The Pilo Family Circus (9 page)

Jamie wondered what the purpose of this visit was, though he could think of no polite way to ask. The old clown seemed to follow his train of thought. ‘I s’pose,’ he said, ‘I’m here to offer my condolences. You went and landed yourself
in the stew this time, son. One mighty pot of bother. I did too, for what it’s worth.’

There was a silence as Winston gazed off into space. Jamie looked past him to the door, wondering if he could possibly lock it in future. ‘I didn’t see you perform yesterday,’ he said to break the silence.

‘Eh? Oh, Gonko let me have the night off,’ said Winston. ‘Told ’im my back was playing up. Sounds like the boys were in fine form again — ruined every show for the last month. But never mind that. I should probably give you what lowdown I can. Maybe help you get a feel of the carnival, prevent you getting yourself killed or worse.’

‘Worse, huh?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Winston, looking him in the eye, and he said it so solemnly that a shiver went down Jamie’s spine.

‘Well, how about the lowdown on this,’ Jamie said after a brief silence. ‘What am I supposed to do here? I’m not a clown. I don’t know why they recruited me. How am I supposed to behave?’

‘That’ll come,’ said Winston. ‘There’s ways to bring out the clown in you.’

‘Wonderful.’ Jamie ran a hand through his hair and muttered, ‘What the hell have I gotten myself into?’

‘Oh, damn it, I’m sorry, son,’ said Winston, his voice suddenly breaking and tears appearing in his eyes. Jamie was taken aback.
Hey, it’s not your fault
, he wanted to say.

Winston ran a palm over his face and got himself under control. Then he leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper: ‘All right, I’ll tell you this much. At night, take off your face paint. Put it on when you have to, but for God’s sake take it off sometimes. You’ll want to remember who you were before you came here. If you forget that, you lose
everything
, and you won’t ever know it happened.’ Winston had grabbed Jamie’s arm during this outpouring and his grip became tight.

‘What’s the face paint got to do with anything?’ said Jamie.

‘You’ll see. You’re going to be walking a tightrope over the coming days … Just take it off whenever you can, understand?’

‘No,’ Jamie said, pulling his arm free. ‘I don’t. But fine, I’ll take it off.’

‘Good lad. What else should I tell you?’ Winston mused, scratching his head. ‘Damn it, my head’s scrambled these days.’

Jamie shrugged. ‘Maybe you could tell me about the other clowns. How come you’re so … normal, compared to them?’

‘I’m not normal, son,’ Winston said with a mirthless laugh. ‘Not normal. Closer to it than the rest of ’em, that’s all. That’s why I told you to take the paint off sometimes. You don’t want to end up like them, forget what you used to be. Far as anyone knows, they always been what they are now. Goshy and Doopy, you seen ’em. Look at ’em, for God’s sake! Lost it for good, the pair of ’em.’

‘Goshy,’ Jamie said, and shuddered. ‘He acts so fucking creepy.’

‘It’s no act. Goshy don’t even know what’s going on in Goshy’s head anymore. Steer clear of him, Jamie, at least until he gets to know you. Doopy’s not so bad, as a rule, but he can flip his lid too.’

Jamie nodded, the scene from yesterday echoing in his ears:
Hey hey hey HEY HEYYYY!
Smack, crack, thud. He said, ‘What about Rufshod? He seems okay.’

Winston nodded. ‘Usually all right. But he gets himself, and us, into trouble. Plays pranks all over the showgrounds. He’s the one put the powder in Goshy’s pants then set him loose outside. If he ever says,
Come with me I got an idea
, don’t go.’

‘And Gonko?’

Winston glanced over his shoulder. ‘You seen enough of Gonko,’ he whispered. ‘He’s fine, if you’re a clown. Hard to know what makes him tick sometimes. If you don’t give him real reason to blow up at you, he won’t. There’s that much to be said for him. There’s worse here than him, believe me.’

From outside Jamie’s little room came the sound of voices. ‘Keep it down now,’ Winston said. ‘The boys are awake.’

‘But … what
is
this place anyway?’ Jamie said. ‘What’s the powder for? Where do those people come from, the crowds I saw yesterday?’

