The Howling Man

by Beaumont, Charles

  Tentatively, his fingers made an invisible coin vanish: he leaned back and thought now of the children. Of their fresh faces and their wide wondering eyes. In a while his pipe died, but he did not notice .

  Then dawn came, slowly, spilling its cold light over the desert. Leather-toned dust had mounded up around the wagon wheels and the still sleeping mules, high, as if the rig were some forgotten tomb unburied for an hour. Dr. Silk blinked crusted eyelids and wondered whether he'd actually dozed off. It didn't seem so. But, in any case, he felt just fine.

  "Obadiah!" It was very early. Far ahead and low he could see the moon, waferthin, unreal, ready to wink instantly out. And it was deaf-quiet. "Obadiah!" He knocked the pain out of his bones and moved up the steps. "You aim to sleep all day?"

  The old Negro's eyes came open; a sheen of silver covered his face. "Morning," he said, uncertainly.

  "Morning. How about some breakfast?"

  "You want breakfast?" A glass of applejack usually sufficed for Dr. Silk. He disliked soft foods and was fearful of anything that might cause further damage to his already chipped and cracking plates.

  "Of course! Coffee, and beans, and maybe a couple biscuits."

  "Yes, sir. Biscuits." Obadiah dressed quickly, and began to rummage. "We must be getting close."

  "If we move," Dr. Silk said, "we ought to reach Two Forks by late afternoon: three, four o'clock, the way I see it."

  "How about the medicine?" Obadiah gestured toward the rows of empty bottles strapped to the wall. They were labeled: DOCTOR SILK'S WONDEROL--A SOOTHING REMEDY FOR HEADACHE, STOMACH CRAMPS, QUINSY, DIZZINESS & OTHER AILMENTS.

  "Well, I'll mix up a batch pretty soon."

  The Negro paused. "Didn't we sell an awful lot to the people last time we was to Two Forks?"

  "We did indeed," Dr. Silk said. He frowned. "Obadiah, how many times have I got to tell you? There's nothing whatsoever harmful in Wonderol. If the folks think it'll cure them, it's got just as good as chance as anything else."

  "Yes, sir." Obadiah tottered down the steps. "But one of these here fine days," he muttered, "we going to be running around all covered with a lot of tar and feathers, you see . . ."

  Dr. Silk laughed. He walked over to the large brassbound trunk that sat in the corner and pulled up the lid.

  He began to remove things.

  Colored squares of cloth came out first, transparent, weightless as gauze. These he transferred to a smaller box. Then serpentines uncoiled from the trunk; and bright gold hoops came out; and decks of cards and rubber bottles and disembodied hands and a stringless banjo that could make sweet music. Wonder followed wonder. The knife that was sharp enough to slice through wire but could not even scratch a child's soft flesh; Black Ben, the wooden bandit who could speak and sometimes did, if you asked him to, politely; the rose bush that grew on the head of a walking stick-- all the miracles of Pandora's box, and more, one after another, carefully sorted and placed and made ready.

  When he had finished here, Dr. Silk got a stiff brush and went to work on the black suit that hung from a hook. Dust flew and the old man cursed and then it was time for breakfast.

  "Hitch up the mules, Obadiah!"

  "But you ain't et."

  "I'll eat on the way. Hitch 'em up!"

  And they traveled, then, groaning and rattling, over the flour-soft desert. Dr. Silk fussed with his food and filled the Wonderol bottles and fussed some more; at last he could wait no longer.

  He stripped off the dirty woollen trousers and checkered shirt. He stood before the jouncing mirror. He waxed his mustaches until they were as sharp and wicked and hard as scimitars.

  "Easy, Obadiah, dammit. Easy!"

  He climbed into the tight black suit. He put on the brocade vest, a dazzle of mossgreen.

  He looked again into the mirror. Well, there you are, Doctor, and who says you aren't handsome--and sighed.

  Then, sitting up so as not to wrinkle the suit, bracing himself against the wagon wall, he fell fast asleep.

  ". . . the Magic Man! The Magic Man!"

  "Where?"

  "Right there, comin' down the street, can't you see?"

  "It is, it's him--he's back!"

  "Hey, Ma, look! Dr. Silk!"

