Circus of the Grand Design

by Robert Freeman Wexler

  "Nobody touches me," she said into his ear.

  "Stop it." The cable railing dug into his chest, making it hard to speak. "Sorry. Stop. Okay?" The catwalk swayed. He looked down at a wet splotch, the sheen of oily water. "I just wanted—"

  She pulled his head back by his hair, so that their eyes were inches apart. He controlled his urge to fight back, not that there was much he would be able to do.

  "Please. Miss Linda. We have to go the other way."

  "No one touches me." She released his hair.

  "I won't touch you. We'll get out by going the other way. That's all. Please." His throat hurt. He had been shouting. The arm she had twisted hung numb at his side. Fragmentary thoughts flowed: his broken body lying far below, her face rimmed with greenish light, the two of them, naked, making love near the stricken woman, her cries fueling their passion.

  "I'm...where? Lewis...it's you. I didn't mean..." She let her hands fall away from his shoulders, then lifted his useless right arm and began massaging it. "I hurt you, I'm sorry." She fell silent, and they stood beside each other; he leaned against the railing while she worked life back into his muscles.

  "It's okay," he said. "This place, that crazy woman...we'll be out of here soon."

  They held each other, silent in the vast room's twilight. Again, he thought of their making love. It embarrassed him. How many of the circus women could he have sex with? No more, none now but Cybele. She had arranged his trysts to bind him; now there was no need for others. But she wasn't here. Just Miss Linda, and now he felt her lips on his injured arm, which tingled as circulation returned, tingled also from her touch.

  He looked at her face; their gaze met. The directness, her total concentration of emotion made him uncomfortable. He couldn't live up to the weight of her wishes. And it wasn't him anyway. All emanated from Cybele—her power hung over him like a transparent cloud, making him appear mysterious, intriguing to others. Miss Linda took a step back and lifted her shirt, cross-armed, over her head. In their closet prison he hadn't noticed the leanness of her body, the texture of her ribs and taut belly. He started to lift his own shirt, his right arm still clumsy and sore.

  "Wait, I'll help," she said. After taking off his shirt she unbuttoned his pants, then her own. She folded their clothing, making a neat pile in the middle of the catwalk and stood, naked, in front of him, showing none of her usual shyness. Her breasts were small, with large nipples, appearing dark red in the watery light. He brushed her waist with his fingertips and smiled. She reached for his face and kissed him. When he slid his hands up her ribs to her breasts she started shaking, rapid tremors rising from hips to shoulders, but she kept kissing him, his lips, his neck.

  "It's been, it's been..." she said with her lips beside his ear, her voice low. "Not since Lord, since my husband, not since..." She covered his mouth with hers and lowered herself to the catwalk, pulling him along. "Lie on your back so you don't have to hold yourself up."

  Her weight on him was nothing; she continued to shake as he stroked her body, the shakes growing more rapid as she neared climax. Then they lay a while, joined, drifting in and out of sleep. He thought he heard something far off, water flowing or the murmur of speech, or a breeze lifting evergreen branches. The pine-covered hillside stretched up behind his shack. The river lay in front. He had situated the shack thus, loving the sound the water made as it ran along its banks, while the hills kept the afternoon sun's heat from his garden. Peas, carrots, potatoes, cabbages: all grew well in this rich soil. It had taken much work to build the shack and plant his crops, but now he luxuriated in his bounty, the fertility of his fields. Above him a crow called. What carrion did it seek here? But he liked crows, their sleek dark feathers.

  He turned to show Miss Linda his garden, then woke up, her breath warm on his neck. For a moment he forgot where he was and everything they had been through, their captors, this endless journey. He and Miss Linda...this wasn't supposed to happen, wasn't in Cybele's plan, not here, out of range of her influence.

  Miss Linda sat up and reached for her clothes. She smiled at him, and warmth spread from her face, comforting him.

  "You should smile more," Lewis said. "You're a clown. You make other people happy—it's time you had some happiness too."

