The Grand Ballast (14 page)

Kilroy looked up. For an instant, an
exuberant hope grabbed Bode in its teeth and shook him like a toy.
Kilroy’s smile held such genuine warmth, and Bode wanted to laugh
at anyone who said love wasn’t real. “Of course.” Kilroy set the
book aside.

They moved the sofa and the glass coffee
table back against the wall and rolled up the rug so that Bode had
plenty of space. Bode set up his portable player and hit Play, then
stood under the dim chandelier and stared at his feet. He’d done
this a thousand times, in the privacy of the spare room, or out
here when Kilroy wasn’t home. But for a frantic second, he believed
he’d forgotten it all. He was still starving, and his muscles
trembled. He didn’t want Kilroy to see something as raw as this; he
wanted to show Kilroy only what he’d perfected. But he had no
choice now.

Then the music started, and fear slipped
from him like a cloak; he left it pooled on the ground and began to
move. He knew Kilroy was watching, but it didn’t make him
self-conscious. Nor did his own power give him a sloppy, drunken
thrill, the way it sometimes did onstage. There was only the music
and the placement of his body, and a sense that this needed to be a
tribute to Kilroy, not a display of his own gifts.

The music didn’t steal
inside him, didn’t vibrate deep or smoke up his mind. Instead it
seemed to soar above his head—reedy piano plinks and drifting
strings—and as he danced he followed the notes like stars, reaching
for something he’d never hold. He took one misstep in the middle,
and it jarred him enough that the fear came back—what if Kilroy was
bored? He should have chosen something stronger, something wilder
than this soft, star-chasing dance. But no.
Simplicity
. With that word echoing in
his head, he slipped back into the story, and he didn’t consciously
think of Kilroy again until the music stopped.

It had to be his imagination, but the light
seemed to dim as he stood there, breathing hard, holding his last
position as he locked eyes with Kilroy.

Kilroy gazed at him for a long time. Until
Bode felt smothered by fear.

Then Kilroy moved—a slight tilt of his head.
“Come here,” he said.

Bode lowered his shoulders slightly and
walked forward. Stopped in front of the couch. His mind seemed to
lurch upward while his body collapsed. He sank to his knees, while
inside him terror struck hope like a match, and fire ringed his
bones. A pressure built behind his eyes. He pressed his forehead
against Kilroy’s knees, keeping his eyes open and seeing slivers of
light at the edge of darkness.

I want to change people’s minds. I want to
make them remember lost things. I want to make them uneasy.

I say that I create, but what I mean is I
take what I find—other people’s stories and wishes and the things
that hurt them. Even if they pretend the world is a dull place and
that nothing cuts too deep, I try to see beyond that, try to cut
myself deep so they see their own blood in mine.

I try. I try, but it’s so hard, because what
if someone else’s pain hurts more than mine and lasts longer? What
if someone else’s story was never meant to belong to me? What if
I’m missing the important things? What if I don’t see anything at
all?

Kilroy gently clasped the sides of his head.
Bode’s mind went silent. Kilroy moved his thumbs across Bode’s
hairline, rubbing circles on his temples, and eventually Bode
looked up.

Kilroy smiled, quickly and softly. “What’s
wrong?” he whispered.

Bode shook his head, jaw strained from
clenching. “I don’t know. I feel strange.”

Kilroy leaned forward. His lips brushed
Bode’s forehead. The silence of the room became the hum of ghosts,
tangling themselves into an altar, and Bode sensed the presence of
an unlocked place nearby, luminous with all that had come before
this moment. He saw nature swallow every act of human ugliness—the
burns and welts humankind had left on its captured world and on one
another—and turn it to storms and forests and terrible beauty.

“
That is why you have
power, Bode,” Kilroy whispered. “Because you don’t pretend to
know.”

He slid his hand to Bode’s heart, and it was
as if he were squeezing the organ itself, until there was nothing
left of it. Until Bode fought back. Until skin and ribs became an
unfortunate barrier between them, and Bode’s heart knocked against
it, so hard it seemed impossible it wouldn’t shatter a flimsy thing
like bone.

