Lewis looked from the thin man to the boy. “This is Doc Morin. He’s our vet. He’s also the fella that takes care of us, but we have to wait till he’s done with the animals.” Lewis grinned, but the doctor continued to peer at Charlie as though something had crawled onto his food.
“Too skinny,” the doctor said.
“We’ll fatten him up.”
“I don’t like his color.”
Lewis looked at the boy, amused. “Doc doesn’t like your color. We’ll paint you blue.”
“I don’t like his color neither,” Charlie said, and looked down at his shoes.
“Now we don’t speak that way to folks, son,” Lewis admonished.
When the doctor had walked away, the boy looked up at Lewis and saw his irritation.
“The Doc’s a little crusty at times. He’s…” He looked to Shelby and Harley Fitzroy for help. Shelby shrugged. Lewis raised his eyebrows. “What would you say about Doc Morin?”
“He’s a brainless idiot,” the magician said brightly.
“Oh, you’re no better than a child, Harley. The Doc is a very learned man, he’s just hard to deal with sometimes. He’s not blessed with a sunny disposition.”
“Unlike our Lewis,” the old man added. To the boy, he said, “Doc’s one of those folks that enjoys being miserable. When you’re grown, you’ll understand. Maybe you’ll even be one of them yourself. But Lewis is right: hold your tongue when you’re angry.”
They moved on through the camp, and Lewis and Shelby greeted people. There seemed to be a good deal of back-slapping and even some hugging, and Harley attempted to sort the people out for the boy.
“Now that short old man there, looks like he just bit into a wormy apple, that’s Tony Aiello. He’s the head bull-tender—Jupiter’s keeper. You see the two handsome young Mexican fellows over there? Well, those are the Fabulous Perez Brothers. Sometimes they’ve been known to slap on fake mustaches and turn up later in the same show as the Great Guerreros. Aerialists, they are, dandy ones, too—the best ones come from Mexico. The dignified looking Chinese man there, that’s Mr. Zheng. He trains animals, mostly by looking into their eyes and talking to them. Damnedest thing I ever saw, pardon my French again. That’s Old Zheng there, who I told you about.”
“He trains animals, too.”
“Once in a while. Irritates the doctor, mainly.” The magician gave him a satisfied look. “And no one deserves it more. Old Zheng, you see, is a sort of doctor himself, uses herbs and plants and what-have-you to make medicines. Dandy medicines, they are, because they work. Your Chinese are a very learned race, much underestimated, like the Negro. Anyhow, when we get a little sick, we go to Doc Morin, just to be polite, and he shakes his head and blows cigar smoke at us and tells us to get more rest. Then we go over to Old Zheng and he gives us something to drink or put in our coffee, and it fixes us up. Vexes the doc something terrible.”
Harley looked around the little crowd and seemed disappointed. He shot the boy a quick look and shrugged.
“Couple old friends I was hoping to see. Maybe they’ll turn up yet. We had a famous equestrienne in the old shows, just a bit of a girl named Lucy, she was a show in herself. But she’s not here.”
Harley indicated a groggy-looking man in a rumpled suit sitting on a crate. “That tired-looking man there is Fred Lemmon, the lion-trainer. Always thought he should be the act, not the lion: ‘World’s Most Lethargic Man.’ A lion works up a kind of attachment for its trainer, so you can imagine what it’s done for our lion, Brutus—the least energetic lion of a very lazy race. They can sleep twenty hours, and under Fred’s guidance, Brutus used to be able to sleep for nearly twenty-three.”
Lewis came over and dragged him out into the open to introduce him.
“This is our newest member, name is Charlie Barth. He’s gonna be with us for the foreseeable future. Been living with my sister in Chicago.” He turned to the boy and bent down.
“These are the…they’re my friends.” He pointed out some of the same people the old magician had just identified for him, and one after another the circus people greeted Charlie.
“Come on, son,” Lewis said. “Let’s get you situated. For now, you bunk with Shelby and me. We’ll set you up with, you know, what you need. Hungry?” he asked hopefully.
“No.”
“Oh.”
