“Why all this hatred?”
“Because of this!” Roughly, I pulled my hair back and turned my face to the side so he could get the full effect. “Your kind did that. You destroyed my family and threw me into a fire. Left me to die.”
He leaned forward to look, seemingly puzzled, rather than repulsed. “Impossible. We haven’t moved this far out – yet.”
“I’m from Carmine City,” I said.
That caused him to start and look at me, even more intently. “It can’t be,” he said. “Although, you do look like him. My head hurts. You should come back later.” Slowly he dropped back down to his cross-legged position, pressing fingers to his temples. His eyes fluttered shut and began jerking around under the lids as if he was dreaming. I could feel the humming inside my skin again. The tingling ache that I often felt in the burned side of my face increased. I waited, anger rising, but he appeared to have gone into a trance. Banging on the bars, I shouted, “Wraeththu, Wraeththu scum!” No response. I picked up a pipe lying on the stage and lobbed it at the bars. It bounced off with a heavy metallic clang.
Pavel stuck his head in the door flap on the other side of the tent and yelled, “What the hell are you doing in here? I told you to stay out!”
Next thing I knew, he’d given me the bum’s rush out the door and I was laid out flat on my belly, spitting straw. Renny and Sparks, now in full make-up, pointed at me, miming laughter. I felt ashamed, and skulked back to the trailer to shroud my anger in smoke and poisonous dreams. For the next six hours, I hid in my room, indulging my demons.
My act was always the same. The talker, Stubs Wheaton, stood outside the tent and called to the crowds in his whiskey-smooth voice: “Ladies and gents, come in and see the strange and rare oddities of the human condition. Yes, here they are, and you can thank your lucky stars, they ain’t you. Come in and see Esmeralda, the bearded woman, hairy as a werewolf. Flat Stanley, the thinnest man alive. Delilah, the contortionist. She can put her legs behind her head and kiss her own ass. Sorry folks, this ain’t a family show. And Janus, the boy with two faces. Beautiful as a god on one side, hideous as a devil on the other...” And so it went.
Getting high as a kite before the show made it almost bearable. I’d go to the dressing room in the back of the tent, pin up my hair on the burned side of my face, leaving it long and flowing over my shoulders on my good side, strip down to a spangled loincloth, then hide in my cubicle in the dark. When the spotlight came on, I’d step into it, presenting my right side. Then the light would go off and I’d turn to my left side that was burned from my hip all the way up my arm and part of my back to my face, which had gotten the worst of it. The light would come back on and I’d hear gasps and sometimes screams as people filed by. Usually there was a stony silence. In case anyone thinks this was a humiliating way to make a living, I might remind them that I didn’t have much choice. And once I got over the shame, I guess it was easy money. Well, I’m lying. I didn’t get over the shame. It festered into a rage that by the time I was done for the night, I had to go smoke myself silly to keep from hitting someone.
But tonight, things were different. People came by but they weren’t paying attention to me. I could hear them talking. “Did you hear? They’ve got one of those mutant things. Yeah, right here in the circus. I couldn’t get a ticket until ten o’clock.” And so on. This didn’t help my mood at all. I figured they were going to be severely disappointed when they went into that tent and saw, not a frightening hermaphroditic monster, but some boy in tight leather pants sitting in a cage. But by the end of the show my curiosity was getting the best of me and so I drew on the white mask I wore when I had to go out among rubes, put on some clothes, and pelted over to the tent.
Standing outside listening to people leaving, I could tell it hadn’t gone well. The buzz sounded angry, puzzled.
“Just some loud-mouthed punk taunting us. I’m getting my money back.”
“I don’t know. I think there’s something to that mutant stuff. Didn’t you feel it? He gave me the shivers, like he was speaking in my head.”
“...some kid, talking a lot about how he was going to take over the world. Didn’t look like a mutant to me. This is a big hoax.”
Two young women emerged giggling. One said, “Oh Stephanie, wasn’t he gorgeous! I mean he could have been a movie star. It was worth the money just to ogle him. If that’s what mutants look like, sign me up.”
