Babe snapped back to the present. “Just what are them laughing at?” she asked out loud.
As though to answer, Jupiter stood up and gave a half-hearted roar. Babe looked toward the sound. “Shush!” she said. “Set down and sleep, Jupiter.”
A little flash of white came through the door. A dainty hanky on a long pole—the rod Carlotta used to handle Egypt. She poked her tiny head in. “Truce?”
“What for?”
Carlotta came full in and stood with her hands on her hips. Her purple velvet robe shimmered little flecks of gold in the sparse light. “First say truce.”
“Truce. For now.”
“May I sit down?”
“Suit yourself,” Babe said, nodding to a wooden crate. “Knock them peanuts off it.”
Carlotta dusted off the crate, then pulled it closer to Babe. “I don’t know about you, but I’m running out of pranks to pull on you.” Carlotta smiled slyly at Babe, who couldn’t help but smile back.
“Yeah, I reckon if we’re down to switching sugar for salt, we’ve pretty much done all we can,” Babe agreed with a nod.
“I know I’ve been horrible, but maybe it’s time for us to look out for each other about some things.”
“Like what?”
“Like Renoir and his cheapjack ideas. Look, Babe, I’ve seen outfits riding low on the hog before, but never like this. Renoir will do just about anything to make a buck, so I thought I’d better warn you.”
“About what?”
“He just left my car trying to get me to sign on to this big idea of his.”
“He gots lots of them, don’t he?” Babe said, remembering how he had told her to put more umph and less grunt into her act.
“This one beats all. I know he’ll come to you next.”
“What for? What’s this new big idea?”
Carlotta looked around the car.
“Don’t worry,” Babe said, nodding to her animals. “They won’t say nothing.”
“I know. I just want to make sure Renoir’s not outside on the platform.” She scooted the box closer. “He wanted me to pose for pictures!”
“Huh?”
“You know! Postcards! Picture postcards.”
Babe sat up straighter. “I still don’t . . .”
Carlotta pulled a card out of her pocket. “Look. Like this.”
Babe’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. She squinted to read the writing. “‘Jo . . . Jo . . . the As . . . ton . . . ish . . . ing Pinhead Freak.’ What’s that garb she’s got on? That a crown on her head?”
“That’s Renoir’s idea of a sick joke,” Carlotta said. “Dressing her up like she’s a queen. See? It says here she is of royal blood. Like Queen Victoria or something. Real funny, ha ha, don’t you think?”
Babe couldn’t stop staring at the postcard. “Sort of makes me think like he’s poking fun at her.”
“Of course he’s poking fun at her! When doesn’t he poke fun at all of us?” She took the card. Babe noticed how angry Carlotta’s pretty little face grew hard as she looked at JoJo’s royal getup.
“Ain’t never seed such a thing,” Babe said.
“Oh, I have. And I’ve seen worse, believe you me.” She came closer and lowered her voice. “Even one of a famous opera singer who was darn near naked.”
Babe couldn’t help but gasp. “Never seed me a naked woman before.”
“Not even your mother?”
“She died when I was still on the spigot. Townswomen nursed me up . . . till I run ’em dry, then my ol’ man took over finding me vittles. Ain’t funny, so stop laughing.”
“No, I’ve just never heard these things referred to as spigots!” Carlotta said, puffing out her chest. Babe joined her with a small smirk.
“And Renoir thinks I’d take to such a notion? Getting my picture tooken like this for all the world to see?” Babe had been putting the pieces together, using her smarts, thinking savvy.
“Anyway,” Carlotta went on, “that’s why I wanted a truce to our war. To tell you about Renoir and his picture postcards. No telling what else he has up his sleeve. I figure we’ll make a better army as friends, not enemies.”
“What do we do after the truce?” Babe asked as Carlotta stood up and took her white hanky off the rod.
“I don’t know. I’ve never done one before.”
“Thought maybe, since you was so mad about your size and all, you done plenty of ‘one of these’!”
