When the school day ended at three-thirty and Ben went out to find his bike, Dunk and Robin were already waiting for him. There was no way for Ben to ignore them politely; so he just thought silently Don’t say “circus”—either one of you, please. And don’t make fun of anything about it. Then he rode off a few yards ahead of them.
Dunk and Robin came on a little way behind. They both knew Ben too well to crowd him when he took the lead. But Ben could hear their conversation, and again they never mentioned the circus. So once he got to Dunk’s driveway, Ben stopped and waited. When Dunk and Robin reached him, they also stopped and waited for Ben to say what happened next. He took a few breaths and said “I better get home—got to feed old Hilda.”
Robin said “You feed Hilda every morning, I thought.”
Dunk said “You’re not forgetting poor Hilda? I could come on and help you—she likes me, remember?” Dunk knew that Ben claimed to hear the dog speak every now and then. He didn’t know whether to believe it or not, but he knew not to mention it in Robin’s presence. Still, when Ben didn’t answer, Dunk said again “I’m at least Hilda’s second-best friend.”
It was true. For reasons of her own, when she wouldn’t go to anyone else, Hilda would stand up and let Dunk scratch behind her ears and call her crazy names.
But Ben said “Thank you, Sam. I’ve got a busy evening.” Sometimes when he was trying to leave Dunk behind, Ben would call him “Sam,” which was Dunk’s first name—Samuel Duncan Owens.
For a moment Dunk looked disappointed.
So Robin said “Dunk, you can come home with me. Looks like a good day for pitching horseshoes.” Her father had a horseshoe pit in the backyard, and Robin was as good at the game as almost any boy, but all winter long the pit had been too muddy.
Dunk gave it a moment’s serious thought. He had a lot of sisters who gave him a hard time, and girls hadn’t started to interest him yet, so he didn’t want to spend his free time pitching horseshoes with one more girl. He silently decided he’d ride toward the fairgrounds and see what he saw out there. He thanked Robin for the invitation, though, and just told Ben he’d see him whenever. He knew not to mention his fairgrounds plan to Ben. Lately for some reason Ben had gone silent to Dunk about the circus. He hadn’t even mentioned buying tickets. Dunk would wait a day or two before asking why. And with that he waved Ben and Robin goodbye and went on his way, standing up on his pedals and pumping fiercely.
When he rounded the corner and went out of sight, Robin said to Ben “You mad with Dunk?”
“Not that I know of—why?”
Robin shrugged to show her usual sense of mystery with Ben’s weird doings. They were half the reason she liked him so much. The other half was the fact that they were cousins.
Ben never tried to be weird to anybody, but he knew he struck some people as unusual. So he balled up both fists, screwed his mouth up into a frown, and said “I’m just mad with the whole world today.” He meant it as a joke; he didn’t want to have to explain why he’d left Dunk behind.
But Robin nodded. “I know why you’re mad. Every time you’re mad I know the reason.” She looked right at him and waited for an answer.
Ben faced the ground and didn’t speak.
So Robin said “You know I understand your moods. I’m the key to your secrets, O Mysterious One!”
Ben finally laughed. “Not now, you aren’t—I’ll bet you a quarter.”
Robin held out her palm to claim her reward. “You’re worried about this circus in town.”
With a gap between the words, Ben said “What-circus?”
Robin made a long face to mock his solemn look, and she imitated his voice exactly. “What—circus?” Then she laughed too. “The circus you’ve been waiting for all winter, with the live pachyderms.” When Ben’s faced stayed long and baffled-looking, Robin said “Pachyderms? You’ve heard of them?” When Ben still didn’t smile, Robin said “Live elephants—your favorite thing on Earth after Robin, your wonderful cousin that you love so much.”
Ben laughed even harder. Robin had always been better than anybody else at helping him know how strange he could be. When he calmed back down, though, he looked straight into her pale gray eyes and asked her “Why would I be nervous if I truly love elephants and they’re nearby?”
Robin said “Because they’re the only thing you ever really loved—them and your mother.”
