrobe. "
"I saw it. It's beautiful."
"It's for you."
Forgetting the pain in her bloated belly, Margie leapt up. "Really? For me?"
The Giant grinned a grin that cut his face in two.
"To keep?"
The Giant nodded.
"Everyone is dressed so nice here. I didn't want you to feel left out."
"Well," said Margie with a glint in her eye, "Spider Beast did tell us to keep a low profile. It wouldn't do for us to stand out in the crowd now, would it!"
"Plus you was beginning to smell."
Margie laughed. "It was a bit hot crossing that desert you know. I was never going to smell like roses after that."
Margie bathed and changed and when she stood before The Giant, he was speechless.
"So what do you think?"
The Giant opened his mouth but no words came out.
"I love it. Thank you !" she cried, throwing her arms round a very awkward and embarrassed Giant.
Later that evening, the two of them wandered round the market square. The noise was deafening. And what had seemed like excess to Margie from the distance of the bedroom window was thoroughly grotesque up close.
"Why does everyone look so serious," whispered Margie. "Why isn't anyone smiling?"
The Giant shrugged. "They're slaves."
"They don't look like slaves to me," exclaimed Margie. "Look at them."
"I'm just saying what I've heard others say."
Margie stopped and looked in one of the street mirrors. "I can't see your face!" she said, tilting her head. "You're too tall."
"Ain't such a bad thing really," replied The Giant. "With my face I'd be cracking them all."
Margie laughed but inside she suddenly felt quite miserable. The young woman looking back at her from the mirror looked grey and dull compared to all the colourful, dynamic people that milled around her.
No sooner had the thought popped into her head than an older lady approached her. Despite her mature years, the woman's gown left her shoulders bare and plunged low between her breasts. Her hair was coiffed so high that Margie couldn't begin to imagine how it stayed up and she was wearing so much perfume that Margie's eyes watered and she struggled to breathe.
"Such a pretty lady." said the women pawing at her like she was on sale in some market."Shame about the dress. Why, you could be the most beautiful girl in all of Avaricia with the right amount of attention. A little touch up here and there." The strange woman reached out and clasped Margie's hands in her own. "Why don't you come with me," she said. "I have more lotions, powders and ointments than you could ever imagine. I can make you beautiful forever. Did you ever imagine? Never a wrinkle or a pimple!"
Margie pulled her hands away. "Why would you do that for me?" she asked startled by - and somewhat suspicious of - the woman's generosity.
"I know what it's like to be new to Avaricia," said the woman. "There's nothing worse than being a tenderfoot. I'm just returning the kindness that was bestowed upon me when I first arrived."
"Don't do it," whispered The Giant urgently. "Don't listen to her."
"You shut up," snapped the woman, "you would have her walking round Avaricia looking like this!" She handed Margie a small looking glass and when Margie looked at her reflection she was horrified to see that the woman was right. She did look terrible. In fact, she looked far worse now than she had a few hours earlier."
"So what do you say?" asked the woman in a fever of anticipation.
"Yes," she replied glancing sheepishly at The Giant. "I will come with you. Thank you."
The Giant, who was too tall to see his own reflection anywhere in Avaricia was the only person who could see the truth; that the repulsive reflection Margie saw in the small mirror bore no resemblance to the beautiful reflection he could see.
"Please don't go!" he begged. But it was too late. Margie had already disappeared into the darkness with the stranger.
For weeks, The Giant waited for Margie to return. By day he worked at the Circus to cover their board. By night he waited by the window, watching the poor tortured souls of Avaricia chasing their own tails in pursuit of phys
ical and sartorial perfection. Despite having more than they would every need, they could only see what they didn't have. They would feel nothing but the pain of 'needing' and 'wanting' and 'coveting' for as long as they remained there.
He thought about his beautiful twins and how their bodies had been deemed to be freaks of nature. Oh how they would have laughed at the grotesque people that walked the streets of Avaricia. He missed them dreadfully and prayed that Margie hadn't come to any harm.
