Circus of the Grand Design (32 page)

Not far ahead, the mossy plain ended at the shrub-covered ridge. Past it rose more hills and beyond, an even higher range. Travel that way would become increasingly difficult. The dark rock behind the horse intrigued him; as he stared at it he realized it was the entrance to a cave. Why not stay in there today and continue after the sun went down? When he finished eating he got up and walked toward the opening, expecting the horse to move away. Instead, it turned to face him, and when he moved to his right, the horse moved as well, keeping its back legs centered with the cave entrance as it turned, blocking him. As though...

She had to be inside.

Fearful of the horse, he had slept in his clothes and boots, so all he needed was to pull on his pack and draw the sword. He waved the blade in a wide circle as he advanced. The horse remained motionless. Closer now, he swung down on the horse's neck; it jerked its head away, but the blade struck near the mane. The horse screamed. Startled, he struck again, clanging metal against metal. He couldn't see any damage, but the sword appeared to cause pain, and when he raised it again the horse charged him.

He fell but kept the sword up and thrust at the horse's belly as it tried to trample him. The blade caught the base of a leg. Something parted in the joint, and the horse flopped onto its side, still screaming. Lewis flung himself out of range of the metal hoofs, but one connected with his chest. He fell, dazed and panting. The horse's flailing legs moved slower and slower, and its cries faded. What had he done? His mount...partner in performance...such a magnificent...How he had longed to get close to it all those times when Desmonica was the rider. Then Dillon made
him
the rider. Tears formed and seeped down his grit-covered cheeks. The horse's legs stopped moving. There was nothing he could do now but enter the cave and ask Cybele to forgive him.

The opening was about shoulder high, narrow at the top and maybe a body length wide at the bottom. He pulled out his flashlight. The ceiling gradually lowered, and despite the pain of his bruised ribs, he continued, crawling, dragging the sword and pack. His light showed a hole he didn't think wide enough to squeeze through, but beyond it the cave appeared to open up. He thrust the pack into the hole and pushed forward on his stomach with his arms outstretched. He had to angle his shoulders to fit the shape of the crack and push himself along with his feet. Progress was slow, and the pressure against his shoulders scared him. He breathed, letting the breath guide his body.

Once through, he sat and rested, turning off the light to conserve batteries. At least now he would be able to walk upright, for a time anyway. He would see what lay beyond when he got there.

He sipped from his canteen, then rose to continue. The room was about fifteen feet wide. Through a crack in the floor, he could hear the flow of water. He walked along the crack to the far side of the room, where it split into a crawlway to his left and a walking passage on the right.

"Not in the mood to crawl again," he said.

In the right-hand passage, the crack and stream below continued. The walls here were rounded as though from the flow of water, which must have seeped through the rock to form a new path below. In places, the crack widened, and he had to slide his feet along the edges. The passage curved downward to his right, leaving the water. He kept going, walking as he had in the hills and on the plain, and soon the passage opened into a vast space with a high, domed ceiling. On reaching the middle of the room, he stopped, too exhausted to continue. The air in the cavern was moist and warm. He lay on the spongy reddish floor and turned off his light to conserve the batteries. From far below came a deep noise, like a giant's heartbeat, and it calmed him, a metronome tuned to his body's rhythms.

He closed his eyes and saw Leonora giving birth and heard the commotion as Dillon, assisted by the redhead, performed the delivery on a table in the dining car. Gold held the infant aloft for everyone to see.

"That's so sweet that you're naming him after Lewis," Dawn said. "He was such a good friend to all of us."

Lewis again felt tears forming. Then he became aware of Cybele's presence. The walls emitted soft, reddish light, enough for him to see her. She stood facing him. His pack and sword lay near her feet. He thought she smiled, a soft, personal smile, as if recalling the memory of something pleasant.

"I had to find you, my love," he said. "But the horse...it wouldn't let me pass."

She touched a finger to her lips. "Now that you have found me you will remain forever," she said. She picked up his sword.

Lewis stood. "Attis cleaved his loins and from his blood the land gained renewal," he said. She held the scabbard with the pommel toward him, and he slid the blade free. This is how it was meant to be, the tale he must fulfill. His actions here would save the rest, allow the train to leave. His companions would remember him. Gold and Leonora's child carried his name. He raised the sword, with the blade pointed at his groin. Cybele sat with the same joyful expression, waiting for his blood to drench her.

Was this her moment then? Damn her for manipulating him into this. She knew he would act to save the rest, knew he must satisfy the tale. He held the sword with arms raised and rotated it to point toward the distant ceiling. One quick downward thrust to reach an ending.

