Circus of the Grand Design (27 page)

The mush tasted vaguely of pork and cinnamon, making him recall the cinnamon woman and her androgynous male companion. What precautions must he take? The dream was a warning, he thought, something to do with Cybele and the horse.

Desmonica and Lullaby came in from the gym. Their hair was wet, and they wore bathing suits, towels slung over their shoulders. Desmonica looked enormous, her belly wide and full. Lullaby winked at him.

The redhead was talking, something about shooting at pineapples laid out on trestles. "I don't know if you can shoot a gun from the back of an elephant. It might rampage through the crowd."

Lewis ate another spoonful of mush. This was his life now, and he relished the feeling of acceptance, being able to sit and discuss circus acts as casually as he had once planned press releases announcing a new environmental impact statement. His life had changed so much since the fire at Are No's, he had traveled miles, distances immeasurable by normal means.

The gymnasium door opened again, this time emitting Bodyssia, who rumbled a greeting to Dawn. Lewis turned to say hello. When she saw him, her expression changed, smile sliding into the tight-lipped grimace he knew from watching her strain at the weight machines. She leaned over, grabbed his collar with both hands, and lifted him. Before he could say anything, she shook him. He floated, overstuffed puppet-boy. What precautions would have helped here? She spoke, her voice fuzzy over the roar rising from the cataracts. A fall from this height could kill a person, tumbling hundreds of feet to unforgiving rock.

"Aren't you satisfied?"

She lifted him higher and jogged him. His feet dangled over the table. The stitching around the armholes of his shirt bit into his underarms. She shook him again and the arm seams split; the shirt pulled up over his face. She flung him. He slammed into a soft wall and flopped face down. Warm and dark and coarse, pillow, comfort of pillow, of air and light, but no comfort here, surrounded by uncontrolled nature, hurricane winds and a sadistic first mate, punishing him for his secret life.

His head lifted, pulled up by hair, and someone tore the burlap sack from his face.

"Thinks he can fuck all of us," the first mate said.

Not a sack, his shirt, and not the first mate, Bodyssia, face inches from his, teeth prepared to rip at his throat.

"Don't bother," Dawn said. "Not worth the mess."

Bodyssia's giant fingers withdrew, and his face met the cushion of a booth seat. He lay wheezing. Voices rose from somewhere. Behind him, names repeated, Miss Linda, Lullaby...

He pushed the cushion, raising himself to a seated position. Bodyssia stood beside the next table, where Dawn and the new redhead sat.

"Haven't you noticed there's a new car on the train?" he said. "Am I the
only
one around here who notices things?"

"You toyed with us," Dawn said. She got up, followed by the redhead, and they walked with Bodyssia toward the gym.

Cinteotl appeared at Lewis's table with a shot glass containing a clear liquid.

"Drink it all down, one gulp. Just what you need."

The liquor smelled of honey, nutmeg, and something woody. He followed Cinteotl's directions; it burned his throat, and warmth advanced, spreading in a slow-moving wave to his fingertips.

"Has to be about sex," he said. "They must have decided it was okay for them to do it with me, but not for me to do it with anyone else." Dawn wouldn't stay mad at him long, but Bodyssia...not good with her out to hurt him. He had acted badly—you don't break up a relationship in the group. He needed to give up this childish idea of him and Lullaby, resign himself...no, what was he thinking? It
had
been an accident. And all he did was walk in, then leave.

The acrobats entered the dining car from the residential side. First Bodyssia, now the four of them? He would have to brazen it out, somehow, despite the queasiness in his stomach. They sat at one of the booths and Cinteotl brought them a bottle of something yellowish.

Lewis stood, unbending his leg, his mall-town injury aggravated by Bodyssia, and limped over to them. He was still holding his glass. János reached to fill it. He looked at the acrobat's faces for a sign that they were unhappy with him, but everything appeared normal. "I was wondering, did some of you move to new rooms?"

"Yes, my friend," János said. "József now has privacy quarters and Cirill has related himself to József's previous location. We are all now in comfort."

"Okay. So after the party, I opened the door that I thought was mine, and there was Lullaby, naked. I'm sorry if I offended her, but it really was a mistake."

