The Blue Moon Circus

by Michael Raleigh

  In the distance he heard voices. He sighed and waited for this latest group to come and stare at him. The Count’s son appeared, wide-eyed and slightly out-of-breath, and then he saw Lewis Tully. Lewis was frowning as he made the turn around a pair of trees and then he was smiling and coming forward with his hand extended.

  “Joseph. Joseph, you’re a sight…”

  “That’s what I’m told, Lewis,” Joseph Coates said, and came forward with his own hamlike hand extended. When they shook hands, the children exploded with excitement: if this giant knew Mr. Tully, then it was all right to admire him aloud. Over Lewis’s shoulder, Coates saw Shelby, Harley Fitzroy, Zheng and Mr. Jeanette, and old Royce the cook.

  “Hello,” Joseph Coates said shyly. “Where’d you find everybody, Lewis?”

  “I been working at it, Joseph. We’re gonna put a big show together, Mr. Coates, all of us, and it’ll be like the old days. When we were young and didn’t know which end was up.”

  “I don’t even remember being young, Lewis.”

  Lewis looked past him. “How’d you get here, Joseph? Shanks’ mare?”

  Coates nodded.

  Lewis smiled. “Long walk from Iowa. I bet that was a sight folk won’t soon forget.”

  Other people showed up, people who had never seen Coates before: roustabouts and canvasmen he didn’t recognize and a Mexican-looking family who smiled and nodded at him, and a group of white men, probably canvasmen, who studied him calmly, their faces giving away nothing.

  Lewis followed his gaze and put a hand up on the big man’s shoulder.

  “This is Mr. Joseph Coates, from my old circus. The Rock Island Giant, and…an old friend of mine.”

  A couple of the men nodded, and Coates sensed his acceptance by most of them. A few, he knew, would merely tolerate him, but he’d have no trouble here. He nodded and waved a big hand in their direction.

  “Good morning.”

  The oldest of the canvasmen stepped forward, grinning, and said in a voice rich in brogue, “And on the eighth day, the Lord God created a giant.” The men laughed and Emmett McKeon extended his hand.

  “Come on, Joseph, let’s get you situated,” Lewis said.

  The giant picked up his tiny carpetbag and followed Lewis. As they passed by, the children resumed their play, and Mr. Coates slowed down to look at them. The spider scurried under a great rotting log and they peered into the dark underside trying to see it, then gave up. Coates walked back to the log, stared at them until he had each child’s complete and slightly nervous attention, then reached down, clamped one great hand on the near end of the log, and gave a sharp heave. The log came up from the ground with a ripping sound, and Mr. Coates slowly lifted it up to shoulder height, gave it a quick look to make sure the spider was no longer clinging to it, then tossed it into the brush ten feet away. He looked back at the stunned children, pointed to the ground where the spider ran through the gash in sudden panic, and then Joseph Coates walked away.

  As he passed the canvas crew, he scanned their faces, gave a quick wink, and heard them burst out in laughter. In the back row of the little crowd, someone clapped, and behind him Joseph Coates heard the children gasping in delight at the free show.

  Shelby caught his eye and shook his head. “Still can’t resist the chance to show off, Joseph.”

  “I am incorrigible,” Coates said, and told himself he was home again, if only for a season.

  Other letters had gone unanswered. Two came back marked “Addressee unknown.” One, sent to a sword-swallower and general jack-of-all-trades named Barlow, came back marked “deceased.” Lewis stared at the sad dark message written across the envelope and then put the letter away in his trunk.

  And from another, more mysterious form of communication, from news borne on the winds or overheard in a crowded street, Lewis received other, unsought responses to his call.

  For the next two weeks, this pilgrimage of strangers came calling on Lewis Tully, a few under their own steam, several driven out by the glowering old man operating Jasper’s only taxi service, some on foot—but all coming to the place where Lewis Tully was gathering his people for one more show. He took on canvasmen, laborers, even a band, almost against his will.