‘Tricks. That’s what we call ’em. Tricks are just regular folk who never find out they took a wrong turn. They don’t remember us, they never come back. The powder, the tricks, what we’re really doing … I can’t tell you all that yet. Too much too soon, when most of it you have to see to believe anyway. I’ll just tell you how to survive, this early on. Too much too soon might …’ He trailed off.

Suddenly the door burst open and Rufshod’s crazed bugeyed head popped into view. ‘Conspiracy!’ he screamed, and Jamie’s heart leapt to his throat. Winston turned around and lashed out, clipping Rufshod’s ear. ‘Get out, you fuggin’ upstart,’ he snarled.

Rufshod cackled and vanished. Jamie let out a long slow breath.

‘Don’t sweat it,’ Winston said, standing to leave. ‘They don’t suspect me of nothin’.’ He winced as though he’d let something slip, and added hastily, ‘O’ course, I never done nothin’. Best head off now. Remember what I said about the face paint.’

Winston the clown ambled away. Jamie sat, pondering what little he’d been told. He wondered if he could trust the
old guy, then wondered what he had to lose by gambling that he could.

Out in the parlour the clowns were all gathered at the card table, hunched over in murmuring conversation, and Jamie was hit by a sudden paranoid certainty that he and Winston had broken some rule, that his face was about to become a pulped broken mess like the apprentice’s.

Gonko glanced up at Jamie and barked an order at Rufshod to fetch a uniform.

Why do I get that feeling about the conversation?
Jamie wondered.
The old guy hates the circus … Hates it. The others don’t.

Rufshod returned and tossed a bundle of material at Jamie. ‘Don’t just chuck it, you filthy flyblown shit,’ Gonko screamed, slamming a fist on the table. ‘That’s the uniform. Show some pride!’

Doing his best to show pride himself, Jamie took the clothes back to his room and put them on. They were far too big for him, but they hugged around the chest and waist tight enough not to slip off. He felt ridiculous — his pants had pictures of puppy dogs chasing red balls; his shirt was so frilly and loudly coloured it almost hurt the eye to look at, and his oversized shoes made it impossible to walk normally, forcing him to clomp around in a side-on waddle. Once dressed he hobbled back out to the parlour and the clowns broke into applause.

Doopy stood and approached him, staring with childlike fascination at Jamie’s shirt, pants and shoes. ‘Gosh … He looks like a clown,’ said Doopy, utterly astonished. ‘He looks like a
clown
, Gonko!’

‘Very astute, Doops,’ said Gonko. ‘He sure does. I was right about you, JJ.’

Everyone stared at Jamie expectantly. He fidgeted and wondered what to do; maybe they wanted some kind of speech. He glanced from one pair of eyes to the next, each sunk into thick layers of greasy white paint, each gleaming with its own brand of insane light. Jamie’s heart beat painfully and he wanted to run away. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Thanks for …’

Goshy’s eyes were half open, his left blinking first, then the right. The silence stretched out like a long dark tunnel. They just kept peering, their eyes boring in, drilling … For God’s sake, what did they
want
from him?

‘Would you fucking stop that?’ Jamie screamed, unable to take it any more.

Before he had time to regret it, the clowns were applauding with gusto. Goshy alone didn’t join in, his arms locked stubbornly at his sides. ‘Nice to have you aboard, JJ,’ said Gonko. ‘Now, everyone, wipe the fucking smiles off. Time for a meeting and I’m pissed at every one of you. Bad news. We’ve been put on notice.’

The table erupted in moans and complaints which went on for several minutes, veering wildly off topic like Chinese whispers. Gonko patiently waited for it to run its course. ‘… And they said Goshy went poking,’ Doopy was saying, ‘but he didn’t, I seen him all the time, he didn’t do
nothin’
wrong, it was just a lake he fell into, a big red lake, and she asked for a poking, but he, he …’ Doopy finished uncertainly when he realised he was the only one still talking.

Gonko spat over his shoulder and resumed. ‘This ain’t the first time we’ve been on notice, as you know, but it’s the first time in a long time. I’m guessing it’s ’cause of that scag
fortune-teller ratting on us. And that accountant Kurt’s gone and hired.’