Carlotta smiled at Babe’s huge fist, then looked down at the lace hanky in her hands. “Well, when you’re small you have to have crust. You, you’re big, you don’t need crust, but I do and . . . I guess that’s . . . you know, what keeps me safe. Or thinking I’m safe.”
Babe had never considered size and crust and keeping someone safe. “Reckon it wouldn’t hurt to shake hands. Don’t wars end that way?”
Carlotta smiled again. “Yeah, after they bury and honor all the dead. Peace?”
“Peace. Speaking of peace, you want a piece of orange? I swiped some from Renoir.”
“I love oranges!”
“Show me that card again, Lotty. . . . Can I just call you that? Lotty’s funner to say.”
“Sure. But first, we have to shake hands. You know, to make it official.”
Babe wiped her hand on her skirt, then offered it to Carlotta. “Okay, put ’er there!”
It was the oddest feeling. She had never shook a hand so small, so delicate and yet so determined in its up, down, up, down grip.
13
Two stops later, Babe was fashioning her long hair, making it a mess of rats and tangles, wild-woman-like. She did her own makeup now.
Renoir walked into the dressing tent.
“Maybe you could knock next time,” Babe said, tightening her dressing gown over her one-piece and tights.
“Got a straw house for the last show tonight, Babe,” he said, gazing in the mirror and using Babe’s silver-handled brush to run through his hair, leaving shoe polish tips on her brush.
“What’s a straw house? Something the wolf blows over?” Babe asked. She was in no mood to be chatty with Renoir, especially after what Lotty had told her about picture postcards.
“Means sold out. Got some special guests tonight. So, listen, I want you to put a little—shall we say—finesse into your act,” he went on, adjusting his tie, snipping some tips off his goatee, and inspecting himself side to side in the mirror.
“Is there extry finesse in my pay?”
He reached up and tried to pinch her huge cheek, but she batted his hand away. “Could be, kiddo. You know how I’m always thinking of ways to . . . well, help your act.”
“What’s finesse anyhows?” She knew what he was getting at but wanted him to show her. “Show me some finesse.”
He put one hand to his ear, the other on his hip, and glided around the tent. “You know. Like this. Finesse.”
Babe tried to keep a straight face as she watched Renoir finesse his way around the tent.
“I have this sensational idea and there’s big money to be made,” Renoir said, coming to a stop in front of Babe.
“If this has something to do with them postcards . . .”
He stopped and looked at her. “You know?”
“Lotty told me.”
“Thought you two weren’t talking to each other.”
“We got a truce.”
“Now, Babe, think! Feature this—” He put his hands up to form a big square shape. “The world’s biggest girl! No! Bigger than life, Babe the Giant!”
“Me being that in real life is one thing. Me being that in a photograph for the whole dang world to poke fun at is another! My ol’ man used to invite folk to take my photograph. Didn’t see me one dime of that.”
“Well, we’re partners, aren’t we? Look, you can get paid by the pose or get a royalty on all the postcards I sell or . . .”
Babe narrowed her eyes. “What’s a royalty?”
“A piece of the action.”
Ernie stuck his head into the tent. “Five minutes.”
“I got to climb into my getup,” Babe said, rising.
“You know, I could make you do it,” Renoir said, his voice hardening.
Babe smiled at him. “How?” She stood with her legs apart and her arms folded—a pose she’d perfected as Magnifica.
He flinched a bit. “But, Babe, this could be fun! You could pose looking mad like you do so well in your act. Oh, I know! Lifting the tail end of a wagon and saving a baby’s life, maybe wrestling a stuffed lion, holding back a breaking dike and saving a whole town! The possibilities are endless!”
He pointed out toward the main stage and shouted, “You’ve been a carnie for over four months now, Babe! Get wise to the money you could make!”
“Ain’t got the time; ain’t got the notion!”
“Well, that’s the beauty part, Babe! You don’t have to do anything or go anywhere! I think your very own cattle car would be a great studio.”
“What’s a studio?”
“It’s where they take the photographs,” he stated flatly.
