He picks up his knife, scrapes some ketchup off the table, and licks it again. Tuffy roars in the background. Jimmy turns toward the lion cage, plants his feet, throws his knife at the Wall of Death; it clatters to the floor of the pit. He shakes his fist.
“Shut up, bush face!!”
He turns back to Cap and Sally, still holding up his fist.
“You know, I’m gonna kill that yella-eyed tomcat if I stay around here much longer. It’s him or me.
“Didja ever look into them eyes? He’s just waiting his chance. He’d like to rip all of us up, me first, turn us all into cat food. But, goddamn it, he sure as hell ain’t gonna get me.”
Jimmy walks over to pick up his knife. Cap starts clearing off the makeshift table. He carries the bread, the baloney wrapped in waxed paper, the milk, the knives over to the black box, stores them. He lifts the board and moves the boxes so he can open the trap door in the bottom of the pit. He lowers the boxes, including the black one, the board, everything, into the hole in the pit, then slides the trap door into place.
Sally is leaning against the wall, trying to pull herself together. She looks at Jimmy, then at Cap.
“Tuffy’s beginning to really scare me, Cap. Last night, all the time we were up on the wall, and I was trying to keep speed, hold it straight, he kept looking at me. I could see him from the corner of my eyes. He’d look at me and then roar his stinking roar. I could smell him, not just his sewer mouth and his farts; I could smell the lion in him, a thick, deep, animal smell. I was afraid to look him in the eyes. He knows I’m afraid, Cap, and he’s hungry. I think he’s beginning to see me as food.”
Cap’s pulling off his garbage-gathering clothes and getting into the outfit he wears for the act, black leather trousers, a slightly stained wide-sleeved tight-cuffed silk shirt. Jimmy’s doing the same thing on the other side of the room. They’re getting ready to put on their demonstration out on the platform.
Cap stops a minute, looks at Sally. “It isn’t your time of month, is it?”
Sally stares back at Cap, embarrassed, resistant, turns her head away.
“No, it isn’t. That isn’t it.”
Cap is tightening the laces through the hooks at the top of his left boot, his good leg. He half mumbles to himself: “I’d be the last one around here to know.”
Cap finishes dressing. He starts sweeping out the pit. Jimmy has pushed his motorcycle through the small door and up a ramp onto the outside stage opening to the boardwalk. Cap carefully sweeps where the curve of the pit bottom turns up onto the wall. It’s here where there’s the most danger of slipping. The wall is blackened from the skidding of tires and exhaust fumes.
“Well, Sally, maybe we’ll have some takers today. Then, I’ll fill Tuffy up with meat, that truck up with gas, and we’ll be on our way.”
Sally has turned her back on Cap. She has her arms spread out against the wall, her face to it. She’s crying.
“Stop it, Cap! Stop kidding yourself! There’s nobody here in Wildwood; it’s October. We should’ve been gone a month ago. If we make another fifty bucks this whole week it’ll be a miracle.”
Cap doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look over at Sally. He grabs the handlebars of his motorcycle and starts pushing it up toward the door after Jimmy. Sally closes the door behind him.
Absent-mindedly, still sobbing, she strips off the overalls and her sweater. She’s wearing her orchid spangled costume underneath. She rolls the sweater and overalls into a ball, slides them through the trap door. She goes to another small box in the corner. Out of it she takes a brush and mirror. The mirror is about six by eight inches with a small fold-down metal stand. She stands it on the floor of the pit. She fluffs out her hair, using a small hand mirror to see the back and sides.
Alone, in the dim light, she turns slowly, looking at herself from all angles. She runs each hand carefully over her hips, slaps them a few times, then slides her fingertips down the backs of her thighs. After several minutes, she puts her mirrors and brush back in the box, pushes it under the lip of the trap door and latches the trap tight.
She stands in the center of the surrounding walls, takes a deep breath, goes over, lifts a roll of tickets and a wrap-around-waist apron with pockets from a hook on the wall. She lifts the hook as well, puts it into the sagging pocket of the apron, then goes out the same door Jimmy and Cap used.
