“You won’t touch him unless I say, if you want a job,” Mink said.
Ceecee whirled and left.
“Well, clean them,” Mink ordered Apollo. “We’ve got a show to set up,” he snapped at the others. “Get cracking.”
Billy Sweet shook his head as he walked off, and Miss Lightfoot’s scaled face was drawn with worry, but Bess gave me a wink. That heartened me.
“Come on, Apollo,” I said. “I’ll help you clean up this mess.”
“Do I have to?” Apollo pinched his nose with his fingers.
I felt much the same way, but, “He put you in charge, didn’t he?” I said. “And my guess is you’ll live here with the children.”
Apollo gulped. “I’ll get the bucket.”
While the puppy boy ran for a pail, I evacuated the wagon. “What’s your name, darling?” I asked the lantern-headed girl as I lifted her out.
“Minnie,” she whispered.
“Well, sit right here, Minnie,” I said, and placed her on top of a large wooden crate I had removed before her.
“I’m the frog boy,” claimed a hoarse voice, and a skinny young man of about eight or nine clambered out of the wagon under his own steam. “You sure told the doc what’s what. I never seed someone sass him before. No one ’cept Bess, that is. You’re gonna be sorry for that.”
No doubt, I thought. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at a trunk under the wagon.
“That’s Ceecee’s goods,” said the frog boy.
I climbed into the wagon and found another girl huddled in a lower bunk. She stared at me with huge, dark eyes that peered over a dirty sheet. She wouldn’t come out no matter how sweetly I entreated her, but I didn’t want to reach in and lift her and frighten her to death.
From the corner of my eye I noticed a figure in the shadow of a crate at the back of the wagon. I felt a surge of excitement and took a chance. “Is that you, Willie Northstar?” I asked.
The figure in the shadows gasped. “How’d you know that? Told nobody here my last name.”
“I know your daddy,” I replied triumphantly. “I came to find you.”
The boy edged out into the shaft of daylight from the back door. He wore ragged short pants and a matching ragged shirt. I could see that his skin was marked in white and brown patches like an Indian pony.
“Where’s my daddy?” he asked, urgency in his voice.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “He’s out searching for you.” It pained me to see the hope die from his eyes. “But I’m sure I could find him again.”
“Now?” he asked.
Silently I prayed that Lillie would give Mr. Northstar my message to follow Lazarus Mink. “Dr. Mink won’t let me walk out of here with you, you know,” I said. “He’s going to make money from showing you to people, and he’s not the sort of man who’ll give up money without a fight.”
Willie nodded solemnly. “He tells his bad men to hurt people.”
This poor child had seen his grandmother struck down in front of him, no doubt. “Yes, and we don’t want to be hurt, therefore we need to keep it a secret that we plan to leave here and take you back to your daddy. You know what a secret is, don’t you?”
His eyes grew big, and to my surprise, he backed into the shadows again. “That’s when you don’t tell,” he whispered with a catch in his voice.
“Right,” I said, and wished he didn’t know. “I have to figure out how we can leave without being hurt. Okay?”
“Can I come too?” I could have kicked myself. The girl had been so quiet I had forgotten she was there. How could I tell her no? “All the children can come,” I said, “but don’t tell the grown-ups.” Oh, Lord. What had I promised? I couldn’t be responsible for all the children.
“This is Bertha the Bear,” said Willie.
She tossed the sheet off and rolled out of the bunk. She wore a thin brown shift, ragged at the hem, and as she lumbered to the door, I noted how the stocky girl had gotten her nickname— for she had no wrists or ankles, but had hands and feet right at her elbows and knees, and she could walk only on all fours.
In the sunlight specked scabs showed on Bertha’s arms. “Are you injured?”
“Insect bites,” she said, avoiding my gaze. “I scratched ’em.”
I couldn’t help think they resembled burns, but I didn’t pry. “What’s your real name, Frog Boy?” I asked.
“Moses, sir,” the leggy boy said. “Moses Quick.”
