Revoltingly Young

by Payne, C. D.

  11:08 a.m. While swabbing out the ladies’ doniker, I was confronted by Nerea, my potential sister-in-law. She demanded to know if I was merely toying with her sister. I assured her that I liked Miren immensely, but am excessively fatigued at times from non-stop toil. Nerea parked her taut buns on a sink and suggested I work up an act so I can skip all this boring drudgery.

  “Can’t you juggle, Jake?” she demanded.

  “Not even one ball,” I replied.

  Running down the list of possibilities, we discovered that I possessed not one skill that anyone in their right mind would pay good money to see.

  “My father might like you better if you had an act,” she pointed out. “He doesn’t like us hanging around the laborers.”

  “Well, Kardos has an act and he’s scared to death of your father.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Yup.”

  “Kardos–does he like me?”

  “Well, he has a girlfriend back in Hungary. But he’d be interested in you if you were older.”

  “I am plenty old enough for that boy.”

  “That may be, but your father may not agree and he has a gun.”

  “How about you tell Kardos that I will sabotage Papa’s gun?”

  “That won’t work, Nerea. Kardos doesn’t want any trouble.”

  “Yes, but I want him. Very much.”

  “And I want your sister very much.”

  “I tell you a secret, Jake. If you get my sister pregnant, my papa will make you marry her.”

  “He won’t kill me first?”

  “He’ll want to, but mi madre will put her foot down. She’ll make him accept you, even if you’re not Basque. But if you ever desert my sister and her babies, then he will kill you.”

  “But I don’t have any money, Nerea.”

  “If you marry my sister, Papa will train you on the trampoline. You could do it–you have an acrobat’s build. No muscles to speak of, but they will come. Then you will have an act and a career. There will always be circuses in this world, Jake.”

  I told her I’d think it over.

  Jesus, do I really want to get married, be a father, and hop around on a trampoline for the rest of my life?

  That’s kind of a big decision for a 15-year-old to make.

  Another question: If I married Miren, could I keep my hands off my sexy sister-in-law and her flaming tangerine hair?

  9:38 p.m. Veeva thinks I’m insane to think about marrying anyone at my age.

  “Didn’t you learn anything from your brother’s example?” she inquired cellularly from her gracious $75,000 room.

  “Your dad’s doing OK, Veeva,” I replied from my cramped trailer roomette. “He has a lucrative juggling gig and several scorching girlfriends. He’s also living in Paris, which beats Bozeman, Montana by a mile.”

  “Several miles I should think, Noel. But I’m not so sure Uncle Nick is my dad. I put the question to Daddy this morning and he said the whole idea was absurd. He said he could show me my birth certificate and the receipts from the hospital where I was born.”

  “Well, then perhaps you are his kid after all.”

  “I’d like to think so, Noel, but I can’t be sure. Daddy sounded a little glib on that topic, like he’d been rehearsed. It would be just like my mother to cover all her tracks. Of course, she’d have a birth certificate and hospital receipts. I wouldn’t put it past to her to have faked a video of my delivery.”

  “Do they have one of those?”

  “Just of my younger brother. It’s completely gross and X-rated. No, I do not want to watch that woman’s shaved privates getting dilated. She made me watch it last year so I’d always use birth control. It worked too. Promise me you won’t seduce that circus girl without using protection.”

  “Well, I’ll think about it.”

  “Noel, you’ve got to ask that clown what he knows about that photo of me.”

  “How can I do that, Veeva? In the first place, he’s not speaking to me and wants to murder me. And second, if I ask about the photo, he’d have proof that I was the one who robbed his trailer and he’d have me fired. Plus, you know anything he’d tell me would probably be a lie anyway. The guy is not to be trusted.”

  “Damn, Noel, I need this matter resolved. I need to know who the hell I am!”

  I assured her I sympathized completely with her predicament. After all, I went through a similar period of anguished paternal uncertainty earlier this summer–right before getting that final dreaded confirmation that I was a Twisp. Yes, I know how that chick feels.

  THURSDAY, September 15 – Lots of cute college girls on the lot today wearing very little to speak of (the hot weather has returned). Our appearance in Bozeman is being sponsored by one of the sororities at the university here. It’s their main fund-raising event of the year. I’m not sure what they do with the money they raise. Probably buy beer and snacks for all those fraternity brothers dropping by.