Ben knew that Robin was nearly right. Nobody had said it out loud before, and it shamed him badly. What about his father and his cousin and his life, not to mention the human race and all mammals? So he said “I’m working on doing better, Robin.”
She took a very long look at Ben’s face as if he were sick with an awful plague and she was deciding whether to nurse him or run. Then she finally said “You could fool me, boy. You still look like a hungry lost puppy by the side of the road.”
Ben let his eyes droop. Then he moaned three times, puppy style. When Robin raised her face to the sky and gave a long wolf howl, Ben said “What are you doing tonight?”
She looked at him hard, as if he’d lost all his marbles at once. Then she said “First, I’m getting my hair dyed purple with green polka dots. Then I’m going to the finest nightclub in town with a handsome hotshot you haven’t met.” There were no nightclubs anywhere nearby, and Robin was still just ten years old.
Ben said “No you’re not.”
“I beg your pardon. I make my own plans.”
Ben reached for his wallet and pulled out all three circus tickets. He brushed the top ticket with his lips—a mock kiss. Then he passed it to Robin.
She studied it like a hand grenade that might blow her sky high. After a long ten seconds, she said “Tonight?”
“Yes, madam.” Still straddling his bike, Ben gave a low bow.
Robin said “Me and who else?”
Ben did his best to imitate the voice of George Washington or somebody else from days of old. “Your noble cousin Benjamin Barks and Benjamin’s father.”
Robin was on the verge of feeling happy that Ben might like her this much, but she had to check one other thing first. She waggled her ticket in front of Ben’s face and said “Did you buy these or was it your dad?”
Ben used his George Washington voice again. “I—Benjamin Laughinghouse Barks—purchased these with my own hard-earned precious cash money.” And again he gave his formal bow.
Then Robin felt safe to say just the right amount of thanks that wouldn’t embarrass Ben. “I’m a happy soul, brother—all thanks to you.” She’d never called him brother before (she didn’t have a brother); but she’d use the word with Ben the rest of their lives at important times.
By seven o’clock the evening was clear and a good deal warmer than the day had been; but when they reached the fairgrounds, there were few cars in sight.
Mr. Barks said “I hope everybody but us doesn’t know something bad about this event.”
It was the kind of easy remark that Ben had tried not to hear all day. Instead of shutting his father up, though, Ben tried to calm him. He said “You’re always telling me not to judge too fast or I’ll be judged. I think this show is going to be fine.”
Robin said “Me too.”
But Mr. Barks said “Well, you’ve got to grant that it does look little.”
And that was true, Ben had to admit. There was one tent as big as a good-sized house and another tent, close by, that was half the size. In the early twilight Ben could see four cages with bright steel bars. They had red wheels with golden spokes but were very still now, and the animals in them were crouched out of sight or weren’t there at all. No sign of an elephant anywhere.
Though she knew not to do it, Robin couldn’t help whispering “Pachyderms, pachyderms, oh where are you?” When she looked toward Ben, he was facing the floor of the car and frowning. Robin understood he was burning now in fear and shame. So she said “Let’s get out anyhow and find the cotton candy. I’m buying our treats.” Robin always tried to car
ry her share of any load, financial or otherwise.
Ben was hoping the smaller tent would be where the elephants were waiting; but after everybody was holding the cotton candy, they entered the tent and Ben’s hopes fell. The whole space was nothing but a dressing room for clowns and acrobats. They seemed like creatures from a pitiful planet, and they paid no attention to the few ticket-holders who walked right past them as they changed their clothes. None of them were completely naked for more than a few seconds, but most of the men had their shirts off, and a lot of the women were crouched beside mirrors, slathering crimson paint on their lips and chalk-white powder all over their faces. Not a single clown or acrobat seemed to care who saw them half dressed like this.
Ben thought they seemed like people whose bodies were nothing but toys that they were mistreating intentionally. Maybe they were people who hated each other. Or maybe they were actual brothers and sisters who just spent too much time together. Whatever, Ben rushed his father and Robin through the awful mess and into the main tent. All Ben could hope was that somehow the elephants were hidden away and would turn up soon.