Lewis nodded and the boy realized what it all meant. He felt a sudden longing for Alma, who knew exactly what she was supposed to do with a nine-year-old boy. A wind had come up, he could hear it coming down the hills just beyond the camp, and it took several degrees off the night air. He shivered and hoped they wouldn’t notice.
“I got a nice stove in the hut there.” He nodded toward the cabin. “We’ll get you blankets and what-have-you. Well, let’s go see what we’ve got.”
Lewis’s hut was a symphony of odors: the smell of woodsmoke clung to everything, and the boy could smell sweat and old cotton and something heavier, a mustiness that was new to him. Lewis seemed to read the boy’s puzzlement.
“That kinda sweetish odor, that’s horse, from my gear over there.” He pointed to a pile of leather and rope that included a saddle, bridles, a saddle blanket, and other items. “I work with Mr. Jeanette on the horses, you see. Like to keep my hand in. I worked with ’em all my life and I don’t like to give it up. Awful fond of horses. Sometimes I prefer ’em to people.” Across the room, Shelby snorted.
Lewis looked around and decided on the corner the boy would have, then fell to tossing things across the room to make space. When the piles of clothing and coils of rope had been removed, the boy saw a small wooden bed. Lewis pointed to a huge chest near the door.
“Let’s get the boy clean bedding for starters.”
“Always one to make a nice impression, Lewis,” Shelby said.
He dug out a fresh sheet from the trunk and tossed it to Lewis, catching the old sheet in return. Shelby held it to his nose for a moment.
“Funny thing, Lewis. This one smells of perfume.”
“Never mind,” Lewis said in irritation. His gaze went from Shelby to the boy and he raised his eyebrows.
“I was just having a little fun, Lewis.”
Eventually Charlie had a bed, with his little canvas bag at the foot of it and his shoes under it. They fed him again and brought him back to the cabin and allowed him a private moment to get into the flannel nightshirt Alma had bought him. Charlie climbed into bed and pulled the blankets over him up to his chin and lay with his head resting on his crossed arms. Then Lewis came in and sat at the very edge of the bed, as though afraid to rest his full weight on it.
“Everything all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call me Lewis.”
“Okay. Lewis.”
“How’s that bed?”
“It’s pretty good.”
“It’s not exactly new but it’s not old either.” Lewis wet his lips and made a little gesture with both hands, then clasped them together.
“You say everything’s all right?”
“Yeah.”
Lewis looked at him and seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but Charlie couldn’t think of anything to say. Eventually Lewis sighed and looked at the boy. “This is how it is, son. You’re supposed to stay with me for now. We have to figure out what’s the best place for you, but for now, you’re with me and…”
A moment of hot panic went through the boy, he wondered if he were to be moved again, but Lewis was still talking and he tried to focus on the words.
“…and I want you to know you’re welcome here. Now here’s our problem. This is a circus, and a circus is a business, it’s entertainment and it’s a business proposition, and I know something about a circus. But I don’t know all that much about taking care of a boy. You see what I’m driving at here?”
“Yes.” He looked
Lewis in the eye and tried to muster his most attentive look.
“I’m going to make mistakes here and there, I’m going to forget things that Alma would have done without a moment’s thought. All I can tell you is, I’ll try my best to do right by you, to make you feel like this is your, you know, your…” Lewis looked around the smoky little hut and couldn’t bring himself to speak the word.
“Anyway, this is where you are. I know it’s not what you’re used to.” Lewis shrugged. “And now I guess it’s time for you to turn in. You need anything?”
“No.”
“All right, then. We’ll see you in the morning.” Lewis turned out his lamp and hurried out of the hut.
When Lewis was gone, the boy lay in the darkness and listened to the voices outside. Gradually they subsided as the people turned in, and now the boy could hear the true noises of the night. Birds called out to one another and in the trees beyond the camp something cried out in a shrill whistle. Somewhere closer he heard the whirring noise of Lewis’s generator, and now, as he listened, he could make out the sounds of the animals: the clopping of a horse over in the corral, a deep snorting sound farther off, then an odd, high-pitched cry that he thought was the camel, clamoring for attention. From somewhere very nearby he heard a growl that made the hairs on his arms stand up, a deep-throated assertion of self that he thought had to be the lion, and if it wasn’t the lion, he wanted to hide under the cabin floor. The animals took their turns announcing their presence and then, after a brief lull, a high, powerful trumpeting rent the silence and shook the hut, Jupiter reminding all in camp of her importance. The horses answered nervously, and all was silent.
