Pride, warmth and hope filled my chest. She was letting me in. She was trusting me to be Peanut’s father.
I picked up her small hands and held them reverently.
“It would be my honor.”
A loud squawk sounded in my ear and Sara jumped.
“He’s a tosser! He’s a tosser!”
“Oh my God! What did he just say?”
“Good question,” I muttered. “Little fucktard.”
Sara ignored me and reached out carefully to stroke the bird’s back. Suddenly he flapped into the air and hopped onto her outstretched arm.
She gave a little squeal and then laughed.
“He likes me!”
“He knows a soft touch when he sees one,” I grouched, brushing feathers out of my face.
“Aw, don’t be mean! He’s beautiful! Look at his little pink beak and his little pink tail. Wait, is it a he?”
“Hasn’t got a wiener,” laughed Tucker, “so it must be a girl.”
“I was mistaken,” I said wearily. “He’s the fucktard.”
The parrot hopped down from Sara’s arm and nestled between us, closing its eyes and tucking its head under a wing.
“Is that your mommy and daddy, Socks?” cooed Tucker. “Because I sure hope that you grow up to look like your mama and not that ugly old assface.”
I raised my eyes to the clouds scudding across the blue sky above.
“Is this my life now?” I asked.
The sun came out and a ray of light shined down on the carnival.
I smiled.
“What are you doing cluttering up the place, old man?”
I hadn’t been able to sleep.
Late last night, Aimee had been getting stomach pains. She swore it was indigestion, but Kes had insisted on taking her to the hospital again. It had thrown me, but Sara just held my hand and promised that she was fine. And then she promised that if she felt unwell she’d tell me. And after I’d nagged some more, I promised that I wouldn’t mention it again.
But in the small hours before dawn, something had disturbed me, some dark thought that I hadn’t been able to shake. I didn’t want to wake Sara, so I slid out of the bed and strolled along the darkened midway.
I wasn’t entirely surprised to find Ollo sitting outside a kiddie ride named the Balloon Race. He often prowled the empty lot at night, saying he didn’t sleep well either. But I think he just enjoyed soaking in the echoes of the day, memories of the past keeping him company.
As I neared, I could see that Bo was with him and sleeping soundly.
Ollo shifted a little and opened his eyes, the pupils sliding into focus.
“Cluttering up the place, huh? You’re a funny guy, Zef. Shoulda gone into clowning. Oh wait, you did.”
His voice was weak and uncharacteristically lacking in energy, but it was enough to waken Bo. I expected him to run off, searching for an early breakfast, but he didn’t. He clung to Ollo, his black eyes glittering, his expression solemn.
I crouched down next to them, shocked to see sweat lining Ollo’s upper lip, his skin an unhealthy gray.
“Ollo, are you feeling okay? Let me help you get back to your crib.”
He shook his head.
“No, I want to see the dawn.”
“See the dawn tomorrow. Right now you look kinda sick.”
He turned his eyes to mine.
“It’s my last sunrise, Zef. Time to go and meet the Ring Master.”
“What are you talking about? Shit, Ollo, you’re ice cold! I’m going to call an ambulance.”
He grabbed my hand as I started to pull my cell phone from my back pocket.
“No doctors.”
“But you’re sick . . .”
“I’m not sick, just old.”
“Ollo . . .”
“I don’t want to die in a hospital, Zef,” he said, his voice shaky, but his eyes dark and serious. “Not in a place with walls and ceilings. Don’t do that to me. Please.”
I’d never heard Ollo say ‘please’ before; never heard him ask for anything, never want anything, never need anything. He’d been around the carnival forever, part of its history.
His grip loosened and his arm fell to his side. He shook his head wearily as Bo chattered softly, blinking up at me, his round eyes full of fear.
“Ollo, you’re not going to die!”
He closed his eyes and smiled.
“We’re all going to die one day, Zef. I don’t mind. It’s been a wonderful life, full of stardust and magic, and I have an amazing family.” He opened his eyes again. “You’re a good man, Zef. Remember that.”
I took off my jacket and used it as a pillow, trying to make him a little more comfortable.
“Ollo, what can I do? Tell me what you need? Do you want a glass of water?”