  They dressed and resumed their trek, this time in the other direction. He walked behind her, thinking about what they might do once they returned to the train. Maybe they would leave the circus. She wasn't really made for this sort of thing and neither was he. He wanted to do something with his hands, build things.

  "What happened back there," she said, pointing with her chin. "We have to work together in the circus, but I don't want to be involved with anyone right now, maybe never. I would prefer there be no problems from...it's not you at all, but that's how I feel."

  Chapter 29: Precautions Must Be Taken

  How long did they travel the vast, pipe-filled room? Steps flowed, one into another, the air became less oily, and they left behind the clanking pipes. Eventually, the catwalk ended at a door, the door led into another corridor, some stairs, and one flight up they found a service elevator that took them to the mall adjacent their hotel. They walked into the hotel lobby.

  Dawn, sitting on a couch, saw them and cried out. She ran to hug them. She said Jenkins had found Lewis's bag that morning, and the crew had been searching all day; they had performed the matinee, then scattered again to keep searching.

  She hurried Lewis and Miss Linda down to the loading dock, where they found Dillon.

  "The horse?" Lewis asked.

  "Assuming the abduction was connected to your role as rider, I held it out of the show." Dillon said.

  Dillon ushered them back to the train; they sat in the dining car, waiting for everyone to return from the search. Cinteotl brought bowls of a clear, aromatic broth, which he said would strengthen and restore.

  János and Desmonica were the first to come in. They hugged Lewis and Miss Linda. Others joined them. Bodyssia lifted Lewis from his seat and raised him over her head, proclaiming her desire to bash the heads of those responsible. Once everyone had returned, Dillon slipped out, and soon came the now-familiar lurch and clouding of the windows.

  No one showed any desire to leave the dining car and, tired as he was, Lewis didn't want to spoil the party, so he stayed, drinking whatever was put in front of him and detailing their captivity and escape. Wrapped in viscous air, the faces of the people surrounding him took on shifting qualities, as though unsure of their own appearance. The voices felt distant, and he thought he might be back in the pipe room, or worse, might have never left it, might now be lying, injured, somewhere in that nightmare, not back on the train at all, safe among friends. Through the haze of his fatigue he heard an unfamiliar voice and recognized the red-haired woman from the trapeze in the Colonial Steakhouse. She had apparently been brought in to replace Leonora.

  He tried to say something pleasant; his words had to force themselves from his exhausted throat. She said something about it being time to set out in life. She had a high, girlish voice, like Dawn's. He wondered whether Dillon had given her his warning about not being able to guarantee return to the exact place she boarded. Now, knowing exactly what Dillon had meant, would he still have made the same choice?

  "Have to go to bed," he said to Dawn. Too tired to speak, he raised a hand in farewell.

  His injured knee had stiffened from his long period of sitting, and the corridor grew, keeping him from reaching the haven of his bed. Something about the train seemed different, something obvious yet difficult to place, like the arrangement of paintings on a wall changing after years of being in the same position. He opened his door and found himself standing in front of a naked Lullaby.

  "Hey, now you shouldn't be in here," she said, her voice calm, as though nothing unusual was happening. Why had she decided to enter his room and strip? He stared at the six-pointed star tattooed around her navel. The design drew his eye, sharp angles and smooth skin. "I'm expec
ting József back any minute."

  He glanced at the tapestry on one wall and the trapeze swing bolted to the ceiling. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought this was my room." She must think he was an idiot. "I'm totally exhausted...must...don't know...miscounted number of cars?"

  But when he turned to leave, she touched his arm. "Maybe you could come back some other time, okay?"

  He trudged back to the dining car, then counted cars back toward the caboose. An extra car had appeared between the acrobats' car and the one housing Bodyssia and the other women. Lullaby's room now occupied the position relative to the dining car that had previously been his. He opened his door and peered in; relief filled him when he saw his belongings, his bag, found on the loading dock where he had dropped it, his etching, the fishing lure, and...the scent of rosemary.