‘You want to fill in the background a little there for Jamie, Gonk?’ said Winston.

‘Eh? Ah, why not. JJ, a while back Kurt kept a stray trick he found amusing and made him his accountant. The guy suggested some bullshit to Kurt about the circus working better if each of us was in competition with the other. So they put the lion tamer on at the same time as Mugabo, they put the woodchoppers on at the same time as the freak show’s daily feature, and they put us on at the same time as the acrobats.’

‘I don’t
like
put us on at the same time as the acrobats …’ Doopy wailed.

‘Now,’ said Gonko, ‘this is nothing permanent. I’d say Kurt’s just entertained by the ruckus it’s causing. The accountant, I’d be surprised if he lasts another six months before Kurt gets bored with him and eats his fucking face. The competition crap is just a phase. So, everyone play along, pretend like you give a shit, and we’ll be just dandy. But the next show’s gonna be a good one. I mean it. Foot’s down, you fucks.’

‘What are you gonna do about
her
?’ said Winston.

‘Shalice? Not much we can do,’ said Gonko. ‘Tart has that crystal ball, you know. She’d see it coming with her spooky future empathy bullshits. And of course, it’d be against Kurt’s rules if I were to, say, put a bounty on her head …’ Gonko glanced sidelong at Rufshod. ‘A bounty of, say, one full bag …’ He kept looking sidelong at Rufshod. ‘Yeah, against rules, even if it would let a certain sonofabitch redeem himself …’

‘Get her good, Rufshod!’ Doopy cried. ‘Get her real good!’

‘Shut up, you bastard,’ Gonko hissed. ‘
Not
a
word
spoken about this. She’s a tricksy one, we must watch our steps. She
could be watching us right now. That part of the conversation is over.’

Goshy stirred into motion for the first time that morning. He waddled urgently over to the window and peeked out between the curtains. Doopy got up and watched him intently, as though great prophetic importance hung on Goshy’s every move. But Goshy stayed still as a mannequin.

Gonko said, ‘That leaves one thing. Pay day.’

Winston caught Jamie’s eye and nodded. Gonko reached down behind his feet and picked up a small sack, rummaged around inside it and pulled out a small velvet pouch, similar to the one Jamie had picked up that night after it had fallen from Goshy’s pocket. Gonko tossed a pouch to each clown, tossing Goshy’s pouch to Doopy. A tiny clinking-glass sound came from the bags.

Gonko glanced at Jamie and said, ‘This is an advance. Consider it a welcome to the circus, JJ. But don’t think I’m Santy Claus — you got to earn the next one.’

He threw the pouch to Jamie.
This is the salary?
Jamie thought.
What the hell’s it for? I already swallowed the stuff …
He thought back through yesterday’s dim memories, seeing grains of the powder littering the floor of Mugabo’s show, and the dwarfs collecting them at night.

‘All right, you shits, meeting’s over,’ Gonko barked suddenly. ‘Ten minutes free time, then back here for rehearsal. Put on fresh paint, all of you. Winston, you’re the most grandpa-like. You wanna paint up JJ?’

Winston nodded. He motioned for Jamie to follow and they headed off to Winston’s room. Goshy stayed by the window, motionless as a tree, not making a sound, not blinking once.

‘Not much different from a cell,’ said Winston. His room was a deal more spacious than Jamie’s, with a proper bed and cupboards filled with trinkets and collectibles, chiefly puzzle games to pass the time. A goldfish swam in a bowl by the window, two pet mice ran around in a glass cage. ‘Frank and Simon,’ Winston said, reaching into the tank and picking up one of the white mice in his gnarled old hands. ‘The fish ain’t got a name yet, but I can’t figure what use a fish has for a name. Still, some of the most civil company to be had around here. This is Jamie,’ he said to the mouse, stroking it with one finger while it sniffed the air, then placing it carefully back in the cage.

On the bedside table was a black and white picture of a woman holding a baby. Judging by her clothes, the photograph had been taken before the turn of the twentieth century. Winston followed his gaze. ‘My wife and daughter. Well … that ain’t
them
,’ he said, scratching the back of his head nervously. ‘Didn’t get a chance to pack a photo when they brought me here, found that one in Sideshow Alley. It just reminds me I had a wife and daughter. Both be long gone by now.’

