CARNIVAL
by Joan Stephens
This was, without a doubt, one of the more stupid decisions she had ever made and she was thoroughly disgusted with herself. Whatever had possessed her to decide to drive back to New York from Taos instead of flying. She’d be home at this very minute in her air-conditioned apartment, curled up on her couch with a cold glass of iced tea. Instead, here she stood beside her BMW convertible watching the light freeway traffic whiz by, all due to a hole in the radiator. To make it worse no one even acknowledged her presence on the roadside. She was hot, she was sweaty, and she was uncomfortable. Finally, after thirty long minutes of trying to find a little bit of shade, she spied the tow truck slowing to pull in behind her car. Thank god for cellular phones. She wondered, briefly, how long she would have had to wait if she hadn’t been able to call AAA right away. I’ll bet I look a mess, she thought, all wrinkled and sweaty. As usual she worried about looking anything but her best.
In no time the tow truck operator, whose name was advertised on his shirt as ‘Curly’, had her car hooked up and ready to go. She opted to ride in the air-conditioned cab with the driver who belied his name by being as bald as a billiard ball. He grinned a tobacco stained toothy grin at her and bent to spit just before he slammed the door. Their conversation was limited to generalities as most conversations between strangers are. He did volunteer that as it was July third, it would be at least two days before they could get her car repaired. “But,” he added cheerfully, “there’s a carnival in town and it has a whale of a freak show.” He glanced at her sideways and noticed her flinch of distaste. Ah well, she could afford to find her own entertainment. She asked him if he knew of a good, clean motel and he opined that the best one was Castle’s Cottages; separate cabins, clean, color TV, pool, and reasonable rates.
Thirty minutes later they arrived at Phil’s Repair and Towing on the outskirts of Arapaho, Oklahoma which was just four miles north of the freeway. With a population of only twelve hundred, the town had one repair shop, two motels, six churches, four bars, four restaurants, and two fairly modern supermarkets. Phil was almost as round as he was tall. At five feet, four inches he was an inch taller than she was. Blue eyed with a shock of red hair, he wore a perpetual frown as if he alone carried the weight of the world on his shoulders alone. Still, after arranging for the repair of her car, he was kind enough to allow her the use of his battered, old Plymouth Bonneville. It felt like she was piloting a boat instead of a car.
Castles’ Cottages were exactly as Curly said they were; clean and comfortable. The shower did much to revive her spirits and the desk clerk recommended Tilly’s as the best place to eat even though there was another café located next to the motel.
As she walked past several store fronts to Tilly’s, she noticed handbills in all the windows advertizing the carnival that was to be found at the county fair grounds. Despite herself, she read the flyers and noted the picture of the lionman who looked wild and dangerous, roaring fiercely.
Tilly’s Café was small, homey and decidedly clean. She immediately fell in love with the tiny, energetic black woman who owned the café and who treated her as if she had known her for years. She prattled on about any and everything and everybody. The meal was home cooked and utterly delicious: Swiss steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, steamed broccoli and cauliflowers, and homemade bread with a small green salad on the side. Surprising herself, she ate everything and when Tilly bustled over to ask if she wanted any dessert she, laughingly, had to decline. “Tilly, I’m so stuffed now I’ll probably waddle back to my cabin.”
“You need to do somethin’, to work it off, like walkin’ or . . . goin’ to the carnival,” Tilly suggested, handing her a flyer.
“Maybe, I will. I’m certainly not ready for bed yet.” She lingered over her coffee studying the handbill. Whoever did the makeup on the lionman was a master of his craft. Douglas Chartiere, an old boyfriend of hers from her younger and more impressionable years, had taught her a lot about the art of make up while she dated him. He was a master make up artist who could turn an ordinary actor into a believable monster or creature. Only, there was something about this creature’s eyes that drew her. They were so sad and vulnerable.
