I waren’t doing none of the kinds of laughing. I could see that if this started out being fun for Sammy, it sure was turning into something else.
Ma and Pa must be right ’bout what smoking does to a child, ’cause once his undershirt was off, we could see Sammy was right skinny and sickly-looking, and though standing in front of all these people without no kind of shirt on atall would have shamed me near to death, the conjurization was on him so strong that Sammy kept on doing it. But it did seem like his enthusiasm for the whole show was getting littler and littler.
He hugged his arms ’round hisself and started back to tiptoeing into Lake Erie. But Sammy gave a long pulled-out groan when the mesmerist and most the folks in the crowd moaned out, “Sam-u-well, Sam-u-well, Sam-u-well!”
A hoop and a holler came out of the crowd ’cause we were all pretty sure that even though Sammy’s trousers looked like old and worned-out dungarees to us, to the mesmerist they were gonna be some more of that fine Toronto silk that caint stand getting wet.
“Egads, boy! I’ve never seen such a privileged yet undeserving child. Your mother’s love for you knows no bounds! Silken trousers as well, can you believe it?”
This time the stupid-fied look left Sammy and afearedness and shaming took over. The red from his hair started leaking down onto the rest of his face. His ears started up glowing like hot pokers.
But he turned his back to the crowd and started unbuttoning those trousers!
He held up once they’re all unbuttoned, but the mesmerist had no mercy in him atall. He waved his cape and said, “Off with the silken trousers!”
Sammy gave a gulp so loud everyone in the tent heard it, then he let loose of his pants and they dropped right ’round his ankles.
The crowd sucked in air then got real quiet ’cept for one man who hollered out, “Shucks, if his dern ma loved him so dern much, you’d think she’d have bought the boy some kind of underdrawers, silk or not!”
The laughs and howls and hoots must have raised the roof of the tent five feet, all ’cause Sammy was naked as the day he was born. And he turned red as any cardinal I’d ever seen. I’d druther have got floated into the ceiling for two hours than to stand there like that for two seconds.
The mesmerist’s mouth flew open and he quick clopped Sammy in the head then pulled his cape ’round him and said, “The spell’s over, pull your pants up, you little chowder-head. Have you lost your blasted mind?”
After they rough-handed Sammy and booted him out of the tent, the conjurer mesmerized two or three other folks but waren’t a one of ’em nowhere near as interesting as Sammy.
It must’ve been getting near midnight when me and the Preacher left the tent and he said, “When we get to this next place just go along with everything I say, and fight that urge of yours to talk so much. Don’t open your mouth unless you’re spoken to.”
“Yes, sir.”
We walked a little ways into the woods and sat on a couple of stumps whilst folks cleared out of the carnival. Finally the Preacher said, “Let’s go. And remember, the less you say the better.”
Me and the Preacher wandered ’round the carnival for ’bout another hour. Then we walked back into the Atlas Clearing and headed for a tent where most of the carnival workers were sitting. A big, rough-looking white man with bright red hair stood up and put his hand on the Preacher’s chest and said, “Show’s over, boy. We’s pulling up stakes tonight and don’t need no more workers.”
The Preacher slapped the man’s hand off his chest and stood so his jacket was open and that mystery pistol was showing. He said, “I look like a boy to you? I’m not here about work. I’m looking for the owner. And if you put another hand on me you’ll be pulling back a bloody stump.”
The tall conjurer-man with the two sets of eyes jumped up and said, “Hold on a moment, Red. I own this carnival, sir. How may I help you?”
The Preacher pushed past the red-hair white man and said, “Sir, I just want to start by telling you what a wonderful carnival you have here.”
The conjurer reached his hand to the Preacher and said, “Why, thank you, sir. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?”
“I’m the Right Reverend Deacon Doctor Zephariah Connerly the Third. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Reverend Connerly, I am humbled to be in your presence. I am the lowly Charles Mondial Vaughn the Fourth, Knight Commander of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath. Knighted a mere fourteen years ago.”
The Preacher said, “I’m the one who’s humbled, sir. I’ve been to many such carnivals and have never seen anything that matches this one. You must be very proud.”
“Indeed, indeed. I’ve worked years to assemble this family.”
The Preacher said, “Which is why I wanted to speak with you.”
The conjurer took a long pull on his cigar and blowed the smoke to the side, then said, “And what may I do for you, sir?”
“It’s more what I can do for you.”
“I’m intrigued. Do tell.”
The Preacher pulled me from behind him and said, “Sir Charles, allow me to introduce the most amazing child ever to have lived in Buxton. Although he was born and reared in Africa, he has lived with me for these past four years. Maybe in your travels you’ve heard of the tribe he’s from, the Chochotes?”
Sir Charles said, “Can’t say that I have.”
“There’s a good reason you haven’t. Sad to say, little Ahbo here is the last surviving member.”
“Well, Reverend, that is indeed sad, but what does that have to do with my carnival?”
The Preacher commenced waving his arms, really warming into this tale he’s ’bout to spin. “The Chochotes were fierce warriors who hunted and even fished with nothing but stones. Stone throwing was a skill passed from generation to generation, and little Ahbo’s father, who was the king of the Chochotes, passed on the secrets of stone hunting and fishing to his son just before he was tragically murdered.”