PART 9
The next morning I’m still asleep when I feel something rough rubbing my nose and cheek. I open my eyes and it’s Cannibal. Somehow she got out of her box during the night, climbed up the side of my bed, and crawled on top of me. I rub my hand down her back, and she doesn’t try to bite me. With both hands, I rub her under the ears. I’m wondering how long she’s been out of the box and if she’s made a mess anywhere. I hold her in my hand, slowly swing my legs out of bed, and put my feet on the linoleum floor. I look around everywhere, especially under the beds, but don’t see anything. I don’t smell anything either. Cannibal has her own special smell when she’s up close to my face, but that’s different. Her fur smell is like the inside of a drawer that’s been closed a long time in a hot room.
She’s wakened me so I can take her outside, I’m sure of it. We don’t have a sandbox here for her; there was no way to carry it with us in the car. I slip on my bathing suit, a shirt, and sweater, then pull on my pants and decide not to wear shoes. I take the towel that’s mine from where it’s drying over the end of my bed. The sun is just coming up outside and shining through the window onto my pillow.
I think of waking Mom to tell her I’m taking Cannibal out to do her business, but she and Dad look so comfortable all curled around each other I don’t want to wake them. I look over to see if Laurel’s awake but she’s asleep and sucking her fingers.
Gosh, I went down to the boardwalk alone, or almost alone, with Laurel last night. They can’t mind too much if I go out so Cannibal won’t make a mess.
I open the door and look back to see if it wakes anybody up. They all stay asleep. I hold Cannibal in her box in one hand and slowly close the door to see if anybody wakes up but there’s nobody moving. I carefully go along the balcony and down the steps. I cross the courtyard and out into the street.
It’s beautiful and quiet. It must be trash day because there are trash and garbage cans in front of all the houses, or maybe they collect trash every day here. I haven’t seen any alleys in Wildwood yet; maybe there’re some farther inland.
I walk toward the ocean, looking into trashcans as I go. I don’t see anything, mostly only newspapers and garbage. There aren’t any ashes. I decide to take Cannibal right down to the beach, where there’s all the sand in the world.
I cross one big street and there isn’t a car in sight. There are streetcar tracks but I don’t see any streetcar either. Near the boardwalk, I see one man with a cap on, hunched over, going through trash barrels with a burlap sack between his legs. I guess the Depression’s even hit here. Dad says, “Happy Days Are Here Again” and the Depression’s over, but I’m not so sure. A lot of kids at school are still on relief or their dads are working for the WPA. Mrs. Loughlin’s son, who’s only eighteen, just went into the CCC, which is almost like going into jail.
I get to the beach and there’s nobody there. It’s empty and cold when I go under the boardwalk. On the other side, the sun’s just coming over the ocean; it looks as if it’s only about two feet above the water but it must be hundreds of miles actually; it’s so far away. I keep Cannibal in the box until I get down to the ripples of the surf. I want to see if she’ll fight waves again, and I want to feel the water on my feet.
I let Cannibal out and watch. There aren’t many strong waves and Cannibal walks along the edge of the water, then up onto the dry sand, where she turns around about five times then squats and does her business. Such a smart cat. I dig a hole, push the mess in, and cover it up.
I walk backward and look at my footsteps in the sand. My shadow is long like a giant, at least five times
as tall as I am. Then Cannibal notices her shadow and rears up to fight it. It’s one of those mornings when shadows look very important, almost bluish or purplish against the sand color. Every bump from footsteps has a long shadow, too, so the sand looks like little mountains.
There are birds flying over the water, seagulls, and they’re hollering at each other, sweeping down on the water trying to catch fish but missing every time. There are also some kind of long-legged birds running along the edges of the water.
They run fast with short steps and shoot in after each wave, ducking down to eat something just behind the water when it goes out. Cannibal sees these birds and decides to chase one of them. She chases it right out under one of the waves. Then when the bird dashes back in, as the wave comes up the beach, Cannibal can’t run fast enough and a little wave crashes on her head, tumbling her over, and she’s pulled by the undertow into the deeper water. I dash down and rescue her just before she gets drowned. She’s sopping wet.