As she was paying for her dinner, she told Tilly that she was going to go to the carnival. “Oh, I think you’ll like this one. It’s better than we usually get. There’s lots of rides and a nice midway. And you gotta see the lionman, he’s terrific.” Tilly hesitated then said, “Poor thing.” She shook her head as she took the payment.
“Why, poor thing?” she asked, interested.
“I don’t know. He looks so sad. They poke and prod him to make him angry so he’ll roar. I kinda wish he wasn’t in a cage.” Tilly’s expression clearly indicated that she sympathized whole heartedly with the lionman.
Her interest piqued, she got directions to the carnival and then said that she’d see Tilly in the morning. Following a line of traffic, Tilly’s directions were a snap to follow and she was soon parking the car in a field next to a stand of trees.
****************
Catherine Chandler was a rich and beautiful woman. Not a classic beauty, she had her own style of beauty: gorgeous skin, deep green eyes, honey brown, silky soft hair, and a wide sensuous mouth that complemented her square, determined jaw. Her figure was the envy of all her girlfriends but they never knew how hard she worked to keep it that way. She wore a light green sleeveless top with spaghetti straps and grass green short shorts that drew attention to her fabulous legs. Even as accustomed as she was to whistles and wolf calls, she did not appreciate the lewd remarks made by the roustabouts as she strolled down the midway. With narrowed eyes, one of them watched her closely as she sauntered into the amusement ride area. That bitch needed to be taken down a peg or two and he knew just how to do it. Later, he’d find her . . . later.
Wandering by the various rides, she came to a carousel and stopped to enjoy the merriment of the children and several young old-timers. She was reminded of her first carousel ride in Central Park. Her father wasn’t at all sure she was old enough but relented after much begging and pleading. Bypassing the prancing horses she had chosen a rampant lion to ride as lions had been her favorite animal for as long as she could remember. Her Buddy the Lion stuffed animal was still sitting in the middle of her bed in her bedroom at her father’s home.
Never having been to a carnival like this, she looked around fascinated. Growing up in New York meant that she went to see the Barnum & Bailey Circus at the Madison Square Garden. Scarlotti’s Carnival and Creature Show was a typical side show: dirty, garish, and noisy with several midway barkers trying to outshout one another. As she decided to go back to her cottage, she passed the lionman’s tent. On a whim she decided to see if his makeup was as good as it looked on the handbills.
The tent was a little
over half full when the barker entered and walked over to a curtained cage
where he struck a dramatic pose. “Ladies and gentlemen, be prepared
to put aside your pre- conceived notions as to what constitutes a monster.
Be prepared to be amazed, astounded,
horrified, . . .”
Catherine tuned him out by looking at the people around her. They appeared to be normal, decent people and she wondered what prompted them to be here . . . . . then silently laughed -- the same reason she was here. Curiosity. On the edge of her consciousness she vaguely heard the rustle of canvas being raised. A collective gasp and several shrieks brought her thoughts back and she glanced at the cage. What she saw caused her to gasp, not in amazement but in dismay.