  Drowsing elders leaned forward on torn cane-backed chairs; large women turned their heads and tried to hold onto their children; all over, people came out of doors and peered through windows and stopped what they were doing.

  "By God, here we go again!"

  And suddenly the street was a tumult of dogs and children, yipping, yelling, running.

  "Come back here, James, you listening to me?"

  Everyone watched, as the familiar wagon grew larger. And thought: Has a whole year really passed? Has it?

  There was Obadiah, sitting erect, expressionless, a dark gentleman with tight white hair, looking exactly as he'd looked the first time; and Dr. Silk--a monarch, an Eastern potentate, a devil and a god--smiling mysteriously at the running people.

  "Hi, when's it gonna be?" a young girl cried.

  And the others: "When's the show?" "You gonna do magic for us?" "Tonight--it'll be tonight, won't it?"

  Dr. Silk smiled and waited until they had crossed the town and reached the open edge; then he nodded to Obadiah and Obadiah squealed the brake blocks and scrambled down, arms filled with cardboard posters.

  "Let me take a look at one of them things." One of the men in the gathering crowd came forward.

  "What's it say, Mr. Fritch?"

  "Tonight," the man read aloud, "at eight o'clock. Says we're all invited to attend a show given by the world's greatest--God Almighty, what's that?"

  "Prestidigitator," Dr. Silk supplied. "Magician."

  The man scowled, and continued. "Wonders-performed-never-before-seen-by-the-human-eye. All-new. Watch-miracles-as-they-happen. See-the-enchanted-rose-bush. See-rabbits-appear-out-of-empty-air. See-the-great-card-mystery--" The man stopped reading. "Tonight?"

  "Tonight. Eight sharp."

  "Hiii!" The children began to swarm over the wagon, like mad puppies.

  A boy whose face was a violent explosion of brown freckles climbed up and hollered: "Hey, where you been?"

  "Traveling, son."

  "Like where, for instance?"

  Dr. Silk jumped down and started to talk. The crowd parted and formed an aisle; grown-ups mumbled excitedly, striding off, while the children went with the Magic Man--the older, and braver, ones, those who remembered last year, by his side; the younger ones following timidly behind. Obadiah remained. When the posters were all up, he would construct the stages, in secret.

  "Traveling like where?"

  "Oh," Dr. Silk said, casually but loudly enough for all to hear, "like China."

  "China!"

  "And Paris-France, and London."

  "Really?"

  "How about Egypt?" called a voice from the rear: a thin, awkward child, too excited to blush.

  "By all means," Dr. Silk laughed. "You don't think I'd miss Egypt, do you?"

  "And Germany--was you there?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "Bet you never went to Africky, with all the cannibals!"

  "Now that's where you're wrong, young man. Some of my best friends happen to be cannibals."

  "Is your man a cannibal?"

  "Obadiah? Well . . ." Dr. Silk stopped, suddenly. "I wouldn't want this to get around, but--" He stopped and turned his head in all directions, while the children held their breath. "Can you all keep a secret?"

  Dozens of small heads went up and down, solemnly.

  "Well, that man of mine used to be--No; I'd better not tell you."

  "Tell us!"

  "No. You'd get scared and run home. You'd tell your daddies and then they wouldn't let you come to the show."

  "No sir! We wouldn't say a word."

  A boy not much larger than a prairie dog tugged at Dr. Silk's black trousers, and said, in a high squeaky voice:

  "Honest to God!"

  The Magic Man
sighed, and squatted. He put his arms around nearby slender shoulders. "All right. Now you understand, I wouldn't tell nobody else but you. Well, sir, that old man of mine used to be the wildest, fiercest cannibal on the whole Sandwich Island."

  "The Sandwich Island? Where's that at?"

  "Why, boy, don't they teach geography in the schools any more? That's in Darkest Africa, right near the Indian Ocean."

  "Oh."

  "We were just passing through, you see, when all of a sudden, our ship was attacked by head-hunters. It was something, all right. Anyone here present ever been attacked by head-hunters?"

  No one said a word.

