"I'll go tell her now!" said the golden man. He ran ten feet away, then stopped, and came back. "Forgive me," he said. "Please come in! You and your friend. Please, come with me! Come inside! I don't know what's the matter with me!"
At the entrance stood a woman in a frilly, dusty mauve dress, wearing a matching cone-shaped hat with a green feathery puffball at the top. Her exposed shoulders were bony and sad. The way she moved, she didn't appear able to turn her neck, head, or eyes. She strained to smile, and said, "Welcome to Tanoshi No Wah," in such a hush of a voice I barely heard.
Meanwhile, the golden man was running around shouting. "Michael Rivers is here! Everyone, he's really here!"
From the open door in the tent and from the trucks and smaller tents strange creatures began toward us. I felt Walter's hand on my sleeve again. "Freaks," he said with what sounded like both curiosity and dread.
A man, who looked my age, had no arms but fingers like plumes of feathers on his shoulders, stepped forward and stared at me intently as if he wanted something. A young woman, dressed in a tight silver bodysuit, had a tongue so long it hung to her knees. A clear, steady stream of saliva dripped from it. A boy had huge eyeballs that bulged from his head like a koi. A shorter, stout young man had another smaller head growing upside down from the top of his. Two men were dressed in red costumes with pointed yellow hats. One was holding what looked to be the enormous, gold spandex-covered genitals of the other. A bare-chested boy of maybe sixteen had a metal and glass contraption attached to his chest. Inside were tubes filled with blood, a spinning motor, and odd, glowing blue lights.
They stood and stared. The man with the genitals reached out a hand, but I retreated a half step.
"Don't hurt us!" whimpered Walter.
From the tent came a young woman in a flowing black skirt and a black bra with three cups. She had sharp green eyes, long flowing brown hair, but no mouth. Instead her face ended an inch below her nose. As she came closer, I could see that the black thing in the center of her chest was not another bra cup, but a speaker cone affixed to her flesh.
"You've come," she said. I recognized her voice. She had been the one singing before. Her speaking voice was like a cross between a castrato and an electric shaver. "I hoped you would!"
I knew what was going on! Mother hadn't just hoped I would come to live with her, she'd told all of her strange friends. "Where's my mother?" I asked, wishing I hadn't stopped after all.
"I'll get her," said the speaker-girl.
"I will!" said the man in red, who set down the genitals of the other. "I'll get her." He turned and dashed off. "Judy! Come quick! Judy, your son's here!"
"Welcome!" said a man dressed in the same kind of ratskins that my mother had worn when I saw her last. "Welcome to our simple and true way of life!" He had long, greasy black hair, a gaunt face, but fierce, supernova eyes. "Welcome to the Tanoshi No Wah!" He spread his arms and his cane as if he were introducing a show.
"They're all so very peculiar," I heard Walter say.
"Michael! My darling!" It was my mother. Her hair was slicked back with what looked like mud. Her eyes were puffy and the ratskin robe she wore was open. On her belly was either a tattoo or paint. Below the word Wah was an arrow that pointed to her crotch. She closed her robe and put her arms around me and squeezed. I felt the cold mud on my face. "I knew it," she said, sobbing gently. "I knew you'd save us!"
The others, who seemed to have been waiting for her to say just that, started to cheer.
"We just happened by," I began. "We came to the slubs looking for aru." I was going to continue, but she touched my face with her cold hands.
"Michael! I'm so sorry, but we weren't meant to live like this, with this guilt and remorse. I've got a few pills in my purse. Do you need one now?" She glanced toward the man in the skins and whispered, "Just don't tell Mason!"
I guessed Mason was the master of ceremonies, and the way Mother spoke I figured he didn't approve of her drugs. I also got the distinct and uncomfortable feeling they were having an affair.
"Not for me," I said, "I need it for Joelene. And I want to explain something."
"Maricell, sweetie," said Mother, addressing the speaker-girl, "this is Michael," she said, introducing us. "Michael . . . Maricell."
She reached her right hand toward me slowly, as if afraid. I did the same and just as our palms touched, a titter of sound came from her and she jumped back.
"So shy," said Mother, touching her shoulder gently. "Could you do me a favor and get my bag? It's on the door of my trailer. Hurry! I have something for my son."
Maricell's eyes lit as though happy to do something for me. She turned and ran off.
"We'll drink a toast," said Mason, raising his cane. "We'll drink a grand toast. We'll drink to rebirth! To reincarnation. To resurrection. We're all saved by our brother, the golden dancer." The way he said it, so large and dramatically, I imagined he wanted to put it on their sign.
"Who's your friend?" asked Mother.
I introduced Walter.
"Hello, Michael Rivers' mother," he said bowing and then glancing toward my Loop car as if afraid it had left.
"I'm so glad you came," she said, touching him on the cheek and making him flinch. "I'm glad my son has friends."
Walter giggled uncomfortably.
"Mother," I whispered, "I have something to tell you."
