The more Renoir talked the more Babe felt that pang inside her rumble to life. Seeing a beast—any beast—killed made her own beast rise and want to do horrible things.
“You’re going to kill and stuff them critters over my dead body!” she said, locking her jaw, standing, and exercising her size over Renoir.
“You’re both just children, really, and you don’t understand the economic reasons behind this. You’ll get over it. This is just one of those tough life lessons you’re going to have to learn.”
“Murderer!” Lotty screeched, her voice reaching a new timbre.
“Keep your voice down! There’re still lot lice out there!” Renoir ticked his head toward all the customers milling around the ten-in-one. “Fact is, I’m doing those animals a favor. They’re old, they’re sore, they’re flea-bitten, and they’re . . .”
“All three gots lots of lifes in them, and it ain’t up to you to decide they have to die,” Babe said. “You ain’t God!”
“Well, yes, actually, here I am God, and I say it’s time to pull their tickets,” he said, snapping his knife closed. He pulled out a paper from his coat pocket. “Look at this. I hear this man’s the best in the business. Even did some rare birds for a museum in Los Angeles. Not every taxidermist who can do museum-quality work.” He put his monocle into his eye socket and read, “‘Uncle Dan’s Taxidermy. No Job Too Big. No Job Too Small. Free Premium Eyeballs with First Order. Klamath Falls, Oregon.’ Right where we’re ending our circuit in August! Can’t beat that!”
“You ain’t doing no such thing!” Babe seized the flier, wadded it up, and tossed it down with a forceful whap!
“Just watch me! Look at it this way: they’ll live on, only on rollers. They’ll be immortal. You ought to think about that when you die, Babe! Get yourself stuffed. With good taxidermy you can live forever!” He chuckled at his little joke.
“You harm those animals, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what? Leave? Go where? And do what? What can the likes of you do other than what it is you do now? Face it, Babe, you were born a freak and you’ll die a freak. You, too, Carlotta. That’s just the sad, bottom facts of your lives. So don’t give me any of your threats.”
“Without Egypt, I don’t even have an act.” Lotty wiped her tiny face with her hanky. “What’s going to happen to me?”
He looked at her as though seeing her for the very first time. “Ah yes, that brings me to the next issue. You. You see, Carlotta, dwarfs are a dime a dozen. So what can you do besides your elephant act?”
“I can dance. A little.”
“Ah yes. Dance. Well, Carlotta, the only thing more common than a dwarf is a dancing dwarf. Now, maybe a dancing dwarf on a postcard . . .” He grinned down at her.
“Go to hell!” Lotty spit. “You may think that’s how carnie women end up and maybe even your cheap little dancing girls are that way, but not me and not Babe!”
“Can’t say I didn’t make you an offer. So, I’m canceling your contract, Carlotta. Our end of the line will be your end of the line. Sorry. Nothing personal. All a matter of economics. You know what they say: that’s show biz.”
“If I was bigger, I’d slap your face!” Her beautiful face was scarlet with rage.
Babe’s jaw tightened rock-hard and her huge hands became rock-harder fists, holding back her own urge to slap Renoir into next week. “If Lotty goes free, I go, too.”
“Don’t get any fancy ideas, Babe. I have money invested in you and you have eight months left in your contract.”
“I got some money set aside,” Babe said, remembering her stash of money she kept hidden in her cattle car. “How much you want for my contract and the whole tote?”
He put his head back and laughed heartily. “For the bear, the chimp, and the elephant? Ha! A far sight more than anything you’ll ever see.”
“Me too! I have some money! We’ll buy them off you!” Lotty joined in.
Renoir ignored her. “If you don’t mind, I have important business to see to.” He picked up the flier. “Need to send Uncle Dan a down payment.” The girls glared at him as he disappeared, whistling, into the darkness.
Lotty blew her nose. “We’re fighting this, Babe.”
“Dang right we are!”
“Between my brain and your brawn, we’ll fight this!”
They agreed. They would pool their money, save every penny, pick up odd jobs, perform double shows—beg, borrow, or steal the money they’d need to get free from Renoir and his big plans for the end of the line, Klamath Falls, and Uncle Dan the taxidermist.