“I think you ought to go so’s I can get dressed.”
No sooner had he left the tent than Lotty came dashing in.
“I saw them! There’s two men out there. I know who they are! One has a camera outfit and everything! You told Renoir to go to hell, didn’t you?”
“Told him I wasn’t posing for no camera.”
“Good! You know . . .” She paused and looked at Babe. “It would be sort of fun to, uh, teach Renoir a lesson.”
Their eyes met. “How?”
“I don’t know. If I was big enough, I’d pitch a fit or start throwing things or something. Scare the holy bejesus out of them. Just because we’re different doesn’t mean we’ll be made laughingstocks like JoJo.”
Renoir’s voice reached them. He was doing the come-on pitch for Babe’s act on the megaphone. “I got to go.”
“Think about what I said!”
Before leaving the tent, Babe took the grease pencil and drew another long, ugly scar down the other side of her face and crossed it with crude “stitches.” “There. That’s finesse!”
It wasn’t hard to pick the two men out of the crowd immediately—dressed in suits rather than the usual garb men wore in these small, hick towns. When it came time for men to challenge her in the ring, she tossed them out, one, two, three, four. Easy as pie. All the while she was thinking about what Lotty had said.
She didn’t even take her bows, but jumped off the stage as soon as the last challenger was limping away. Lotty was just putting Egypt back into her car when Babe rushed up. “Come with me! Hurry!”
Babe lifted Lotty into her train car. Both Euclid and Jupiter were already back in their travel cages. “Light them lamps,” Babe ordered, pointing to the lanterns hanging on the walls.
“What are we going to do?”
“Like you said, ‘teach ’em a lesson!’”
“How?”
“Gonna scare the bejesus out of them. By the way, what’s a bejesus?” Babe said, pulling the bear’s cage over toward the center of the room.
“I’m not sure.”
Babe pushed Euclid’s cage next to Jupiter. The chimp and the bear seemed to sense something was up and paced in their cages, restless and growling to each other.
“They can’t get out, can they?” Lotty asked. “I mean, the sign says Jupiter’s a man-eating bear. I’d be a snack for him.”
“No, they can’t get out,” Babe said, scrunching her lips while she thought. Then it hit her. “That is, not until I let ’em get out!” Babe placed the cage openings close to the cattle car door.
Lotty had her ear to the door. “I hear footsteps! Someone’s coming!”
The footsteps stopped on the train platform. Knock knock knock. “Magnifica? Are you in there?” Renoir called out in a sugary sweet voice.
Babe whispered, “Slip that latch when I open the door. I’ll do this one and we’ll give them boys the scare of their lifes!”
“Some men here want to make you world-famous,” Renoir called out. “Just like we talked about. It’s just a few photographs. Come on, open the door. All the famous freaks are getting photographed these days!”
The girls heard their laughter as the men tried to open the door, but Babe leaned into it so they couldn’t budge it.
“Come on, Magnifica,” Renoir said sternly. “If you want to hit the big pinnacle you need better publicity. No! Don’t go, gentlemen! I promise, she’ll be willing. She’s just a little shy!”
Babe and Lotty looked at each other. Babe nodded her head, yanked back the door, and as the three men approached the car, Babe said, “Now!”
“Look out! The bear escaped!” Babe hollered. Lotty’s high-pitched scream added to the instant panic.
Euclid screeched when he was face-to-face with his enemy, Renoir. Renoir screeched back, and Jupiter roared to support them both. One man, face-to-face with Jupiter, turned and ran back down the platform.
“Killer bear! Killer bear!” the other hollered, losing his hat and the tripod camera stand.
Euclid climbed out of his cage and headed for Renoir, who held the ape off with the fake 250-pound weight. “Get him! Get him, Babe! Get that beast before . . .”
Babe easily grabbed Euclid’s chain and pulled him up short, then scooped him up. His screech was deafening. She placed her hand over his head and calmed him.
“I see you’re in on this, too!” Renoir screamed down at Lotty, who was doubled over in laughter. “I expect this sort of thing from her, but not you!”
