Circus of the Grand Design

by Robert Freeman Wexler

  Perry wore a shining suit; he had covered his jockey clothing with interlocking pieces of paper-thin brass. Desmonica...she wore her costume...all those leather straps...why? Dillon couldn't have changed his mind. Not when...

  "There's Lewis," she said, shaking Perry's shoulder. "I'm helping get you two ready. Figured I'd wear my costume till I can't fit into it."

  "Let's keep it uncomplicated our first time," Perry said.

  They discussed their act; he showed Lewis the wooden sword that Jenkens had made for him, which he had then covered with a thin layer of bronze.

  A gaunt man entered the room from outside, followed by two giants—one a blond, the other dark skinned. The gaunt man stopped when he saw the circus crew, then walked over to Perry and Lewis. From the door he had looked taller, but he was about Lewis's height, though much lighter.

  "Pardon me," the man said. His voice had a smooth tone, though not as smooth as Dillon's. "You appear to have made a mistake. My group is performing in this facility. I suggest that you leave now."

  It took a moment for Lewis to register what the man said. He looked at Perry.

  "I don't think so," Perry said. The gaunt man smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant smile. Lewis felt queasy.

  "Yes, well, we might be able to do something to convince you. Force would be the best way, don't you think?

  Perry tried to calm him. "I suppose there could be a scheduling conflict, gentlemen. Allow me to get my manager and I'm sure we can resolve..."

  "Falco?" The gaunt man waved a hand at the blond giant. "I would say fifteen minutes should be sufficient to clear the room."

  Gold called out from somewhere behind them. "Hey, you're Horton the Ringmaster, the pimp—Frank Conners! I'd recognize you anywhere." He rushed over to them.

  Gold's recognition didn't appear to impress Horton/Connors. "You're correct, I'm Frank Conners, and you're about to swallow your teeth, buckaroo." He clapped his hands twice. Falco grabbed Gold's shirt and twisted the fabric tight.

  Without thinking, Lewis drew his sword and swung it up. The blade chopped into Falco's left bicep. He yelled and grabbed his arm. Perry jumped onto his horse and rode down on the dark giant, who stumbled backward. Gold punched Connors, and Perry struck the dark giant on the head with the pommel of his sword. Bodyssia arrived and raised Conners over her head.

  "I doubt that you even remember me Conners, or Horton," Gold said. "But you did me ill once upon a time, and I haven't forgotten."

  Dillon hurried over. "Good, Bodyssia, hold this gentleman. The rest of you—we load up immediately." Several of them began disassembling the circus's equipment. Lewis stood holding his sword. He stared at the blade. It had cut so fast that no blood stained its shine. József called out that he found a basement; they pushed the giants down the stairs, tossed Conners on top of them, and closed the door.

  "I'm buying the beer!" Gold said when they reached the dining car. "I knew I'd get that bastard back someday." The acrobats applauded. Dillon stood nearby. He muttered something, then left.

  Lewis had stabbed a man, hadn't even stopped to think. He knew the sword had an edge, he had swung blindly, could have easily killed...the train lurched, his insides fluttered, and the windows frosted over. Dawn handed him a bottle of beer and guided him to a booth.

  "Who were those toad-faced thugs?" she asked.

  Lewis pressed the cold bottle to his forehead. "Gold told me about this Conners-Horton character," he said. "Runs a circus prostitution ring. Never thought we'd run into him."

  ~

  The windows cleared, revealing the same scene of oceanic grass and, on the other side of the car, the buildings of the town from which they had recently fled. Dillon entered the dining car. "Ready for another round?" he asked, and everyone cheered.

  Dillon led them to the elephant car, where all the equipment remained as they had left it. He opened the portal, and the acrobats, singing a song in their native tongue, picked up their trampolines and carried them down the ramp. The rest followed. Lewis was about to proceed after them when Miss Linda appeared.

  "Is it safe to go out there?" she asked.