Jamie nodded, privately concluding the old guy was harmless, but insane. Over the floor were newspapers, some laminated to preserve them. Jamie checked the date on the nearest: 9 October 1947. ‘You collect old papers?’ he said.

‘Nope. I collect papers the day they’re printed,’ said Winston. ‘One of the only ways to keep track of what goes on out there. I hang on to some of ’em, sort of like keeping a journal.’

‘How do you get hold of them?’

‘Well, sometimes we get sent on missions back in the world. Get used to seeing it change mighty fast out there, young Jamie. Next thing you know, we’ll get sent out to fetch something for the boss and there’ll be flying scooters all over the damn place.’

Get used to it?
Jamie thought.
I don’t think so. You can ‘paint me up’, whatever that means, then I’m going to use my ten minutes of free time finding the front gate and running the hell away, no matter what that fortune-teller says about it. Why that plan never occurred to you, old guy, I cannot quite fathom.

Winston dug around in the top shelf of a cupboard, making a grumbling muttering sound under his breath he didn’t seem aware of. ‘Ah, here we are,’ he said, pulling out a small plastic tub and sitting down on the bed. ‘Effects are pretty drastic, early on especially. You’ll be a little erratic, oh, I’m guessing for the first two years at least. Takes time for the personalities to … meld, I suppose. Odds are, a very different fellow will be walking out the door to the one who walked in a few minutes ago.’ Winston sighed. ‘Let’s get this over with. Close your eyes.’

He did. Winston dipped his hand into the tub and Jamie felt the cool muddy face paint being rubbed onto his cheeks, nose, forehead and chin. It smelled like an unpleasant mix of
sunscreen and petrol. ‘All done,’ said Winston after putting a red plastic nose on him.

Jamie opened his eyes. ‘I don’t feel any different.’

‘Go take a look at yourself in the mirror. Over by the door there.’

Jamie found a hand mirror and picked it up. He peered at his reflection, at the thick greasy coat of white over his face. Almost straight away he did feel different. It began in his belly, a feeling of fingers tickling and poking him. The muscles in his legs coiled like tight springs. Blood rushed to his head, making his face prickle with heat, and little white spots danced behind his vision. His mind went blank as though all thought had been paused like an audio tape … And when ‘play’ was pressed again, the thoughts were not his own.

Back on the bed, Winston said, ‘Pass the mirror, would you?’

JJ turned, and it felt like he’d snapped from a dream, broken contact with hypnotic eyes, his own. He took a step towards the bed and found he was leering at the old clown. ‘You want the mirror, Winston?’ he said in a too-friendly voice. ‘I can give you the mirror, Winston.’

‘Hand it over then,’ said Winston, watching him warily.

JJ held the mirror on his palm and tossed it towards Winston. It fell short, crashing to the ground and shattering. He stared at the shards for a moment, leered at Winston again, wondering whether or not he should slap the old man, then turned and ran from the room, lifting his oversized shoes in a knee-bending stomp.

Winston sighed. ‘Nicer the man, meaner the clown,’ he muttered as he picked up the bits of glass. That seemed to be the way of things.

Damian the funhouse guardian pushed a wheelbarrow full of tubs of face paint into the clowns’ parlour. Gonko took eleven tubs and stacked them in the corner without a word to Damian, who left, marching as slowly as a walking corpse.

Gonko had laid a gym mat over the floor. Erect as a drill sergeant, he stood on it as the clowns gathered around sullenly.

‘Hey!’ Gonko screamed at them. ‘Show a little fucking
enthusiasm
!’

The clowns looked at each other uncertainly. Hesitantly Doopy clapped his hands together. Rufshod joined in. Goshy finally wandered away from sentry duty at the window, observed the others closely, and began clapping without bending his elbows, eyes boggling wide as he watched his own hands move with fascination, mouth gaping. Gonko raised his hands to quiet them but they kept going, so he sighed and sat down, waiting for the outburst to run its course. It was too early in the day to be wielding the iron fist.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw JJ, tiptoeing through the parlour. Trying to skip rehearsal, perhaps. Gonko squinted at him with interest, wondering precisely what type of clown they had on their hands now that he’d been painted up. ‘JJ!’ he called. ‘Over here and line up.’ JJ stood perfectly still, lips pursed like a drag queen. ‘Come on. Over here,’ Gonko repeated. JJ took one step towards the gym mat. ‘That’s the way,’ said Gonko, like he was trying to coax a shy pet. ‘Come on. Line up, JJ. Got to rehearse. There’s a good feller. Over here now.’