And so on, just as I’d figured. I wasn’t so sure myself that he wasn’t some pretty boy that Sligo had stuck in a cage, except that he engendered strange feelings, which apparently others could detect as well. I remembered the discussion between Tom and Sligo and the note of fear in Tom’s voice.
I waited in the shadows until they’d all left, then crept into the tent, which was dark, except for a spotlight shining on the cage. I took off the mask in order to see better. The mutant was hunched in one corner facing Dr. Sligo, who stood outside the cage in his full Ringmaster’s gear, complete with top hat. He was holding an electric cattle prod, the kind they used to control the big cats. The mutant stared at him with narrowed eyes. Dr. Sligo glared back and said, “A pitiful performance. Half the crowd wants their money back. No dinner until I see something better out of you. There’s a costume! Put it on.” He threw some sparkly red garments through the bars.
“I can go for days without eating,” the mutant said.
Sligo stabbed the long wand of the cattle prod through the bars, hitting the mutant in the groin with its pincher-like tip. With a sharp cry, the mutant dropped to the floor hugging himself.
“Don’t fuck with me,” Sligo hissed, giving him another shot to the back of the neck before withdrawing the wand. The mutant convulsed and then dry retched on the floor, which caused me to wince even though I thought I was all for torturing him. I must be going soft.
“What do you want?” the mutant gasped.
“They want to see a half-human monster, so you better become one. Take off those pants and show them what you’ve got.”
The mutant grimaced at him. “Come in here and try getting them off me. I’ll rip you apart.”
Sligo chuckled. “How stupid do you think I am? I’ll just throw water on you and then hit you with this thing until you pass out.”
“And risk injuring your investment?” the mutant sneered.
“You’re worth nothing to me unless I can sell tickets. And I can’t sell tickets to a performance of a mouthy kid sitting in a cage.”
“You want a sex show, Sligo? I didn’t know you were such a complete pervert,” the mutant said. “You know there isn’t much to see, unless I’m aroused, and I’d need another har to achieve that.”
What the hell was he saying? My curiosity had become overwhelming.
“Use your hand, you freak,” Sligo said. “It’s no matter to me how you display yourself.”
“I refuse to debase myself for you, human scum! You can kiss my hot little harish ass.” The mutant lunged forward, reaching through the bars towards Sligo’s throat.
Sligo thrust the prod at him. The mutant grabbed the end of it and then screamed. It was like something out of a Frankenstein movie. The air around him crackled with blue lightning and his white hair seemed to stand up with static, writhing almost as if alive. I smelled roasting flesh, and suddenly, I couldn’t stand it. I stepped forward into the lights and yelled, “Stop! Stop it now!”
Sligo jerked the prod away and then threw it to the ground as if it had burned him too. The mutant boy staggered back, sank down to the floor, and stared at his reddened hands. Sligo was shaking and pale even under his white make-up. “Crazy sonovabitch,” he muttered. Slowly, he bent, put a hand on the stage, sat for a moment as if collecting himself, then hopped down. He found a discarded cup full of ice and slid it across the stage so that it smacked up against the bars. “Put some of this on those hands,” he said. The Wraeththu grabbed the cup, spilled some ice into his hand, and immediately popped it into his mouth. He crouched
back onto his heels, and began slowly rocking, mumbling something.
Sligo glared at me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“My job, Dr. Sligo. You told me to watch him between shows.”
“So I did. Earn your pay now. Run and get some burn ointment and bandages. Hurry up. We’ve got another show in an hour.”
The Wraeththu looked up. “Bring some water too. Please. My tongue feels like a balloon.”
On my way out, I noticed that there was already a crowd lined up outside the tent. Stubs the talker was really promoting the shit out of this mutant thing. I honestly didn’t know what was going to happen. I went to the supply tent and got the first-aid, then stopped by concessions and picked up some water bottles, a cup of ice, and a hot dog, because I didn’t know if he would be hungry. I slipped back in through the exit door.