  "Looks okay to me. Can I escort you?" Without waiting for an answer, he held her gloved hand in his. The ground outside, which had been dry before, squished as they walked into the brick building. With the performance immanent, he couldn't even think about what was happening, how they had returned to the same place, sans Horton/Connors. The crew rushed around, readying things. Jenkins told Lewis to help him carry a section of the metal lattice into the ring.

  Throughout their promenade he held Miss Linda's hand, more to calm his own nerves than for her benefit—she at least was used to being in front of an audience. He kept his gaze ahead, on the backs of Bodyssia and her animals.

  The performance proceeded as a blur. He couldn't allow himself to think of anything but the breath. Yes, acts followed, much applause given to both Gold and the acrobats...his turn soon. Dillon appeared with the horse, and Lewis mounted. He chased Perry around the arena twice; when he caught him, Perry raised his sword in defense, then they raced away from each other in the opposite direction, met again on the other side, clashed swords, raced, clashed, and bowed to the audience.

  He pointed the mechanical horse to the ramp, where, once away from the spotlight, he tried to relax against the pain that knifed through his tight shoulder muscles. He had pulled something, from the tension no doubt. He had a minute to catch his breath, then it was time for the final promenade, and the show was over. Backstage again, he dismounted and hurried to a restroom, where he vomited into the sink.

  Chapter 25: Flood

  Morning light, though not much brighter than the window's clouded state, woke Lewis. He looked out to a gray sky. The rain had stopped, but the high grass had a sodden look. Scattered patches were beaten down, perhaps by hail, though he hadn't heard any striking the roof of the train. Tough break, he thought, first chance in ages for real outside, and the weather hadn't cooperated. He didn't care—he would go out anyway. He wondered what everyone had done after the show. Last night, he had been too exhausted to care; he had gone straight to sleep. Surprised him though that Cybele hadn't made an appearance, his first time on her horse and all.

  Tears, why tears? He had never loved Martha, but to leave her like that, without a word. No one deserved that. No, Cybele couldn't have left. What would be the point of maneuvering him onto the horse and disappearing? She would return. She had to return.

  Someone knocked, and Lewis went to open the door. Perry, in costume. "Come on now, rehearsal," he said.

  Had they planned something? Everything and everyone flowed together. Perry left to prepare Gautier. Lewis sat on the bed with his costume partly on and started crying again. Why all this emotion now? A breeze from the bathroom blew a scent of lemon into the room, followed by Cybele.

  "She doesn't miss you," Cybele said. She turned away, then winked out, as though she could crack time and slip out between the seconds. It was the first time he had been looking at her when she left.

  He finished putting on his costume and went to join Perry. They ran through the script first on foot, then again, alternating on Gautier. The act of concentration gave him confidence. He liked what Perry had done. He even liked performing it.

  ~

  Perry chose to accompany Lewis on an exploration of the town. They exited from the elephant car and walked beside the train, which occupied a siding behind the performance hall. The train looked different than the last time he had seen it from outside, sleeker, sides clad in reddish metal. The engine had a high cab above a long, tubular front. He didn't see anyone in the cab. Who drove the train? Dillon controlled it, obviously. Maybe Dillon didn't allow the driver to mix with the performers.

  Opposite the engine, Lewis paused. Shouldn't there have been more train before the engine? What about the diminishing tunnel car?

  He caught up to Perry, and they turned onto the street that ended at the performance hall, passing store
fronts and houses. Yesterday he had been too nervous about performing to notice the wind, but today, its constant push and hum unnerved him. Wind had contorted the few trees into mad shapes, antlered gnomes, inverted octopi. How could people live in this wind? They would all become twisted like the trees.

  Farther along, the houses gave way to small farms. In one yard, a cream-colored goat with the horns, in miniature, of a longhorn bull, stood on its hind legs and danced for an audience of female goats. When they passed the animals, the horned goat stared fixedly at Lewis. Its black eyes appeared to hold some hidden promise.

  A drizzling rain began. The overcast sky offered no expectation of relief.

  "We should head back," Perry said.

  They turned down a narrow lane that led back in the direction of downtown. It joined another road running along a riverside park. The rain came down harder. A small bus pulled out of the park and turned toward the town. They jogged after it, but slowed when it didn't stop for them.

