Circus of the Grand Design

by Robert Freeman Wexler

  Dawn and Bodyssia appeared to have lost interest in him. He didn't know or care why. Save for their lack of romantic attention, neither behaved any different toward him. Both treated him as a friend and fellow performer. He supposed any insulated group was like that. Newcomers were treated with caution and curiosity. Conversely, with Cybele, his relationship, if it could be called that, intensified. He would come in exhausted from a practice session with Perry or a workout with Bodyssia, and she waited, drawing him toward her even when his body told him he was tired, hungry, or uninterested. What strange threads she spun to tow him so willfully behind her remained ambiguous to him.

  His life with her lacked conversation. She rarely spoke. Sometimes, he would describe his rehearsals or performances, his interactions with the rest of the crew. She would smile as she listened, encouraging his one-sided dialog; when he grew tired of speaking, a gentle silence filled the room. Leaving her became difficult, but he couldn't convince her to accompany him to the dining car, or outside to see whatever town they were performing in. More and more, he stayed in his room. He would have missed one performance if Perry hadn't banged on the door loud enough to rouse him from Cybele's side.

  After one show, he had been drinking with the acrobats in the dining car, when something, a scent perhaps, or a musical tone, reminded him of Cybele. He had rushed back to his room, where he found her sitting at his desk, starring into the cloud of windows.

  She remained motionless, not acknowledging him until he plunged his face into her thick black hair.

  Later, he dreamt that cold, amorphous beings wedged him into a locker in the storage car. Particles of blinking light bored into his retinas. Blinded, he shut his eyes and turned away. When he opened them, he stood naked and cold before a tree, the trunk of which was so large it would have taken the whole circus crew to join hands and encircle. The tree radiated warmth. He sat in front of it, holding his palms close to the hairy bark.

  "Into me goes the nurturing heat of the earth," he said, then repeated again and again.

  ~

  He awoke whimpering and clutched Cybele's breasts. Using the edge of the bed for support, he stood. Cybele remained asleep. Where had she come from? He felt as though he had emerged from delirium. He dressed and headed toward the dining car; the hall lights dimmed as he walked. Gold's door opened.

  "Hey guy," Gold said, punching Lewis lightly on the shoulder. "You on your way to grab some supper? I'll join you." Gold pulled a small blue ball from his pocket and bounced it with a backspin so that as they moved forward it waited for them.

  Lewis reached into his pocket to touch Cybele's warm black figurine.

  They ordered food and sat down, Gold leaned toward Lewis and spoke, keeping his voice low. "Hey, I'm glad I ran into you. I really need someone to talk to right now."

  Gold's face looked different—his expression—his former smirk had softened, approaching tenderness. When had this change occurred? Lewis felt he was looking at Gold for the first time.

  "Leonora has finally seen the wisdom of falling for me wholeheartedly, as I had dreamed she would." He tossed the ball into the air, caught it on its descent, and shoved it into his shirt pocket. "Of course being a father has an appeal to me. It's an opportunity to project my acquired skill and knowledge into a deserving recipient. I can mold a character after my own to ensure a more lasting legacy. The only negative aspect is..."

  He lowered his voice to a whisper and glanced around the room. "This is difficult to admit, but...Leonora...we've never had sex. Not ever." He pantomimed juggling, but, his concentration off, dropped one of the imaginary objects. "We were saving it. She says she hasn't done it with anyone else since joining the circus, so it has to be mine. She wouldn't lie, that's not her style."

  So Leonora was pregnant. Was he supposed to be confessor now? Okay then, he would give him a biology lesson. "You know you don't necessarily need to have had sex," Lewis said.

  Gold pressed his palm to Lewis's mouth. "Not so loud," he said.

  Lewis pushed Gold's hand away. "Fine." He lowered his voice. "I'm just saying, if you've ejaculated near her vagina and the sperm found a way to swim in, well—"

  "I've never blasted without cranking," Gold said, so loud Lewis flinched.

  A flush crawled up Gold's neck and covered his cheeks, and Lewis thought Gold's face might explode.

  Gold continued, his voice low again. "That's not the way I do things."

  "Sorry. You brought it up. I was just trying to help. It's nothing you can't find in a biology textbook."

  The redness faded from Gold's face. He put his rubber ball in the middle of the table, touching it with both thumbs. He stared at it for a moment before speaking again. "My life is defined by my command of these objects. I will not lose control. What is this force tearing at me?"

  Lewis decided he needed to pull away from Cybele to find time for himself. When he was with her he lost track of everything but her. It was stifling. He had even given up his speculations—research—into the nature of the train.

  Gold clapped his hands. "I've got it—there'll be a vacant room because of Desmonica and János. Either his or hers, right? Unless one of the other acrobats has taken it. The four of them could be spread over four rooms since they've all got women again. But Linusz and Cirill always share." He jumped up. "Thanks guy, I'm going to go find out right now."

  Lewis took a few bites of the meat and grain mixture Cinteotl had brought. Yes, he needed a break of some sort. Cybele fulfilled more desires than he had known existed, but she left him empty. Leonora—her pregnancy obviously Cybele's machination. His too, in a way. It was as though the intensity of his life with Cybele impregnated the crew. Who would be next?