SIX
A Pachyderm and a Visitor
A pale pink light was beginning to wash the eastern sky when the boy stole out of the hut, stuffing the long nightshirt into his pants and carrying his shoes so as not to disturb the great shuddering snores of the men. Somewhere at the edge of camp a dog barked, and he heard the answering whinny from the horses. He made for the sound and found them in a long oval corral—more than seventy, Lewis had said—most of them still sleeping. He’d heard that they slept standing but had never believed it till now. As he stared, a huge brown horse with hairy legs and wide hooves loped over and put its head out, nuzzling at him. Gingerly, holding his breath, Charlie stroked its nose. He wanted to laugh.
He spent several minutes with his new acquaintance and then resumed his exploration of the camp. Eventually he learned that the animals were spread out along the perimeter, mules, zebras, llamas, a quiet quartet of buffalo, looking moth-eaten and lifeless. The last corral held the big rangy camel. It eyed him intently but made no move to approach.
In a long, narrow wagon painted orange he found the lion. It appeared to have died in the night. As he stared, it twitched its nose. Nearby, a tall box fixed to the bed of a small truck claimed to hold Bill the Dancing Bear, but as near as the boy could make out, Bill had fled, if indeed he’d ever been in the box.
“The bear sleeps in the truck. With Mr. Aiello.”
Charlie spun around and took a sudden step back. The short black man named Jeanette stood a few feet away, arms folded, staring at him. The man’s face wore no expression, he didn’t even blink. The boy took another step back, unconsciously folding his arms across his own chest. He fought to keep his face as straight as the man’s.
“I said the bear sleeps in the truck.” The man’s eyes narrowed and he pointed to the left. Charlie allowed his head to turn slightly and saw a small battered truck painted red-and-blue and sporting a grinning cartoon of a bear.
“You don’t speak any English? Or you just fussy who you talk to?”
“No. No, sir.” Amusement appeared as a gleam in the man’s eyes and the boy felt emboldened to ask questions. “Does he really dance?”
“No, he’s clumsy, even for a bear. Just not a real talented bear, more of a menagerie attraction. But he’s a great favorite with the children.”
“Is he a nice bear?”
“Isn’t any such thing. That’s why you see ’em wearing muzzles most of the time. They’re impulsive and they’re always hungry and they’re what you call an ‘omnivore.’ Means given a choice between an apple and a nine-year-old boy, a bear will eat both. I don’t like ’em.”
“Why does he sleep in the truck?”
“He gets lonely. Seems he’s formed a sort of fondness for Mr. Aiello, who was trying to teach him to dance till he gave it up. Did you have a look at the horses?”
The boy saw the look of genuine interest in the man’s face and nodded. “They’re real nice.”
Mr. Jeanette shrugged. “Of course they’re nice. Lewis always had an eye for horses. He’s known for it among circus folk.”
“And you take care of ’em all,” Charlie said, happy to be able to show off this knowledge.
Mr. Jeanette looked pleased. “Yes, I do. We got some beautiful animals, and some breeds you probably never heard of. See those tall ones over there by the fence? Those are Percherons. People bred ’em in the olden times to carry knights in armor. And that big heavy one that was nuzzling you, that’s a Belgian. One of them can pull a wagon that would take a pair of your workhorses. They’re the best herd you’re likely to see. Did you see my zebras?” Mr. Jeanette smiled and his face lost thirty years.
“Yes, sir. I like ’em fine.”
“Well, they’re a lot of trouble…but my guess is a boy wants to see the bull.”
“The bull?”
“Jupiter, the elephant. That’s what we call them, bulls. All of them, male or female. Come on.”
Charlie followed the man to a large rectangular enclosure made of heavy logs tied double for strength. In the center, a huge one-tusked elephant was digging a hole in the ground with one foot.
