Circus of the Grand Design

by Robert Freeman Wexler

  "Whenever," Dawn said, tonelessly.

  "Okay, thanks."

  He turned toward the counter. The twins, desolation and disharmony, haunted him, trashing forever the smooth workings of his circus life.

  "Food returns people to harmony; chili pepper cures all ills," Cinteotl said, handing him a plate.

  A quiet despair descended, held in check by the food and Cinteotl's kindness. Lewis sat with his back to the women and ate quickly, not wanting to remain long in their proximity.

  Gold and Leonora came in. She passed without a glance at him, but Gold waved, keeping his hand low as if to avoid being seen by the others, and continued to the counter to order their food.

  If he could only bring Cybele here—that would show them he wasn't someone they could ignore and belittle. These damn performers with their codes and superstitions. Cybele would have to start coming out with him. What reason to hide? She feared nothing.

  "Did you hear about the great space Dillon tossed me and Leonora? Two adjoining rooms."

  Gold had returned, but Lewis ignored him. Maybe the boor would leave. What was the point of filling the air with reports of his good fortune? Never thought of anyone but himself, never noticed what went on around him.

  "Hey guy," Gold said, resting a hand on Lewis's shoulder. "Don't let it get to you. These things happen in our insular world, but everybody comes back together in the end." He glanced behind him. "I have to sit with them...Leonora...you know."

  Gold's words, however unexpected and welcome, did little to elevate his mood, and now behind him he heard the explosion of Bodyssia's laughter. Again, he felt apart from the rest, unwanted. He'd go to Perry. Perry wasn't part of Bodyssia's group, no, he was Lewis's friend, partner in performance and in their knowledge of the train. But Perry didn't answer Lewis's knock. Probably with his horse, preparing for the day—Lewis started toward the stable but stopped; he wouldn't go through the dining car again, didn't want to see the happy little clique. Instead, he would return to his room, much better anyway, get back into bed with Cybele.

  But his room was empty. He closed the door and turned toward the caboose.

  Outside, on the caboose landing, the heat pushed at him, dry and heavy, and the air held an acrid taste. What he could see of the town was little more than a collection of ramshackle lean-tos with tin roofs, and past them, a few larger buildings that looked as though they were made from scraps of wood, metal, and brick. In the dusty street, Dillon conferred with three men wearing straw hats with broad brims and, despite the heat, long-sleeved shirts. Dillon, too, wore long sleeves and a white hat.

  Off to Lewis's right Jenkins pulled a cart loaded with duffel bags to a field of dead grass. Something—some gray-brown animal—scuttled under the nearest lean-to. Dillon pointed toward Jenkins, and they walked over to join him. Jenkins and the men began erecting the circus tent.

  Lewis had never watched the tent being assembled. It was inflatable, with wall pieces that snapped together before being pumped full. The bleachers were made from sections of a lightweight material. The assembly took little time, and when it was finished Dillon and Jenkins walked toward the caboose.

  "...by this evening I suppose," Dillon was saying as he came within hearing. "Word will carry and give us a semblance of an audience." He shook his head as though something in the setup displeased him.

  "What is this place?" Lewis asked. "It doesn't look too great."

  "Something appears to have altered the balance slightly, and slight alterations can resonate far more than would seem possible," Dillon said. His voice was low, and he looked tired; a film of dust clung to his cheeks. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his face. "At the show, then," he said.

  Lewis wandered down the hall, stopping at his door, but he didn't turn the knob. Letting go of the cold metal, he kept walking, continuing on to the lounge car where he took out the encyclopedia containing the entry on Cybele.

  Cybele controls fertility, sure...Attis symbolizes immortality...castrated himself out of devotion to her...violets springing from blood...death and resurrection. Lewis felt short of breath. The pregnancies—Cybele's doing, transmitted through him, through his sex with Bodyssia and Dawn, and now, this castration. It said she was revered for her beauty and feared for her jealousy, but she couldn't be jealous. She had instigated everything. Maybe his thing with Miss Linda had been outside her influence, but so what? That was no reason. But he wasn't...he hadn't done that. Maybe symbolically—on this train there was no one he could sleep with, no one but her, and she wouldn't cut him off from her, she couldn't. She still needed him for something. No, this was simply a way of binding him closer. Thinking it through calmed him. She cared for him, of that he was certain. He had been alone so long, but now her embrace housed and comforted him.