17
“I’m getting a vision,” Madame de la Rosa said dramatically, closing her eyes and putting her hand to her temples. The audience was meager, but the attention she commanded was rapt. She had already told three audience members shocking events in their lives. Those three being Ernie, Sol, and Serena, conveniently costumed in case some suspicious person recognized them from other carnie jobs. This trio, seasoned carnies each, could lie and emote among the best of them.
But this “vision” was for a member of the audience. “Yes, yes, and I’m getting a number. I think, no, I’m sure, the number is fourteen. Strange, this number. Visions are seldom numbers.” She swayed, trancelike, onstage. Her robe was black with silver beads sewn here and there to give the effect of stars upon a veil of night.
The audience looked around, wondering which person might react to the number fourteen. Rosa opened her eyes and searched the faces in front of her. Babe was careful when she peeked through the backstage curtains but could barely resist watching Rosa’s new act. She thrilled to the applause and the astonished audience. Nothing like the cheering and jeering she got for her physical abilities, but something altogether different—applause for Rosa’s mental abilities. Rosa confided to Babe that it wasn’t the power of mental abilities but the power of observation. Watch a person’s reaction, watch their lips, watch their eyes. Say the key word—the “vision”—over and over and someone will unknowingly react. The fact that Rosa sent Lotty, a tiny sneak, out to eavesdrop on people as they stood in line helped form the “visions.”
“Fourteen? It’s such a strong image,” Rosa continued, walking now to the edge of the stage. “It’s important, I know it is. Don’t be shy. Perhaps I can help with your concerns, your worries.”
Finally, a woman in the back row timidly raised her hand. Rosa pointed to her. “Yes! I knew it was a woman! Please stand up!”
When she did, Rosa smiled. “Fourteen.” Again, her hand went to her forehead. “You are going to give birth to your fourteenth child.”
All eyes were on the woman whose face immediately flushed. “Yes,” she said, touching her stomach. The audience applauded.
“Wait! I’m getting a name . . .” Rosa said, going back into a trancelike state. “This is a boy. You must call him James. He will be your pride and joy. When he arrives, place this under his bedding for spiritual protection.” She handed down a juju fresh off her necklace of horsehair charms used in her palm-reading act. People admired it as they handed it back to the pregnant woman.
Rosa ended her mind-reading act inviting people to come to her tent for a private reading and to get their own juju for health and luck.
“Sure had them going tonight, Rosa,” Babe said, helping her friend out of her mind-reading robe and into her palm-reading robe. Rosa lit the various candles around her palm-reading tent, which reflected eerily through the crystal ball on the table.
“I learned from the best. I’ll tell you about it someday.”
“Now, tell me now.” Babe pulled over a large leather trunk and sat down.
Rosa lit a cigarette and sighed out the smoke. “Well, in a nutshell, which is where we all belong, by the way, I worked with the great Alberto on the Clark and Clark circuit. Big-time outfit. I’m an old hand at this. I can read minds in my sleep.”
“How come you don’t get back to the big time, then?”
“I weary of the road and y
ou will, too, someday, Babe.”
“Still ain’t use to moving this fast.”
“And it gets faster as you get older.” Rosa sat down and smiled into her crystal ball.
“Look in that future ball and tell me what you see for your own self.”
Rosa kept staring. “I see Madame de la Rosa making a lot of money. Then I see her being Cora Epstein, taking that money and building a big house. The only palms I see are my own making money hand over fist.”
“Big houses sound like big work.”
Rosa smiled wistfully, looking down at the smoke rising from her cigarette. “Oh, I’ll need help.”
“Lotty and me, we been thinking . . .” Babe stopped, remembering they were keeping their own escape plans secret. “I mean, maybe, someday, I could,” Babe said, swallowing the shyness in her voice. “You know . . . help. ’Course, it’d have to be a dang big house. I can tote and learn to cook and maybe even . . .” She stopped. Rosa seemed far away, maybe envisioning that big house. “Anyhow, tell me what’s in the ball for me.” Babe leaned down and gazed into the ball, seeing only misshapen reflections of herself.