  The road drew closer to the river, and fifty or so yards farther, they passed a driveway leading to a floating restaurant, a barge chained to a dock. They crossed a wooden footbridge to enter. A man seated them in a booth by windows looking out at the river and opposite bank.

  Lewis mopped his face and hair with his cloth napkin. "I swear the river's risen since we started out this morning," he said. "I wonder if they have a flooding problem—see those buildings on the other side?" He pointed to a small, frame church listing with one corner in the water.

  While they were eating their salads, the barge shimmied, but none of the other diners appeared concerned.

  Lewis found himself with little to say. While walking, they had discussed their act, but neither seemed inclined to continue. There were other things he wanted to talk about, questions he would like answered, but he didn't know where to start. The overpowering presence of Cybele muted him. How wonderful it would be with her as companion instead of the enigmatic jockey. Having finally ridden the horse in performance, he felt somewhat deflated, as if public exhibition dulled what had previously been his private obsession. And it was so much work! Rehearsal, discussion, rehearsal, performance...He looked out the window, thinking that more of the church was standing in the water.

  "Doesn't all of this wear you out?" Lewis asked. "Performing, I mean," he added, realizing Perry hadn't been following his internal monologue.

  "Satisfaction gives a body energy," Perry said. "And I find our current enterprise much more nourishing than the previous one. The dramatic interplay alone serves to fuel countless additional permutations."

  The waiter brought a platter of fried fish. A few minutes later, the barge jerked again, then rose sharply. Sounds of splintering wood and scraping metal filled the room. Two men sitting at the next table dropped their forks and ran to the exit. Lewis and Perry stood. Now, everyone moved to the exit, rushing over the footbridge to land. There were maybe fifteen people, including the wait and kitchen staff. One of the cooks had wrapped a napkin around his hand and a red stain showed through. He told someone he had cut himself when the barge jerked. Across the river, the church collapsed into the onrushing current. Its steeple sheared off and floated downstream.

  Lewis and Perry decided to return to the train, but a crack from behind made them look back at the restaurant. The barge's bow chain had parted, and the bow swung out with the current.

  "Everyone got off in time," Lewis said.

  Then a man appeared at the door. He screamed and took a step to where the end of the footbridge protruded from the deck. Someone on shore shouted for him to stay on the barge. He stood at the railing as the distance to shore grew, then he jumped. Lewis cried out. He disappeared in the swirl of water.

  A man ran, howling, to the river's edge; another man grabbed his arm, but he flailed, hitting the other man and knocking him down. Perry and a woman wearing a chef's apron blocked his way, and he collapsed, sobbing.

  "You can't jump too," the chef woman said. "Drown, you'll drown." She sank to her knees beside the man and held him.

  "Let's go," Perry said. Lewis's chest hurt. He gasped and inhaled. He had been holding his breath. They trudged back toward the train. The parting of the barge's chain kept replaying in Lewis's head, that cracking sound, he had never heard anything like it. If the man had stayed on the barge, someone would have found a way to save him.

  They entered the train and walked down the corridor in silence. Lewis paused at his door, then continued, not wanting to see Cybele. They went into Perry's room. Perry pulled out his bottle of Bourbon, filled two glasses. Lewis slumped into one of the chairs, suddenly unable to stay on his feet. He sat looking at the liquid in his glass.

  "We were here," Lewis said. "We had a fight. We left. We're back, but it's rainy where it was dry before. Would that man have died if we'd stayed away?"

  "Don't you understand? It's never the same!" Perry banged his glass on the desk, sloshing liquor onto its surface. "We were warned, all of us." He reached into a drawer for a pad of paper and drew a circle in the middle of the top sheet, holding it up so Lewis could see. "So many complexities. I've seen a world without books..." He shivered, then drew several other circles around the first circle. "I have a mother somewhere. All these orbiting spheres, some with orbiting spheres of their own, countless spheres, all owing something to the source sphere. Look for constants. Oblong Henry. Sometimes his books are different. Other times he's not there."

