In Search of Goliathus Hercules (7 page)

Henri looked across to the glass wall opposite the cannon and saw a painted target of red and yellow with a little gold bell over it. “Ha-ha, he’s not going to be happy until you go splat in the bull’s-eye!” This came from the flea hanging upside down on the trapeze. “Anyway, no one’s got it worse than me. I’m glued up here! All day, upside down. You think that’s a picnic?”

“Did someone say picnic?” asked the first hungry flea.

“Quiet, everyone! Complaining is not helping. We have to make a plan, an escape plan.” This came from a flea that appeared to be wearing a pink tutu. He was becoming engrossed in their conversation when a few more people entered the tent. Henri quickly put down the magnifying glass and sat back down in his seat.

Soon the tent had filled up, and the man with the bowler hat and handlebar mustache walked to the center and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Maestro Antonio. Welcome to my amazing flying flea circus! Now gather around. ”The audience members were handed opera glasses to have a better view of the performers.

“Let the show begin!” the maestro announced. “Our first act is a show of great balance and grace. Please welcome the lovely Sophia!” And with that, the ringmaster set the ball spinning. With tweezers, he picked up Sophia and dropped her on the ball. It was not difficult for the flea to stay on the ball while it spun, but as it slowed down, the ball began to roll. Sophia managed to stay atop the ball, but Henri would hardly have called it graceful. She lurched back and forth, and when the ball came to a stop, she toppled off and lay still. There was a smattering of applause.

Maestro Antonio began his next introduction. “And now meet Giovanni, the strongest flea in the world! Giovanni will pull this chariot, which weighs more than ten times his weight, around the ring. Imagine, folks, if we could harness all the fleas in the world! Make them useful rather than a pesky nuisance. Giddy up, Giovanni!”

Maestro Antonio snapped his fingers, and Henri was sure that he saw him drop some kind of powder into the back of the chariot. Immediately, Giovanni sprang into action and began to pull the chariot wildly. Around and around the flea went at top speed. The crowd cheered him on, although eventually the shouts died down and it was clear that everyone wondered when he would stop. Finally, there was a spectacular crash. Giovanni had managed to pull the chariot up and over the ring and straight into the side of the glass case. The chariot lay on its side, the hapless flea on its back with its feet in the air.

“Uh…moving along. Cast your eyes above the ring to see the duo of Maria and Leonardo perform on the trapeze.” The flea glued to the trapeze bar started to swing. “Watch as Maria jumps and is caught in midair by the debonair Leonardo, the flying flea!” Back and forth Leonardo went in the air. With a point of the maestro’s finger, Maria the flea in the tutu leaped into the air…and missed the outstretched legs of Leonardo!

“No problem, no problem!” said Maestro Antonio. “Let’s try that again shall we?” Maria staggered from the ground—there was no safety net—and took her place again. This time the trick went off without any mishap. There was a short round of applause. “And now, upon my cue, that daredevil Maria will drop down and into this tea cup.” The maestro placed a tiny cup from a children’s tea set into the middle ring. “And here we go! One, two, and three!” With a point of his finger, Maria dropped from Leonardo’s grasp and…missed the cup!

“Boo!” someone shouted. The audience seemed to be getting a bit bored.

“And now for our grand finale!” said Maestro Antonio, wiping some sweat off his brow. “Cast you eyes to ring three. Fabio will be shot out of the cannon, hit the target, and ring the bell! Are you ready Fabio?”

It didn’t appear that Fabio was ready because he tried his best to evade the tweezers in the maestro’s hand. At last he was captured and stuffed into the cannon. Striking a match and holding it to the miniature cannon’s fuse, Maestro Antonio counted, “Three, two, one!” There was a pop, like the sound of a toy cap gun. Henri couldn’t see if the flea had been shot out, nor did he hear the bell ring. There were some puzzled whispers and then someone yelled, “There he is! On the trapeze!” Sure enough, Fabio was in the air holding on to Leonardo. With a wave of his hand, the maestro magically set the trapeze moving again and said, “No bull’s eye, but not bad!” The tone of his voice, though, indicated that he was not particularly pleased.