Dr. Sligo and the mutant seemed to have reached some sort of truce. Sligo had left, taking the prod with him, and the Wraeththu had shed his leather pants and put on the costume Sligo had tossed at him, a sparkly red halter top that looked like it belonged to Sheena, one of the equestriennes who was very flat-chested, and a long sheer red scarf tied over the hips. Underneath the scarf, the mutant wore tight spandex briefs that revealed a masculine bulge between his legs. That at least seemed normal. Or was it? The shape didn’t quite look right. But oh, what lovely, long legs he had! The costume definitely made him look more feminine and made me somewhat queasy. What was he? Or she? He was sitting cross-legged in the cage, leaning his elbows on his knees.
“Here.” I crouched down and handed him the water and food.
Stone-faced, he unscrewed the top of the water bottle and chugged it down. Then he stuffed the hot dog in his mouth. It was gone in three bites.
“You must have been hungry,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll get you some more, later.”
“I’d be grateful,” he said. “I haven’t eaten in three days.”
I couldn’t help it; I was beginning to feel sorry for the bastard. “What the hell is going on? Sligo wouldn’t even treat a dog this way.”
“I’m worse than a dog,” he replied, wiping his mouth. “I’m the next stage in human evolution and it scares the shit out of the likes of you, doesn’t it?” The lights above his cage reflected in his eyes like melted stars.
“If you keep talking like that, this crowd is going to lynch you and I wouldn’t stop ‘em,” I replied.
“Then why did you speak up for me, earlier?”
“I couldn’t stand to see any creature get burned like that. Empathy, I s’pose. Even you could probably imagine why. Here hold out your hands.”
Obligingly, he stuck his hands through the bars. They were fine hands, long, slender fingers. The palms looked red with some bubbled blisters and two little blackened spots on his right hand. It could have been worse. I cupped the back of his hand in my palm preparing to put some ointment on it and got a sudden tingle all through my body as if my flesh was singing. I jerked away from him. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
He looked at me in surprise, then his expression grew thoughtful. “I wonder.”
“What the hell are you?”
“I’m a mutant freak, just like you said.”
“No, you’re something else. You’re like, I don’t know, a witch.”
His lips twisted. “You have no idea.”
“What did you do to make that blue lightning stuff?”
“Channelled some power.” He laughed.
I could tell I wasn’t going to get any real answers out of him. “Okay, Witch, give me your hand again.” I smeared the ointment on his palms, carefully wrapped gauze and tape around them, and covered up the bandages with red silk scarves.
“Thanks, human scum,” he said, but the tone was warm, teasing. Then he smiled at me, a shiny bright smile. And, oh wow, my insides lit up like a firecracker. I swear, no one had ever smiled at me like that before. It was as if the sun had suddenly broken through a hole in the roof. If I’d thought him attractive before, it was nothing like the breath-taken feeling I had now. I started to smile back, then remembered that smiling didn’t improve my appearance. Glamour, that was what Dr. Sligo had called it, that special quality that Wraeththu have. I thought I understood it then. I didn’t understand anything.
I turned away, feeling anxious again. “So, I see you’re nearly naked now, but probably not enough for Sligo. What are you going to do for your act?”
“You’ll see.”
“No, I won’t. I’ve got my own act to do. I’m a spectacle, just like you.”
“So, why do you hate me and not them? Aren’t we of a kind, in the same boat, so to speak?”
I flinched. “We are nothing alike. I despise your kind.”
“Perhaps in time you’ll change your mind.” He seemed to be mocking me. It made me angry again.
“I doubt it. I’ve hated the Wraeththu all my life, before I even knew what to call you. That hate is like breathing to me.”
He nodded. “It can be like that for us too. Where I’m from, the humans curse us, hunt us down. There’s going to be war soon. What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“Not such a hard question, is it?” He laughed softly.
“Jareth Nine,” I said. “My stage name is Janus.”
“Ah, of course. Janus, the Roman god of gates, doorways, and beginnings. He who has two faces and can simultaneously see both the past and the future. How appropriate. Can you predict the future, Jareth Nine?”