He shook his head.
“No, I have everything I need right here. Just feelin’ a little tired, son.”
My voice crawled out of my throat in a hoarse whisper.
“There must be something I can do!”
“I was going to take a ride on the Eli today,” he said, his voice weaker each second. “One last ride. But I can’t get there, my legs have gone.”
I was torn in half. Part of me wanted to respect his wishes; and the other part of me wanted to call an ambulance and demand that they fix him, but he didn’t want that.
Was he really dying? He definitely didn’t look good. His skin was cold and clammy, and his eyes were unfocussed.
Another rush of panic flashed through me. I wanted to speak to Kes—he’d known Ollo his whole life. But I couldn’t call him while Aimee needed him.
The Ferris wheel was at the opposite end of the fairground and I knew Ollo would never make it by himself.
Cursing softly, I plucked Bo from Ollo’s lap and situated him on my back, his leathery paws clinging to my shirt. Then I leaned down to pick up Ollo, carrying him in my arms like a child, something I’d never done before, respecting him too much to take such a liberty even when we were roughhousing. He was heavier than he looked, and I grunted with the effort, feeling the pressure in my newly-healed knee.
He didn’t speak, but lay in my arms with his eyes closed. I knew what I had to do. As I walked past Zach and Luke’s RV, I pounded on the door with my boot, striding away as soon as I heard them stirring.
Zach peered out of the door, his hair sticking up all over.
“What the fuck, Zef? What’s going on?”
“Ollo wants to take a ride on the Ferris wheel.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Are you kidding me? What the hell’s going on?”
“Zach, right now, okay? Right now!”
He saw Ollo in my arms and heard the crack in my voice.
“Where’s Kes?”
“He had to take Aimee to the hospital.”
“Shit, okay. I’m coming.”
I heard him talking to Luke, and a minute later, they’d caught up with me.
“Is Ollo sick?” Luke asked quietly.
Ollo gave a small laugh that ended in a cough.
“Well, if I wasn’t before, I sure am now surrounded by your ugly mugs.”
My eyes burned and my throat threatened to choke me.
“Are you gonna cry, big man? Aw, that’s sweet, but save your tears for that cute lil gal back in the caravan.”
Ollo became heavier and heavier in my arms, but I wouldn’t let Zach or Luke help me carry him. I staggered on, urging them to go ahead and crank up the Ferris wheel. We were breaking about a hundred H&S rules—Zach didn’t even blink.
“Security is going to be all over us in about four minutes,” Luke whispered as he walked beside me.
“Nah. It’ll take them longer than that,” I said, my arms aching. “There aren’t that many of them at night. Get Zach to tell them we’re having a H&S check.”
Luke threw me a small smile.
“Fine, we’ll keep them off as long as we can.”
&nbs
p; Zach darted into the engineer’s booth and started up the massive machinery. It whirred and coughed into life, the buckets swinging slightly as if they’d just woken up.
Luke lifted the safety bar and I stepped into the first bucket, relieved to be sitting as Ollo leaned against me.
“Thank you, boys,” he murmured. “One last ride.” He nodded slowly. “I don’t believe in goodbyes, but maybe I’ll make an exception this time. Take care of yourselves.”
The bucket rose into the sky, eerie without the lights and music playing. I could hear the gears churning in the giant cogs, but kept my gaze fixed on Ollo.
His eyes were closed but he was smiling.
Higher and higher, we swung upward through the lightening sky. Ollo opened his eyes, but they were blank and unseeing.
“Are we at the top yet?”
His voice was light as air, and I had to lean my face next to his to hear him.
“Nearly there.”
“Can you see the ocean?” he asked, his voice becoming wispy.
“Yes,” I lied. “I can see so far, Ollo. I can see the city and the hills and the ocean beyond. It’s beautiful. Do you see it?”
He smiled, a serene expression that smoothed the crags and lines of age.
The Ferris wheel reached the highest point and I felt the wind on my face. I looked down at Ollo as he took his last breath, his soul rising up through the clouds on the final ride of all.
He died in my arms, in the place that he loved, the place that he’d called home for longer than anyone knew.