“I’m not a sir,” I told him. “I’m Abel Dandy. I hope I’ll be a friend.”
He exchanged wary glances with Bertha.
Apollo came back with two buckets banging his thighs. “I tried to boil the water,” he said, “but it’s barely warm.” He surveyed the brood. “I reckon we should start with you fellows. You seem to have missed your Sunday bath.”
“This is Apollo,” I told them. “Dr. Mink says he’s to be in charge of you, but if he gets too bossy, you come to me.”
The four children stared silently at Apollo. I prepared myself for the protests. Why would any one of them welcome the authority of a strange, hairy boy not much older than themselves?
“Does that mean Apollo will sleep in our wagon?” asked Bertha.
Before I could answer, Ceecee swept by me, followed by Billy Sweet. “I’ve come for my personal effects. Get that, Billy.” He gestured extravagantly with a black cigarette holder, and smoke wreathed in the air. Minnie seemed to shrink into herself. The children on the ground edged away. I eyed the cigarette with suspicion.
“Get out where I can see you, you little monster,” Ceecee shrilled at Willie, who was sliding behind the crate.
Apollo started, then growled at the star of the show.
Ceecee took a quick step back, and the children burst into giggles.
“You’re not in charge of us anymore,” said Moses with obvious delight. “Apollo’s our boss. He’s going to stay with us.”
Minnie laughed, and the other two children cheered.
Ceecee turned away in a swirl of flowered wrapper. “We’ll see how long he stays.” Billy followed with the trunk. He didn’t smile.
Moses poked out his tongue at the departing figure. It was a long tongue indeed, but a typical rude-boy gesture, until he popped his eyes out of their sockets so they bulged, showing how he had earned the name Frog Boy.
“Why did he lock you up?” I asked when I returned with a washtub owned by Miss Lightfoot that would serve as a bath.
“Oh, he don’t need no excuse,” said Moses as he frowned at the tub and backed away.
“He just didn’t want to bother with us,” said Bertha.
“I found extra clothes,” said Apollo, dragging an open box from the wagon. He wrinkled his nose. “They don’t look much cleaner.”
They would have to do until we did laundry. “A frog boy shouldn’t be afraid of water,” I told Moses as I filled the tub.
Moses stuck out his scrawny chest. “I ain’t afraid of nothin’.” He glared at Bertha.
“I won’t look,” said Bertha the Bear, and she turned her back.
Moses stripped off his shabby clothing and climbed into the water.
Apollo scrubbed Moses with a rag. The water became filthy in seconds.
We were on our fourth tub of water when a large, open cart pulled by two horses rumbled onto the field. An enormous fat man, red faced and out of breath, held the reins. A sign hung on the back of the cart—COME SEE DR. MINK’S MONSTER MENAGERIE. The location of the show had been painted over repeatedly. Today’s show would take place “behind Ringgold’s Livery.”
“What took you so long?” scolded Dr. Mink.
“I had to stop for lunch once or twice, didn’t I?” the fat man answered.
That was my introduction to Earle Johnson, the man who never left his cart.
“Get over here. We need to set up,” said Mink.
I helped the two other drivers unhitch the horses and raise the show tent around the fat man and the giant. Extra
sections were added on to each end, and a small section on the back for the performers’ convenience. The gaudily painted canvas banners were set up along the front of the tent to create an aisle behind. The audience would enter the aisle through a gap in the center of the banners after they paid for a ticket outside. This time a second set of smaller banners hung above the first. They portrayed the children, even Willie Northstar, now known as the Piebald Boy. I wondered how Dr. Mink had managed to have one painted while he traveled, and then I glimpsed the initials in the lower right-hand corner, E. G. Eustace Ginger.
“Where are their parents?” I asked Billy Sweet, who helped me raise the bally platform from which Dr. Mink would entice his audience.
He glanced up at the banners. “Sold ’em,” he said. “Took the money and signed legal papers that give Mink custody.”
Well, one paper had to be a forgery—how many others were as well, and where were they kept?