József gripped Lewis's arm. "She has a beautiful body, yes?"

"Yes, a very beautiful body." He paused, remembering the word the acrobats had used after a fight, and raised his glass. "No recrudescence." He drank down the yellow liquor.

"No recrudescence," the acrobats chanted, and János refilled their glasses.

~

Cybele waited on Lewis's bed. "I'm so glad you're here," he said. He threw himself down and rested his head on her shoulder. Everything spun around his eyes, proud ribbons in yellows and greens. "I've been beaten, ridiculed, accused..." He felt his words had to travel great distances from his brain to his lips and out into the world. How did the acrobats drink like that and still function? He told her about Bodyssia, about Miss Linda in the pipe room. Talking to her, so close, breathing her scent, he became aroused.

"You are castrated then," she said.

She placed a hand on his crotch and his erection vanished.

"Sleep now."

When he awoke the train had stopped, and a sickly orange light permeated the room. Cybele lay on her back, eyes closed. He brushed her forehead with a fingertip, tracing intricate designs across her skin, which appeared to glow in the odd light. She slept on, and he lay with his face an inch from hers and dozed. Such a joy, to lie beside her, the truest love he had known. Those others had meant nothing.

But the train had stopped. That meant they would be performing soon. He sat up. He hadn't expected there to be a performance so soon. Cybele stirred, murmuring something. "Are you awake?" he asked. "I have to go see when the show is. I'll be back soon, so don't go anywhere, okay. I want to be able to see you later on."

Lewis paused in the doorway to the dining car; Dawn and Bodyssia sat, eating. Why did he have to see them now, after waking so sweetly beside Cybele? He walked toward the counter, planning to ignore them, but changed his mind and stopped.

"Hi ladies," he said, trying to sound cheerful. They ignored him. "I guess we've got a busy day, huh? Either of you know what time we're supposed to be there?"

"Whenever," Dawn said, tonelessly.

"Okay, thanks."

He turned toward the counter. The twins, desolation and disharmony, haunted him, trashing forever the smooth workings of his circus life.

"Food returns people to harmony; chili pepper cures all ills," Cinteotl said, handing him a plate.

A quiet despair descended, held in check by the food and Cinteotl's kindness. Lewis sat with his back to the women and ate quickly, not wanting to remain long in their proximity.

Gold and Leonora came in. She passed without a glance at him, but Gold waved, keeping his hand low as if to avoid being seen by the others, and continued to the counter to order their food.

If he could only bring Cybele here—that would show them he wasn't someone they could ignore and belittle. These damn performers with their codes and superstitions. Cybele would have to start coming out with him. What reason to hide? She feared nothing.

"Did you hear about the great space Dillon tossed me and Leonora? Two adjoining rooms."

Gold had returned, but Lewis ignored him. Maybe the boor would leave. What was the point of filling the air with reports of his good fortune? Never thought of anyone but himself, never noticed what went on around him.

"Hey guy," Gold said, resting a hand on Lewis's shoulder. "Don't let it get to you. These things happen in our insular world, but everybody comes back together in the end." He glanced behind him. "I have to sit with them...Leonora...you know."

Gold's words, however unexpected and welcome, did little to elevate his mood, and now behind him he heard the explosion of Bodyssia's laughter. Again, he felt apart from the rest, unwanted. He'd go to Perry. Perry wasn't part of Bodyssia's group, no, he was Lewis's friend, partner in performance and in their knowledge of the train. But Perry didn't answer Lewis's knock. Probably with his horse, preparing for the day—Lewis started toward the stable but stopped; he wouldn't go through the dining car again, didn't want to see the happy little clique. Instead, he would return to his room, much better anyway, get back into bed with Cybele.

But his room was empty. He closed the door and turned toward the caboose.

Outside, on the caboose landing, the heat pushed at him, dry and heavy, and the air held an acrid taste. What he could see of the town was little more than a collection of ramshackle lean-tos with tin roofs, and past them, a few larger buildings that looked as though they were made from scraps of wood, metal, and brick. In the dusty street, Dillon conferred with three men wearing straw hats with broad brims and, despite the heat, long-sleeved shirts. Dillon, too, wore long sleeves and a white hat.