“
Do you feel guilty?”
Kilroy stroked Bode’s hair.

Bode nodded.

“
Look at me.”

Bode tipped his head back and met Kilroy’s
eye.

“
You haven’t failed. You’ve
done nothing wrong. You have power, and you need to use it without
fear. Do you understand?”

Those words fell into Bode, spread through
him, creating a sort of rapture. He gazed at Kilroy, all of him
slick, hungry, and ready. His mouth opened as the pounding of his
heart grew almost unbearable. “We’ll change the world, won’t
we?”

One side of Kilroy’s mouth went up. His
thumb passed along the damp skin under Bode’s eye. “Yes.”

“
People will notice what we
do. What we are? Together?”

Kilroy nodded. “Together. Together, we’ll
make them see.”

THE BOY OF THE
WATER

The next day, Bode and
Kilroy rejoined the rest of the train on the outskirts of Warren,
where Mr. Lein had been having a time of it driving off fans and
photographers. On the way into the rail yard, Bode spotted a knot
of protestors standing by the tracks. They held signs. STOP THE
ABUSE. X-SHOWS ARE INHUMAN.

Several signs bore these
words. Bode wondered if they’d meant “inhumane.”

WE HAVE SPACE, read one
sign. Bode wasn’t sure what that meant.

As soon as Kilroy noticed
the protestors, he went to his desk and retrieved a small,
pearl-handled pistol from his desk and stood by the window,
muttering. But none of the protestors approached the train.
“Harkville’s got puppets everywhere,” Kilroy muttered.

Bode watched Kilroy replace
the pistol in the desk. Tried to remember if he’d ever seen Kilroy
carrying it before. He glanced at the Boy of the Water, who had
slept the entire journey on a pile of blankets on the floor. Bode
wasn’t sure if Kilroy had drugged the Boy or not. Kilroy hadn’t
spoken to Bode the entire ride, and Bode had made no effort to
speak to him either.

After they hitched Kilroy’s
car back into its usual spot on the train, Bode watched Kilroy
transfer the Boy of the Water to the equipment car. He wanted to
ask why the Boy couldn’t ride in the coffin car with the rest of
them, but he bit his tongue.

“
Where’s LJ?” Bode asked
Mr. Lein. “Is he all right?”

“
He’s fine,” Lein barked,
staring at Bode with a deep, aggressive longing. He reached out and
poked the swollen bruise on Bode’s cheek with one finger. Then he
went chasing after an empty chip bag that was blowing in the late
afternoon breeze, its foil interior sparkling.

When Bode tried to go into
the coffin car, Kilroy stopped him. “No, Bode. You’ll ride with me
again.”

“
LJ—” Bode
began.

“
I do not
want to hear a
word
of argument.”

Bode considered escalating
this in front of the whole damn train—the protestors were close
enough that they might intervene, if they saw Kilroy go after Bode.
But he wanted more time to think. More time to cast the Haze aside
and truly think about what to do from here. Because every time Bode
had looked at the Boy—from that first glimpse of him up on the
diving platform, to watching him sleep on the trip to Warren—he’d
felt a force that was bittersweet and wondrous. As if the fragments
of everything he had once been were jittering on the ground,
waiting for the magic to become strong enough to force them back
together.

He followed Kilroy into the
car. Immediately thought about the gun. How had he not known Kilroy
kept one here? Kilroy took out a cigarette case. Retrieved a
cigarette and stuck it behind his ear, then set the tin on the
corner of the desk.

The train began to move,
and Bode had to be careful not to let the rhythm lull him. There
were still traces of the Haze in his body, and he was in danger of
sinking under the drug’s spell. Kilroy picked up a newspaper from
his desk.

“
Mr. Lein
gave me this.” He handed Bode a copy of
The
X-show
Rustler
.

The front page featured a
picture of Kilroy and Bode at the Hydra Arena. Kilroy was holding
onto Bode, and Bode was clutching his cheek.

“
Ballast strikes star,”
read the headline.

Bode continued
reading.