As I glanced over at Dr. Mink’s wagon, the door opened and a man shook Mink’s hand before he left.
“I see the boss is ‘fixing’ things for us,” remarked Billy. He noted my blank look. “Greasing the palm,” he said. “Paying the law to look the other way.”
A dark, queer lump settled in my gut. Forged papers must be one of the things sheriffs could be paid to overlook.
I helped Billy set up a canvas shelter. Underneath it he pieced together two halves of a large wooden wheel.
“I use ammonia,” said Billy, obviously pleased to have someone to boast to. “I keep a bottle under the wheel in a dish. I wait till the dupes place their bets, then dabs ammonia under a hole with few or no bets on it. The mouse thinks there’s one of its own at home and runs down that hole.”
This must be another activity the sheriff had been paid to ignore.
By now local children were watching from the perimeter of the lot. Apollo had the sense to usher our children into the show tent as soon as the others showed up. No sense in giving a free look or becoming a target. As I checked the guy ropes, two figures swathed in cloaks made their way to the raised flap in the back of the tent. By their sizes and the shrouded load they struggled with, I took them to be Miss Lightfoot and Bess Tuggle carrying Mr. Bopp between them.
Al Bonfiglio stalked past with a crate, from which came the ching of glass against glass. The next time I saw him, he maneuvered a long wooden box from the back of Mink’s wagon with the help of Billy Sweet. That must be the lady in the box. What kind of trick could it be?
Dr. Mink sent me inside the tent to set up the fancy ropes that divided audience from display. In a larger show there would be a platform for the acts to sit upon. I was grateful, however, not to have another structure to set up.
“Good afternoon, Abel,” Mr. Ginger greeted me. I don’t know when he had slipped inside.
“That’s fine work you did on those banners,” I told him.
He waved my compliment aside. “Oh, slapdash,” he said, “I could do that with four eyes open.” But he smiled with pleasure. I noticed he had trimmed both his beard and that of his twin in preparation for the show.
The air clung hot, thick, and sweet under the canvas. I had to work in my undershirt or else I’d be sick. I apologized to the ladies.
“Oh, please, honey pie,” said Miss Lightfoot, “don’t think of it at all.” She dabbed at her neck with the sponge, which had become her constant companion.
“I shall think of it constantly,” Bess said, and leered at me.
Mr. Bopp bit her ankle, and Earle Johnson laughed so hard the springs of his wagon creaked, and I worried that it would collapse with his weight. “They’re a caution, ain’t they?” he said to the giant, who stood beside him.
The giant nodded, but he didn’t look amused. His face was pale, and he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief that seemed tiny in his gnarled hand.
Apollo had the children lined up on stools at the far end of the tent. I couldn’t hear what he said to them, but they listened intently. I hoped he was telling a story and not planning one of his schemes. They were dressed in clean costumes that had been in Miss Lightfoot’s care. Moses the Frog Boy sported green tights, and his knees stuck up so high he did look like he had frog legs. Little Minnie had on a Chinese jacket and short black trousers. Her thin, dark hair was pulled back in a slender braid. Embroidered slippers graced her feet, and a matching skullcap made her head look all the bigger. Bertha wore a brown outfit with puffed sleeves and pantaloons, which showed off her shortened limbs. Willie was garbed in short pants only; consequently the audience could experience the full impact of his distinct and unusual skin patterns.
Ceecee swept into the tent. The turban was gone—on one side of his head the hair hung down past his shoulder, on the other side it stopped at the ear. He had painted the half of his face on the long-haired side, and he wore an earring on that ear. The children became quiet and moved in closer to Apollo.
“Does Ceecee beat the children?” I asked Miss Lightfoot.
“I cannot say,” she answered, “but Bess saw him cut a man across the face once, cheek to cheek. He always carries a straight razor folded in his pocket.”
I remembered how Ceecee had reached inside his robe as he advanced on me, and I shuddered anew.