  "Seven foot tall they was and blacker than the ace of spades, and ugly? Enough to make a body wake up in the cold sweats of a night. They'd all snuck on board without making a sound, and bust in on us. We didn't have a chance. Them devils had special swords that would slice through a stair-rail in one swipe, while we had our fists and that's all. Plus being outnumbered eleven to one. People, I'm not ashamed to say that I was nervous. Everywhere I looked, heads were flying off from folks I'd been chatting with only a few minutes before. I heard the captain start to yell, 'Git back, ye no-good heathens'--but he never finished what he was going to say, because one of the head-hunters had creeped up and lopped off his head clean as a whistle. Having no weapon, I caught it on the fly--"

  "You caught what on the fly, Dr. Silk?" a voice quavered.

  "The captain's head. Got it by the hair, you see, and started to swing. Luckily Captain Ruyker was a Dutchman, and it's a known fact that Dutchmen have heads as hard as rock. We clouted our way through six or seven of the devils, the captain and me--knocked 'em galley west--but then, when I got to the rail, I seen it was no use. I was a goner. You all know what a crocodile is?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, that ocean was just crawling with crocs. I couldn't jump in and swim for it or I'd be et in two minutes. And I couldn't turn back, either, because there they was, madder than hornets, them head-hunters, coming at me with their swords. Either way I was due to be somebody's dinner."

  A girl in a gingham dress whispered: "Why didn't you use your magic?"

  Dr. Silk shook his head. "That wouldn't have been fair," he said. "Would it?"

  "I guess not," the girl sighed.

  Dr. Silk straightened up, careful not to groan. A boy with round eyes and pale cheeks said: "What'd you do then?"

  "Well, between crocodiles and cannibals, a smart man will always pick cannibals. That's what I did, too. 'Come on,' I told them. 'I'll fight you by twos or by threes!' But they didn't listen. Just kept coming. Then when I closed my eyes and could almost feel that blade zipping through my neck, they surprised me. Picked me up bodily and threw me in a canoe and we paddled down the Amazon to this here place, the Sandwich Island. That's where they all lived, you see. Well, I got there and in two shakes those head-hunters had me in this pot--great big old pot, like a kettle, rusty, made of iron. My hands was tied, so I couldn't do nothing but watch while they poured in the water and threw in some apples, bunches of carrots, and about ten heads of lettuce -

  "What were they aiming to do, Dr. Silk?"

  "That's a silly question, boy." Dr. Silk's voice sank to a dreadful murmur. "They were aiming to cook me alive."

  A girl put her hands to her lips. Some of the older boys giggled nervously and fell silent again.

  Now they were all walking. The grown-ups on the porches didn't bother them because they knew Dr. Silk and they knew what he meant to the children. Secretly, a lot of them wished they could join the crowd and listen to the wonderful stories; but, of course, that would not be fitting.

  Passing the Two Forks Feed and Grain Store, mincing along, barely moving at all, Dr. Silk and his parade made those with book learning think of the Pied Piper of Hamelin...

  "What happened then, sir?"

  "Well, you might know that along about now I was beginning to feel pretty low. The flames was crackling and the water was boiling and those seven-foot black demons sat hunched down on their hams, waiting. Just--waiting."

  "Did you holler?"

  "Wouldn't do no good. Who'd hear me?"

  "Goddy."

  "I began to sweat some then, and I could see myself all decked out on the table with an apple stuck in my mouth, when there came this eerie kind of scream. Like this"--Dr. Silk cupped his hands around his mouth and emitted a low cry, something like an owl, something like a coyote--"Owoooo! 'What's that?' I said, but they just looked sad and wouldn't answer. Then I saw over across the island, by the water, was a great big castle made out of colored rocks."

  "That's where the noise was coming from?"

  "Right. And it wouldn't stop, either. Owooo! Owooo! Sent the cold shivers down my spine. But I seen there was no sense in my worrying about that--not with the water bubbling and boiling all around me like a stew. Finally there was nothing else left to do, except . . ."

  "You magicked them!"

  "Only a little. I said the magic words that made the ropes around my hands and feet vanish and in a second I was out of the pot. Say, I want you to know that I did some running then! Dripping carrots and lettuce and what-all, I kept about two feet ahead. Anyone here ever try to dodge a spear while they were running?"

