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Outside Mink introduced Cecil-Cecilia, “the single true half man-half woman on the northern American continent at this time.” The gentlemen who doubted his words could come back for a special viewing this evening. The ladies were not invited, of course.
Soon I heard the rattle and ching of money in the box, and the first of the townies chattered as they came into the tent, the men in white shirtsleeves with suspenders holding up their canvas pants, the women in summer calicoes. Every kind of straw hat imaginable graced their heads. They milled and exclaimed and pointed and laughed. Some ladies averted their eyes from the babies, and who could blame them? The tent filled up and still more entered, so I urged them on. “Step through, ladies and gentlemen,” I said, gesturing to the next section. “There are wonders, alive, on the inside.”
Finally, Dr. Mink ushered the last of this audience in. Outside, the burly Al Bonfiglio would put a silk rope across the entrance and post a time for the next show as a new audience gathered. Ceecee would mince about and give them something to wonder at while they waited, and Billy Sweet would run his mouse game to amuse and beggar those who played.
Mink led his audience through to the main tent, leaving a few curious stragglers behind with me.
“What is it?” asked a potato-nosed girl, peering in at the mummy.
I couldn’t resist. “An Egyptian princess who died three thousand years ago,” I said. “She was bound in bandages and placed in a desert tomb. She lay there for centuries until discovered by explorers last year.”
“So, what’s she doing here?” asked the astute Miss Potato Nose.
A scream saved me from having to answer.
The stragglers hurried through the curtain. I followed in time to see a couple of gentlemen help a lady with closed eyes to her feet while another lady fanned her with a hat. Moses Quick, the Frog Boy, squatted on his stool above her and watched. As soon as she opened her eyes, he popped his. She screamed and went down again. The audience roared with laughter.
I could see by Mink’s face that this hadn’t happened before, and I could see from Apollo’s face that he had engineered the incident. Good showmanship, I thought, and grinned. Mink wasn’t about to let the audience think he had lost control. He came to assist the lady and offered her a ticket to the next show for being a good sport. Once he saw her return with a few more paying guests, Apollo would be out of trouble.
Mink noticed me and waved me back to my post, so I took my seat by the mummy once more.
Was it real? I wondered again, looking at the leather-brown face and clawlike hand. And how had Mink come to possess such a thing if it was? By thievery, a voice inside of me suggested. My heart skipped a beat, for that didn’t quite feel like my voice. I laughed at myself. I suffered from the heat still, that was all. “If you were stolen,” I told the mummy, “you aren’t alone. There are children here who were taken from their parents. The adult performers can’t help—they depend upon Dr. Mink for their livelihood—and Mink has his roughs and his crooked lawmen. What am I supposed to do?”
Why did I talk to this thing as if it were alive? The petite form lay rigid, but even so, the delicately crossed arms and the curve of the tightly bound hips exuded an innate feminine presence.
“Perhaps you were a princess,” I said. “Fed on honey and figs. Dressed in the finest linen. Cooled by peacock fans. How rude of someone to peel back your bandages and expose you to the world.”
Barks and growls came from the tent next door, then titters from the audience. Apollo’s mother would be mortified. She would much prefer he use his beautiful voice for singing.
I half dozed in the stuffy tent as I listened to the questions from the audience, answered by Miss Lightfoot’s gentle explanations of her alligator skin or the gruff replies of Bess about the care of her beard. Earle Johnson, the fat man, revealed his weight and listed the items in his daily menu—I’m sure he exaggerated—and our giant gave his height at various ages and told his shoe size. He sounded quite disinterested, but giants were never known for their showmanship. I didn’t hear Mr. Bopp speak, which I deemed wise, considering the blunt nature of the caterpillar man.
It was very hot. A bee buzzed close by on the other side of the canvas, the smell of warm hay wrapped me in a delicious cocoon, my eyes closed.
I faced a stone wall built to the scale of giants. The sun beat on my back, and the pale rock reflected shimmering light into my face, almost blinding me. The dry air scorched my lungs. Water splashed somewhere far behind me, and large birds cried. Something lay beyond the wall that I had to reach, something I yearned for with all my being, something lost I would never have again. I stood, near tears and in misery.
I raised my hand to caress the stone with longing and felt a shock from palm to shoulder. The bones within my hand lit up and faded again, and a thunderous crack came at once from the wall and from inside me. The stone crumbled to dust at my feet and left a cavernous hole. Foul smells drenched me but were gone in moments, as if evil, banished, fled past on carrion wings.
I dete
cted movement in the depths within, and my heart beat in my throat.
Slowly a figure walked from the shadows into a pool of light. Sunshine traveled up the form like dawn ascending an obelisk. First small bare feet were revealed, exquisitely shaped, then robed limbs. Finally only the face remained hidden by shadow, and I saw she was a woman wrapped in filmy gauze that accentuated voluptuous curves—no, the woman, for all others were as nothing compared with her. The white of her attire set off the tawny color of her rounded arms and delicate hands. The scent of sandalwood drifted on the newly arisen breeze. My breath was held hostage in my chest; I dared not exhale.
She took another step, and the veil of darkness lifted entirely. She tossed back a glistening torrent of inky hair and raised a languid hand to shield her eyes from the sun, but the sun should have shielded itself from her glory, for her face was a hymn of praise.
Joy shot from my breast like a homing bird. It was my love, who had been torn from me. It was my love returned.
“I have waited for you,” she said in a voice made of hot, liquid honey, “and now you are here.”
I jolted awake. Someone tugged my arm.
“You won’t be bored for the next show,” Apollo said, “I’m improving the act. Come help.”
I blinked stupidly until foolish disappointment set in. I had half expected to see a beautiful foreign lady happy to see me.
The audience had left, and Dr. Mink strutted once more outside, drumming up another. I accompanied Apollo into the next tent, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Why did I always wake up at the good part? I was doomed to stay innocent even in my sleep. Apollo’s improvements soon dispelled my dream, however.
First Willie the Piebald Boy demonstrated some very wobbly tumbles and somersaults, then Bertha the Bear did a little dance on all fours as she hummed “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” It appeared rather ungainly but had a certain charm.