  ~

  Lewis stood in costume outside the circus tent, beneath a sky as rusty as the metal roofs in the town. The wind swirled dust. Grit coated everything. He had tied a handkerchief over his mouth and nose, but his eyes stung. Bodyssia trudged by him into the tent, giving a perfunctory glare. Something—the weather, the town, Bodyssia—had made him edgy. He wanted this performance to pass quickly. Through the haze, he spotted Dawn and the redhead walking toward him, both holding handkerchiefs over their mouths. He followed them into the tent.

  The walls diminished the noise of the wind, and they removed the cloths from their faces. The tent's interior was set up as a semicircular amphitheater, with the bleachers forming a U-shape around the stage. The entrance to the stage was in the open part of the U. Inflatable walls separated the backstage area from the bleachers.

  Lewis wiped grit from his lips. "I don't know how many people are going to show up in this kind of weather. I'm sorry we don't have a better place for your debut."

  "Is outside always like this?" the redhead asked.

  Brisbane yelled to them. "You guys missed a great fight."

  Two of the acrobats restrained the other two; Bodyssia stood between the pairs, arms spread to keep them apart.

  "They were going after it like you wouldn't believe," Brisbane said. "All because Cirill was wearing József's lucky gold-plated belt buckle."

  "Ah, the young are so exuberant over physical contests," Gold said, sighing as if the situation bored him immensely.

  "Where's Leonora?" Dawn asked.

  "Leonora did not feel up to braving the dust storm. And there's no way of knowing what airborne bacteria might inhabit such an offensive climate. She and the unborn are much safer on the train."

  Dillon signaled for the crew to assemble. During their opening promenade, Lewis surveyed the crowd. More people than he had expected, a hard-looking, boisterous group, with few children. A boy, perhaps ten or twelve years old, abruptly stood and hurled something at Clytemnestra. Several adults in the audience laughed. Lewis saw Dillon stiffen, but he continued walking with his short, even stride. Barca slowed from his position in front of Paladin to allow Clytemnestra and Dawn to reach him; he patted the elephant's leg and spoke to it. Lewis was relieved when they circled back offstage without further mishap.

  "Is it always like this?" The new redhead asked. Her hands were shaking.

  Dawn put an arm around the redhead's shoulders and spoke softly, encouraging her, but Lewis felt too uncomfortable to respond. He had performed in front of obnoxious crowds before, and Gold had told him that someone had once thrown a bottle that made Leonora fall off her elephant. But these were rare occurrences, individuals in an audience, not, as it appeared here, the collective will. Barca shared Lewis's unease, arguing with Dillon about unacceptable abuse to his elephants.

  "At least I've got armor," Lewis said to no one in particular.

  Dillon went out to start the show, and Lewis watched from behind the flaps. There was scattered applause when the acrobats finished, but yelling overpowered Miss Linda's poetry. Cheers sounded when Bodyssia's capybarabears tore apart the bird.

  "No elephants today," Jenkins said.


  Gold went out for his act, after which Lewis and Perry made their entrance. A boom of applause and cheering greeted them.

  "Let's make it a good one," Perry whispered as they raised their swords. He trotted his horse out about twenty feet and turned to shout at Lewis: "I am Thaliard of Antioch. And who art thou, mean knight?"

  The rest followed as usual until their mock combat. They crashed their swords, and someone yelled: "Six to one for the flap on the shiny horse!"

  Slashing and parrying vigorously, they fought, but the crowd jeered. When Lewis slapped away Perry's sword and the jockey yielded, the audience yelled its displeasure at the bloodless ending. He and Perry rushed the rest of the lines. "In this hope I live," Lewis said in closing.

  "You better hope you live," a man yelled.

  Lewis and Perry left the arena without bowing to the crowd. Dillon waited in the staging area; he told them to stay on their horses. Most of the crew had already left, only Dillon and Barca, with Percival the elephant, remained. Guarded by the Percival, they returned to the train.

  "I hate leaving the tent," Dillon said. "But it might not be possible to retrieve it."