  The four acrobats and their female companions, including a very pregnant Desmonica, entered the dining car.

  "Drink," János said, and Lewis accepted a shot glass offered by Cirill. Thoughts of Cybele tugged at him, a walnut-sized knot lodged deep in his stomach. He resisted, vowing not to go back to his room for many hours. Listing the possibilities, he decided he would: rehearse with Perry, watch a movie, eat again, and then, depending on whether anything else came up and if he felt like it, go to her.

  He knocked on what he thought was Perry's door, but Cybele opened it; he had somehow returned to his own room. Following her, he soon found himself in bed and fell into unconsciousness with the impression he was melting into her flesh.

  Chapter 27: Dictates of the Locale

  "Lewis! You're going to be late." Bodyssia's bellow and heavy footsteps faded down the hall. Why was he standing naked in his doorway?

  "Hey, neat costume," Brisbane said.

  Jenkins passed, towing a trunk on a dolly. "Don't forget your overnight bag," he said. Lewis moved back inside and closed the door.

  "Guess I need to get into my costume," he said to Cybele, but she wasn't there.

  ~

  The train had stopped behind a concrete structure with a high, curving roof. The door at the back of the building opened automatically with a sucking swish as he neared it. The acrobats were in the ring; he had missed the opening promenade.

  "Dillon's sprung for a hotel," Gold said through a flowing web of multicolored balls. He dropped one of the balls, but caught it with his toe and kicked it back into the flow.

  After final promenade, everyone changed backstage, leaving their costumes in a storage room. A brassy-voiced woman wearing a yellow raincoat took them along a curving hall to an escalator, then up to a vast room with a floor of green-veined marble.

  "Look at this great space," Dawn said. Her voice echoed off the stone floor. "Race you!"

  She cartwheeled across the floor, followed by two of the acrobats. Desmonica let go of János's hand and pointed after them.

  "No, tonight my beautiful body is tired," János said. "I will walk along beside you."

  Standing at the elevators, Lewis felt detached from the group, from their good-natured jostling and laughter. Voices around him, but not
including him. He could join Perry and Jenkins. He had never talked much to Jenkins. Only in passing. Regarding Jenkins—what did he know? Did his position give him access to things? Obvious Dillon couldn't run the train alone. Maybe Jenkins would tell Lewis something important. Jenkins and Perry spent time together—could he trust Perry to relay information? Not useful information. Not after that rot about orbiting spheres. The elevator doors opened and he got on.

  His room was on the twenty-third floor. Linusz, Cirill, and the Chala women were down the hall; everyone else was scattered throughout the hotel. Lewis felt drunk from the amount of space, enough room for a king-size bed, table and chairs, dresser, small sofa. He wondered whether Cybele would appear. Solitary sleep would be a welcome thing. He curled up in the middle of the bed and closed his eyes, but too many thoughts and images danced through. He flopped onto his right side. Who among the circus crew knew? Then onto his back. Who noticed that their destinations existed off the maps of their lives? Maybe Perry had discovered the truth. Something happened—the clouded windows...destinations. And over onto his left side, unable to find a comfortable position, a magic pose that would eliminate his endlessly repeating thoughts.

  Frustrated, he dressed and went downstairs to look for the hotel's bar. The only other patrons were sitting at a corner table; Lewis sat on a barstool and ordered a beer. He was surprised no one else from the crew were there. Could everyone but him sleep? Someone approached the bar, but he didn't look to see who.

  "Well met, William, how passes the night?"

  Lewis recognized the brassy voice of the raincoat woman, their hotel guide.

  "You there, one of the traveling players, are you not?" the guide asked. She took the stool beside his. "I found much to enjoy in your showing."

  "Thanks." Her voice jarred him. He hadn't come to the bar to talk, but as a representative of the circus he supposed he needed to be friendly.

  "I am called Abigail," she said. Up close, he could see that her yellow jacket wasn't for rain protection. It had more the look of a lab coat, made from a supple material with a dull sheen. "What part did you play? I did not spy you during."

  "That was me on the mechanical horse, with the armor and the sword. In the helmet you can't see my face."

  "The horse—you must bless your fortune, even if you are not the one."

  The one? Now even the people he met outside the circus talked like Dillon. "I love riding the horse," he said. "But it's not what you think it; this kind of thing is all about illusion, like in a magic show."

  "Well, it shines with splendor regardless."

  Dillon would be proud of how he had diffused her interest. The way she looked at him though, she knew something about the horse, and he needed to find out what. He would keep her here, talking.

  "I must return to my toil. Good fortune to meet you." She swiveled her stool around and slid off. "Be virtuous," she said, and left.

  ~

  In the morning a band of light crossed the floor. Lewis had left the curtains open to allow the sun to enter freely. How he missed the sun, so distant when the clouds covered the train windows. He should ask Perry about the clouds. No doubt something to do with the spaces between the orbiting spheres. He wanted to believe Perry's theory. He needed to believe something. Considering everything he had seen so far. And he liked Perry.