“Hello, big girl,” Jeanette said, but she paid them no mind.
“What’s she doing?”
“She’s digging. Don’t you like to dig?”
“I guess so. What’s she digging for?”
“Maybe she’s trying to escape. No, she’s just digging around to see what she finds in the ground. Something to put in her mouth, maybe, minerals from the dirt itself, who knows? She likes it, though.”
“What happened to her tusk?”
“Attacked a building with it. She’s given to her moods.” Mr. Jeanette leaned against a log and studied the animal fondly. Movement behind them caught the man’s eye.
“There you go, son. Flag’s up: first call to breakfast.”
With one last backward look at the elephant, Charlie followed Mr. Jeanette back into camp. He met Lewis coming out of the hut, tucking his shirt into his pants and looking puzzled.
“He was with me, Lewis,” Mr. Jeanette said.
“Oh. Okay, Sam. Morning, son. Ready to eat something?”
“Yes. I saw Jupiter.”
“She’s something, isn’t she?”
“She was digging a hole.”
“Trying to get to China, I guess.”
The mess tent was already half-filled. Charlie took his plate of sausage and eggs and bread and sat down at a long plank table beside Lewis. He ate fast, without speaking, barely able to swallow from excitement. He stole glances at the other children and stared down at his food whenever one of the adults looked his way, and couldn’t wait until he was finished.
Charlie spent the first morning amusing himself by poking around the camp, inspecting the local insect life, and picking up promising rocks, all the while stealing quick looks at the other children. Eventually he sat down in front of Lewis’s hut with his pad of paper and Alma’s thick pencil and began to draw. Soon the other children had gathered around him, clearly impressed at this arcane talent. He drew an elephant and a giraffe and horses. The elephant appeared to have truncated hind legs, the giraffe was striped, and the horses had a furry look about them, as though they
were a species of long-legged rodents, but none of the other children could draw at all, and he had made his breakthrough. He sat with them at lunch, began running through the camp with them in the afternoon, and after one day considered them all friends.
The two black boys, he learned, were Samuel Jeanette’s grandchildren, Lucius and Eli. They were talkative and curious about him. The Hungarian children spoke English with an accent, the Chinese kids spoke it perfectly but the girl was fond of sarcasm.
The children asked him about himself and he made up lies on the spot. That night when they were with their families, he sat alone at the camp’s edge, just beyond the pale oval from the lanterns, and listened to the camp sounds.
Gradually he gained an understanding of the makeup of this group. Most of the performers seemed to live in small family compounds, and all but the smallest of the children had roles and functions in the performance of their families’ acts.
Lewis Tully’s camp was a busy place, a nosegay of animal smells and a cacophony of hammering and screeching and shouted commands, but the most singular characteristic of the camp was rain. For the better part of April it rained, not warm gentle showers but hard sheets of icy rain that sent man and beast scuttering for the nearest shelter, kneading the hard ground into a pudding and creating tiny lakes everywhere.
The rain became a permanent fact of life. The humans couldn’t keep their clothes dry, the animals smelled like old rugs and grew irritable, except for the camel, which, being argumentative and belligerent as a matter of course, actually began to seem almost pleasant by comparison. The cold rain poured in rivulets through the seams of the tents and found microscopic holes and cracks in the tarred roofs of the little huts. But nothing stopped, there was no pause in the muddy chaos that passed for preparation in Lewis Tully’s nascent circus, and after the first couple of days, there was no complaint about the wet.
The boy was fascinated by the activity, much of it seemingly pointless, and try though he might, he could see no pattern emerging, nothing he could call a complete circus. There were a number of work crews: some labored for Lewis or Shelby, others worked under the eye of an older man named Emmett McKeon, who had the puzzling habit of calling Charlie “The Dauphin.” The men continued to repair the trucks, to repaint and rejuvenate Lewis’s ancient wagons, to stitch at odd-colored pieces of canvas, and to cut poles and long, wide boards from lumber. Later he watched the men slathering red and blue paint on the boards, and he saw that these would be seats.
The Blue Moon Circus Page 7