  Perry's talk of spheres reminded Lewis of his plan for concentric circles to describe the train. He preferred circles—spheres—no sharp angles. Perry was still talking; he had a book out, said something about pure shapes and their effect on objects. Stone circles, those had meant something. Did the people who made them know the planet was round? Lewis couldn't remember whether the belief in a flat earth was an affectation of medieval scholars. Ancient people were smarter somehow. Cybele, she was worshipped by the ancients. She must be what powers the train. Dillon said the train seemed to have more energy—after Cybele made him have sex with everyone. That made more sense than what Perry was saying.

  "And Dillon's role—is he caught between the spheres or is he what stabilizes them? Perhaps he's forever seeking the birth sphere. I don't know whether to search for answers in science or mythology." Perry crumpled the paper on which he had drawn the spheres. "Look, I need to be alone now. We've got a performance later."

  Lewis tipped back his Bourbon and drank it down.

  Back in his room, Cybele massaged his face. The welcome pressure of her fingers calmed him. Perry had revealed something important, but Perry didn't know about Cybele. Understanding would come to Lewis through his contact with her, an intimacy reserved to him, her exclusive companion in love.

  ~

  Lewis and Perry moved their horses forward. Offstage, kettledrums thumped.

  ~

  Lewis: I, borne upon the river's bosom

  Likened to a lover, yet not so free,

  Denounce your insinuations.

  Perry: Then to arms, noble Pericles,

  And your fortunes may yet flourish.

  Lewis: Also to you, noble Thaliard;

  I'll show the virtue I have borne in arms.

  ~

  Each time they brought their swords together cymbals crashed. They swung at each other, thrusting and parrying. As they fenced, they steered the horses around the arena, fighting and riding so that everyone in the audience could see. After two circuits they returned to the middle, and Lewis knocked Perry's sword from his hand.

  ~

  Perry: The day is yours, Lord Pericles

  And here, I hope, is none that envies it.

  In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed,

  To make some good, but other to exceed.

  Lewis: You are a right courteous knight;

  Then honor be but equal to my will.

  Which, to preserve mine honor, I'll perform.

  ~

  Their act over, they turned to the audience
; Perry dipped his chin, and Lewis held his sword above his head and swept it downward dramatically as he bowed from the waist. The crowd applauded, and they moved off stage. Lewis had never experienced such an immediate rush of pleasure. He had been surprised to find the performance well attended. After what happened on the river he had expected the show to be cancelled. Enjoying himself so much seemed insensitive. But that was part of the ancient trust—he and his fellows transported their audience to the realm of pleasure, allowing them respite from pain.

  When they came back out with the rest of the circus for the closing procession, Lewis again waved his sword, feeling like an ancient conqueror. He hoped it would never end.

  Backstage, Dillon took the horse as usual. Emotions poured through Lewis. He wanted to walk the streets of the town in costume, where he could be recognized by all who had attended. But no, that wouldn't be proper. Outside of the arena he returned to anonymity.

  From behind, Dawn called out his name. "Come on, you be the metal horsy," she said and jumped on his back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I wanna ride the metal horsy!" She squeezed his waist with her legs. "Come on horsy, take me home. Go and go and go." She leaned back and waved her arms in the air; her sudden movement threw off his balance. They fell. He landed with his head in her lap. "Metal Horsy fall ouch. My butt hurts," she said.

  Chapter 26: Immaculate Conception

  As rehearsal flowed into rehearsal and performance into performance, Lewis fell into a trance. The timelessness of the train combined with the demands of performing left him numb to his surroundings, dampened his inquisitiveness. The novelty of becoming a performer gave way to the work, the repetition. Every show unfolded like the one before, and he began to see them only in terms of his own part. A scattered few stood out: one in which Gautier nearly threw Perry, another when Lewis dropped his sword while galloping after Perry and didn't know whether he should stop to pick it up or keep going (he kept going, and Miss Linda ran out to pick it up and hand it to him as he came back around) and, the worst performance of all, in a tent on a day so hot and humid Lewis was sure he wouldn't survive the afternoon. He thought he would become bored with his lines, but they became so automatic he hardly noticed himself speaking.