  He sat up. Before the sun woke him, he had been dreaming, something...now fading, the horse...Cybele. In the shower he remembered: another flying dream. This time he sat on the horse, with Cybele behind him, her hands clasped over his stomach. She told him a story of a man who left home in search of his lost love. Was he that man? He had never been satisfied, not in all the places he had lived. Now he was ready. He could stop moving, help raise their children. Everyone was having children, first Desmonica and János, Gold and Leonora...why not he and Cybele? Could Cybele have children, or just induce them in others?

  Some of the crew were in the breakfast room, a cavernous space designed to look like a farmhouse kitchen, with long, rough-hewn tables and benches, and cast-iron implements hanging everywhere. A painting of George Washington hung in the center of the main wall. When he sat down, he found that the tables and benches were all colored plastic, not wood at all.

  "Some swell place," Gold said. "No meat. No juice."

  "You don't think of nothin' but your damn stomach," Leonora said, but she smiled.

  Gold touched her still-flat belly. "I'm thinking of yours dearie, and what's inside it."

  Lewis again recalled his dream. He wanted this, the innate joy of giving life and watching it grow.

  Barca walked into the dining room toward them. The hostess stopped him and pointed to a section on the far side of the room. Barca pulled himself taller, as he had done when meeting Lewis. The hostess stepped back, then Barca relaxed and walked to the other section. Lewis looked at his companions, but no one else had noticed.

  The others left; Lewis sat, eating little. Barca had sat down with a family in the other section and was gesturing with his hands, as though telling a story. Barca's companions, like Barca, were dark-skinned

  Perry entered. He pointed toward Lewis, and the hostess waved him over.

  "You see Barca over there?" Lewis said. "He came in, and they wouldn't let him sit with us."

  "We have to follow the dictates of the locale," Perry said.

  ~

  Everything possessed multiple sides, multiple viewpoints. Lewis knew that, knew especially how that applied to their particular situation as visitors. It bothered him, this separatism, but he didn't know what to do. What if he had left the circus in a place like this? Maybe he would go to a library, see if he could figure out where things diverged. But what was the use, other than intellectual pursuit? He wasn't planning to stay and try to change things here.

  This city they were in, where was it? He had never asked Dillon where they were when they stopped. The force that moved them also numbed them to their surroundings—that must be what kept the other circus people from questioning things.

  He was special though, he noticed things from the start, things the others didn't.

  From his hotel room window he could see a wide river, and across it, clusters of ruined buildings. The hotel appeared to be close to the water. He decided to walk out to the sunlight and explore the town.

  But outside the hotel wasn't outside. A translucent roof, about four stories above him, stretched across a concourse to a building opposite. The hotel must open into a giant shopping mall. He would have to walk through the mall until he found an exit.

  He wandered down the concourse, stopping to look into store windows. Maybe he would buy something for Cybele, a nightgown. At a bookstore he stopped and looked for Oblong Henry titles. Sitting on a bench outside the bookstore, he watched passersby. A number of men and women wore yellow smocks similar to Abigail's, so many that he began to think of it as a uniform. Non-smocked wore more varied outfits, shirts with high collars, colorful jackets, skirts. He saw a mix of racial types, including dark-skinned. None of the dark-skinned people wore the yellow coats.

  ~

  A blond-haired woman wearing a smock passed. Her face...Martha? Without thinking, he rose and followed. She went into a kitchen implements store. When they were together, Martha had never cooked. He paused outside. If this Martha didn't know him—did that prove Perry's theory? He entered the store, walked to where Martha stood at a rack of cast-iron pots.

  "These look great," he said, fingering the handle of a stewpot. "Could make a great paprika chicken in this." One of his Martha's favorite foods.

  She walked away without acknowledging his comment. Cold—just like his Martha. But not his Martha. If his Martha saw him now, after Are No, after leaving...she wouldn't have walked off.

  How could he ever leave the circus? Anywhere he went, he would risk meeting himself. But people had left. Dillon must be able to tell when a sphere was similar enough to one's origin, similar enough to allow someone to leave. Maybe whe
n they entered a sphere with a counterpart, they took over the life of their counterpart. The whole concept was so preposterous...multiple worlds, multiple versions of people? The knowledge could drive a person mad. The others, at least, were spared from the threat of madness. Their ignorance kept them sane.

  Was Dillon insane?

  Lewis spun around, bumping into a pregnant woman, and hurried out of the store. Farther along, the concourse opened into a vast space filled with green, an indoor forest with a domed roof high above, as large as the domed stadium built in the city where he grew up. He pondered the distant roof. The space was like a stadium, encircled by balconies instead of seats. Furniture dotted the balconies: chairs, benches, tables. An "outdoor" café stood at the edge of the woods, beside a bed filled with red, white, and blue flowers. A path led into the woods, with a plaque marking the entrance: "Let peace, descending from her native heaven, bid her olives spring amidst the joyful nations; and plenty, in league with commerce, scatter blessings from her copious hand!"

  Once beneath the spread of branches, Lewis forgot about the distant roof. The woods looked so natural, leaves, rocks, scattered trunks of fallen trees. Had the roof been built over existing woodland, or had the woods been planted later? If the latter, a good deal of time had elapsed.