In the middle of the cage stood the most pathetic figure she had ever seen. Unwashed yellow, stringy hair obscured his face as he stood, barely clothed, arms hanging listlessly at his sides, head bowed. She wanted to cry out, “What are you doing to this poor thing?” But she didn’t. Too many years of the proper training kept her from saying what she felt. Finally, one of the attendants poked him with a long pole. True, it was padded, but still the lionman winched. The attendant whispered hoarsely, “Come on, Vinnie, let’s give the people what they paid for.” When the lionman didn’t move, he hissed, harshly, “If ya don’t, there’ll be nothing to eat, again.” The lionman raised his eyes and there was such pain there that Catherine’s hand flew to her throat. Along with the pain there was great intelligence and the knowledge that he knew what everyone thought of him. His eyes raked through the crowd, resting on her tear filled ones and she was suddenly aware that he felt her compassion and was grateful. She didn’t think she would ever forget those eyes and the pain that shone in them. Unable to watch any more she lowered her eyes and concentrated on her gaily painted toenails peeking out of her Gucchi sandals. For some reason she had to see him close up and decided to remain behind when the show was over. Carefully, she edged through the crowd to a darkened corner on her right. She faded as far back as she could. The lionman followed her with his eyes then squeezed them tightly shut. Throwing his head back he let out a heartrending roar then fell to his knees, his head dropped onto his chest. Satisfied, the crowd buzzed with excitement and imitative roars. Some of the more adventurous children dashed up and threw spitballs and wads of gum at him. Goaded beyond forbearance, his head snapped up and he snarled at them, sending them screaming to their mothers’ arms. Like hens with their chicks the mothers gathered them into their arms. The lionman sagged back on his heels bringing his hands up to cover his face. He didn’t blame the children. They were just reflections of their elders. “Lookit them claws,” someone hollered. The crowd stopped to stare at his deadly hands. “Wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley,” a gruff voice responded. Nervous laughter and catcalls answered the comment. Milling around like frightened sheep, the crowd finally streamed through the open tent flap.
While the crowd left, the creature asked one of the attendants to leave the canvas up. Turning away from the cage, preparing to leave, the tall one said, “Come on, Jere, let’s get some supper.” The cage was left uncovered.
Giving the tent a cursory glance, the other, shorter man ducked out the back, yelling, “What we got tonight?”
“Chili,” was the faint reply.
Several silent minutes later the creature said, “You’re safe now, you can come out.” He settled back on his haunches watching the young woman approach his cage. She seemed flustered that he knew she was there.
“Are you all right?” It was not what he expected, most wanted to know if he was the real thing or a man behind the makeup.
“If I could have some water?” She looked around and not seeing any turned back to him. “Over in the corner to the right, there’s a bucket and a ladle.” She returned with both and handed the full ladle to him through the bars.
Drinking thirstily, he looked up to find her staring intently at him. Blushing, she dropped her head and said, “That’s not a good job of make up, is it? That’s real.”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I had a boyfriend that did make up for creature features.” At the sudden appearance of pain in his eyes, she exclaimed, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know but . . .” He left the sentence unsaid, they both knew what he meant.
“How did this happen to you? It’s terrible what they do to you. Why don’t you escape?”
“And just where would I go? It’s not as if I fit in with the crowd.” Trying to cover himself, he pulled together what tattered clothing he wore. She could see that he was acutely embarrassed and asked if she could find something to cover him as the night was turning cold. How kind she was to deliberately ignore his shame. In a chest in the back of the tent she found an old black blanket that she gave him. Grateful, he wrapped it around his magnificent body.
“I wish there was something more I could do.” She felt so helpless in the presence of this being’s pain(she couldn’t think of him as a creature, any more).
“I wish so, too,” he whispered.
“Do you have a name?” He could see the tears standing in the corners of her eyes.
“Yes, Vincent.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely name, my name is Catherine.”
“Catherine.” The sound of her name sped like an arrow to the center of his heart and there it lodged never to be gone from him again. “You should leave now. It’s not safe for you to be found here.”
“I wish I could stay and talk with you all night.”
“I know, but it is not safe here at night.”
“Good night, Vincent.”
“Goodbye, Catherine.” He would never see her again but for one brief moment she was a candle in his darkness. Sadly, he watched her turn and leave through the front entrance. “Be careful,” he called to her softly.
She looked back at him with a sad smile and mouthed, “I will,” then was gone.
Never in all his life had he met anyone who accepted him as readily as she had. She didn’t seem to be afraid of him at all. Obviously, she was well-to-do, well educated and very beautiful. That someone as lovely as she would deign to talk to something like him, seemed a miracle. He would remember her face and lovely voice to the end of his days. This night was a memory to be revisited and polished throughout the coming years.