I dry her off with my towel as best I can. She’s soaked. She keeps shaking her head to get the water out of her ears. I sit down in the dry sand and rub as much as possible, but the fur is soft and keeps sticking down. I didn’t realize how skinny Cannibal is; the fur makes her look twice as big as she really is and that isn’t much.
When I get her mostly dry, I put her back in her box and walk up away from the ocean toward the boardwalk. I want to go see that lion again. Mostly I want to give Cannibal a real chance to see it and maybe not be so afraid.
We walk up the steps onto the boardwalk. It’s the same place where Laurel and I took Cannibal last night to go to the bathroom.
Up on the boardwalk, everything is empty. There’s only one man going along with a stick and a nail in the stick picking up papers and putting them in a bag he has slung over his shoulder. I guess he gets paid for doing that but it doesn’t seem like very hard work.
I walk along the boardwalk trying not to swing Cannibal too much in her cage and at the same time seeing how many boards I can step over, stepping far as I can. I can step eleven boards each time, without jumping, just stepping. I notice the whole boardwalk is made with two-by-fours. It’s great having done carpenter work so you know these things. Boy, a carpenter could keep busy all year just replacing two-by-fours that get worn and splintery. You’d never be out of work.
When I get to his cage, the lion is awake, sitting comfortably up near the front so sun is shining on him. Without the bars he could almost be sitting in Africa, out on a grassy plain like Dad said, just enjoying the sunshine. I come close up from the side so I won’t block his sun. He looks over at Cannibal and me but then turns his head back and stares at the sun some more. The light of that sun seems to go through his yellowish-brown eyes so they look as if you could see clean through them from one side to the other. His mane is well brushed so it sticks up and hangs over his face. There’s a pink spot on his nose I hadn’t noticed before. It’s almost the same as Cannibal.
I carefully open Cannibal’s cage. She’s reaching back and trying to lick off all the salt water from the ocean. Her fur is still sticking down. I might have to give her a real bath to get out all the salt and sand. I carefully climb under the little fence in front of the cage and put the opening to Cannibal’s box near the edge of the cage. The lion stares down at me and the box. Cannibal looks up and sees the lion.
This time she doesn’t duck down but suddenly jumps right out of the box and into the lion’s cage! She rears back in her fighting position and takes a swing at that lion’s paw. I can’t reach in and get her; I’m afraid of the lion! In fact, I’m scared to death, partly for me but mostly for Cannibal. She really looks like a mouse compared to that lion. The lion’s paw is twice as high as Cannibal’s head!
At first I try calling her quietly, holding out her box so she can see it, but she won’t pay any attention. I’m almost crying; how could I be so dumb? The lion looks slowly down at this mouse of a cat between its paws.
I remember it’s elephants who are supposed to be afraid of mice. Mike Conway said it’s because they’re afraid a mouse will climb up their trunks the same way ladies are afraid of mice because they’re afraid they’ll crawl into their whatsits.
Then the lion opens its mouth and closes his big paws close around Cannibal. Cannibal isn’t paying any attention at all. She’s still swinging away at the lion’s leg with all her might. That lion sticks his tongue out and licks Cannibal so hard she’s knocked right over on her back. Then the lion licks her again on the stomach while she’s still on her back.
The lion stops and looks at Cannibal. Cannibal looks up into that lion’s big yellow eyes. I figure this is where Cannibal gets eaten all in one bite. That lion’s tasted her and now he’s ready to slurp her right in. Cannibal has one paw out ready to strike but isn’t swinging. The lion gently licks the side of Cannibal’s face. Even that almost pulls poor Cannibal’s whiskers out and rolls her over on her side.
Cannibal isn’t more than a foot inside the cage but I’m afraid to stick my hand in there. Maybe that lion will be nice with Cannibal because, in a way, they’re both cats, but I’m not a cat; I’m the kind of meat lions like to eat. I’d probably just about make a reasonable-sized breakfast for a lion.