  The plant now occupied a tan pot larger than a mop bucket, covered with colorful shapes that suggested a complicated scene. He flopped onto the bed and stared at the dusky green plant. Its branches reached toward the ceiling. Cybele must have repotted it for him, so generous, such a warm and giving person. He lowered his head and slept. When he awoke, he lay on his side with Cybele sleeping beside him, her back against his chest. His left arm rested on her belly. He breathed the sweet smell of her neck and felt an erection forming. His penis tingled where it touched her skin. He rolled her onto her stomach and entered from behind, reaching orgasm after a few thrusts, then dozed, molded to her body.

  ~

  Flowers bloomed in wave after wave of translucent blue. The crystalline nature of the field mesmerized him, its long, spiraling form, the way it defined his sight. Once, the field had been quite different, the site of industry and death. Now everything bloomed in vibrant, pulsing light. The sweetness in the air made him giddy. He laughed loud, with his arms spread to embrace the sky, holding tight to the feeling of enchantment. Distant figures moved. He waited for them to draw near, to share this field, the moment of joy engendered here. He couldn't make out who or what they were, even as they came closer; he strained to see them, squinting in the glare from the setting sun.

  "You have come to this place unprepared," a male voice said.

  "Yes, precautions must be taken," a female voice said.

  The female voice occupied a body sheathed in cinnamon, and the male wore white wrapped around his slim thighs.

  "What must I do?" Lewis asked.

  The cinnamon-robed woman turned to stare at the last fingers of sun peeking over the hills. After it sank from sight, they gripped Lewis's bare shoulders, and from their touch a warm current flowed.

  Lewis felt comforted, satisfied that, although answers would not come today, knowledge and understanding were near.

  ~

  Lewis kissed the back of Cybele's neck and sensed the beginning of another erection. But this time he ignored it. While showering he wondered what her level of awareness had been. This mode of...what was it?...sex...lovemaking—it disturbed him. Not that he felt responsible. Although she had apparently slept throughout, she dictated his actions.

  In the dining car he met Dawn and the red-haired woman from the mall-town. He accepted a bowl of yellow-white mush from Cinteotl and joined them, easing himself back into the life of the circus.

  The mush tasted vaguely of pork and cinnamon, making him recall the cinnamon woman and her androgynous male companion. What precautions must he take? The dream was a warning, he thought, something to do with Cybele and the horse.

  Desmonica and Lullaby came in from the gym. Their hair was wet, and they wore bathing suits, towels slung over their shoulders. Desmonica looked enormous, her belly wide and full. Lullaby winked at him.

  The redhead was talking, something about shooting at pineapples laid out on trestles. "I don't know if you can shoot a gun from the back of an elephant. It might rampage through the crowd."

  Lewis ate another spoonful of mush. This was his life now, and he relished the feeling of acceptance, being able to sit and discuss circus acts as casually as he had once planned press releases announcing a new environmental impact statement. His life had changed so much since the fire at Are No's, he had traveled miles, distances immeasurable by normal means.

  The gymnasium door opened again, this time emitting Bodyssia, who rumbled a greeting to Dawn. Lewis turned to say hello. When she saw him, her expression changed, smile sliding into the tight-lipped grimace he knew from watching her strain at the weight machines. She leaned over, grabbed his collar with both hands, and lifted him. Before he could say anything, she shook him. He floated, overstuffed puppet-boy. What precautions would have helped here? She spoke, her voice fuzzy over the roar rising from the cataracts. A fall from this height could kill a person, tumbling hundreds of feet to unforgiving rock.

  "Aren't you satisfied?"

  She lifted him higher and jogged him. His feet dangled over the table. The stitching around the armholes of his shirt bit into his underarms. She shook him again and the arm seams split; the shirt pulled up over his face. She flung him. He slammed into a soft wall and flopped face down. Warm and dark and coarse, pillow, comfort of pillow, of air and light, but no comfort here, surrounded by uncontrolled nature, hurricane winds and a sadistic first mate, punishing him for his secret life.

  His head lifted, pulled up by hair, and someone tore the burlap sack from his face.

  "Thinks he can fuck all of us," the first mate said.

  Not a sack, his shirt, and not the first mate, Bodyssia, face inches from his, teeth prepared to rip at his throat.