  I stayed awake long enough last night to meet Miren in the cab of the swamp-cooler truck. But we didn’t have much time together–or privacy. We looked up from an impassioned clinch, and there was Señor Nunez perched on the running board and staring in the window at us. What a shock. The disgusting pervert had followed me!

  I leaped from the truck and confronted him. I told him to go away and leave us alone.

  “I want my pistol back,” he exclaimed. “It belonged to my father. And his father before him.”

  Sounds like he came from generations of well-armed Mexicans. I told him I didn’t know anything about his damn pistol.

  “It is very old, Jake. If you try to fire it, it will likely blow your hand off.”

  “I’m not saying I have your stupid gun, but if you tell me the truth about Sheeni’s baby, you might get it back.”

  “That I cannot do, Jake.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “Because I made a sacred promise to Sheeni. I promised I would say nothing to no one about her child. And Alfredo Nunez is a man of honor who keeps his word.”

  “Some honor,” I scoffed. “You drugged and kidnapped me. You stole my money. You tried to kill me!”

  “I just wanted to frighten you into going away, Jake. I didn’t know anything about the LSD. That was Randy’s doing.”

  “You think I believe that?”

  “Believe what you like, Jake. But I will give you a warning. You must not go near Miren or Nerea. Not ever. I know their father. He does not approve of you. If you persist, he will do much worse to you than I ever did.”

  “Just mind your own business,” I replied. “And don’t go following me around!”

  “You are an incredibly stupid kid,” he hissed, turning and walking away.

  I returned to the truck, but the cab was now empty. Darling Miren had bailed on me.

  This morning I slipped a note under her toast asking her to meet me in town in one hour. She read my message and flashed me a cautious smile, which I’m taking as an assent.

  Señor Nunez’s continued recalcitrant has obliged me to adopt Randy’s heinous tactics. Today he received on his plate bacon of a greasy limpness that would gag a famished dog.

  3:08 p.m. The fates are conspiring to keep Miren and me apart. I was three blocks from the lot this morning when Randy stepped out from behind a tree, said “Whoa there, Jake,” and swung his fist at me. I ducked and immediately adopted the basic TaeKwonDo defensive stance. I focused my mind to a razor point and thought of my body as an impregnable fortress. That’s when Randy socked me hard in the stomach and I lost my breakfast. As I was bent over retching, he swung up into my nose–triggering a great fountain of blood. Then he slammed his fists down on the back of my neck, sending me crashing to the hard pavement. I crumpled into a ball and received kick after fierce kick from his pointy redneck boots. The ones to the kidneys were especially punishing, although the blows to the balls were also major distractions. Eventually, he stopped, thrust something that felt like a still-lit cigarette butt i
nto my bloody mouth, said “See you around, Jake,” and walked away.

  Miren found me and somehow got me back to the circus. Mr. Patsatzis wanted to take me to a hospital, but I didn’t want to deal with doctors and cops possibly asking for my identity. I said I was OK and just needed to rest up a bit. Miren washed my cut lip and finally got it to stop bleeding. I’ve been sacked out in my roomette, which is rather enervating as the heat is most oppressive today. Plus, it’s been hard crawling in and out of my high bunk to go to the doniker, where I’ve been pissing out blood. Kind of scary. I’m hoping it stops soon. Miren has been nice about checking in on me even though her father doesn’t like it one bit. I suppose he thinks I got what was coming to me.

  Can’t type any more. Hurts too much.

  FRIDAY, September 16 – Didn’t sleep much last night. Too sore. My body has really stiffened up on me. I can barely walk. Piss, though has gone from a bright cherry red to a soft blushing pink, so that trend seems promising. Look like hell in the doniker mirror. Left black eye nearly swollen shut. One of my front incisors is loose. If it falls out, I’ll be left with that true trailer-trash smile.