Maricell, the speaker-girl, returned. She was out of breath and her nostrils flared as she breathed in and out. The skin beneath her nose was scarred, and I wondered what sort of an accident it had been. Handing a ratskin purse to Mother, Maricell gazed at me and began singing again. The song was haunting and eerily familiar. And as she sang, she gazed at me with so much hope, I had to look away, pretend to scrape mud from my shoes, because I knew I was going soon and figured that would disappoint her terribly.
"These are my last three today," whispered Mother, as she rooted around in her bag. Meanwhile, others began singing with the speaker-girl. "I can get more. Don't worry. Does your friend need any?"
"No," I said.
Walter held out his hand. "Two for me, please!"
Mother eyed him and placed one in each of our palms. Walter tossed his into his mouth and crunched it with glee. I hid mine in a secret pocket inside my jacket.
A woman, with skin that looked like scrambled eggs, stepped toward me. She touched my face gently, and then ran away just as quickly.
"Ari," cried Mother. "Come and say hello." She stopped five feet away, but wouldn't return. "Don't mind them," said Mother. "They didn't believe that you'd come." Her eyes got watery. "I didn't even know if I really believed. But you're here! Sweet, Michael, you've found the truth."
"Yes," I said, swallowing hard. "The truth is, I have plans for tonight."
"We all have plans!" she said, as if this were what she had longed to hear. As tears began down her face, she said, "We can have our future together."
Behind, I saw several of them bringing out a long table and chairs as if we were going to have some sort of a feast right out in the open. Others brought trays of what looked like roasted rats piled on metal plates. Mason directed everyone with his cane.
Mother kissed me on the cheek. "You're home. I'm so glad you're with your family."
I owed it to her to tell her about my plans for the show, but the way she had stressed your and now gazed intently at me, I asked, "My family?"
Turning, she looked at the others, who were all laughing, joking, and smiling, I felt they might never have been happier. "Before you came along," she said, "your father had trouble producing healthy children. He had more than six thousand with all sorts of women. Most didn't survive." She hugged me to her. "You were the best and the prettiest boy," she continued. "Even so," she waved toward the others with her left hand, "you needed lots of pieces from your siblings."
Sixteen
They sat me in the middle of the worn wooden table as if I were the guest of honor. Above, they had strung dozens of
leds that glowed like tiny red planets. The speaker-girl handed me a tall stemmed glass filled with a clear, yellowish drink.
"Corn wine," she said, her eyes filled with happy tears.
I put it to my lips but just pretended to drink as I watched them talk, laugh, and make a dozen hopeful toasts. "What do you mean pieces?"
"To fix what was wrong. You were deformed, like the rest."
"From now on," announced Mason, who had climbed atop his chair, "we'll be allowed inside the families' cities. We'll put on shows for them." He spun his cane in his hand and laughed as though he were drunk. "We can raise our ticket prices a hundred times. We'll get new tents. Better trucks. And new costumes for everyone."
After she poured for the others, the speaker-girl sat across from me. While they drank and celebrated, she stared at me as if she couldn't believe I existed. The man with the enormous genitals pointed at her.
"Sing, Maricell! Sing for our brother!"
She stood and did so. For the longest time, I couldn't place the song, and then I knew. It was her version of Adjoining Tissue. Only her odd, beautiful, and sad voice made the song poignant and serene in a way it never was before.
"You got your mouth from her," said Mother.
"My mouth?" I asked, afraid what this meant.
"Yours was too disfigured," she whispered. "You didn't have a working jawbone so, the doctors used Maricell's. It was just the right size."
I stared at the scar just below her nose and wondered if Mother could be right. Touching my face, I traced my lower jaw though my flesh as though I could tell if it were mine or not.
The young man without arms, only fingers, suggested that he and I dance together in their show. "I have ideas for us!" he said, his eyes wild and joyful.
"We'll have plenty of time to talk about that, Rex," said Mother. Whispering, she told me, I had gotten my arms from him.
"No," I said.
"Yes, tour father wanted you to have good, strong arms. Yours were thin, your bones, brittle."
As others made toasts and praised my arrival, I reached inside my jacket, under my shirt, and touched my shoulder as if searching for a seam or scar. I wasn't sure if I believed Mother or not, but as I scanned the faces around me, I began to see similarities to Father and me. One had a mouth the shape of his. Another had his nose. The speaker-girl's eyes resembled mine.
At the far end of the table, the boy with the mechanical heart stood and made a toast. Before Mother leaned toward me, I knew.
"After my heart attack," I guessed.
She nodded.
I didn't want any of it to be true, but I couldn't disbelieve it away either. It explained the way I felt sometimes. When I woke from the coma after my aneurysm I sensed that I was different, that I shouldn't be alive. Maybe I should have died. And maybe that was why I quit dancing, because I knew something was wrong. And was this what I had wanted to know all along? "Why?" I asked her. "Why them and why me?"