The he-she glowered at the huddle of children and then swept toward them. He wore a white shirt with voluminous sleeves and an odd pair of trousers—one leg stovepipe thin, and the other flared as if to emulate a skirt. On the trouser side he wore a sturdy boot, on the skirt side a buttoned shoe. How he could appear ominous in that getup, I don’t know, but he managed. He halted in front of the children and stood in silence.
“Boo!” he cried.
Willie shrieked. The others cringed. Ceecee whinnied with laughter.
Apollo pushed the children behind him. “I’ll bite you,” he proclaimed.
“Ill bite you first, you hairy little monster,” promised Ceecee.
I thought of that razor and hurried over. “Apollo, you have prepared everyone for the show but yourself.”
“He called me a monster,” Apollo complained.
“You are,” I answered, and put myself between them, my back to Ceecee, although that made the flesh between my shoulders flinch. “A beast who is really a prince, like in Beauty and the Beast.”
“That’s my name!” chimed in Minnie. “Little Beauty.”
That caught Apollo’s attention. “Is it?” he asked.
I was surprised too. “There,” I said. “You must be Little Beauty’s beast.”
“I think grooming is in order, sweetie toes,” said Miss Lightfoot, joining us, accompanied by Bess. With scaly fingers she handed me her own ivory comb.
I gave Miss Lightfoot a thankful smile.
“Hey, the brats aren’t yours to bully now, remember?” Bess told Ceecee. “Better not let Mink see you taunting the real freaks, or you’ll be biting, all right—biting the heads off chickens like the geek you are.”
“You’ll get your just deserts one day, you harridan,” Ceecee promised.
Minnie wrapped her arms around Bess and buried her face in the folds of the dwarf woman’s bodice.
“Don’t cling so hard, chick,” said Bess. “I’m going nowhere.”
The so-called half man-half woman spat and stalked away.
“Is that the Little Beauty who predicted our arrival?” I whispered to Miss Lightfoot. “Can Minnie actually see the future?”
“That’s hard to say, since she doesn’t talk much,” Miss Lightfoot answered softly. “However, some of the words that come out of her mouth, well, honey dumpling, it does give one pause.”
I grabbed Apollo before he slipped off. He submitted reluctantly as I combed his face where he had two to six inches of silky fair locks.
“You should tie it back from your eyes or you’ll bump into stuff, like Mr. Ginger,” said Bertha.
“You know, I could manage a topknot,” I said, to gales of laughter from the children.
Mink entered, cla
pping his hands, and the laughter halted abruptly. “Take your places, we’ve got an audience outside.” He had dressed in his tights and evening coat once more, his top hat on his head. “Stop primping that boy,” he snapped at me. “He’s supposed to look like a wild animal.”
“I should go change,” I said. I wasn’t ready for the show myself.
“Don’t bother,” said Mink. “Your job doesn’t require fancy clothes.”
“What is my job?” I asked. I had hoped Dr. Mink would take advantage of my knife-throwing after all.
“In there,” Mink said, and gestured toward the first section of tent. “Since you’re keen to look after things, you can keep the yokels’ hands off my exhibits. And don’t move from your post until we pack ’em up again.”
I stifled my disappointment and pushed through the curtain.
On a table made of planks sat three big jars; something floated in the murky liquid within each. Next to the table was the crate the jars had been packed in, and on the other side of that the long box from Mink’s wagon had been set up on trestles like a coffin in a parlor, the lid propped upright against it. There appeared to be faded designs on the lid in blue and red and yellow. Well, let’s have a look at the lady in the box, I said to myself.
I expected to find a doll, or a gaff made of papier-mâché, but inside the box lay a figure wrapped in crumbling bandages, its wrists crossed at the groin. A clawlike hand with yellow nails poked through the linens. Someone had partially removed the wrappings to reveal a brown leather face with slits for eyes and a sunken nose. The tips of a few dark teeth protruded from under tight, shrunken lips.
An Egyptian mummy?
It had to be a fake.
But the cloth was old and yellow, and a smell rose from the object like the sands of time. I felt hot sun beat down on my back, and I reeled. The music of pipes played in the distance.