“Oh, Babe, so much in your future! But now . . .” She leaned into the ball, her voice became low, her eyes squinting into Babe’s future. “Beware! I see Renoir coming for you. He’s so angry he’s fit to freeze! He’s . . .”
Just then, the flap to her tent whipped open and there stood Renoir. “Magnifica! If you don’t mind! You are late for your entrance! Now move your giant hindquarters out there!”
Babe stood erect, hitting her head on the tent top. She glared down at Rosa. “You seed that?”
She leaned back. “No, I heard that. Heard Renoir introduce you twice.”
“Now!” Renoir barked, turning and letting the flaps of the tent swoosh closed.
18
“Hey! You okay? It’s the third time I’ve asked you,” Lotty said, tapping Babe’s shoulder with her handler’s rod. The girls had walked Egypt to a stream to water her.
“What?”
“You’ve been so quiet. Penny for your thoughts.”
Babe smiled vaguely. “You think we got a penny to spare?”
“Well, at least you’re smiling. Come on. You’ve been quiet all day.”
“It’s nothing,” Babe said, looking down into the stream.
“I saw those hicks lining up to take you on last night, Babe. You should tell Renoir you don’t want to take on more than two. Someday someone’s going to really hurt you.”
“I don’t mind taking on more. Fifty cent each, remember. We need the money.”
“Did that old miner hurt you? He kept coming back for more. Renoir should have stopped it.”
“I’m fine,” Babe said, rubbing her shoulder.
“I heard you came close to falling.”
“Oh, that’s mostly for show. Folks get a kick out of a body my size whirling around like I’m a falling tree. Someone always calls out ‘timber!’ But I worry sometimes. What if I’m looking at the line of challengers and see me another giant?”
“I’ll tell you ‘what if’! Renoir would sign him on the spot and bill you both as the brawl of the century!” She sat straighter and called out, “‘Come one! Come all! See the world’s biggest battle of the sexes!’ Renoir would book Madison Square Garden in New York City and get himself out of debt with that one, that’s ‘what if’!”
Babe’s thoughts were as far away as Madison Square Garden.
“Babe, that was supposed to be funny. How come you’re so quiet?”
“Did you see the new schedule tacked up in the mess tent? We’re playing outside of Boise next week.”
“So? Oh, isn’t that where you came on board?”
“Wasn’t original on the schedule. We was going to just blast through to Oregon where folks ain’t seed our carnie. I don’t want to go back there, Lotty. Too close to where I was broughten up.”
“Oh.” Lotty’s voice softened. “Your father.”
“Don’t know if I’m scared I’ll see him or if I’m scared I won’t see him.” She pet Egypt’s trunk with long, gentle strokes.
“Have you written? Has he?”
“’Course not. Think him and me lost all use for each other. Hell, I tried running off once with a traveling drummer. Said he was going to make me a big star in Chicago. But my ol’ man hauled me back. Thought maybe he wanted me back. Nope, turns out he was waiting for a better offer. Renoir’s offer. You don’t know what it was like, him and Renoir bargaining over me like I was a prize milk cow.”
Lotty looked down at her handler’s rod, the leather strap wrapped around her tiny wrist. “I know what it’s like, Babe. I don’t think there’s a freak on earth who doesn’t know what it’s like.”
“You think you’re a freak, too?”
“It’s just a word,” Lotty answered, low, almost to herself.
“Ah, who cares about my ol’ man! We get by just fine without each other. But wouldn’t break my heart if our train just kept on going and didn’t stop in Boise. It’s mighty close for comfort. ’Course, since when does ol’ Babe get her some comforts?”
19
The stop outside Boise was on the same siding as before. The muddy pasture they’d left behind in February was now a field of ankle-high grass in late June. There was no sweet scent of “home sweet home” in these hills, so close to where Babe was raised, so close to her father. She convinced herself this was just one more stop and to quit looking over her shoulder.