"Your father, Hiro Bruce Rivers." She gazed into my eyes with a wisdom and tenor I had never seen from her before. "He wanted to have a beautiful son. He did everything he could to make you perfect." Scanning their faces, she concluded, "Your brothers and sisters and your half brothers and half sisters were your spare parts."
"Spare parts?"
After a deep breath she said, "For years I've debated whether or not to tell you . . . whether it was fair or you were ready." She combed hair from my cheek and said, "I think you're ready now."
"What do you mean? What happened?"
Spinning her empty glass, she stared forward and said, "You should ask your father."
"You won't tell me?"
"It's really between you two." Frowning, she added, "I think that's best."
"Mother!" Her quiet resolve was more frustrating than her usual hysteria, but she was right. It was between Father and I. As I glanced around, I felt like I should thank them, or apologize, or better yet, somehow give all of their flesh and bones back. "What should I do?"
"Dance with us." Tilting her head to the left, she smiled and added, "Dance with Tanoshi No Wah."
I wished I hadn't asked. As responsible as I felt, I didn't want to dance—I had vowed not to ever again. Besides, I didn't fit in here. Not that I wasn't obviously a freak in my own right, but I was a city boy. A family boy. I should be with Nora, drinking cream coffees, appreciating silences and colorless interiors.
Of course, I wasn't going to be that either. I was going to destroy Father and myself. Then again, maybe that would be my brothers and sisters' salvation: once RiverGroup, Father, and I were gone, none of them would be used again.
Looking Mother in the eye, I said, "I can't."
"You don't have to dance," she replied. "There are other possibilities. We're just glad that you found us and that you're here."
"I can't stay. I'm sorry, but I can't help. I have to destroy Father. I'm going to kill him, end RiverGroup, and save Nora." Now I expected Mother to have one of her fits. Instead, she gazed at me solemnly. "Because he is going to kill her," I explained. "There's no other way to stop him."
Her expression darkened. She bit her bottom lip and fixed her eyes on her empty glass. She said, "Not good," so quietly, it made me feel terrible.
"I know, but Tanoshi No Wah will be free," I said. "When Father and RiverGroup are gone, they won't be used anymore. That will be good, won't it?"
She touched her muddy hair, but still didn't look at me. "I don't think I told you, but I thought you would be a poet someday. I always hoped for a gentle and quiet life for you. Maybe because I knew it never would be." Smiling sadly, she shook her head once. "I didn't expect you to even visit me out here."
"Mother," I said, annoyed that she was now trying to guilt me. "I have to protect Nora. I love her. It's the only way."
She gazed at the others, the way a mother does, admiring not just the faces, but the spirits and souls.
I shouldn't have stopped, I told myself. Now, I felt hopeless and culpable. But what could I do? Staying was impossible, and I couldn't fathom anything else.
A voice in the distance screamed, "Satins!" Everyone at the table stood and started running as if for their lives. Several bumped into each other. The genitals-man fell to the ground.
"We must hide you," said Mother. "Wait here!" With that she dashed toward one of the metal trailers.
"Mother!" I cried. "What's wrong?" In the confusion and noise, she didn't hear. Maricell stopped before me. Her eyes were big and fearful. "You should go," she said in that buzzing voice of hers. Turning, she sprinted toward the tent as quickly as a fawn.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Walter. "We had better go," he said.
"What's happening?"
"I don't know, but you shouldn't be here in the slubs." Turning, he started toward my car half-skipping, half-running. "Come on!" he said.
I didn't know where Mother had gone. Everyone else was in a mad dash back and forth, as if they didn't know what to do.
Maybe Walter was right. I had the aru and I needed to get it to Joelene as soon as I could. Besides, my nitrocellulose suit would be arriving soon and I had my plans. I started after him. As we neared my car, the side door slid open. Walter tried to leap up into the opening, but only managed to get his torso into the car. His legs dangled over the edge. Once I shoved him in, I grabbed the side and swung myself up.
"RiverGroup compound," I said to the driver on the intercom.
Walter got himself seated. The side door slid closed. "What's going on?" she asked, as we began to taxi back to the road.
"I don't know," I said, as I fumbled with the safety belt.
The car slipped in the mud, for a moment, then we made a sharp turn onto the road.
"Look it!" said Walter.
Three very tall men, with crooked faces and beady eyes, were wearing shiny gold, military-cut uniforms. They stood beside the table where we had just sat. One of them, with heavy boots, knocked over the table with one tremendous kick. Trays
of roasted rat and bottles of corn wine flew into the air and landed in the mud.
"What are they doing?" I asked.
"They're terrible," was all Walter said.
One of the golden satins chased after the genitals-man. The satin produced a black stick, pointed it at him, and a bolt of lightening shot from the end. The genitals-man flopped forward into the mud as if dead. The speaker-girl dashed toward the satin and pounded him on his lower back with her little fists. The giant turned around, and using the electronic stick as a club, whacked her across the head. She fell sideways and lay still.
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