26 Absurdities of Tragic Proportions

by Matthew C Woodruff

  The mire seemed unusually quiet to Quentin. Though there were not many large animals, there were usually many birds and insects chittering and singing to one another. As always Quentin was careful to walk only where his experience told him the peat was thickest. Soon enough the camp was out of sight and Quentin was left with only mire in all directions. Suddenly the mire seemed to grab at Quentin’s boot as he placed his foot, trying to suck him down. Quite shaken, Quentin vowed to go even slower and be more careful with where he stepped, even though the mire around him looked thick and firm.

  Suddenly and unbidden, an image of the old woman rose up in his mind screeching the words ,” Ettevaatust! Ettevaatust!, Beware!, Beware!”

  Quentin’s next step was his last, as the mire reached up and sucked him down completely, Clouded Apollos flittering furiously overhead. No one on the research team was ever found.

  The End.

  Rhoda

  The pounding on the door was a loud and insistent booming, rattling the window in its loose casement and the few glasses on the side cupboard. Pablo Fanque jumped up out of the lumpy bed his only nightshirt flapping around him, careful of any noise that might give his presence away. He cautiously peered over the sill of the room’s only exterior window to see what manner of loathsome bill collecting creature was hounding him today. After shading his eyes to the noon glare, he saw the tell-tale bun and glasses of his current landlady, Mrs. Whimple. He relaxed somewhat gratified to see it was not the constables or someone intent on doing him worse harm. To Mrs. Whimple, he can always apply his gentlemanly charms and win the day with one of his signature smiles and perhaps a titillating story of yesteryear. Though, even that was growing thin on Mrs. Whimple, who just wanted her monthly room rent, now more than a week in arears.

  Mrs. Whimple gave up in disgust, left off the pounding and went her way to bother some other unfortunate renter, or to call on her loathsome sister, Mrs. Jennings. When Pablo had the unfortunate opportunity to meet Mrs. Jennings (widowed now, she always liked to add with a disturbing leer to any man of certain charms she may encounter), he shuddered internally to think of that leer directed at him.

  Pablo caught himself ruminating about the unfortunate state of affairs life has left him in, bereft of coin and family and thinking marriage may be the only option. It hasn’t gotten that desperate yet, he thought to himself, looking into his coin purse. There was just enough for a meal and a drink at his favorite tavern, The Hound and Horn, after which he planned on sauntering over to the Empire to see the house manager about a new show he, the great Pablo Fanque, was planning.

  Not so many years ago, Pablo Fanque was one of London’s most well-known circus owners, and a performer of some note. Pablo’s troupe had comic tramps, acrobatics, jugglers, fire-eaters and a high wire walker, Pablo himself. So popular with the residents of London’s west end, Pablo would book to sellout crowds in theaters like the Alhambra or the Empire, often times doing shows in both theaters on the same day.

  During the heyday of his career, Pablo noted that the audiences of his shows were most rapt at any time someone was in personal danger. Oh, they loved the comic tramps running from the comic coppers. They enjoyed immensely the jugglers and the fire-eaters. But what got them going the most were the daredevil activities of the acrobats and his antics on the high wire. He also noted the audience was fairly beside themselves when young beauty was put in danger. When he added a young lady to the high wire act, bravely risking her beauty to entertain, some in the audience nearly fainted. The applause, shouting and the tossing of flowers and coins seemed to go on indefinitely after such performances.

  Finishing up his morning, well in Pablo’s case, afternoon absolutions, Pablo donned his best long tailed coat, his least worn top hat, grabbed his favorite walking cane from the room’s only chair and headed out the door, whistling all the way to the Hound and Horn. As noted earlier, the Hound and Horn was Pablo’s favorite, but not because of the first rate meals, the intelligent conversation or the stunning décor, for it had none of these things. What the Hound and Horn did have was Grace. I don’t mean Grace in the godly sense, I mean Grace of the magnificent bosoms, who waited tables at the Hound and Horn and who always had a smile and kind word for Pablo, and who bent down in just that perfect way.

  One might wonder how did Pablo find himself in his current straits? A once great performer of some small accomplishment, popular with the ladies now reduced to near poverty, anonymity and stolen glances at Grace’s bosoms? Pablo doesn’t like to think of the reasons but in his mind, he places all the blame squarely on Abraham Saunders.

  Not so long in the past, London had as many as 350 circus shows preforming at one time. The large ones like Pablo’s, in theaters that charged up to 9p for entry. The smaller ones sometimes in outside venues or open-air theaters. Some even had aquatic shows. Needless to say, competition was fierce and every time a new show opened or a new act was contrived, the audiences moved like the ebb and flow of the ocean itself between theaters and shows, pulled by the new moon of novelty.

  During one such seeming lull in Pablo’s audience numbers, he chanced upon a man named Abraham Saunders who had an outdoor animal act. Not in itself unusual but in this particular case, Abraham had a young lass in his show named Rhoda, who used to stick her dainty head into the lion’s mouth, in the literal way.