JJ took one more step. Gonko sighed — he could see this going on all fucking day, breathe in, breathe out. He stood,
intending to drag the bastard over by the ear. JJ took a frightened step backwards.
He’s gonna bolt
, Gonko thought. ‘Oh no you fucking don’t!’ he yelled.

The other clowns grew bored with their applauding and turned to watch. JJ took one more backwards step and Gonko’s patience ran out; he charged, and JJ broke into a sprint, shrieking like a tropical parrot as he ran away. Gonko threw up his arms in exasperation and let him run. He knew the type, all right. ‘One of
those
,’ he muttered in disgust.

Once certain Gonko was not pursuing, JJ relaxed. He had no intention of sucking up to teacher just because they’d beaten hell out of the last apprentice.

Around him, a group of colourfully dressed gypsy types ran around on errands. ‘Carnie rats,’ JJ mused, passing a pair of old women. ‘Out of my way!’ he yelled at them. ‘Clown coming through. Fuck yourself. Hear me?’

And to JJ’s pleasant surprise they flinched back to let him pass. They were wide-eyed, respectful … Sure, there was a hint of pure hatred there, too, but what the hell. ‘Could get used to this,’ said JJ. ‘Yeah, you respect me, carnie rats. Stay back, slimy shits!’ They stayed back.
They know who’s boss
, he thought.
Nice deal!
He marched straight through a group of them, ordering them out of his way, knocking boxes from their hands and tripping their feet.

Once bored with this, he walked aimlessly until he came to Sideshow Alley. Through the wooden archway he went. Before him stretched a long dirt road with game stalls on either side. Up ahead were the rides, including the Ferris wheel, merry-go-round and some mechanical-dealie where
cars whirled around on what looked like a giant spinning top. Over in the distance was a large shanty town of rundown houses, and he could make out gypsy women smoking cigarettes in the doorways, chatting to each other. JJ noted with delight the effort the carnie rats made to steer clear of him as he strolled past, snapping his thumbs on his suspenders. Around him stalls were being repaired and cleaned: shoot a duck, win a prize; the drunken sailor ring toss; the juggling jukebox. He stopped before five rotating plaster clown heads, mouths open wide. An elderly carnie rat with weary eyes was wiping the prize shelf behind them with a rag. He turned and grimaced as JJ cleared his throat, undid his fly, and stuck his penis in the mouth of the middle clown. ‘No,
señor
!’ the carnie rat wailed. ‘
Debo mantener este limpio
!’

JJ sported an apologetic smile, as if this were completely beyond his control, while orange piss trickled down the plaster clown’s throat into the number box. To JJ’s immense pleasure the carnie rat did nothing but moan. He zipped up, said ‘Bless you, sir,’ and strolled down the road, peering at the game stalls and the carnies inside, all of them rushing to appear busy. He paused beside the ‘test your strength’ stand, where a huge mallet leaned against the bell tower. Behind it a bald carnie rat with a thick moustache stood on a foot ladder, polishing the brass bell. JJ squinted up at him. ‘Hey!’ he yelled.

The carnie dropped his rag and nearly fell from the ladder. In a Spanish accent he said, ‘What? What you want?’

‘Can I have a go at this, mister?’ said JJ in a cutesy-pooh voice. ‘I gotta see how strong I am.’

‘You look plenty strong,’ said the carnie. ‘Leave me alone.’

JJ picked up the mallet. It was heavy in his hands. ‘Here we go!’ he hollered jovially. ‘Ready up there?’

The carnie climbed down his ladder, muttering under his breath. ‘On three!’ JJ cried. ‘One. Two. Three!’ On three, he spun and hurled the hammer off into the distance; it sailed out of sight, spinning end on end over the rooftops. The carnie stared at him with his mouth open. ‘What?’ JJ said. ‘Isn’t that how it works?’ Laughing, he strode to the next stall.