Babe grabbed him by his lapels and pulled him up to her face and hollered, “I said no picture postcards. You pull a stunt like that again and I’ll snap you in half like a Chinee chopstick.”
She dropped him. He buckled and struggled to stand back straight.
“That goes for me, too!” Lotty piped up.
Renoir dusted the sleeves of his coat. “I’m not going to forget this, Mag-ni-fi-ca! You just ruined any chance of being anything more than what you are. A stupid, ugly giant!” He turned and stomped off.
“Dang, too bad we couldn’t take a picture postcard of them two men, screaming and running like scaredy old ladies!” Babe said. That brought them both back to laughter.
Babe stepped onto the platform, snatched up the tripod, snapped the legs in two, then tossed the whole outfit down onto the tracks. Lotty was still laughing so hard, tears streaked her face. “Did you see the look on Renoir’s face?” she said, in and out of gasps. “Wish I had a picture of that, too!”
Babe pushed the animal cages back to their end of the car. Lotty helped hand them their treats.
“Got some orange left, Lotty. Want some?”
Just then, the air was pierced with the elephant’s long, inquiring roar. “Uh-oh. Duty calls,” Lotty said, heading to the platform door. “I have to get Ernie to swipe some hay from the working stock. Egypt’s always starving after the last show and I can guarantee Renoir won’t sign for more hay! Not now!”
“I can tote a whole bale on my shoulder. ’Case you need help.”
“I’ll remember that. And I’m going to remember the look on their faces. Feels good, standing up big, for once.”
“Ain’t no small thing, Lotty. Standing big.”
Lotty smiled, waved, and scurried off.
Babe blew out all but one lamp and swished away the smoke from the wicks. She eased herself down on her bed, looking at the smoky shadows the lamp gave the four corners of her home. The noose handle swung back and forth above her. She breathed in the assorted odors—sweat, musk, peanuts, pomade, even a lingering hint of Lotty’s perfume.
“Well, boys,” she said into the darkness, “reckon that settles that!”
14
“Okay, people!” Renoir called out, standing on a bench, trying to talk over the sounds of hungry people eating fast. The outfit was anxious to get the show on th
e road after several stops in the sweltering heat of Nebraska. “Attention, everyone! I have an announcement.”
The cook crew brought in plates and platters, and the level of chaos and clamor grew louder.
Renoir called for attention again, but food was front and center. Lucretia the Lobster Woman delicately held up a paper-thin slice of ham. “I can see through this thing.”
“And lookee here, what sparrow nest did you rob these from?” Ernie asked, showing the two small eggs on his plate.
“Yeah, these are last week’s coffee grounds!” Rosa said to the cup in her hand.
From there, it was an anvil chorus of complaints. The noise was broken by the shot of a pistol.
Renoir stood on his bench and shot his pistol high over his head. “Now do I have your attention?” Everyone looked up at the gaping hole in the top of the tent. “Thank you. There have been some changes to the schedule.”
That was met with moans and groans. “I know! You want us to do ten shows a day, instead of five!” Ina, Mina, or Tina called out.
“Yeah, twice the work for half the pay!” Donny shouted, slipping scraps to one of his doggone dogs under the table.
“We aren’t going to head south for the winter,” Renoir called out over their heads.
More moans and groans.
“We are turning around and heading back the way we came.”
“Play towns we just played?” Serena called out. “No outfit does that!”
“We’ll play towns we missed on the way out,” Renoir called back.
“Great!” Rosa said. “Even smaller none-horse, played-out, jerk-soup towns!”
Renoir waited for the griping, laughing, and grumbling to die down. “I’m also making a few changes in Oregon. West to Portland, south to Klamath Falls, where we’ll jump the tracks. From there . . . well, we’ll see what happens then. Your contracts will be honored, of course. And I’m sure we’ll get track clearance down to California for the winter. So, everyone hold tight. It’s a minor change.”
“Minor? Sounds major to me,” Lucretia said.
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