  Abraham, as the show’s own Master of Ceremonies, would build up the audience with stories of lion savagery, while his aged and somewhat ratty looking lion would sit forlornly on a large overturned wooden box, chained to a stake in the ground, lest some hunger forced him to look toward the tasty looking audience. Soon a young lady would seemingly rise up out of the audience and saunter over to the lion, all the while Abraham playing unawares. He would continue his stories of ghastly lion maimings while Rhoda, who knew the lion quite well would coax its mouth open. All the while the audience was both terrified and rapt at what was about to happen next. All of them sure they were going to see Rhoda’s headless corpse flop down to the stage. Often, there would be shouting for the young lady to stop or for Abraham to pay attention to what was happening behind him, but to no avail, because soon enough, Rhoda would get the old Lion to open its mouth wide and in went her dainty little head.

  When the audience realized it was all just part of the show, they went wild with enthusiasm for Rhoda and the lion, throwing what coins or foodstuffs they happened to have in their possession.

  Pablo thought the whole spectacle was, well, spectacular and was soon enough convincing Abraham to join his circus at the Empire. After the small details were ironed out, it was decided that after a fortnight of practice, Abraham would get second billing and a split of the door take and he, the lion and Rhoda would join Pablo’s troupe.

  Sitting over drinks one evening in Pablo’s large and well-appointed rooms, Abraham confessed to his new partner Pablo the trick of the act. Before the show, Rhoda would liberally cover her neck in kerosene which the lion abhorred, thereby ensuring he would not close his mouth on young Rhoda’s dainty neck and end the show, as it were.

  This also gave Pablo an idea for his fire-eaters to enhance their act with fire-breathing. They could blow a fine mist of kerosene out of their mouths over an open flame, thereby appearing as if they were breathing fire.

  Abraham, who had just returned from America, told Pablo of a travelling circus he had seen there that had three rings. There were three different entertainments going on at once, on the same stage with a flamboyant ring master directing the audience where to gaze. Pablo thought it a novel idea to add to his show but decided to limit it to two acts at once. The fire-eaters who now also breathe fire, would be on stage with Abraham and Rhoda. While Abraham gave his accounting of ghastly lion horrors, fire breathers would stand on either side and punctuate the worst atrocities with blowing flame.

  Pablo and Abraham were both excited with the new acts and were convinced they were about to make a fortune. Pablo’s whole troupe took a hiatus from perfo
rming because if the new acts were to open in just two weeks much careful practice would be needed. After several mishaps where the fire-eaters coughed and gagged on the kerosene, or spewed the atrocious fuel in all directions, just the right balance was struck and soon they were able to produce brilliant streams of flame. The blown flame would extend up to three feet, dependent on the amount of fuel held and the strength of the lungs in question.

  One of Pablo’s troupe, Maximillian, continued to practice in secret in order to get the longest flame possible even after Pablo told him he had it down well enough. Abraham and Rhoda didn’t need to practice as their act was performed hundreds of times and they had the whole thing down pat, plus the lion got grumpy if forced to sit on his box on stage for too long. The only difference now was instead of standing amid a group of unorganized onlookers, Rhoda would be seated in the audience.

  On the night of the first new performance at the Empire every seat was sold out, with standing room only in the back. Now billed as:

  If Abraham cared his name was billed third even after the lion, he didn’t show it possibly because he was about to make more money in one night than his old show made in an entire month. Plus, he’d never be rained on again while performing. That was how Abraham saw his change in fortune and the move into a large, indoor theater. No one stopped to consider how the lion might view now being on an indoor stage, bathed in lime-light with hundreds of people just a few feet away.

  The lion’s cage was dumped unceremoniously behind the stage curtains and off to one side to wait his turn at the limelight, as it were. In fact, the Empire did have real lime-lights that illuminated the stage and Pablo in particular. The lion didn’t like all the movement, activity and noise going on around him and the usual ratty blanket covering his cage seemed to be missing this night so all through the show, the lion was becoming more and more agitated as he waited.

  When it was finally time for Abraham and Rhoda’s act, the grand finale, it was well over two hours into the show. Pablo took to the stage off to one side in his best costume and top hat, while a newly hired musical quartet played sinister sounding music from behind. During the oratorical build-up Pablo was subjecting the audience to, half the stage was closed off behind the curtain while stage hands moved the lion’s box into place. The flame-breathers took their positions at the front of the stage, mouth’s full of kerosene. Finally, Abraham led the lion out of his cage and up onto the box while Rhoda had been seated all night long acting as part of the audience.

  The rest of the curtain rose to the accompanying gasps of the audience as Abraham began his bone-chilling tales of the capture of the fearsome beast sitting just behind him, and the flame breathers breathed fire out toward the audience. Soon, Rhoda rose from the audience and seemingly made her way on the stage without Abraham noticing. The audience, to whom this was all new tried vainly to get Abraham to notice the young girl as she creeped behind the flame breathers and toward the increasingly agitated lion.

  Just as Rhoda moved behind Maximillian, the lion finally remembered he was king of the forest and while jumping down from the box gave out a spectacular roar, which caused several ladies in the audience to scream in fright and several men jump up ready to do battle with the beast. It also caused Maximillian to jerk his head around toward the unexpected noise and blow out his flame at Rhoda, to a breathtaking five feet, a world record no doubt. Rhoda, who having had her neck coated in the same noxious fuel so the lion wouldn’t be tempted to snip her little head off, immediately and suddenly burst into flame.