  No one ever had.

  "It wasn't easy. I could feel them shafts whistling by my ears no more than an inch. Looked like I was done for, when one of the spears got into my shirt: it must of been tossed mighty hard, because it lifted me up off the ground and carried me right across the island like a bird. Probably would of dumped me smackdab in the ocean if I hadn't got off, too. But I did get off, and landed right at the door of the castle. Heard the screaming, then, louder than before, so I rushed in, slammed the door in the nick of time, and went to investigate."

  "Was it a haunted castle?"

  Dr. Silk frowned. "Boy, I could tell you it was haunted, but that would be a lie."

  "Just an ordinary castle?"

  "Ordinary as it could be, except for all the shrunk-up heads on the walls. Well, I went through a lot of corridors, and then sure enough, there, laying in state, was the king of Sandwich Island. It didn't take no more than a glance to see he was ailing with a rare tropical disease, the kind that makes your toes drop off. And holler? You'd of thought he was trying to call home a god. And there I was. It was my opportunity to run out the back way and escape to my freedom--but I couldn't do it."

  "Why not?" the freckled boy asked.

  "Because of the king. You never let a man die without trying to help, do you?"

  "But them head-hunters are gonna get you any second!"

  "It was a risk I had to take. Moving fast, I reached into my satchel and brought out a bottle of special medicine. I could hear the door splintering, so I cracked the neck of the glass on the wall and opened the king's mouth and poured her all in. And do you know what?"

  "What?"

  "By the time those cannibals busted in, their ruler was setting up, well as the day he was born. Of course, that changed their attitude in a hurry. They wanted to shake my hand, but I refused, after what they had done to Captain Ruyker and my friends on the boat. Still, they said, I had to be paid back. So the king thought a spell and finally decided to give me his son for a slave."

  "Obadiah?"

  "None other. He's been with me ever since, and a truer friend you couldn't ask."

  There was the sound of held-breath suddenly released.

  "Does he ever try to--" The girl in the gingham dress still looked terrified.

  Dr. Silk smiled. "It's only happened twice since that day in 1840. You may be sure I made him take back the heads and apologize. I don't think there's anything to worry about now."

  Down the street, coming out of a saloon, with his arms full of posters, Obadiah stopped and grinned, widely: a crescent of glittering white shone from the dusky face. He waved.

  The children shuddered.

  "Well," Dr. Silk said, "you kids run along now. I'll be seeing you ton
ight."

  "You got any new magic for us?"

  "Oh, lots of new magic, son. You wait."

  "We'll be there. We will."

  The dust snowed up around all the skinny wool-wrapped legs as the children broke and scattered and ran home to count the minutes.

  Dr. Silk chuckled, straightened his shoulders, and walked imperially to the Wild Silver Saloon. Its pleated batwings swung noiselessly inward, and back. He made his way to the stained oak bar and said, "Applejack, please," and began to dig for coins.

  The bartender set down the glass. "On the house," he said.

  "Thank you very much."

  "You're the magician." "I am."

  "I seen you last year when you was in Two Forks, and the year before that." The bartender was a huge man: clumped black hair covered his arms and head, the tops of his fingers, the top of his nose, like the pelt of a muddied coyote. It was strange to see such a man smile. Yet he smiled now, and Dr. Silk wondered for a moment how it would have been if Micah Jackson had just walked in instead of the Magic Man.

  "Putting on a show tonight, are you?"

  "Yes, indeed. I hope that you can come."

  "I'll do that," the bartender said, "if I can get me a substitute." He went over to a thin man at the end of the bar and Dr. Silk watched and listened and forgot that there lived a lonely, withered old man named Micah Jackson, too tired to care, too old to run, ready for death to catch up.

  The men in the bar had their eyes fastened on him. As they would if he were the President: more than that, though, more than mere respect. These were adults, some of them with years painted into their faces, tottering grandfathers; and still, were their eyes much different from children's, now? He studied their eyes in the big bar mirror.

  There was respect, yes; a little fear, perhaps; and love--certainly there was that, abundantly.

  Why? he wondered, as he always did. Was it because he was a man who could fool them with illusions? Only because he knew how to make pigeons fly out of an ordinary hat?