  The “band” arrived in the rain, four men in a Chrysler painted tangerine orange, with their own uniforms and odd leather helmets that made them look like the Prussian army, and fifteen instruments. Lewis listened to the practiced little speech from their leader, a red-faced man named Herman Hettman. Lewis opened his mouth to say he had no need of a band, saw the worry in the man’s eyes, and heard himself saying, “Every circus needs a band.”

  Charlie was on hand when Roy Green and Shirley Morrissey arrived, a light-skinned black man and a white woman with red hair going gray. They showed up in a noisy Ford that bore more injuries than Lewis’s patched tent, and they’d drawn a small crowd before they even made it out of the car. Lewis embraced each of them, and the others in turn, Shelby, Harley Fitzroy, Mr. Coates, Sam Jeanette, all greeted the two old clowns warmly. As they walked back into camp together, Harley caught the boy’s eye.

  “Old friends, these are. You heard Lewis speak of Roy Green and Shirley Morrissey, I know. ‘Pegs to hang a circus on,’ that’s what old Barnum said of clowns. And Roy is the last of the long clowns.”

  He peered down at the boy. “Lewis told you what a long clown is?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “Ever see one?”

  He shook his head.

  “You will soon enough. Just you wait till you see Roy Green. Shirley’s a special clown herself, the children are very fond of Shirley, but Roy Green…well, you’ll see.”

  As they walked back to camp, Charlie heard the old man mutter, “I sure didn’t think they’d make it.”

  ***

  Lewis Tully leaned against a gatepost and peered through the darkness at Sam Jeanette’s sleeping zebras. The wind blew through his camp from the west and filled the air with the smells of his herd, his machines, his canvas. His circus.

  I’m almost there, he thought. Almost there.

  These were the difficult times for him. By day, the strain of fifteen-hour days and a hundred small decisions left him no time for worry. Now, with his crew and his beasts bedded in for the night, he was left to his own fears, and they were too many to name.

  For the fourth time that night, Lewis went over his gasoline needs and wondered how he’d pay for fuel the first few weeks of the season, and then he realized he was not alone. He held his breath and felt the sharp thrill of danger, danger was always a possibility. He heard another sound, the crack of a dry twig—whoever it was, was a clumsy sonofabitch. Then he caught a movement to his left, along his main corral perhaps thirty yards away. He squinted into the dark, and before his eyes could verify his hunch, he knew his intruder. He watched a moment longer and then he could make out the ungainly silhouette of Hector Blaney, top hat and all.

  Hector Blaney began to move slowly around the edge of the camp, counting and inspecting, and Lewis followed. He saw Hector staring at the vehicles and the new tents that told him Lewis’s crew had grown. Lewis watched Hector Blaney counting the horses, and Hector seemed stunned that they were still there. As he stared at them, one of the horses sensed a stranger and made a sudden snort of complaint. Hector gasped and clutched his chest, and Lewis thought he’d die trying to hold in his laughter.

  Hector stepped back and put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

  “I’m still here,” Lewis called out in a harsh whisper, and Blaney lurched off into the night.

  In the distance he heard a car door slam and then the sound of Hector’s big Packard grinding its way out through the mud ruts.

  The next night Lewis laid out his plans. Charlie lay awake and feigned sleep, listening intently. At the back of the hut, Lewis, Shelby, and Harley Fitzroy went over what the
boy imagined to be the private, secret, and arcane documents of the circus whose contents were known only to a handful of men.

  Lewis ticked off names and assignments, and the other men grunted approval. When he was finished, Lewis set down his penciled list and looked at the others.

  “Anything slipped by me?”

  “Nope. Appears you’ve got it all covered,” Harley said. “Real impressive, all those jobs for just a little handful of people.”

  Across the table, Shelby’s silence was as subtle as a boulder in the road.

  Lewis narrowed his eyes. “You think I missed something.”

  “No, you done fine, you thought of everything,” Shelby said, but the tone in his voice said something different.

  “No, it’s clear to everybody in this room you think I missed something.”

  “You didn’t miss nothing. There’s nobody else could put this show together tight as you’ve got her, Lewis.”