  Lewis went to the dining car, where everyone had gathered to see what was happening outside.

  "Did anything happen to you guys?" Dawn asked Perry.

  "Nothing physical," Perry said. "But I'm not used to demands that I hack my friend to pieces."

  "And I for one don't like juggling the disgusting slop they threw at me," Gold said.

  Several people emerged from the back of the tent. A larger group exited from the front. They converged. The wind had picked up, and great clouds of dust swirled. A large woman advanced a few feet and gestured to the train, then at the others, but first one, then four, then the rest ran for the dubious shelter of the town.

  Dillon materialized in the doorway. "As soon as the sun descends, I would like volunteers to help take down the tent."

  At nightfall, the entire crew met in the elephant car. They covered their faces with cloths, and when the portal opened they surged forward like soldiers disembarking on a hostile beach. Dillon watched the town while Jenkins showed them how to take apart the tent pieces and expel the air. They began strapping the bleachers and bundled tent pieces onto Clytemnestra and Percival. Paladin remained on the train.

  Lewis stayed in costume, feeling safe beneath mail and helmet. Flying dust obscured the town. Dillon emerged, moving quickly toward them.

  "They are coming," he said.

  Clytemnestra knelt while Dawn supervised its loading. Barca had already taken Percival back to the train.

  The dust-wind ebbed, revealing a group from the town, led by the large woman. She yelled and ran at them, waving a heavy staff. Lewis drew his sword, but something struck his shoulder and he lost his grip. With his other hand, he groped for it in the dust. A body flopped near him, its face bloody. The ground shook. Lewis gripped the sword and swung, clumsy in his left hand. A huge sound reverberated. What terrible beast had these people unleashed? Figures fled, and a shape emerged, Paladin, galloping madly as he did in performance; he trampled through the mob. The sound of Lewis's breath and voice came to him; he hadn't realized he was yelling. A hand touched his shoulder.

  "Let's go," Bodyssia said. She held a staff of knotted wood, taken from the large woman who had led their attackers.

  Dust covered the floor of the elephant car. Miss Linda stood to one side, with a clipboard; she checked Lewis and Bodyssia off the list.

  "Just Barca and Paladin," she said.

  "Back to the dining car," Dillon said. "Jenkins and I will wait, and secure."

  In the dining car, Perry set Gold's broken arm and Cinteotl sewed up a gash in Cirill's thigh (the most serious injuries). Cinteotl slathered everyone's cuts and bruises with a thick, foul-smelling paste.

  Everyone cheered Barca's entrance. Miss Linda placed a wreath of vines and flowers over his head. The windows blurred.

  Chapter 31: Comfort in the Midst

  The tension from their conflict in desolation-town lingered. Cirill and Gold argued, then fought, over use of the lounge; Bodyssia would talk to no one and spent most of her time grumbling at the weight machines. They visited a town composed of barges and houseboats moored in an immense, weed-choked lake, where they performed on a platform built over several barges. The barges reminded Lewis too much of the town where that man had drowned. Their first day, someone went backstage during the closing promenade and stole Gold's juggling knife. The next morning, the redhead refused to leave the train, claiming that evildoers lurked everywhere. At a performance in an amphitheater in the middle of a large, clean, and ordered city, a man sitting in the front row heckled Bodyssia during her act. When he appeared backstage later, she hit him in the face, then picked him up and threw him.

  During this period, Lewis was buoyed by the constant presence in his room of Cybele. From her he drew comfort in the midst of increasing chaos. It became more difficult to leave her for performances, and at their conclusion he would rush back to the train, sometimes even reaching it before Miss Linda. He gave up interaction with the rest of the crew. Meals were difficult. With Cybele refusing to go to the dining car with him, he would eat quickly and return. Eventually, he began bringing food back to his room.

  ~

  One evening, while eating at his desk, his stomach lurched. The window cleared, revealing a green meadow with snow-topped mountains beyond.

  "There'll be a show soon," he said.

  Cybele sat on the floor with her legs crossed and eyes closed. He needed to find Perry to prepare for their act, but instead found himself crawling toward her lap. Someone knocked. Cybele pinched his lips shut, and he stroked her breast to show her that he had no intention of responding to the knock.