But they didn’t. The clowns did silly stunts that were loud and easy to laugh at. They’d tie firecrackers to each other’s shirttails and howl when they popped. They had a little dog that was funnier than they were. It could do back flips, six or eight in a row, and come up grinning. The acrobats bowed to the bleachers as if they were servants and the crowd was rich. Then they climbed tiny ladders far upward. There they swung and hurled each other through space in dangerous circles and swoops far up toward the top of the tent with no safety net.
A chubby man with a curly mustache walked into a flimsy iron cage with a lion, a coal-black panther, and a tiger. With a long leather whip, he made the three cats restless enough to snarl and reach their sharp claws toward him. But Ben suspected the man had given them some kind of drug since they never stood straight up on their hind legs or charged the man, who was smiling of course and soaked with sweat.
There were trained seals playing simple music, more dogs romping like actual children with children’s clothes on. There were four trained horses playing circular games and a man who said he was the tallest thing living, which might have been impressive until you thought of a grown giraffe or a redwood tree. Still, he was close to eight feet high, though all he did was to walk around grinning and collecting applause.
After an hour or so of such ordinary foolishness, neither Ben’s father nor Robin had said anything about the absence of pachyderms. Ben himself had halfway given up hope and was starting to laugh with the people around him, most of whom he knew by sight if not by name. He knew he’d feel disappointed when he got home, and he wondered if he’d have to tell Hilda she was wrong in her good prediction. But for now he was here with his favorite kin—that would have to be enough. Then an unexpected thing broke on him like the best surprise of an ideal Christmas.
A boy and a girl, little older than Ben, ran forward from the far dark door of the tent to the brilliant spotlights and bowed to all directions. They were dressed from neck to toe in white costumes that clung to their excellent bodies like skin. When they’d finished bowing they faced each other as the small crowd clapped. They took a long moment, checking each other’s eyes—for safety maybe—and then the boy leaned forward a little. The girl leaned to meet him, and they touched their lips together very lightly before they turned and ran to a pair of ropes that hung from the absolute top of the tent.
Until that instant Ben had felt that kisses, with anyone but your family, were either embarrassing or comically sickening. But here and now he felt otherwise—strongly and with a secret new thrill. The boy and girl didn’t pause long enough for Ben to think about what they’d done.
Almost before his eyes could follow, they’d seized the two ropes and pulled themselves, as easy as walking, to a little platform almost out of sight. It was that far above. There they stood in the dark till a spotlight discovered them. Then they smiled again broadly and bowed to all sides.
Ben was impatient with so much bowing. He wanted to yell out “Do your dumb act!” Nonetheless his eyes were fixed on them.
Robin was also fascinated. She leaned to Ben and said “Do you think they’re brother and sister or cousins?” Robin cared a lot about who was who in families.
Ben said “They’re acting like husband and wife but I don’t know.”
Robin laughed. “They’re not much older than you!”
Ben kept his eyes on the couple but said to Robin “All over the world there are millions of people younger than me who are already married and have their own children.”
Robin generally laughed when Ben turned solemn, but she often believed Ben’s strange ideas. This time, though, she guessed he was wrong. As she faced him to say so, the voice of the circus ringmaster blared out. “Ladies and gents and kids of all ages, prepare yourselves for the pride of our show. All the way from the snows of farthest Michigan, we bring you that dashing team, the astonishing Ringoes—Phyllis and Mark, loving twins. Young as they are they’ll attempt for you now a feat of strength and skill unparalleled on the planet Earth until this very moment. If you’re caring people we hope you’ll pray—and pray very hard—for, as good as they are, the astonishing Ringoes need your hopes in this new dare!”
Ben’s father could tell that Ben was anxious—his face was pale and his fingers were clenched. He leaned to Ben’s ear and said “Son, they wouldn’t try this if they couldn’t do it.”
Ben nodded but wanted to shut his eyes.