He was looking at me intently again, as if he could see past my disfigurement. I had one of those moments that hit the pit of my stomach, like falling through the air. I saw myself standing at a door, looking out into a forest of towering ponderosa pines, knowing that something terrible had happened. God of doorways and beginnings.
“Sometimes it seems so,” I said cautiously. “I mean sometimes I get premonitions, usually just feelings, and then something significant happens.”
He picked a piece of glitter off his thigh. I noticed that he didn’t seem to have hair on any part of his body except that luxuriant growth on his head. Certainly, there was no shadow of a beard on his face. He nodded. “Yes, it makes sense. You’re special, Jareth. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just a freak.” Yes, a freak, destined to be reviled by everyone and to live out my days in loneliness.
“No, I don’t think so.” He rocked forward. Slowly as if reaching for a skittish horse, he put his hand through the bars and touched the burned side of my face, brushing it with his fingertips in a gesture as delicate as the twitch of a butterfly’s wing. It ignited the tingling sensation, this time more profoundly than before. I jerked away from him, angry again.
“So much pain,” he said. He sounded sad.
“I hate you!” I stood up to leave. “I’ve gotta go now.”
“Jareth, would you come back and see my act? I would feel better knowing there was at least one friendly face in the crowd.”
“Mine wouldn’t be friendly.”
“At least it would be familiar.”
“I have my own act.”
“Leave early.” He paused. “Please, Jareth Nine.”
“I’ll see you later,” I said. “I’ll bring some dinner after your show. That’s all I can promise.” I started to walk away, then paused, looking back at him. “I told you my name, Mutant. What about yours? Do you have a name, or do I just call you Wraeththu Scum?”
He laughed as if I’d made a joke. “My name is Kithara. I am one of Thiede’s elite. That means nothing to you yet, but it will. I feel change blowing through me as keenly as a northerly wind. Don’t you?”
“No,” I said. It was a lie. Like a bug, I scurried back to my dark booth.
As I stood in my booth, turning first one way, then the other, beauty, ugliness, light, dark, and listening to all the idiot gawkers, it seemed that Kithara’s spell, for so it must h
ave been, fell away from me. When I was near him, he had the power to make me forget what I was, and even imagine myself as normal. Once reality kicked back in, I was left with anger and bitterness and only wanted to go back to the trailer to drug myself into oblivion. I refused to leave early to see whatever new act Kithara had dreamed up in order to keep Dr. Sligo from frying him. Instead I did my job, returning to his tent when the show was done.
Wearing my mask, I stood by the exit door and listened to the people emerging. Something was different this time. “It’s a man, I tell you,” one woman was arguing.
Her male friend replied, “No, it’s a woman. I’d never be that turned on by a man.”
“Maybe you’re just one of those latent homosexuals,” the woman said with a laugh, which brought an angry splutter in reply.
“Whatever it is, it’s weird,” another man was saying.
“Downright sexy as hell,” someone else said.
Others emerged silent, almost embarrassed to look at each other. But I noticed many of them went and stood in line to buy tickets for the midnight show. Oh Kithara, what are you doing?
Dr. Sligo showed up, beaming, and waved the last rubes out of the tent, since they were hanging around as if they didn’t want to leave. “Well, that was much better,” Sligo chortled. “Our boy in there has real potential.” He rubbed his hands together. “We can make this into something spectacular in the future, but for tonight, we’ll have to improvise. Jareth, get Ricky to come in here and work on the lighting and then you run to supplies and get some long chains. Get a pair of acrobats’ leather wrist cuffs with a metal link to attach to the chains. Then, pick up ten pounds of dry ice in a cooler and ask Barry in concessions to boil about six gallons of water for us. Hurry up, we’ve only got an hour until the next show.”
So, we were going to create some mood with fog and special lighting. Okay. But why did Sligo want chains? I rounded up the equipment, then came back lugging an ice chest full of dry ice. Some kid was balanced on a ladder fiddling with the lights in the framework at the top of the tent while Ricky worked a slider box adjusting the spots, changing colours, bringing them up and down. “How will I know the timing on all this?” he asked Dr. Sligo.
Paragenesis: Stories of the Dawn of Wraeththu Page 10