I can’t get myself to stick my hand inside the cage, but I push Cannibal’s little box between the bars and hope she’ll crawl in so I can pull the cage back out with Cannibal in it; but Cannibal is enjoying being licked by a lion.
We kids always say we can lick each other, or our dads can lick each other, but this lion is really licking Cannibal and I know he can lick me for sure. But, when it comes to me, I think he’ll do it with his long sharp teeth and claws, not with his tongue.
I need something to attract Cannibal’s attention, to get her close enough so I can grab her quick. I look around for a piece of paper or string, anything, but that man with the nail on the end of a stick must have gotten it all; there’s nothing.
Back on the side of the lion’s cage I see something golden. That would attract Cannibal’s attention for sure; she likes anything that shines. I run around that side of the cage but it’s a padlock holding the cage closed. It’s one of those kind of hasp things with the curved part of the lock sticking through a slit on the hasp. The lock’s hooked in the loop to hold the cage closed but the lock isn’t pushed tight.
At first I’m afraid, but I’m more scared for Cannibal. I pull out the lock carefully, testing to feel if the door will open by itself. I do this quietly so the lion won’t hear me. The door seems to be stuck anyway with the loop through the hasp even without the lock. There’s a small piece of wood on the ground and I push it through to hold the door shut till I can put the lock back in. Then I run around to the front of the cage. Now Cannibal is trying to climb up on the lion’s leg; she doesn’t seem to be fighting any more.
I call her name and dangle the lock. Cannibal turns around and walks toward me, balancing along the lion’s arm to the end of his paw. She puts her own paws on the end of her box and I can almost reach her. I lean the lock in farther so she can strike at it. Suddenly, she swings at the lock, I drop it quickly, grab hold of her paw, pull her out of the cage and close her into the box.
Then I see how the lock has dropped in the cage about as far in as Cannibal was when I was trying to reach her. I set Cannibal down on the boardwalk in her box and go around to where the stick is stuck in the loop of the door. I pull it out and run around to use it for reaching in to pull the lock out from the lion’s cage.
It’s almost long enough, but not quite, unless I push my hand into the cage farther. I reach in quickly, but even more quickly, that lion swings at the stick and knocks it out of my hand. He also knocks the lock farther into the cage so it’s right up against his chest.
I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid to reach in and I probably couldn’t reach in that far anyway, without the lion eating off my arm.
I stand there. I look around for someone to help, but there’s no o
ne on the boardwalk. I don’t know what’s happened to the man with the sack and the stick with the nail on the end. That stick would reach the lock just fine and I could pick it up with the nail part. I can’t even find another stick to put inside the loop of the hasp to hold the door. I’m getting more scared by the minute, and at the same time the lion is pushing his face against the bars the same way Cannibal does when she wants me to pet her. I don’t know why I do it, but I rub my fingers against his muzzle, above his whiskers and teeth. He closes his eyes and pushes harder against me. He wants to be friends; he’s only lonely. I rub his face some more and try to convince myself that he’s just a friendly old lion who wants to be petted; but the smell of him, the size, the force he uses to push his face against my hand scares me.
I decide to run home fast so I can tell Dad what’s happened. He’ll know what to do.
I run a long time along the boardwalk until I get to where I go down our street. On the way I see the older man in the lion act, the one with the whip. He has a filled dirty burlap sack over his shoulders. He might be the one I saw going through the garbage before. Now he’s walking toward the lion cage.
I figure for sure he’ll get there before the lion pushes against that door. He’ll know how to get the lock out of the cage; probably he’ll just walk in and pick it up. I’m convinced that lion wouldn’t hurt a flea. If he wouldn’t even hurt Cannibal who was looking for a fight, why should he hurt a human being? I decide not to tell Dad or Mom or even Laurel. It would cause such a ruckus; not even Dad would understand why I went under the fence put there to keep people away, just so Cannibal could meet a real lion.
Now it’s happened and it’s all over. But I’m still scared; I slow down to get my breath. Maybe I should tell the lion man about the lock being off the cage. I start to go back, after him. Then I decide just to run back to Dad and Mom. It’ll be all right.
Pride Page 21