  “But?”

  “Well, we used to have one person taking care of all the costumes and props and all, and looking after the proceeds, doing all those—”

  “Now just a damn minute, J.M—”

  “I’m just saying there’s things need to be done.”

  “No, that’s not nearly what you’re trying to say—”

  “You two gonna have fisticuffs over this?” Harley asked.

  “I’m just trying to be helpful,” Shelby said, and the boy wondered why it sounded as if he were close to laughter.

  “The person you got in mind is not with this show and it’s not likely she’s going to show up and offer her services.”

  “It was just an idea I had.”

  Lewis said nothing, and the boy wished he could see his face. A moment later he heard Lewis say, “I don’t think Lucy’s coming, either.”

  “Guess not,” Shelby said.

  “She’d have been here by now. That, or we’d have heard something from her.”

  “Well, she said she was through with circuses.”

  “Yes, she did,” Lewis said, and the disappointment in his voice was unmistakable.

  Charlie heard the rustling of more paper, thicker-sounding paper this time, and then heard Lewis say, “Have a look at the map.”

  Slowly the boy turned in his cot and peered out from under the little tent of blankets to steal a glance. The three men sat beneath Lewis’s lantern, their heads close together as they studied a large, very worn map. The boy thought they looked like generals in an old engraving.

  “We’ll be going along the Canty Road, it’ll be our main route across Kansas, and then we’ll follow it on a ways west and then due north.”

  “West and north,” Shelby repeated. It was not stated as a question, but the boy heard the question nonetheless, as apparently Lewis did.

  “West and north is correct,” Lewis said through gritted teeth. “We’re going up here through these parts and we’ll make a little loop east toward the end, see how far we get. We’re gonna hit all these little towns, as many of ’em as we can.”

  The other men said nothing for a time and then Shelby said, “I see what you got in mind, Lewis.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s a fine plan. We’ll find water all along the route, the Canty Road’s never far from water. Won’t have much competition till we start heading toward the big mining towns in Colorado. Hector—and maybe Preston Crowe.”

  After a moment’s pause, the boy heard Lewis say, “Hector, I’m not worried about. Preston Crowe…” And the boy heard him sigh. “Well, everybody’s got his cross to bear. Maybe we won’t meet up with Preston. A lot of these towns wouldn’t be worth Preston’s time with that big show. That’s part of my reasoning here.” Lewis looked at Shelby. “Maybe he’ll decide to play California and the coast this year,” he said hopefully.

  “It’ll be fine, Lewis,” Shelby said. After a moment, he ventured another comment. “Wyoming again.”

  “Among other places.”

  “Things always seem to get back to Wyoming somehow, don’t they?”

  “I guess so.”

  “How far into Wyoming, Lewis?”

  “Maybe all the way up there to Sheridan, maybe on up into Montana, who knows?”

  Shelby smiled at him. “Gonna make it this time, you think?”

  “Lord, I hope so.”

  The boy watched the men. For a while they simply stared at each other. Finally Lewis let the map drop onto the table.

  “Yes, we’re bringing a circus up to Wyoming, and this time we’re gonna make it all the way up through the state, all the way to Sheridan. Pass me that bottle, J.M.”

  As the boy drifted off, Harley broke out a deck of cards and began to deal three hands. Lewis was looking into his glass, and Shelby was poring over the map as though it had special meaning for him. They were all smiling.

  TEN

  A Passage from India

  Lewis was helping Shelby and the canvas men mount a new wheel onto a wagon when Sam Jeanette came to fetch him.

  “You have yourself a visitor, Lewis.”

  “What kind of visitor, Sam?”

  “Says he got a snake act.”

  Lewis sighed. “A snake act? I wasn’t planning to have a sideshow. I don’t know if I…”

  “Says he got an unusual act.”

  “Unusual, huh? A top-notch snake act. Hell, everybody…”

  “No, he made sure I got the idea this is an unusual act. He’s pretty unusual himself. Got to be from someplace far away, Lewis. He thought I was the bossman. So he must come from someplace where black folk run things. I think I like this fella already.”