Robin by now was watching just Ben. She also leaned toward him but said something far more typical of her own dark outlook. “I think they’ll both be squashed jelly beans in another two minutes, don’t you?”
At first Ben half believed her and almost nodded his head yes, but then he realized that he somehow trusted the ringmaster—a man who looked worn-out but also trustworthy. So he just told Robin “I’m betting they’re safe.” And from then on he kept looking up as the spotlights waved around like torches, and the drummer in the four-man band began a nervous roll that raked everybody’s nerves and scared many adults, not to mention children.
The astonishing Ringoes clasped each other closely and hugged each other once but didn’t kiss again. Then they reached above them and took two separate trapeze bars hardly wider than their hands. With huge smiles still on their pink and white faces, their eyes turned serious as they planned their feat. Phyllis took the leap first; then Mark right behind her, not two yards apart. Quickly it turned out that both bars were connected to a single wire, amazingly thin. And once they’d jumped, one after the other, at first they slid fairly slowly down a sloping wire toward the ground by the dark tent door.
Still, Ben shut his eyes for a moment and thought If they really had elephants, they wouldn’t have this act—that wire could snap; it’s way too risky.
Then the whole band joined the snare drum at once. To the loud blasting of horns and snares, the Ringoes were only twenty feet from the ground. They were picking up speed; but with no sign of any net or cushion to ease them, they were bound to slam hard into the ground any instant.
Ben felt a high wave of sadness come on him, so he spoke out loud to Robin and his father—“Excuse me please!” He meant he was sorry for buying the tickets and forcing his family to watch this disaster.
Then in the band the cymbals crashed. And next, to the crowd’s outright amazement, the Ringoes landed one-by-one on another platform ten feet off the ground. It was dimly lit and shaky, and it had a black drapery all around and beneath it, but it had thin railings on the back and sides. So Phyllis and Mark only wobbled a little as they landed and stopped. They managed to keep upright and graceful, and they bowed as the spotlight found them again and blazed them in what seemed like all the light from an actual star—that strong and white. The audience rushed to its feet, yelling hard. Ben and his father and Robin stood too and joined the wild cheering.
Before it died down the Rin
goes turned their backs to the crowd and faced the dark night just beyond the tent door.
Then their shaky platform began to revolve slowly to the right till it faced the people. Just as applause was beginning to die, two men on the ground reached up toward the Ringoes and pulled down the long drapery beneath them. That revealed the grand surprise. The platform, with Phyllis and Mark still on it, was delicately balanced on the back of an elephant—a genuine pachyderm—alive with its trunk curled up to its forehead, waving a brand-new American flag.
Ben’s father grinned broadly and cheered even louder. Robin, who seldom touched other people, put her right arm around Ben’s waist and hugged him toward her. They were still standing up, but Mr. Barks and Robin might well have thought that Ben had turned to a statue there between them. He was that quiet and motionless, just watching the elephant steadily as it slowly moved on into the ring.
Once it got there it turned around in all directions, still saluting with its trunk and the flag, while the Ringoes kept on waving happily. When the elephant was facing the bleachers to the left of Ben and his family, it lowered the flag right to the ground and left it there. Then it started another whole turn around the ring.
A few people standing near Ben gave a gasp—the flag is never supposed to touch ground except when a soldier that’s holding it dies.
But before Ben or anyone else could think it had picked out a single person to salute, the elephant stopped in place again. And again it was facing the bleachers to Ben’s left.
When the ringmaster trotted near and stopped eye-to-eye with the elephant, he put his arms out level beside him. Then he lowered both arms; and the elephant lowered itself down slowly, hardly tipping the Ringoes on their platform. Then it lay down fully, so Phyllis and Mark could leap to the ground. As the cheering rose again, the twins from Michigan came to the elephant’s solemn head and kissed it gently above the left eye. The elephant took no notice of them but stayed on its belly in the sawdust ring. Through the whole act it had stayed as dignified as if this were Asia and it was at home in a warm green thicket surrounded by free food, family members, and no real enemies that mattered enough to trouble its sleep.
A Perfect Friend Page 4