Professor Renoir's Collection of Oddities, Curiosities, and Delights

by Randall Platt

  “She died after I was borned.”

  “Well, can’t blame her for that,” Serena said, under her breath.

  How many times had Babe heard jabs like that? “No, it wasn’t my size. She got infected. I was regulation size coming out. Right as rain. My gigantism didn’t come on me until I was a few months old.”

  “Do you know what else comes with the chests and the monthlies?” Serena asked, still daubing makeup onto Babe’s face.

  “More pay?”

  Serena laughed.

  “Here’s some advice. I’ve been in a theater, a circus, or a cheap carnie all my life. And I’ll tell you this. Beware of men who like different girls, and girl, you are different.”

  “’Course, I know all that. Got that church-lady curtain lecture years ago.”

  She smiled and said, “Good.” Then she stepped back to look at Babe’s makeup. “Hmmm, maybe we’ll give you a nice, long scar. You have such a huge face and square chin. What a landscape! Yes, let’s see . . . maybe something with stitches.”

  Babe pulled the wad of gum out and held it delicately between her fingers. “What do I do with this?”

  “Black out some teeth. Make ’em look like fangs, you know, jagged! Oh, here! Open your mouth.” Serena took the wad and pressed pieces onto Babe’s large teeth. “Hold it. Not done. Relax your lips.”

  She painted magenta-red paint onto Babe’s large, fleshy lips, then stood back, smiled, and announced, “There! Not bad if I say so myself!”

  Babe looked at herself in the mirror, laughing at her scarred face and gum-snaggled teeth. “Renoir said I got to be a fright, and I reckon I am.”

  “What’s Renoir calling this new act of yours?”

  “Magnifica, Queen of the Somethings. I forget.”

  “There you go, Magnifica. Now, Renoir’s waiting for costume and makeup approval. Give me a howl and a growl way down deep in your throat.”

  Babe gave out a low, menacing growl.

  “Put some gurgle into it. You know, like you’re gargling,” Serena said.

  “Grrrrrwwllllgugglegrrreeee . . .”

  “Perfect! You’ll have ’em fainting with fright!”

  Babe left the costume tent, grateful for the sets of canvas curtains strung between the front and the back lots. She wasn’t ready for anybody’s opinion on how frightful she looked or smelled.

  “Hey! Babe!” someone called out. “Your props!” Babe turned just in time to catch two barbells, freshly painted black with white numbers 250 on each end. She tucked them under her arm and went off to see Renoir.

  Renoir walked around Babe, taking in her Magnifica costume, scratching his goatee in thought. “Well, I didn’t think it was possible,” he said. “Didn’t think Serena could make you any uglier than you naturally are. But I think she did it. You look perfectly horrible.”

  Babe wasn’t sure if she should thank him for the compliment or step on him for the insult. “So, what do I got to do as this Magnifica? What’s she queen of again?”

  “Amazons.”

  “What’re them?”

  “Big, bad women.” He tried to puff himself out and made a mean face.

  Babe winced at that. “I ain’t bad.”

  “Well, when you’re in the ring, you have to be,” Renoir said.

  She hated to ask another question. “Ring?”

  “We’re having a sparring ring built,” he said, exhaling his exasperation. “Haven’t you ever seen a boxing match?”

  “Just men beating the sap outa each other. Usual, it ain’t much of a match.”

  “Well, this is perfect for you! It’s called a grunt-and-groan act. You’ll just stand on the stage and lift these fake weights, grunt and groan and pretend you’re breaking your back lifting these things. Here, I’ll show you.”

  He took the two weights and placed them on the ground. He strutted around them and then finally, with great drama, attempted to lift them. “Now, there’s got to be a lot of growling and squatting and wobbling, and be sure to scare the children and spit at the men and howl at the women. Go ahead. Let me see you do it.”

  “How come I got to pretend I’m strong when I really am strong?”

  “Look, the crowd knows it’s a fake. That’s what they pay their money for. Who wants to see the real thing when the fake is so much fun? They’re not paying to see how strong a giant girl is. They’re paying to see the giant girl give everyone a real case of the horrors. Think of it as a ham fat . . . you know . . . a razzmatazz, a comedy act. Not a strong act.”