JJ amused himself in similar fashion for the next hour, harassing carnies, kicking their stalls, stealing game prizes, spitting at them, screaming for someone to bring him a beer. He was lord of the manor and it was the best fun he could imagine — until he came across the acrobats.

Ahead, looking resplendent in their tights, were three lithe bodies clad in shining white lycra. They stood chatting to a middle-aged female carnie rat, one of them leaning on a pole next to a hot dog stand. There was something shameless in the way their codpieces bulged beneath the latex, and JJ snarled. He remembered last night’s face-off.

With an air of determination, of doing his duty for the clown tribe, JJ pulled up his breeches and ambled toward them like a cowboy, boots crunching in the dirt. He got close enough to hear their voices. They were swapping
pancake recipes
for chrissakes! He scooped up two handfuls of thick black mud from the puddle at his feet, cried, ‘JJ! JJ the clown!’ and threw both handfuls at the nearest acrobat.

‘Guh!’ the acrobat spluttered as his head rocked back. JJ had picked his moment well — the acrobat had his mouth open wide on impact. JJ laughed uproariously. The spattered one wiped mud from his eyes, spitting and coughing. ‘Oh, you think tha’ss funny?’ one of them said.

‘He does,’ said another. ‘He thinks he’s a laff riot. This is their new boy.’

‘Are you following orders, new boy? Or is this all your bright idea?’

The acrobats appeared so stunned with outrage they were asking this only to verify what they thought they’d just seen. Still laughing, JJ scooped up another fistful of reeking muck and prepared to throw.

‘I would
not
be doing that,’ warned the nearest acrobat. ‘Uh-uh.’

‘That’s why you would never make it as a clown,’ JJ explained, and hurled the new handful. It found its mark, striking the acrobat who’d spoken in the neck. He fell back, wheezing.

JJ closed his eyes and howled with glee, so he never saw what hit him. Something smashed into his face and sent him sprawling to the ground. Dazed, he looked up and saw two acrobats coming for him. The third was hanging back, swinging his leg above his head to stretch the muscles — apparently it had been a kick. It had felt like a sledgehammer.

JJ was astonished; they’d fought back! He scrambled to his feet. Did
he
know how to fight? He wasn’t sure. ‘Oh yeah?’ he bellowed. ‘Put ’em up!’ He held up his gawky, uncoordinated fists.

‘Tha’ss more like it,’ said an acrobat as they closed in around him. ‘Want to see how high we can kick, little clown?’

The acrobat gave him a demonstration; his boot lashed past JJ’s face in a white blur. He felt the wind brush his cheek. ‘Not bad, Sven?’

‘Not bad, Randolph. But I know how
high
we can kick. There must be something else we can find out.’

‘How about …
how many times
we can kick?’

‘Oh Tuskan, tha’ss perfect! We can set a record. What was the last? A thousand times, wasn’t it?’

‘
About
that. Each, that is.’

‘You don’t scare me,’ JJ yelled as he turned tail and bolted. Shrieking with panic, he ran through the crowds of carnie rats who stumbled out of his path. He could hear the acrobats close behind him and his panic spiralled into a terror so pure it almost blinded him. As he ran he yanked carnies to the ground behind him to block his path. He heard an acrobat curse as he tripped over, and risked a glance over his shoulder — two still chased. Blubbering, he bolted back through the wooden archway and veered right, hopefully headed for the clown tent and sanctuary. But in his terror he lost his bearings and instead found he was over by the funhouse. He dashed past the guardian in his deathly robes, crouched down in an alley between two shanties, and waited, trying to quiet his breathing and his crying. After a minute two acrobats with mud stains on their shirts strolled by, still on the hunt. They looked his way and he ducked out of sight, whimpering almost loud enough to give himself away at the unfairness of it all. Why hadn’t anyone warned him of the dangers? Why hadn’t the carnie rats seen the situation unfolding and given him a heads-up? It struck him as so grossly unfair he burst into loud heaving sobs, too distraught to keep the noise down.