  Bodyssia's bellow sounded from outside, "Showtime."

  Cybele released his lips and he kissed hers. They made love over and over, varying positions each time. Her orgasms grew in intensity, her cries so loud he thought they would bring the entire circus crew to their door. He felt such power he wanted it to continue forever. Their lovemaking brought change, carried a flow of new life into the circus. His passion grew so large that he melted into her, viewed the room from inside her body, saw his surroundings in a milky haze, breathed through her layers of skin, absorbing the limonene scent of her internal organs.

  Then for a time they slept. When he awoke, the windows had clouded again.

  ~

  During one of Lewis's visits to the dining car he encountered Dillon hunched over a table, clutching a black, egg-shaped object. Dillon's appearance, pale, with dark smudges under his eyes, startled Lewis.

  When Lewis reached the counter, Cinteotl shook his head. "I offered him root tea, I offered him myrrh brandy. Nothing."

  Lewis wondered whether Dillon was ill, or suffering from some self-inflicted torpor in which his mind wandered along complex trails leading to private realms. Cinteotl packed Lewis some food. As he walked away, Dillon turned toward him, freezing him with blank, unfocused eyes. Could Dillon see him? He took a step toward Dillon's booth.

  "Is something wrong?" he asked.

  Dillon turned back to the dark shape he held. Lewis tried to get a better look at it, but Dillon, as if feeling Lewis's gaze, moved his hands to cover it. Lewis shifted the hot packet of food back and forth in his hands. He had to return to Cybele. Dillon could take care of himself.

  "Everything emanates from the audience," Dillon said. His voice was hoarse, far from its normal smooth and mesmerizing quality. "A full and excited house provides power far beyond anything manufactured. But lately...energy of the wrong sort...full of conflict and mistrust." He looked down at his object, addressing his comments to it rather than Lewis. Beneath the object's dark surface, something shimmered, like the figurine Cybele had given him; he slipped a hand into his pocket to test its warm reassurance.

  "We live on tracks that move ever forward," Dillon said. "On rails laid from complex principles and variable flow.
We are the caretakers of passion and power. So difficult to reverse course...concentrate on good fortune." He raised the object to eye level, then lowered it. "Perhaps our next location will provide...if not...responsibility mine alone."

  Cinteotl appeared with a large mug. "Root tea. Drink now." Dillon slipped the object into his lap and lifted the mug. He closed his eyes and drank.

  ~

  Lewis woke from another dream of the soft, vibrating hill. He kept his eyes shut, trying to retain the dream's gentle mood. Cybele lay beside him, and from her radiated, not heat exactly, more an electromagnetism coupled with the subtle, but always present scent of citrus. He moved a hand to her leg, resting his palm on her thigh, and he wondered what it would be like if they were joined, branches of the same tree. He recalled her first visit, when he had imagined himself being absorbed by her. He had no idea then, no idea at all.

  Thinking he would shower and go to the dining car, he slid a leg off the bed and tensed his muscles to get up, but before he could move, she pressed a hand to his chest. He relaxed his body. His stomach rumbled, and she slid her hand down to cover the spot. Her touch numbed him and he lay unmoving, staring at the ceiling, which seemed far away and mysterious in the darkened room.

  A knocking startled him—someone at the door? But no one knew where he was, not here, lost in a sphere separate from his former companions. He turned his head toward the sound. Everything seemed so far away, the floor, the wall. Hearing Perry's voice call to him, he sat up. As he opened his mouth to respond, he turned to look at Cybele. She smiled, and her smile cut off the words before they could emerge. Perry knocked again, harder, then pushed against the door, but it held fast.

  "Have to open the door," Lewis said, his voice hoarse, but instead of getting up he reached for Cybele and, mimicking her, placed a hand on her stomach, palm flat, fingers pointing toward her face. A current, he thought, a circuit undisturbed, from you to me and back again. He lay beside her and closed his eyes.

  Days of sunshine fell through the windows of their room and, as though fueled by the light, Cybele grew. She reached his height, then surpassed him, so gradually he didn't notice until she was Bodyssia's size. Soon, she would be too large for the room; her head would butt the ceiling. Lewis sat in the middle of an immense bed, and Cybele lifted him to her breast as a newborn.