“And that concludes our show. I trust you enjoyed yourself and do tell your friends to come and see Maestro Antonio’s Amazing Flying Flea Circus! Thank you.”

There was a bit of polite clapping, and the audience rose from their seats. Henri hung back, and when everyone had left he walked up to the maestro.“ Maestro Antonio, my name is Henri Bell, and I think I can help you to make your flea circus the greatest show on earth!”

M
aestro Antonio looked down at Henri. “Really. Do tell.” His voice was not sarcastic or unkind. He sounded amused, like an uncle humoring a young child.

“Well, your show was good.” Henri thought it best to start with a compliment. “But I think it could be a lot better.”

“That’s an understatement,” said the maestro. “That cursed flea and the chariot. He always goes crazy. He just doesn’t know when to stop. And Fabio! How hard is it to be shot out of a cannon?”

Quite hard, thought Henri.

“Why can’t he hit the target? He’s pointed right at it,” continued Maestro Antonio.

“Um…exactly,” said Henri. “The show needs some fine-tuning, and I can do that for you.”

“What’s your name, boy?” asked the ringmaster.

“Henri. Henri Bell.”

“Henri, you’re not from around here. I can tell by your accent. You have some experience with a flea circus?”

“Actually, yes. Yes, I do. Back in London, I worked with my family’s flea circus.” Obviously it was a lie, but Henri knew he had only one chance to convince Maestro Antonio.

“Really?” The maestro suddenly looked much more interested. “What brings you to America, Henri?”

“Um…I’m living with my great aunt on a farm near here.”

“An orphan. Sorry to hear that, kid. That’s tough, really tough.”

Henri decided not to correct him. He looked down, pretending to be sad, and said, “Yes, I miss my family, and I’d really like to be back in the circus business. It would remind me of home.” What a whopping lie! “Maestro, if you’ll just give me half an hour with your fleas, I’ll prove how useful I can be to you.”

Maestro Antonio looked down at him, sizing him up. Finally he said, “OK, kid. Just promise me you won’t kill any of them. They’re my bread and butter. No fleas, no show.” Henri nodded. “OK, I’m going out to sell tickets for the next show. Good luck,” and he turned and headed out of the tent.

Henri turned to the glass case. What to do first? Introduce himself, of course. He knew the fleas were hungry, so feeding them might well earn their loyalty. But he knew that fleas consume just one thing: blood! He looked over at the mangy, sleeping dog. No, he couldn’t do that.

Henri picked up the magnifying glass and cleared his throat. “Um…excuse me.” All the fleas looked up and into his face. They looked terrified.

“It’s not the maestro. Who is this new one? I can understand what he’s saying!”

“Shut up, everyone,” said Maria, the flea in the tutu.

“Ah, sorry to bother you. I’m Henri, and I have come to help Maestro Antonio with the circus. I know you’re all hungry. I overheard you talking before.”

“You got that right!” said the hungry flea, Sophia.

Taking a small penknife out of his pocket, Henri opened it and raised it to his thumb. He made a small cut. It didn’t hurt much. He actually had to squeeze it to make the blood come out. He let three drops hit the floor of the center ring. There was a frantic scurrying as the fleas ran toward the blood.

“It smells so delicious!” said Sophia, and she jumped to the edge of the pool of blood and stuck her head in. Fabio the flea cannonball leaped into the center ring, joining her, and the two of them gorged themselves. Maria approached and daintily took a sip. Out of the shadows, another flea approached. It moved very slowly and Henri realized that this one had not performed in the show.

“Come on. Move out of the way and let Umberto have a bit,” Maria said to the other fleas.

“What about me?!”

“And me!”

Henri moved the magnifying glass around and realized he had forgotten about Leonardo, glued to the trapeze, and Giovanni, still attached to the chariot lying on its side.

“Oh, sorry!” said Henri. “Don’t be afraid. I’m just going to pick up the chariot and put it back in place. Let me know if I’m hurting you at all.”

Slowly, Henri put his hand down into the case and carefully picked it up. He gently placed the chariot, with Giovanni still tethered to and dangling off of it, back in the center ring. As he did so there was a great deal of coughing and sputtering.