His life had been hard and strange and exciting; he’d seen so much and been loved by so many people; hated and feared by others because he was different.
And I’d loved him, too, this strange little man who talked in riddles but had wisdom in those words.
I’d loved him. And now he was gone.
Sara clutched my hand fiercely as tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. Of all of us, she’d known Ollo the least amount of time, but his presence in the world had changed her. Ollo had changed us all.
Kes was devastated. Losing Ollo was losing another link to his childhood, and the only person who’d known and loved the carnival like he had.
Aimee had been kept in hospital on bed rest, but would be home soon. Without her to calm him down, he was coming apart at the seams. His grief was a heavy burden.
Luke had helped me carry Ollo’s body back to his RV, laying him on his own bed. And at a time when we wanted to grieve in private, the red tape of officialdom barged into our lives.
A doctor was called to verify the time of death and start the paperwork for a death certificate. Kes nearly lost it when the doc refused to recognize him as Ollo’s next of kin without any documentation. Luckily, he was able to get ahold of the guy who’d treated Ollo when he’d been hospitalized a year ago. Somewhat reluctantly, that doctor had checked his notes and acknowledged that Ollo had claimed Kes as family and named him as next of kin.
A police officer visited, too, as part of the regulations. She was surprisingly sympathetic even though Kes was hostile and short-tempered.
Zach was on his game, more used to dealing with paperwork than the rest of us, but making his calls and using his computer with reddened eyes. Zach had known Ollo since he was a teenager, and as his birth family had kicked him out because he was gay, the carnival had become his home. Ollo was . . . had been a big part of that. Maybe because he was someone else who celebrated his own difference.
Kes wanted a proper carnie funeral for Ollo. I didn’t know what that meant, but I soon learned.
Once word went out about Ollo’s death, the emails and phone calls were endless, adding to the stress and frayed nerves. We had messages of condolence from all over the world—something crazy like twenty different countries. A lot of carnies had known and loved Ollo. Many credited him with teaching them their trades. Many wanted to come to pay their respects.
Ollo hadn’t left any instructions but Kes insisted that he wouldn’t want to be planted in the earth.
“He spent his whole life moving, I’m not going to give him roots now.”
I looked up at him with weary eyes.
“That last morning, all he wanted was to take a ride on the Ferris wheel. I say we should scatter his ashes from the top.”
Everyone was silent, then Zach spoke, his tone tentative.
“I doubt the management at Fairplex would allow that. I’m sorry.”
Kes gave him an icy look and ignored him.
“Yeah, he’d like that. Then we’ll have a bonfire after the show.”
Because of course, the show must go on.
Zach winced, and I suspected it was because we weren’t supposed to have bonfires here either. We had a fire pit, but that wasn’t the same thing at all.
Ollo’s body was laid in state in his RV, and someone sat with him at all times, as was the carnie way.
He wore the tux that had been tailor-made for him the previous year to celebrate Kes and Aimee’s wedding. Kes had washed and dressed him with his own hands, saying that Ollo wouldn’t want to be touched by strangers, especially townies.
Maybe it was a final act of a friendship that had lasted Kes’s whole life, since even before he was born.
It was a whole lot different from my parents’ funeral, I knew that. Their deaths had been sudden and the authorities had taken the lead from the start. Daniel had been a kid and I wasn’t much older or had any idea about what I needed to do.
Our parents had been Presbyterians, although the church wasn’t a significant part of their lives. They showed up for major holidays, and both Dan and I had been baptized. Everything was simple, plain, and at the time we hadn’t cared that the undertaker had taken charge of everything. It had been a relief, just going through the motions of agreement: yes to that hymn, okay to that reading. The only personal part had been when one of my dad’s friends stood up and spoke about them.
I wondered morbidly if anyone would speak at my funeral. I wasn’t planning on turning up my toes just yet, but I threw myself through the air on 200 pounds of metal for a living, so I wasn’t placing any bets either.
Over the next three days, carnies arrived from all over the States, dozens and dozens of them, several from Europe. A bunch flew out from Ireland, too, and sang sad songs and got us all half-drunk around the fire pit.