Off to Lewis's right Jenkins pulled a cart loaded with duffel bags to a field of dead grass. Something—some gray-brown animal—scuttled under the nearest lean-to. Dillon pointed toward Jenkins, and they walked over to join him. Jenkins and the men began erecting the circus tent.

Lewis had never watched the tent being assembled. It was inflatable, with wall pieces that snapped together before being pumped full. The bleachers were made from sections of a lightweight material. The assembly took little time, and when it was finished Dillon and Jenkins walked toward the caboose.

"...by this evening I suppose," Dillon was saying as he came within hearing. "Word will carry and give us a semblance of an audience." He shook his head as though something in the setup displeased him.

"What is this place?" Lewis asked. "It doesn't look too great."

"Something appears to have altered the balance slightly, and slight alterations can resonate far more than would seem possible," Dillon said. His voice was low, and he looked tired; a film of dust clung to his cheeks. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his face. "At the show, then," he said.

Lewis wandered down the hall, stopping at his door, but he didn't turn the knob. Letting go of the cold metal, he kept walking, continuing on to the lounge car where he took out the encyclopedia containing the entry on Cybele.

Cybele controls fertility, sure...Attis symbolizes immortality...castrated himself out of devotion to her...violets springing from blood...death and resurrection. Lewis felt short of breath. The pregnancies—Cybele's doing, transmitted through him, through his sex with Bodyssia and Dawn, and now, this castration. It said she was revered for her beauty and feared for her jealousy, but she couldn't be jealous. She had instigated everything. Maybe his thing with Miss Linda had been outside her influence, but so what? That was no reason. But he wasn't...he hadn't done that. Maybe symbolically—on this train there was no one he could sleep with, no one but her, and she wouldn't cut him off from her, she couldn't. She still needed him for something. No, this was simply a way of binding him closer. Thinking it through calmed him. She cared for him, of that he was certain. He had been alone so long, but now her embrace housed and comforted him.

~

Lewis stood in costume outside the circus tent, beneath a sky as rusty as the metal roofs in the town. The wind swirled dust. Grit coated everything. He had tied a handkerchief over his mouth and nose, but his eyes stung. Bodyssia trudged by him into the tent, giving a perfunctory glare. Something—the weather, the town, Bodyssia—had made him edgy. He wanted this performance to pass quickly. Through the haze, he spotted Dawn and the redhead walking toward him, both holding handkerchiefs over their mouths. He followed them into the tent.

The walls diminished the noise of the wind, and they removed the cloths from their faces. The tent's interior was set up as a semicircular amphitheater, with the bleachers forming a U-shape around the stage. The entrance to the stage was in the open part of the U. Inflatable walls separated the backstage area from the bleachers.

Lewis wiped grit from his lips. "I don't know how many people are going to show up in this kind of weather. I'm sorry we don't have a better place for your debut."

"Is outside always like this?" the redhead asked.

Brisbane yelled to them. "You guys missed a
great
fight."

Two of the acrobats restrained the other two; Bodyssia stood between the pairs, arms spread to keep them apart.

"They were going after it like you wouldn't believe," Brisbane said. "All because Cirill was wearing József's lucky gold-plated belt buckle."

"Ah, the young are so exuberant over physical contests," Gold said, sighing as if the situation bored him immensely.

"Where's Leonora?" Dawn asked.

"Leonora did not feel up to braving the dust storm. And there's no way of knowing what airborne bacteria might inhabit such an offensive climate. She and the unborn are much safer on the train."

Dillon signaled for the crew to assemble. During their opening promenade, Lewis surveyed the crowd. More people than he had expected, a hard-looking, boisterous group, with few children. A boy, perhaps ten or twelve years old, abruptly stood and hurled something at Clytemnestra. Several adults in the audience laughed. Lewis saw Dillon stiffen, but he continued walking with his short, even stride. Barca slowed from his position in front of Paladin to allow Clytemnestra and Dawn to reach him; he patted the elephant's leg and spoke to it. Lewis was relieved when they circled back offstage without further mishap.

"Is it always like this?" The new redhead asked. Her hands were shaking.