  "Don't bother," Dawn said. "Not worth the mess."

  Bodyssia's giant fingers withdrew, and his face met the cushion of a booth seat. He lay wheezing. Voices rose from somewhere. Behind him, names repeated, Miss Linda, Lullaby...

  He pushed the cushion, raising himself to a seated position. Bodyssia stood beside the next table, where Dawn and the new redhead sat.

  "Haven't you noticed there's a new car on the train?" he said. "Am I the only one around here who notices things?"

  "You toyed with us," Dawn said. She got up, followed by the redhead, and they walked with Bodyssia toward the gym.

  Cinteotl appeared at Lewis's table with a shot glass containing a clear liquid.

  "Drink it all down, one gulp. Just what you need."

  The liquor smelled of honey, nutmeg, and something woody. He followed Cinteotl's directions; it burned his throat, and warmth advanced, spreading in a slow-moving wave to his fingertips.

  "Has to be about sex," he said. "They must have decided it was okay for them to do it with me, but not for me to do it with anyone else." Dawn wouldn't stay mad at him long, but Bodyssia...not good with her out to hurt him. He had acted badly—you don't break up a relationship in the group. He needed to give up this childish idea of him and Lullaby, resign himself...no, what was he thinking? It had been an accident. And all he did was walk in, then leave.

  The acrobats entered the dining car from the residential side. First Bodyssia, now the four of them? He would have to brazen it out, somehow, despite the queasiness in his stomach. They sat at one of the booths and Cinteotl brought them a bottle of something yellowish.

  Lewis stood, unbending his leg, his mall-town injury aggravated by Bodyssia, and limped over to them. He was still holding his glass. János reached to fill it. He looked at the acrobat's faces for a sign that they were unhappy with him, but everything appeared normal. "I was wondering, did some of you move to new rooms?"

  "Yes, my friend," János said. "József now has privacy quarters and Cirill has related himself to József's previous location. We are all now in comfort."

  "Okay. So after the party, I opened the door that I thought was mine, and there was Lullaby, naked. I'm sorry if I offended her, but it really was a mistake."

  József gripped Lewis's arm. "She has a beautiful body, yes?"

  "Yes, a very beautiful body." He paused, remembering the word the acrobats had used after a fight, and raised his glass. "No recrudescence." He drank down the yello
w liquor.

  "No recrudescence," the acrobats chanted, and János refilled their glasses.

  ~

  Cybele waited on Lewis's bed. "I'm so glad you're here," he said. He threw himself down and rested his head on her shoulder. Everything spun around his eyes, proud ribbons in yellows and greens. "I've been beaten, ridiculed, accused..." He felt his words had to travel great distances from his brain to his lips and out into the world. How did the acrobats drink like that and still function? He told her about Bodyssia, about Miss Linda in the pipe room. Talking to her, so close, breathing her scent, he became aroused.

  "You are castrated then," she said.

  She placed a hand on his crotch and his erection vanished.

  "Sleep now."

  Chapter 30: Desolation and Disharmony

  When he awoke the train had stopped, and a sickly orange light permeated the room. Cybele lay on her back, eyes closed. He brushed her forehead with a fingertip, tracing intricate designs across her skin, which appeared to glow in the odd light. She slept on, and he lay with his face an inch from hers and dozed. Such a joy, to lie beside her, the truest love he had known. Those others had meant nothing.

  But the train had stopped. That meant they would be performing soon. He sat up. He hadn't expected there to be a performance so soon. Cybele stirred, murmuring something. "Are you awake?" he asked. "I have to go see when the show is. I'll be back soon, so don't go anywhere, okay. I want to be able to see you later on."

  Lewis paused in the doorway to the dining car; Dawn and Bodyssia sat, eating. Why did he have to see them now, after waking so sweetly beside Cybele? He walked toward the counter, planning to ignore them, but changed his mind and stopped.

  "Hi ladies," he said, trying to sound cheerful. They ignored him. "I guess we've got a busy day, huh? Either of you know what time we're supposed to be there?"