  Jin Pak has been bringing me my meals on a tray. He’s not too thrilled by my martial arts performance. He says I should have chased less after Miren and concentrated more on my TaeKwonDo lessons. Of course, we all know that he likes her too. I told him he should make a play for Nerea, since she wasn’t getting anywhere with Kardos. He merely shrugged and told me to eat my soup. Hot liquids though really torture my blistered mouth. Jin said Spivey, Jacques, and some of the other roustabouts have been out looking for Randy, but they think he’s probably skipped town. I’m not taking any chances though. I have retrieved all of my purloined Señor Nunez items from Kardos and have secreted them close at hand in my cupboard. This time I’ll be ready for that hooligan if he returns.

  Jin did have some good news to report. With me laid up and Mr. Povey screaming for help, Mr. Patsatzis had to get serious about finding a replacement for Randy. He’s hired a local college freshman who just flunked out even though school had only been in session for two weeks. Sounds like the guy has the right mental equipment for the job.

  Later, I heard him moving his stuff into the roomette next door. He has a merry whistle. Probably relieved to be done with the college thing and getting on with life. Hope he doesn’t get too discouraged by the reality of what Life is about to hand him.

  I took a nap, and then Kardos dropped by and we smoked some medical marijuana. Made me feel a lot better. I might have the energy to try to make it to the cookhouse tent for dinner.

  7:28 p.m. Miren brought me a dinner tray, so I stuck it out in the roomette with her. Nothing like looking like a corpse to win sympathy points from loved ones. Probably at her father’s insistence, she brought along her brother Iker as chaperon. No place to sit, except next me on the bunk, so she leaned against a wall and Iker squatted on the floor. He’s eight and seemed quite impressed that I’d been in a fight. He asked me what it felt like when Randy popped the lit cigarette into my mouth.

  “Not very pleasant,” I replied, showing him the ugly blister on my tongue. “But the blood put it out pretty quick.”

  “Your face looks horrible,” he remarked. “Like some movie monster.”

  “Iker!” protested his sister. “You shouldn’t say such things to people.”

  “It’s true,” he replied. “I bet not even you’d want to kiss Jake now.”

  She took that dare and gently kissed the monster on his swollen lips.

  There was a flash of light, a puff of smoke, and I was transformed into a handsome young prince.

  I wish.

  SATURDAY, September 17 – My cell phone rang in the middle of the night. That Nipsie has the most juvenile taste in ring tones. Good thing I don’t receive many incoming calls when I’m out in public. Anyway, it was Veeva phoning from the stratosphere somewhere over Kansas. She’s taking a red-eye flight to Paris, France. As usual, her parents are clueless. They think she’s in Oxnard for a weekend speech tournament. She figures that will give her a few days’ head start before they start tracking down her credit card charges.

  “I need to know who I am, Noel. I intend to get this matter resolved one way or the other.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me, Veeva. As you requested, I put the question again to Señor Nunez. He claims he’s made a sacred promise to your aunt Sheeni to keep his lips zipped.”

  “Noel, why is your speech so garbled? Have you been drinking?”

  I explained that I had been pummeled mercilessly by the dwarf’s lowlife accomplice.

  “Dammit, Noel, these guys play rough. I hope you landed some good blows yourself.”

  “Not really, but I think I gave him a hell of a dry-cleaning bill. There was blood all over the place–unfortunately all of it mine.”

  “That’s terrible, Noel. Are you all right?”

  “Well, I’m getting better.”

  We had to end the conversation there because the new Randy started pounding on the wall.

  Besides being airless little boxes, these roomettes offer absolutely no soundproofing. Of course, I hadn’t raised a peep earlier in the evening when my new neighbor was saying good-bye to his girlfriend. They went at it for quite a while, and I was kept fully informed at all times where exactly he was putting it.

  We jumped this morning to Billings, the Los Angeles of Montana. This town is so large, it boasts an actual skyline featuring several high-rise buildings. We’re parked pretty far from the city center, so I doubt I’ll be sampling many of its cosmopolitan delights. A short drive from Billings is the spot where General Armstrong Custer lost his scalp to the Indians. Interestingly, General Custer was from the same small town in Ohio as Clark Gable, although Errol Flynn played him in the movie.