****************
Deep in thought on the cruelties man inflicted on those less fortunate, Catherine was unaware that she was being followed. She had not time in which to scream as a brawny, hirsute arm snaked out of the darkness around her neck, cutting off an instinctive cry of alarm. “Thought you’re too good for the likes of me, dincha, Bitch? Well, I’m gonna show you a real good time and then I’m gonna kill you,” the voice whispered hoarsely into her ear. His fetid breath almost gagging her, she fought back with all her limited strength as he pulled her into the nearby darkened copse of trees. Instead of becoming angry, he laughed and the more she fought the more he laughed, an ugly laugh that turned her stomach All of a sudden she found herself on her back; sharp stones, twigs and dry grass digging into her back, the rapist straddling her hips. With one hand he held her arms over her head while he ripped her top open with a knife that had suddenly appeared in his hand. In the darkness she saw only his glinting eyes and flashing teeth as he took in the sight that was revealed before him.
“Please, please, don’t hurt me. I’ve got money. I’ll give you anything you want, only don’t do this.” Pleading she twisted and turned this way and that but she couldn’t dislodge him from his position on top of her.
“Money ain’t gonna save you this time, girlie.” The knife dipped toward her face and she watched in stunned fascination as his face took on a look of total madness. The knife dipped even further and she felt a surge of pain in front of her left ear and she knew that he had cut her deeply there. Tears sprang into her eyes as he grinned again and said, “I mark all my girls this way, that tells everyone that you’re mine. And you’ll give my anythin’ I want, all right,” he sneered. “You can’t do nothin’.” Laughing his nasty laugh he hooked the knife under the top of her shorts. He froze as he heard a low menacing growl behind him. “Who’s there?” Quavering, his voice cracked in fear. With a sinking feeling in whatever was left of his heart, he realized that he knew who was there, and he turned to come face to face with his own death. Before he could utter a sound, Vincent had his right hand around his neck and his left hand against the side of the man’s head. Then with a lightning quick movement he snapped the erstwhile rapist’s neck and threw him to the side.
“Are you all right?” Vincent asked. Kneeling beside a hysterical Catherine, he tried to calm her. She clung to him as if she would never let him go. “We must leave here before anyone comes.” He urged her to her feet and helped her to the car.
She sat behind the steering wheel, her head resting on the cross bar, and sobbed from fright. “Where did you come from? How?”
“I overheard him talking about bringing some rich bitch to her senses. I don’t know why, but I knew immediately it was you.” Shivering from the aftermath of the attack she tried to keep her top pulled together. As he started to hand her the blanket that she had given him earlier in the evening he smelled the blood on her.
“You’re bleeding,” he said. “Let me see.” In his concern for her he forgot his partial nudity and let the blanket fall to the ground. “He did this?” His raspy, velvet voice broke. How could anyone mar such beauty?
“Yes,” she sobbed, “He said he marked all ‘his girls’ this way.” She looked at him, anguished heartache in her eyes and he was glad that he had killed the one that had brought that look into those lovely eyes.
“Do you have anything to staunch the flow?” After searching the front seat and glove box she found a small packet of facial tissues. “Hold it tightly against the wound. Can you drive home?”
She nodded, she had placed herself in his safe and capable hands. He picked up the blanket from the ground and handed it to her then turned to go.
“Where are you going?” she gasped. He couldn’t be leaving. What would she do without him? She needed him to be strong for her.
“I don’t know, just away from here.”
“You can’t walk away, I need you.” Frantic with fear, she reached for him.
He could feel her fear and need of him, he hesitated . . . and was lost. How could he leave her now when she needed him? He would stay with her for a while. “All right, I’ll stay until the morning.”
“Get in the backseat and crouch down.” He did as she instructed then she turned around and covered him with the blanket.
“No,” he said, “you need this to cover yourself,” and he thrust the blanket into her hands.
She pushed the blanket back over him. “I’m fine. No one is going to see anything. Now, stay low and stay covered until I tell you to come out.” The motor roared into life and the Bonneville lurched into motion.