“Hey, get that stuff out of here!” one of the fleas said.

“Yeah, it’s making me nauseous!”

“What?” said Henri.

“The chariot!” And then Henri remembered that the maestro had dropped a powdery substance into it. Taking out his handkerchief, Henri wetted a corner with his tongue and wiped out the back of the chariot.

“Ahhh…What a relief,” Henri heard a flea say.

“Yes, yes. Much better.”

Henri brought the handkerchief up to his nose and smelled it. Camphor! It was used in mothballs, and fleas must not like it. That would be why Giovanni charged around like a mad flea trying to get away from the strong odor.

“Hey, I’m still hungry up here!”

“Oh, sorry. Are you ready?” and Henri positioned his thumb above Leonardo and squeezed a large drop of blood onto the flea’s head.

“Bon appétit,” said Henri.

The blood was quickly consumed, and all the fleas looked up expectantly at Henri.

“I’m sorry,” said Henri. “I know it wasn’t much, but if you’re too full, you’ll feel sleepy and won’t want to perform.”

“I don’t want to perform regardless of whether I’m hungry or not! I like the quiet life, but it’s not like I have a choice. Perform or get squished,” said Sophia.

“Oh,” said Henri. “Well, perhaps in the future we can have auditions? The fleas that perform will be here of their own free will. What do you think? Also, I think we can tie a good performance to a reward of a good meal. How about that?”

There was a general murmuring of agreement.

“OK. Now we have to get ready for the next show. There was some sloppy work in the last one.”

“That’s not our fault,” said Maria. “It’s the maestro. His timing is off. When he points his camphor-smelling finger at me, I have to jump. I just can’t stand the smell. If he let me choose when to jump, Leonardo would always catch me and I’d land in the teacup every time. And by the way, Leonardo is a girl. Maybe she should be called Liora?”

“Maria is right,” said Giovanni. “The camphor is choking me. If you just give me a cue, I’ll pull the stupid chariot. Just let me know how many times to go around, and I’ll do it. Anything but the camphor.”

“OK, so noted. Leonardo shall now be known as Liora, and no more camphor,” said Henri. “Sophia, I’m impressed with how you stay on the ball, but could you do it a bit more gracefully?”

“How graceful would you be if you had just been spun around a hundred times at high speed? It’s everything I can do not to vomit all over the stupid ball. I’m strong. I could roll it myself if the maestro let me. And the tweezers! I don’t like the tweezers. They squish me.”

“Well, I’ll speak to him about it,” said Henri. “Now, Fabio, can you make a bit more of an effort to hit the target?”

“Effort! It’s not about effort. It’s physics, boy! The cannon’s got a curve. The idiot maestro points it directly at the target, but it shoots me to the left every time. Just point the cannon a bit more to the right, and I’ll ring that bell.”

“OK!” said Henri. “Excuse me.” He moved the cannon as the flea suggested.

“All right, the show’s going to be starting soon, and I know we have a lot more to talk about, but we’ll do that after. Remember: put on a good show, and there’ll be a tasty meal for everyone!”

The fleas nodded in agreement. “Oh, I almost forgot,” said Henri. “What about Umberto? Is he in the show?”

“He used to ride the trapeze, but when he was pulled down, the glue left two of his legs up there,” said Maria. He’s managed to hide from the maestro; otherwise he would have been squished a long time ago.”

“Ouch! Sorry to hear that, Umberto. Do you think you could ride in the chariot and wave a flag?”

“I could do that if someone helped me up,” came Umberto’s feeble voice. They helped Umberto up, and Maria ripped a piece off her tutu and gave it to him for a flag.

“Great!” said Henri. “Places, everyone!”

The audience for the next show was slowly trickling in. Henri knew he must have a word with Maestro Antonio before it began.

“Sir, we’re ready,” Henri whispered. “Just one thing: I’ll need to be standing beside you to speak to the—” Quickly Henri thought better of telling the ringmaster that he was speaking to the fleas. That would sound crazy. “I mean, to prompt the fleas.”