Instead, she thought about escape—what Rosa said she wanted—a big house someplace. What she wanted and what Lotty wanted—to get away with their critters and the planning, money, and courage that would take.
“You have five men,” Renoir announced when he found Babe backstage, awaiting her entrance for the last show.
“Five?” She used her fingers to cipher how much money would be coming to her. “Any he-men?”
“Well, there might be some surprises out there waiting for you,” he said, arranging the dollar bills so they all faced the same direction, then tucking them into his jacket pocket.
She snapped her fingers and held out her hand. He sighed heavily and handed her two dollars. She put the money down her chest, where it could rest safe and sound. Her face went blank as her lips counted. “Wait. You said five. Give me another fifty cent.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’re going to want to win all your matches,” Renoir said, giving her a shady grin.
“How come?” She took another peek through the curtain.
“Well, I’m willing to bet good cash money you won’t throw your own daddy out of the ring.”
Her heart flipped hard. “My ol’ man? Out there?” She ran through the possibilities: Coming to see me? Coming to rescue me, bring me home, and make up for his wrong? Save me from all this I become? Then she let it sink in . . . No, he ain’t come to save me. He come to fight me. “My ol’ man?” she muttered again. She felt that beast way down deep inside claw its way past her pounding heart.
“Yes. I just love reunions!” Renoir said, bright and cheery. “Especially when there’s money involved. You see, I never made my last payment to him for your contract. So, naturally, when he showed up demanding his money, I had this sensational idea!”
“What?”
“He has some fun, you get to see your father, he gets his fifty bucks when you take a fall, and I’m off the hook. God is in his heaven and all is right with the world.”
Babe shook her head, trying to understand his grand plan. “Sham a fall?”
“Yeah. You know. You lose, he wins, he collects money, and walks away happy.”
“Money he wins ain’t money you owe him.”
“Oh, we have it all worked out.”
Babe spoke between clenched teeth. “If I kill him you don’t owe him nothing.”
“Oh come now, Babe. You know you won’t hurt him. He’s family. He’s your father, for crissakes. Show a little respect. Just take a fall and be done with
it. Now, come on! The show must go on!”
He dashed out between the curtains and began his introduction.
“Ladies and gentlemen! It’s with great pride and some trepidation that I now offer you Magnifica, Queen of the Amazons, the strongest girl in the world, here tonight to take on all challengers. Any man”—Babe closed her eyes, knowing his spiel by heart. Now he would be pointing out an elderly woman—“or perhaps lady who topples Magnifica will win fifty dollars! Tonight five brave men have put their manhood on the line and will attempt to bring fame and fortune to their town. Now, ladies, you might want to step back. You don’t want to get blood splattered on your clothes. Please stand back, folks, stand back. Trust me, you won’t miss seeing Magnifica. After all, she’s all-alligator mean and a bona fide giant!”
The curtain parted, she entered and stood center stage to the wide-eyed stares of nearly fifty people. Renoir removed her robe as the usual boos, oohs, aahs, taunts, and whistles began. Her warm-up was now perfected and dramatic: arms up, flexing her sailing-ship tattoos, deep knee bends using the rope of the ring. One-Man-Band Ernie punctuated her every movement. Boom here, bang there, drumroll when she struggled to lift the big barbell . . . higher, higher—uff—and then, TAAA DAAA! when it’s over her head and BOOM! as she dropped it. All a part of her routine. Magnifica on the outside, Babe on the inside, no idea how normal girls lived. She finally stood, arms folded, her stare cold and snarl mean as her challengers lined up, flashing bold faces, flexing their muscles.
She loved handling her first two challengers—friends Billy and Sol—now seasoned with fake moves and dramatic howls, grunts, groans, and acrobatic landings in the straw pit. The first was Billy, who delivered a few stage hits, but when she sent up a roar to the heavens, the audience silenced and uttered a low, communal oooohhh. Like all good beasts must, she growled and spit and let Magnifica’s rage grow. The referee tonight was Vern Barrett, borrowed from his roustabout gang. With great, over-the-top flair, he tried to calm her down, so she chased after him while Sol climbed into the ring. The crowd loved it.
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