  That was the end of Pablo Fanque’s circus, though no one could say that it wasn’t truly extraordinary.

  The End.

  Susan

  Mrs. Bowers was a woman who liked to have things just so. Every painting was hung with particular care, every lace doily perfectly centered, every lamp and table well dusted. This striding for perfection invaded every facet of Mrs. Bowers outlook on life. Every bush and flower in her meticulously manicured lawn was symmetrical. Every one of her hats matched perfectly with every one of her outfits.

  She was particularly conscious of this need when it came to her small family. Their place in the social pecking order of their small community, secure. Her husband was of a respectable family and held a respectable job. He drove his Cadillac home every evening from the office promptly on time, and Mrs. Bowers had supper on the table at half past six. Every Saturday he took on chores around the house and yard and every Sunday after church they went for a country drive and often visited his mother in the home. Whatever Mr. Bowers thought of this all, he kept securely to himself.

  To Mrs. Bowers their life couldn’t have been more perfect, even down to their one and only child, Susan.

  Susan was taught from infancy to be compliant to her mother’s wishes. It’s not that Mrs. Bowers was cruel or unloving, she loved her family deeply and was a kind, generous woman in her way, she just wanted her family to be well, perfect. Mrs. Bowers was mortified of the idea of being embarrassed in public, so her life was fine-tuned to avoid just that.

  By the time Susan was four, she knew just how to act. Susan was always clean and well dressed. Her room was always picked up and in order. The books were always placed back on the shelves, the toys in the box and the clothes and shoes in the closet. Susan had impeccable manners. In fact, Mrs. Bower’s neighbors always commented on how well-behaved Susan was, making Mrs. Bowers very satisfied.

  When it so happened that a new family moved in down the street, and it was found out they also had a daughter the same age as Susan, Mrs. Bowers felt a momentary twinge. This was the first unaccounted episode to happen to Mrs. Bowers life in many years. Setting aside her small trepidation, Mrs. Bowers proceeded to bake the new neighbors a three-layer vanilla cake with strawberry frosting, planning on walking it over there on Sunday after church with her perfect little family in tow.

  Welcoming new neighbors was what one did, in polite society.

  Though Susan loved vanilla cake and strawberry frosting, she knew from past experience, even if the new neighbors offered, she wasn’t allowed to have a piece. A ‘no, thank you’ was the response Mrs. Bowers expected Susan to make.

  Sunday came, and the carefully frosted cake was securely ensconced on the plastic Avon covered cake plate with Mrs. Bowers name securely taped to the bottom, lest cake plate not be returned.

  The arm in arm walk to the new neighbors was a pleasant stroll through a well-known world. Here and there the Bowers would wave and say hello to any neighbor who happened to be outside. Upon arriving at the home of the new neighbors, Mrs. Bowers was gratified to see nothing looked out of place since the Kinsey’s had moved out of the place. No moving boxes littered the fine front lawn, no old junkers were parked in the driveway and the white lace curtains were hung on the windows with care.

  “Maybe you’ll make a new friend, Susan,” Mrs. Bowers said. “Wouldn’t that be nice, dear?”

  “Yes mother, it would,” Susan replied meekly. Though Susan had many acquaintances, true friends were hard to make and keep considering her mother’s vetting process. If the whole family wasn’t perfect, by Mrs. Bowers standards, they didn’t pass muster.

  “She’s too loud, dear.” Her mother would say, or “her parents are separated, dear,” when Susan would ask about having someone over, or ask to go over to someone’s house.

  Momentarily after Mr. Bowers rang the doorbell, a well-kept woman of youngish years answered the door. Mrs. Bowers introduced them all and finagled an invitation inside in order to be able to check things out more closely. You can’t be too careful after all.

  The new neighbor turned out to be one Marcia Porter recently divorced and new to the Bower’s small town. Even more scandalously, Ms. Porter was a writer for a certain woman’s fiction magazine and worked from home. Her daughter, who came down stairs to see what was going on, was introduced as Jennifer. And indeed, it was discovered Jennifer was also eight years old like Susan.

  Now sensing danger, M
rs. Bowers tried to extricate them all from the hornet’s nest of imperfection. Imagine, divorced and a writer of fictional smut. Having no imagination for such things, Mrs. Bowers didn’t understand ladies’ fiction regarding love and sex.

  “Oh my, look at the time, we really need to get going.” She said.

  “Don’t be silly,” Ms. Porter replied kindly, “after making this beautiful cake you have to stay and have a piece, I insist. I’ll just put the tea on.” And off into the kitchen she went saying, “Jennifer, bring them all along.”

  Susan was becoming hopeful that maybe there would be a piece of cake involved in today, while Mr. Bower looked to his wife to gauge which direction he should head. Truth be told, Mrs. Bowers wasn’t sure what to do. It would be the epitome of rudeness to leave now, but to defer and stay could be uncomfortable.

  Jennifer grabbed Susan’s hand and dragged her off into the kitchen, with her parents having no choice but to follow.