  Babe blinked. It made no sense. She was hired to be strong—something she was—not something she wasn’t. “Maybe my ol’ man’d like to know you’re making me a laughingstock, a whatcha call it, a fat ham?”

  Renoir laughed so hard, tears came to his eyes. Finally, he looked up at her. “How many girls do you know can make money looking like you do? I mean, isn’t that what this is all about? You earning your way in the world, which, do I have to remind you, is hardly a normal world?”

  “Wish you’d let me work with Euclid some more. I think I can get him back on the stage.”

  “No, Euclid’s time has come and gone. But I’ll find something else for him, don’t you worry. Now, back to you. Magnifica. We’re going to have a big finale.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The end of the act. You know, the best part. We are going to invite men to plunk down two dollars and climb into the ring for a chance.”

  “Chance for what?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him, recalling Serena’s warnings.

  “A chance to knock you out of this circle we’ll paint on the floor, of course! Your pa said you used to rassle men in his store and not a one could even knock you over. It’ll be great! They’ll pay two bucks, and you’ll get fifty cents. I tell you, it’s a gold mine! How’s that sound?”

  “Do I got a choice?” she asked, fiddling with the tips of the rabbit skins dangling down, tickling her side.

  “Nope,” Renoir stated flatly. “Oh, here. Read this.” He pulled a book out from his pocket.

  Babe took the book and squinted at the title.

  “Your father said you know how to read.”

  “Only words I know,” Babe said.

  Renoir snatched the book, popped in his monocle, and read the title.

  “Proper Boxing Technique for the Sporting Young Man.” He looked up at Babe. He put up two fists and circled them around. “Read that book so you’ll know all the poses. Here, see? Oh, forget the words and just look at the pictures.” He shook his head, muttering to himself as he turned to leave.

  “Now what do I do?” she asked his back, holding the fake barbells in one hand and the book in the other hand.

  But he didn’t hear her and kept walking.

  11

  For the next two days, Babe practiced grimacing, growling, and groaning. She figured out how to dry-spit, how to bobble under the weights, and most of all, how to pose like the pictures in Renoir’s boxing book.

  Posing in front of the long mirror in the costume tent, Babe consulted the book, then stood, fists balled and held up, feet apart in a stance, challenging snarl on her face. Another glance at the book, another fighting pose. She was learning how to move in her constricting costume without popping too many seams and risking Serena’s wrath.

  She heard them before she saw them. High-pitched laughter from the back of the tent. She dropped the weights and squinted. “Come on out from there! You got something to say to me, come out and say it! Won’t be nothing I ain’t never heard before!”

  First Ina, then Tina, and finally Mina stepped out and stood, swaying as one and facing Babe. She’d been warned by Rosa and Serena to steer clear of this dangerous trio. Called them “fast company.”

  “I know you’re them dancing girls, but which is which?” Babe said.

  “I’m Tina. She’s Mina, and that chubby one is Ina. She’s been putting on the feedbag a lot lately.”

  “Drop dead!” Ina barked.
/>   They came forward and walked around Babe, taking in her smelly costume, inspecting her up and down. They may not have been related, but they sure acted identically.

  “Well, dog my cats, Renoir’s outdone himself this time!” one said. Probably Mina.

  “Well, what else can you do with a giant girl?” another asked. “Can you do anything real? I mean, your monkey act bombed. Can’t you do anything, I mean besides grunt with those fake weights?”

  Babe’s face went blank. “Do anything?”

  “You know! Entertain! Sing, dance, tell jokes? Recite poetry. Anything?” Tina asked.

  “I’m strong.”

  “Yes, but smell ain’t everything!” another said, swishing the air. They all three laughed.

  “Ignore Ina,” Tina said. “She thinks she’s a real jokesmith.”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Ina said, offering a small box to Babe. “Cigarette?”

  “No, thanks. It’ll stunt my growth,” Babe said.

  Silence. Then, bursting forth as one, the three women set their heads back in laughter, this time in a discordant harmony.

  “Now, that’s a jokesmith!” Tina said.