The Preacher sounded so heart-busted about this that even I was getting sad for little Ahbo, and I knowed that he was me and that there waren’t probably gonna be a lick of truth in the whole story.
The conjurer said, “Pity that. But wait, do I understand you to be saying that this boy can catch a fish underwater? By throwing a stone?”
The Preacher said, “If only we were at a lake so he could show you.”
The conjurer winked at the big, rough, red-hair white man and said, “If he can do that, he must have an unusually keen eye. Could he, mayhap, demonstrate his skill some other way?”
“Of course he can. I watched your Madame Sabbar earlier tonight, and while she was most impressive, I didn’t see her doing anything little Ahbo couldn’t match.”
“No?”
“No. Perhaps we could go to her tent and show you.”
“Well, sir, we were actually preparing to break things down, but I think little Ahbo might provide an interesting, but brief, diversion.”
The Preacher, Sir Charles, and the other white man started walking toward the slingshot lady’s tent with me trailing behind.
The conjurer looked back at me and said loud and slow, “Do … you … speak … any … English?”
It was kind of hard to look at him with his two sets of eyes, but I said, “Why, yes, sir, and some Latin, and I can understand a little Greek.”
Oops! That must’ve been too much talking. The Preacher gave me a hard look then told the conjurer, “Plus, of course, he’s fluent in Chochote.”
One of the conjurer’s eyebrows raised up and he said, “Indeed? To my ear it sounds as if the boy is very Canadian.”
“That’s because not only is he the best stone flinger since David, he’s also uncommonly bright. He’s lived with me for only four years and he’s picked up the language and customs of Canada West so quickly it’s truly astounding.”
All the sudden a stranger boy came up ’longside of me and gave me some unpleasant looks. His hair was all matted up like a bi
rd’s nest and his clothes were so dirty that not even Cooter would’ve been caught dead in ’em.
He said, “Who you?”
I just ’bout said my name then remembered what Sammy had told me ’bout saying “Elijah” ’round here. I knowed the boy waren’t from Buxton and I was pretty sure he waren’t from Chatham but I couldn’t be total for certain. I thought it’d be best if I didn’t take no chances. He was littler than me so I said, “Why you want to know?”
He said, “Where y’all going?” He sounded American.
“Over to the slingshot lady’s tent.”
The boy spit, kicked his bare foot at the dirt, and said, “I knowed it!”
I could tell he was sizing me up to see if he could lick me. I puffed my chest up some whilst we walked.
The boy said quiet, “I’s the real MaWee! But you’s fixing to take my place, ain’t you?”
“What?”
“That white boy waren’t no good, I seent it, so now Massa Charles looking for you to take my place.”
He tilted his head toward the conjurer and said, “He done tolt me it was just for whilst we’s in Canada, but I knowed he was a-lying.”
“Lying ’bout what?”
“You’s trying to be the next MaWee, ain’t you?”
“What?”
“But I’m-a tell you right now that you ain’t gunn like it. You ain’t gunn like roaming ’bout with ’em one bit. They ain’t gunn say nothing at first but you gunn have to clean all them animal cages and fetch for ’em all times of the day or night, and the ’gator man gunn beat you every chance he get and you gunn be cleaning all they clothes, and they stingy with what they feed you, and it even ain’t no fun after ’while getting hit in the face with them grapes neither.”
I said, “I’m not taking no one’s place. The Preacher’s just bragging on me so’s that man with all those eyes can see how good I chunk stones.”
The boy gave me another rough look.
I said, “You travel ’round with these people?”
“Course I do, I tolt you, I’m the real MaWee.”
“Your ma and pa travel with you too?”
“I ain’t got no ma nor pa.”
“You a orphan?”
“You best watch what you’s calling me. What’s a orphan?”
I said, “How old are you?”
“I ain’t sure.”
“You ain’t had no schooling atall?”
“What I need schooling for? You ax too much questions.”
“Who takes care of you?”
“Massa Charles do. He look after me good. He done paid more’n a hunnert dollars for me down in Loos-ee-anna.”
“Paid? You’re a slave?”
“Naw! I seent how slaves get treated. I ain’t no slave.”
“You ain’t never tried to escape?”
“What you mean? If Massa cut me a-loose, what’s I gunn eat? Where’s I gunn sleep?”
“But this is Canada! You ain’t but three miles from Buxton! You ain’t never heard of Buxton?”
“Massa Charles say Buxton why he have to get a white boy to pretend he MaWee. He say y’all up here ain’t gunn think it funny to see me get pelt with no grapes. Now he seent that white boy ain’t no good and he gunn try you next.”
I told him, “My ma and pa ain’t ’bout to let me travel with no circus. Buxton’s my home.”
The inside of Madame Sabbar’s tent looked a whole lot smaller without all the people piled up in it. Madame Sabbar herself was sitting on the stage smoking a cigar.
MaWee pointed at the white cloth atop the jungle board and whispered, “Can y’all read? What that say?”