  I felt well enough to limp to the cookhouse tent for breakfast, where I was served by the new Randy–a pleasant-looking guy named Joe. Didn’t catch his last name, but Mr. Povey was addressing him as “Joe College.” I apologized for the late-night phone call, and he said “no problem.” He may have been sincere too, since the bacon he forked over was nicely lean and crisp. I took a seat beside Vrsula Herczegh, who was most solicitous. It’s nice to have someone blinding beautiful to converse with when you’re feeling lousy and praying each painful bite doesn’t knock out your loose tooth.

  Took a shower after breakfast and had a candid look at my naked body (rarely a thrill even for me). My entire gonadal region is tinged a repellent purplish-blue. It could be the biggest bruise in human history. Snapped a photo of it for posterity with my cell phone camera. Hope everything is still working down there. I’ll have to check it out one of these days. Piss is still pink, but growing fainter. We Twisps are built to take abuse.

  6:37 p.m. I cleaned all eight donikers on my circuit today. Mr. Patsatzis declared “if you can walk you can work.” My theory is “if you can barely hobble, you can huddle in your hovel,” but the boss man wasn’t buying it. Pretty fatiguing, even if I was rather cursory and slapdash in performing my duties.

  Had a chat outside the commissary trailer with Joe College (real name Joe Allis). He’s feeling a bit stunned by the workload, but what really bugs him is having to wear a hairnet. He has quite a crop of wavy black hair that he hates to imprison artificially in such a girlish manner. He feels it is ruining his looks. (The guy may be a bit vain.) He asked Mr. Povey if he could wear a manly baseball cap instead, but that proposal got nixed. Mr. Povey claims health department regulations require standard hairnets, or alternatively, he’s welcome to shave his head. But “bald and proud” is not a lifestyle choice our kitchen helper is willing to consider.

  Joe asked me if I wanted to switch jobs, but–not being insane–I declined. He also asked me if Vrsula was my girlfriend. I said I was secretly engaged to Miren, and he was welcome to her sister or Vrsula. I feel it’s wise to work out these territorial issues first thing to avoid possible conflicts later. I’ve fished enough gross c
ontaminants out of my grub.

  11:46 p.m. Kardos has exhausted his reefer supply (he’d been buying from Randy), so he brought over a therapeutic bottle of red wine and a stash of paper cups. Not bad and, I suppose, easier on one’s lungs. He has worked out a solution to all of our problems. He proposes that I marry his sister, take over his spot on Orsolya (their star ostrich), and then he will be free to go to Germany to study sanitary engineering.

  I told him the offer was tempting, but what was the point of marrying his lovely sister if I was just going to break my neck on some rampaging ostrich? He admitted that male ostriches can be obstreperous, but said his family only travels with tame and sweet-tempered females. He claimed in a week he could teach me everything I’d need to know to perform his riding stunts. I thanked him for the offer, but said I’d rather marry Miren and learn to be an acrobat on the trampoline. At least it doesn’t gallop around at 30 miles an hour. He said fair enough, but how about I sleep with his sister first before I decide?

  An intriguing proposal. I asked him if he had discussed the idea with Vrsula. He said no, but he could tell she liked me. All I had to do was give her some encouragement. I asked him how I could do that without pissing off Miren. He said it wouldn’t be a problem as European girls were used to their boyfriends sleeping around.

  The whole thing sounded semi-plausible to my wine-steeped brain, but now I’m not so sure. Besides, I just saw Vrsula loitering on the ring curb with Joe College. Now there’s a guy who doesn’t let any cobwebs grow on his unit. Perhaps that’s why he flunked out.

  SUNDAY, September 18 – Another middle-of-the-night phone call from Veeva. I climbed down out of my bunk and took my phone outside so as not to disturb my neighbor. Veeva caught a train south from Paris and is now staying in a youth hostel in Albi. She says the French countryside is amazingly beautiful this time of year. I told her Montana was not bad either. She’s located the office where the district birth records are kept and will be going there when they open tomorrow. In the meantime, she’s been sucking Euros out of bank ATMs in anticipation of her parents guillotining her credit card. She says Albi looks like a much nicer place to be from than “boring L.A.” If it proves to be her birthplace, she intends to look into obtaining dual U.S.-French citizenship in case she decides someday to reside in France. I hope she doesn’t, since that’d be pretty far to travel for my yearly incest quota. She was up for chatting some more, but I told her I was freezing my balls off and rang off.