  “Look, dearie,” another said. “Don’t let Renoir make a fool out of you. The sooner you find a real act, the better off you’ll be. Mina gives singing and dancing lessons. Only a few bucks. Give it a thought.”

  “Come on, ladies. Let’s leave this girl to her fisticuffs,” another said.

  One by one, they shook her hand and offered a curtsy. Then, they locked arms, struck a pose, and sang as they walked backward and offered their curtain-call song:

  We’re sad we have to go,

  We know you liked our show.

  But we’ll be back at ten,

  Be sure to see us then!

  Babe reckoned she’d never be able to tell which one was which.

  Finally, it was time for Magnifica, Queen of the Amazons, to make her debut to the world.

  “You ready?” Renoir asked, pulling Babe aside backstage while the crowd filled in for her first performance as Magnifica. Babe peeked out between the curtains, watching the crowd take their seats.

  “Must be twenty, thirty folk out there,” she said.

  “Ten cents just to watch, Babe. I tell you, you’re heading toward the big top big-time. We’ll make a mint!” he said, also peeking at the crowd.

  “What town we in again?”

  Renoir’s face went blank. “Just some two-bit Podunk. What does it matter?”

  “Don’t sound like any big top big-time to me.”

  “You just wait. The world’s in love with pugilism and . . .” He stopped. “Boxing, Babe, boxing! Didn’t you read that book?”

  “Not the words I didn’t know.”

  “Sssh! Good. There’s Billy and Sol. Just like we rehearsed. They challenge you first. Now don’t make it look too easy, and, for God’s sake, when you toss them into the straw pit, be careful! Not like you kept doing in rehearsal. They both have to help tonight’s takedown.”

  Babe looked again at the crowd. “You reckon any prizefighters’re out there?”

  “No, just country yokels. Now remember, just take a swing or two! Don’t hit anyone! Don’t need any lawsuits! It’s showtime. Give ’em hell.” He stopped, came back, and added, “Don’t really give them hell.”

  “No lawsuits,” she said.

  Renoir went on the stage for his ballyhoo.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls!” Renoir called out over the hushed crowd. “It is with great pride that we bring to you our latest discovery, Magnifica, Queen of the Amazons and the world’s strongest girl. She has the strength of four men! Oh, you ladies in front might want to sit farther back. Sometimes Magnifica forgets her manners. Then, as an added attraction, we’ve invited challengers to come forward and try to move Magnifica out of this circle before the gong goes off. Two dollars for two minutes, and if you succeed, it’s fifty dollars in your pocket! And now . . . Magnifica!”

  He stepped aside while the curtains opened for Magnifica. She stood, arms folded, around her shoulders a long cape, which Renoir took off with a dramatic flourish and respectful bow. Since the orchestra played for Carlotta, Babe’s musical accompaniment was performed by This ’n’ That Ernie, now a one-man band. While she paced the platform, growled, flexed her biceps, and made threatening gestures, Ernie banged this, tooted that, dinged a bell or honked a horn. The crowd reacted with oohs and aahs as Babe stepped easily over the ropes of the fighting ring where her fake weights were ready for her amazing feats of strength. She lifted them with dramatic grunting and groaning, just as they had rehearsed.

  Then the crowd started to get restless, boo, hiss, and a few called out, “Fake! Fake!” The mockery wasn’t a part of the rehearsal. Then, it came to her.

  She lifted the large barbell dramatically, nearly faltering, grunting and groaning under the weight, just like Renoir said. Then, she contorted her face, twitched her mouth and nose as though the sneeze to champion all sneezes was coming on her.

  “Accch acchhh achhhh . . .” The more people laughed, the more she wound up her sneeze. Then, she put the barbell under her arm and “sneezed” loud and musically over the crowd. Ernie was onto her business and clanged the cymbals attached to the insides of his knees. The audience roared. Fine, Babe thought. If folks were going to laugh at her, then it would be because she made them laugh! She ran her arm under her nose and pretended to blow her nose out over the crowd. Then, back into the character of Magnifica, she took the barbell from under her arm and commenced to struggle under its weight over her head.

  More funny business came to her—balancing the barbell on her nose, hitting the cotton-filled medicine balls up high with her knee, hitting them again with her foot behind her. All the while trying to keep a straight, strained face.