  “So where is he?”

  “At the cook’s top. Man was hungry, Lewis.”

  Lewis found his visitor perched on what was unmistakably a large picnic basket, knees crossed so tightly that he seemed to be tied in knots. He managed, though sitting still, to give the impression of fidgeting, and his dark little eyes never rested, his gaze flitting from object to object, place to place as though he didn’t quite remember how he’d come to be there. He was dressed in a khaki suit that hung on him like bedclothes and a turban made for a bigger head, perhaps several heads at once.

  When he saw Lewis he untangled himself and leaped to his feet, causing the turban to begin a long slow slide down the side of his head. He caught it in time, showed Lewis a pearly grin, and nodded.

  “Hello, Mister. I am Ganesh Patel.” He began to bow, remembered the turban, and caught himself in time.

  “Lewis Tully,” Lewis said, and they shook hands. “Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Patel?”

  “I am a charmer of snakes. I am one dandy snake-man, first rate. I have one first-rate snake act.”

  Lewis nodded, striving to maintain eye contact but unable to keep his gaze from the mighty turban, which was giving every sign of another slide down the front of the little man’s head.

  “I don’t really need a snake act. You see, I’m not going to have any kind of sideshow or freak show or what-have-you. And a snake act really requires a small stage. Your act would be kinda lost in the ring.”

  The little man blinked back his panic and began shaking his head, this time holding onto the turban.

  “But this is special unusual act. Not ordinary snake act, not ordinary snake.”

  “So what have you got, some kinda rare cobra? A python, maybe? They’re hard to control. I knew a fellow once, his python damn near ate him.”

  “No, no, no, no, no, this is not python, the python he has no poison whatsoever, he is big, lazy, stupid snake.” The little man pointed to his picnic basket. “This is very rare, very dangerous Emperor Cobra.”

  Lewis stroked the five-day growth on his chin. “Emperor Cobra, huh? You’re right, those are plenty rare, Mr. Patel. I know I’ve never seen one.”
r />   Mr. Patel grinned. “Then this is your fortunate day, for I have in this one basket the rare Emperor Cobra. The female,” he said, and nodded at the significance of this information.

  “Oh, well, a female Emperor Cobra. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  Shelby materialized at Lewis’s elbow. “You know what an Emperor Cobra is, Lewis?”

  Lewis gave him a quick look. “I believe it’s related to the snipe and the jackalope.” He sighed. “Mr. Patel, I have never heard of any such thing as an Emperor Cobra—male, female, or neuter, and I’ve got five bucks that says you haven’t, either. Now, why don’t we cut out all this horseshit.”

  Mr. Patel looked from Lewis to Shelby, plainly trying to decide whether a smile was appropriate when one was caught in a lie.

  “Let’s have a look at this snake.”

  “He is very…”

  “You said it was a female…”

  “It is…male and female both together,” Mr. Patel said.

  “Fine, you got a hermaphrodite snake. Let’s have a look at it.”

  “Yes, sir. Very good.” From a little cardboard suitcase, Mr. Patel drew a small flute. He wiped the mouthpiece, sighted down the other end as though looking for flaws, adjusted his turban, and then opened the two wicker flaps of the picnic basket with the air of a man unwrapping crystal.

  Then he sat down cross-legged in the mud and began to play.

  He played horribly, filling the air with discordant notes and unconnected fragments of melody and peering down the end of his instrument so that his eyes appeared to cross. As he played, he tried to sway and fought to keep his turban on at the same time.

  Lewis watched the little man with a growing sense of unease.

  The snake man was stiff and uncertain in his movements, worked with the awkwardness of someone attempting the fox trot in workboots, and of all the dozens of snake-charmers and snake-handlers Lewis had seen in forty years of association with circuses both grand and inept, he had never seen a clumsy snake man. It was to his mind an oxymoron, an impossibility. You just didn’t come across clumsy snake handlers because they didn’t last very long.