I told him, “It says, ‘The Jungles of Sweden.’”
“It don’t say nothing ’bout MaWee?”
“No.”
“That what I thought. He lie!”
The Preacher and the conjurer stopped talking and Sir Charles told MaWee, “Go light the candles as if it’s a show.”
“Yes, sir!”
MaWee struck a match and set all the candles on the board burning.
“Them other ones too, boss?”
“Yes, everything.”
MaWee grabbed a lighting pole and went ’round the tent lighting the candles up high. When he was done he came back and said, “That all, boss?”
“Yes, MaWee, but don’t leave. We’re getting started in a moment.”
“Yes, sir, boss.”
“Now, Reverend Connerly, perhaps little Ahbo can demonstrate his skill.”
The Preacher waved for me to come up on the stage.
He whispered to me, “First time through, just use your right hand.”
This waren’t gonna be nothing! It waren’t even twenty paces twixt me and the candles that were sitting atop the Swedish jungle board. I reached in my tote sack and pulled out ten of the chunking stones and set them on the table next to me.
I looked at the Preacher and he ducked his head at me. I held on to my breathing and chunked with my right hand and passed stones into it with my left.
When I was done, all the candles had been put out just as smooth as the slingshot lady had done it.
The conjurer and the other white man looked at each other. Madame Sabbar blowed a long cloud of smoke out of her nose holes. The Preacher winked his eye at me.
MaWee called out, “Woo-ooo-ooo-wee! He good, Massa Charles! Y’all caint use him for nothing but tossing stones, he that good!”
The conjurer said, “You’re right, MaWee, that was most remarkable! Now how ’bout the others?” He pointed at the higher-up candles.
This waren’t gonna be as easy. The farthest candles appeared to be ’bout thirty, thirty-five paces away, and it was dark up that high.
The Preacher saw I was fretting and came up on the stage.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know if I can put out the flames on the two at the back, sir.”
“Just aim to knock them down, then.”
“Yes, sir. Just my right hand again?”
“Yes.”
I held on to my breathing and threw at the twelve candles runged ’round the tent. When I was done, one of ’em at the back had got knocked over and I’d clean missed on the one over the doorway.
Sir Charles and the other white man brung their heads together and started talking.
MaWee said, “Massa Charles, Massa Charles! You got to have that boy take over from Missy Sabbar! He good ’nough to take her place!”
The Preacher said, “And that’s not half the story, Sir Charles. No disrespect intended, madame, but while you are without doubt a deadly accurate slingshotist, little Ahbo’s skills include something else.”
The Preacher’s hands started unfolding and waving right along with the story. He said, “One of the reasons the Chochote tribe is now nearly wiped from the face of the earth is that they shared their land with an insect so vile that it is called the horrible giant Bama bee. Bees so large that they’ve been known to carry away a full-grown man as easily as a hawk carries a mouse. And they attack in swarms of ten, which forced the Chochote to learn to throw not only with accuracy but with speed as well. Might I propose, if she is not too tired, that Madame Sabbar and little Ahbo have a side-by-side demonstration that includes speed?”
Sir Charles said, “A race? Why, that might prove to be quite interesting. Madame?”
The slingshot lady didn’t look too happy ’bout doing this but she chomped her teeth on her cigar and stood next to me.
The Preacher said, “If the young boy could light the ten candles on the board again, we can get this started.”
MaWee waited till Sir Charles nodded at him then lit up all the candles.
The Preacher said, “Why doesn’t the madame pick one side of the board and put out candles toward the middle and little Ahbo will do the same with the other side. We’ll see who puts out the most the quickest.”
The woman chomped her cigar harder and said, “Left.” She raised her slingshot
.
The Preacher whispered to me, “Use both hands. Beat her good.”
He told Sir Charles, “You start them.”
The conjurer-man said, “Both of you start on the count of three. One … two …”
Folks from Sweden must not be real good at counting. The conjurer hadn’t even finished saying “two” afore Madame Sabbar put out the first candle on the left.
“… three!”
I throwed left, right, left, right, left, right.
I’d got six of ’em in the time she got four.
She spit her cigar out on the stage and said, “Light them candles up again, you little fool.”
MaWee waited on the conjurer to nod then lit ’em all up.
This time I got seven and she got three. She knocked one of ’em over too.
She dropped her slingshot and walked out of the tent.
MaWee shouted, “Ooo-ooo-wee! He done run her off! He way better than her, you gunn let him take her place?”
The conjurer said, “My word, Reverend, you didn’t exaggerate in the least. I think little Ahbo will fit very nicely into our family.”
MaWee said, “He gunn take her place, boss? I ain’t never seent no one what throwed so good! Lots of folks pay to see that boy throw! It be a waste of time having him get pelt with grapes.”
The conjurer said, “Start breaking things down in here, boy. I want to leave by noon tomorrow. Red, go see if Madame Sabbar is all right. Reverend, we need to talk.”
Him and the Preacher stood next to the stage.
Sir Charles said, “I assume you’ve had some expenses in raising little Ahbo. I’m willing to give you some consideration for that. You say the poor lad is an orphan?”
“Yes, I’m the only one he has.”