It was one evening when Giant was feeling particularly low, that Margie returned with the older woman in tow. At first, The Giant barely recognised Margie who looked nothing less than a hideously overdressed and over-groomed doll. Instead of the simple blue coat-dress that he had bought her, she now wore a sumptuous blue gown brocaded in elaborate silver peacocks. The skirt, which opened at the front, exposed a quilted ivory petticoat, beneath which he could just about see a pair of exquisitely embroidered shoes. Her face was plastered with thick layers of paint and her hair, which had been tousled and twisted into a giant pouf, was gushing with bows and feathers.
Margie didn't smile (it later transpired that she couldn't on account of her makeup which had a tendency to crack). The Giant, overwhelmed to see Margie safe and well at last, flew out of his chair and, lifted Margie off the floor in a colossal bear hug. "I ain't half missed you!" he cried.
Far from embracing The Giant, however, Margie struggled violently then slapped him square on the face. Shocked The Giant dropped Margie to the floor and placed his hand on his stinging cheek. "What were that for?" he asked.
Margie dusted down her dress and poked desperately at her hair. "It took me ages to get ready!" she snapped.
"Not as long as it took me to get ready," insisted the older lady. "My gown has more buttons than any other dress in Avaricia."
"Giant," announced Margie, paying no attention to his obvious distress. "This is my friend, Teresa. Do you remember her?"
The Giant nodded. Like Margie, Teresa was a vision of excess. And although she appeared to smile at The Giant, her glazed eyes were in fact focused on the mirror behind him.
"How can I forget," he replied glumly.
"My hair was styled by the greatest coiffure in Avaricia," said Teresa.
"My dress was made by the greatest seamstress in Avaricia," said Margie.
"The ribbons on my dress are made entirely from gold."
"Mine are made entirely from spider silk."
"The buttons on my dress are made from mother of pearl."
"Mine are made of black diamonds."
Teresa scowled at Margie's dress then forced a smile. "Have you seen my shoes? They're so in vogue. I love them! They'll be totally outdated by tomorrow of course."
"I love your shoes"
"And my nails. They're not real. They're synthetic. I do love a bit of synthetic, don't you?"
"I do," said Margie.
"You know, your friend really doesn't say much does he?" said Teresa nodding in the direction of The Giant. And before The Giant could defend himself, she was off again. "You know it's rude not to compliment a lady on her beauty."
The Giant looked at Margie. "I've told her a million times how beautiful she is."
"Well thank you Giant," said Margie.
Teresa sighed. "Well you would say that wouldn't you. What with you being her servant an' all."
Margie blushed crimson.
"That's correct isn't it, Margie?"
Margie shifted uncomfortably. "That's not exactly what I said."
Margie turned to The Giant. "Giant," she started ...
"Mistress," interrupted The Giant, "if it's okay with you, I would like to retire for the night."
Margie remained silent for the longest time. Then she hung her head. "Yes, you may."
The two locked eyes for a moment before The Giant exited the room.
The following evening The Giant returned home from the circus with a large, heavy bag. The older woman had gone and Margie was sitting at the dressing table staring at herself in the mirror. Desperately she rubbed and pinched her cheeks, tousled her hair and pouted her lips. But the harder she tried, the more frustrated she became.
"Look at me," cried Margie. "Just look at me. I look like a wretched old woman."
What The Giant saw when he looked at Margie was a young woman overburdened with hair, makeup, frills, ruffles and bows. She no longer resembled a real living person.
All that Margie could see in the mirror, however, was a deathly pale and hideous vision.
There was nothing The Giant could say. He knew that the reflection Margie could see bore no resemblance to the young woman who sat before him. Even though she no longer resembled the Margie he knew and loved; beneath veil of avarice and narcissism, she was still beautiful.
"Do you think we could stay here a few more days?" she asked The Giant earnestly. "Just a few more days and I'm sure I'll be as beautiful as everyone else. Say yes Giant. Please."
The Giant opened up his bag. "I brought something for you. It weren't easy for me to bring it here. It could of got me in a lot of trouble." As if to emphasize the point, he wandered over to the window, peered outside then drew the curtains sharply.
Margie cheered up instantly. "What is it?" she cried. "Is it something from the Circus?"