Kilroy Ballast, the X-show
mogul known for keeping his performers under strict control, may
have gone too far. Many audiences find Ballast’s tough love
approach part of his show’s allure. The Grand Ballast’s performers
sleep in coffins, are not given time off—aside from the travel days
between shows—and are often beaten for infractions inside and
outside of the ring.

But the tide might be
turning against Mr. Ballast. Yesterday, Ballast and the star of his
circus, Bode Martin, attended a show at the infamous Hydra Arena.
In what some suspect was a publicity stunt, Martin dove into the
water during the Arena’s final act—a snuff performance—and rescued
the doomed star.

“
It was no stunt,” Emily
McCullough, the Hydra Arena’s director, said in an interview
yesterday. “I was as surprised as anyone.”

McCullough and Ballast are
keeping quiet about the agreement they reached, which allowed the
Arena’s Boy of the Water not only to live, but to be transferred
into Ballast’s employ.

But the big attention
grabber was a post-rescue incident in which Ballast violently
struck Martin across the face.

“
I don’t think that’s
right,” said an unnamed spectator. “You go to the Grand Ballast,
and it’s fun to see Kilroy whip his boys and girls a little with
the ring stick if they ain’t getting it right. But to just haul off
and slug Bode like that? I can think of better [expletive
obliterated] to do with a face that beautiful.”

Martin is a huge draw for
the Grand Ballast, and (cont’d on page 5)

Right under the article
was another headline: “Hydra Arena rescue a publicity
stunt?”
And in the sidebar: “X-show
protests spread from Harkville to Mid-country.”

Kilroy yanked the paper
away and set it back on the desk. He looked at Bode. “How do you
like that? My hitting you was bigger news to
The Rustler
than the rescue
itself.”

Bode didn’t respond. He was
thinking about Harkville.

One corner of Kilroy’s
mouth jerked up and down, almost convulsively. “I want to
apologize,” Kilroy said. “For striking you. I think it’s very sweet
you wanted to save that boy.”

Bode eyed him warily.
Glanced again at the paper on the desk.

“
What are you hoping, Bode?
That they’re on your side? That they think I’m a worm? What will
you bet on it?”

“
I don’t care what they
think,” Bode muttered.

Kilroy went over to the
wall and slapped the red call button. Bode used that opportunity to
steal a cigarette from the tin. Kilroy put in an order to Mr. Lein
up in the conductor’s booth, and a moment later, the train began to
bump and shake. Kilroy turned his attention back to Bode. “Do you
know what I think? I think, if you go up against me, you’ll lose so
much more than you even knew was possible. Do you
understand?”

Bode jerked his head
once.

Kilroy stood. Put on his
hat. The turbulence nearly spilled him, but he caught his balance.
“I’d like to go to the back of the train. To check on your
prize.”

“
He’s not my
prize.”

Kilroy grinned and headed
for the back door of the car. “All right, then. My prize. You won
him for me.”

“
Don’t,” Bode said, before
he could stop himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of what Kilroy
might do to the Boy.

Kilroy pushed his heels
down and spun slowly back around.

Bode softened his voice.
“Stay with me?”

Kilroy’s expression had a
note of hunger in it. He stepped closer to Bode. “Am I yours, Bode?
Do you love me, and is he only a little toy?”

Bode tightened his jaw and
nodded.

Kilroy closed the distance
between them. Paused suddenly, looking at the cigarette tin. “Did
you take one of my cigarettes?”

Bode tensed, turning his
face slightly so the blow would get his cheek and jaw instead of
his nose or his eye. But Kilroy didn’t hit him. Bode nodded again,
face still tilted away.

Kilroy laughed. “Look at
me.” He tugged on his shoulder. “Look at me. You act like I’m going
to kill you over a cigarette. Why would I do that? Bode, you can
ask me for a cigarette.” He jerked harder on Bode’s shoulder. “Ask
me. Ask me if you can have a cigarette.”

Bode closed his eyes,
imagining he was somewhere far away.

“
Ask me.”

He slowly opened his eyes
and met Kilroy’s. “May I have a cigarette, please?”