  Renoir watched from the side as he took the money from the three challengers, lining up behind the two fakes, Billy and Sol, waiting for their chance to knock Babe out of the circle and go home fifty bucks richer.

  As rehearsed, Billy and Sol went over fast and easy, including limping dramatically, rubbing body parts after landing into the straw pit. The first real challenger hopped onto the stage to the egging on of his pals.

  Bong! the gong rang out. The young man put up his fists, circled Babe, and took a few swipes. She held him off with her long arm on his forehead as he swatted the air. The crowd laughed, applauded, whistled. Ernie did his best to punctuate the swings and blows with toots, bangs, and clangs.

  Finally, Babe picked him up and tossed him—plunk!—over the ropes and into the straw pit. It wasn’t the ching ching in her head of fifty cents going into her pocket. It wasn’t even the clapping and the cheering of the crowd. It wasn’t Ernie’s comical accompaniment. But Babe felt something different and strange deep inside that grew as she tossed each man out that night and every night thereafter. Each time she would stand, put her head back, and roar her victories.

  Babe knew, with each challenger, it was the roar of her beast inside the beast, coming to life. Magnifica was coming to life.

  12

  The late May air was hot, and Babe kept her cattle car door open for the cross breeze. She fed Jupiter and Euclid from the scraps she had squirreled away throughout the day, including food from her own plate. Still, the animals were getting thinner and restless.

  “Reckon you boys is bored and smelling spring,” she said, handing out sections of oranges she’d stolen from Renoir’s table. Jupiter just sniffed his and turned his head away. But when Euclid made a reach across to steal the bear’s treat, Jupiter gave a gruff growl and licked it.

  Babe went to her bed and kicked the stuffing in her straw mattress and, using the rope noose she’d hung in the rafters overhead, eased herself down with a gentle plop. She sat back against the side of the car and looked down at her nightgown of pillow ticking Serena had made her. Ugly as sin, but so much cooler than her holey BVDs and much more generous in the bust. Serena was right abo
ut one thing—when her lady parts started coming in, they came in fast and all over. Babe’s body seemed to have changed overnight. Once again.

  “Chests galore,” she muttered. “Ain’t as though I ain’t already suffered enough change. Spent my life lettin’ out seams.”

  ARPPP! Euclid called out across the car.

  “I ain’t talking to you, and my lady parts ain’t none of your never mind!”

  She picked up her silver mirror and inspected her face. Three giant pimples adorned her giant chin. Babe looked up, watching the flickering light from her lantern and thought back on what Rosa had told her about being smart and keeping her eyes wide but not innocent.

  “Babe,” Rosa had said, her voice kind, her eyes soft. “I know you didn’t have a mother, but didn’t anyone tell you all this?”

  Babe’s face still reddened at the memory. “Butch Nance. He locked me in a outhouse. I was twelve. Said he’d let me out if I give him a kiss.”

  Rosa had asked, “Well, what did you do?”

  Babe had smiled as Rosa’s eyes widened when she replied, “Did the only thing a girl can do. Started rocking the privy back and forth till it crashed down. Pieces went everywheres. ’Course, Butch’d run off by then.”

  “Did you ever get even with him?”

  “Sure did. See, it was his own pa’s outhouse.” Rosa had laughed and Babe had to join her.

  “That’s what I call a growing pain!” Rosa said.

  “I know all about growing pains. Been getting them my whole life.”

  “Well, there’s a big difference between growing up, growing confident, and growing cocky.”

  Babe had cast her cross-eyed look.

  “It means don’t be too sure of yourself, just because you’re the size you are. You might find yourself riding for a fall. Savvy?”

  “What’s a savvy?”

  Rosa had tapped Babe’s forehead. “Smarts. Look, Babe, you best be watching your moves during your act. No swishing, no smiling, no winking to the audience.”

  “I don’t under . . .”

  “Just don’t be getting too friendly, you know?”

  Babe thought hard about Rosa’s warning. Come to think of it, Renoir had been watching her Magnifica act more and more and mingling in among the crowd, talking to the men, slapping backs, and laughing.