The Giant reached into his bag, pulled out a smallish wooden box and carefully placed it on the floor in front of Margie. Margie's eyes widened as she clapped her hands together excitedly. "Is it a pair of shoes?"
"It ain't no shoes," replied The Giant looking increasingly twitchy. "Go on, take the lid off."
Margie lifted the lid slowly, peering through the crack before lifting the lid off entirely.
"It's water," she said looking both bemused and disappointed.
"It's a special kind of water," insisted The Giant, sliding the box closer to Margie. "Look at it and you'll see why it ain't allowed in Avaricia."
Margie eyed The Giant suspiciously, then leaned forward slowly. Suddenly she froze with shock and confusion. In the water's reflection she could see that the room around her looked vastly different. The room, which moments earlier had been dripping with opulence, was now aged and faded. The Damask curtains were now worn threadbare and the furniture broken and peeling. And then there was her face.
Staring at her own reflection in the water, Margie eventually broke the silence. "It's awful," she cried, tears streaming down her face.
Margie had finally seen what The Giant had been seeing. Little had she known how grotesque she had become. Instantly she grabbed the bottom of her dress, dipped it in the water and started wiping away the layers and layers of makeup that made her look like a porcelain doll. Her hair, lacquered and back-combed and adorned with all manner of ornamental creatures was stripped down and her dress, which weighed almost the same as a grown man, was thrown out of the window. Standing before The Giant wrapped only in a blanket from the bed, Margie apologised.
"I can't believe that I didn't see it. I'm sorry Giant."
But The Giant was distracted. It had been a long time since he'd seen Margie's back and the sight of it shocked him. Her back was not only pale and death-like, but also covered in a fine layer of ice crystals.
"Where did you get the water from?" asked Margie trying to wriggle back into her old cotton dress without dropping the blanket and exposing too much of herself to The Giant.
"I uh ... Grandma Doyle gave it to me. She runs the circus." The Giant lowered his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. "She told me that all the mirrors are cursed. That's why water is banned. It's pure. And so is its reflection."
Margie, still clad in only the blanket, knelt before the water and studied her reflection again. "Those poor people," she cried suddenly understanding. "They are never going to find happiness are they? They are always going to feel the pain of longing for something they can never have. They only see what they don't have and not what they do."
The Giant swigged the water down in one great gulp the
n belched.
For once, Margie didn't laugh. "Take me away from here Giant."
"Now?"
"Now!"
The Giant wrapped a shawl around Margie's shoulders and smiled.
Le Cirque de L'extraordinaire
It was dark by the time they neared the circus. Of course, it wasn’t the kind of circus that you or I might think of. There was no red-and-white striped big top, no circus ring or clowns, no elephants or tigers. The circus The Giant belonged to was no more than an exhibition of freaks, monstrosities or marvels of nature. It was a Dark Carnival; a series of small curtained stages adorned with sensational billboards and pictures depicting all manner of grotesque spectacles: Welcome to the Hall of Ugliness; Witness the Greatest Deformities Within, Recoil with Horror; Be Repulsed; Chamber of Horror, Meet the Most Frightful Objects of Nature; Monster or Human, You Decide ...
These enclosed stages were beautifully ornate structures with exquisitely decorated exteriors and luxurious interiors. The outside of these structures were as much of an experience as the freak contained within. Beautifully painted scenes, which depicted far off lands, transported the waiting crowds to exotic far off realms or simply built the anticipation and fear.
From a distance Margie could see a large circle of small square structures which were decorated with fairy lights. These were the stages. Nearby she could see a circle of smaller structures. These were the wagons in which the freaks slept. Right now though, it appeared to be a hive of activity. Several of the wagons appeared to have small bonfires lit and she could hear music and the sound of happy chatter as she neared the camp. Some of her earlier fears began to dissipate as she followed The Giant along the path which was flaked either side by desert shrubs which, despite their giant thorns were alive with purple and yellow flowers.
How comforting, thought Margie, that something so pretty could survive in such an inhospitable place. The ground in which they grew was dry and seemingly hopeless, yet the plant wasn’t simply surviving, it was thriving.
"You have to understand," whispered The Giant as they neared, "these folks at the circus might look a bit 'culiar but they as normal and 'telligent as you an' me."