The morning of the service, the sky was gray and overcast. The heavy air seemed to tremble and Bo was inconsolable when the hearse came to take Ollo’s small body. He cried and raged, clinging to the wicker handles, baring his teeth and shrieking. Socrates flapped around and pecked at the casket as we closed the lid, then sat at the side, deflated, and began to pluck feathers out of his chest, making another bald patch that had only recently regrown.
In the end, Yolanda agreed to stay behind and took both of the miserable creatures to sit with Maverick and other dogs, forlorn and unhappy.
Kes’s brother Falcon and his German wife Hilde caught an early morning flight on a supply plane out of Travis Air Force Base. Con wore his uniform to honor Ollo, because even though Con had hated the carnival, he’d loved the little man.
I introduced them both to Sara, and they shook hands quietly. Then we piled in the limos that Kes had ordered, and left in a cavalcade of trucks, cars, motorcycles, two clown cars, one miniature fire engine, and four riders on horseback.
The funeral was attended by more than 300 carnies. The crematorium was packed out and many more people were standing in the parking lot. They’d even had to wire up a PA system so everyone outside could hear.
Many of the carnies came wearing their show costumes: the clown troupe with their painted faces; the rodeo riders in their buckskins and western clothes; the girls from the aerial acts wore their spangles and leotards, pockets of bright color among the others in dark, somber clothes.
Kes, Tucker, Zach and me were pallbearers, and Luke walked behind the miniature coffin carrying a huge wreath of flowers in the shape of a Ferris wheel
.
The service was almost interrupted when a TV crew arrived. I guess it made a nice little filler story—carnies all dressed up at a midget’s funeral. Or maybe they’d be politically sensitive and say ‘person of limited stature’ or some bullshit.
I don’t know who’d tipped them off, maybe someone at the funeral home for all I knew. Kes was furious and looked like he was about to rip out a throat, but as always, Aimee calmed him down with just a touch of her hand on his arm.
Sara gave me a questioning look as I took my place next to her on the seat.
I jerked my head in the TV crew’s direction and she gave a sort of horrified hiccup, and scooted down next to me, hiding from the cameras.
I reminded her quietly that she didn’t have to hide anymore, and put my arm around her, holding her protectively.
When Kes stood up and strode to the microphone at the front of the crematorium, everyone grew silent.
“Oleksandr Ivan Kolksi was born in Vienna in the years before the Second World War. His father was a Lithuanian Jew and worked as a locksmith. He never knew his mother. Well, you all know what happened to Jews during the War or to anyone who was different. So Ivan Kolski escaped to America with his only son, Ollo.
“America was being flooded with immigrants running from Hitler, and there was no room at the inn for a Lithuanian locksmith who didn’t speak English. They struggled for months until one day a stranger told Ivan Kolski that he and his son could make a living with the traveling carnival. That man was my great grandfather, Padraig Donohue.
“Ollo learned all the skills of a carnie kid: tumbling, clowning, mentalism, rodeo and looking after exotic animals. For a while he worked with the famous Ada Mae Moore the Snake Charmer and traveled with Ringling Brothers; he had a tumbling act with Ronald Soaker, the Pig-faced Man; and learned his craft from everyone he met. He was a magician and a master showman.” Kes paused, looking across at his audience who hung on his every word. “He was also a grifter who could con the pants off a politician.”
The congregation laughed and I had to hand it to Kes, he knew out to work a crowd.
“I thought I knew everything about Ollo, but there was something else. When my wife looked up the meaning of ‘Oleksandr’, do you know what she found? His name means ‘defender of humankind’. I happen to think that’s pretty damn perfect, because Ollo suffered more from humanity than any one person should. To the point where he refused to leave the carnival for any reason—he preferred the company of other carnies. Trusted them. And the man loved his freaks. It didn’t matter what sort of freak you were: hair all over your body, weird tumors, weighing 700 pounds, fire eater, human ostrich, or even crazy sons of bitches who threw themselves through the air on motorcycles—we were his people. And he cared about us. He loved the carnival his whole life, everything about it. And he taught me all the skills to make it, but most of all he taught me friendship and he taught me love. He was the kindest human being I ever met.
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