Downward then, but not at himself. The blade cut into Cybele's neck. Severing her head required two more swings. Blood jetted from her neck, covering him and the cave floor. Her head rested nearby, lips still showing that soft smile.

He dropped the sword and sank to his knees. His hands were sticky, and he wiped them in the dirt, blending the shades of red. The glowing walls faded, and the deep noise from below stopped.

After a time, he thought he felt a tremor and groped for his light. In its narrow beam the room appeared to have decreased in size; the ceiling now hovered a few yards over his head and the surrounding walls drew closer. He felt a tremor again, more definite this time, from somewhere deep in the rock, and he hurried, as fast as he could move his exhausted limbs, back along the way he had come.

In the room over the stream, he sank to his knees. A glow of sunlight marked the entrance to the hole he had squeezed through, a distant star, alone in the encroaching dark. He would float to it on a bed of moist air. Unable to stand, he crawled toward the hole, leaving his sword and pack. What need did he have for food? Life here was over now, thanks to him, his selfish act. But he would rather die in the light than down here. The dirt in the room cushioned his hands and knees, but he had to stop several times to let his racing heart slow. Breathing became difficult, the dark air viscous and bloody. At the hole, he strained his body through the squeeze point, tearing...tight knuckles pressing rocks...into the wider passage beyond.

A hard rain fell, pooling below the entrance. He sat just inside the overhang and watched the large, slopping drops. His knuckles were raw and it hurt to breathe. The blood dried on his skin and clothes. He touched a patch that matted the hairs on his right arm—the last link with his love. Another tremor shook the ground and he thought he heard a roaring sound from back in the cave, growing closer. He scrambled out and up the ridge, stopping several yards above the cave entrance. The roar increased, the hillside trembled, then water spurted from the cave, a flood culled from rainfall, from the stream, sent out into the world by the tremors of shifting earth and rock. He looked away, afraid of seeing Cybele's body in the effluence.

Mist shrouded the mossy plain, but rain was better than red heat and haze. The rain cleansed him, washing away the blood. Drenched and weary, he sat with his back to a spiny shrub. From the cave, the water continued to flow, cutting a new river.

After a time, he climbed down and walked along the river, which had already gouged a bed through the dry earth. It would lead him, this river sprung from his act. He didn't remember stopping, but at some point he must have camped for the night. He awakened with the stars bright above him. The earth on which he lay vibrated, a gentle tremor, soothing after his journey. Somewhere back toward the cave, a column of cloud blocked the stars.

~

The twins walked toward him, and he stood to greet them. They had grown, now his height though still slim. Why did they smile? After what he had done...They were holding hands, and with their free hands they reached for his, forming a silent circle, the three of them beneath the night sky.

~

A dazzling sun rose clean and yellow; gone was the rusty haze that had afflicted the land. He dozed, and he dreamed that Dawn lifted him. He floated in her arms.

"He doesn't weigh a thing but you'd better carry him."

Another shape reached out, Bodyssia; she took him from Dawn. Above him, the blue sky smiled. It pulled at him, but she held him with a firm grip. One of his arms wedged between his body and hers; he flailed the other until he became too tired to struggle. Her face hovered above him, her strong jaw, her lips moving, forming shapes that must have had significance. Whatever her plan, he could do nothing to stop her. She stumbled, dropping him. Above him, the sky was no longer blue; haze obscured the sun. Rumblings sounded from somewhere, and the ground on which he lay trembled. Bodyssia picked him up and they continued.

"Here's the boat," Dawn said, and Bodyssia laid him in the middle, then got in.

A motor sounded, and they pushed across the river, again wide and full. He stared up at the gray sky, which appeared to be thicker toward the direction of the cave. Swirling as though alive, the gray flowed outward, accompanied by rumblings that didn't come from the sky. Someone stroked his forehead; he smiled at Dawn and closed his eyes to shut out the swirling gray.

He felt himself being lifted again but kept his eyes closed. When he opened them, the sky had ended, and they entered a room with a familiar ceiling. He heard voices, someone who sounded like Dillon saying something about breaking up and getting out. Bodyssia with firm hands undressed him and laid him on his bed. He heard more voices, fragments of conversation, but didn't feel a need to respond. At some point his insides lurched and he looked up to see clouded windows. Another time he awoke to the touch of a moist cloth on his forehead. Later, Dawn handed him a mug of clear broth and another of Cinteotl's tea. He drank them both and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again he was alone. Someone had removed the dead rosemary shrub; scatterings of needles remained, brown piles on the landscape of his desk.

After the performance ended, everyone gathered in the dining car to say goodbye to Lewis. Cinteotl grilled the last of the acrobats' fish and one of the flightless birds. Lewis gorged on bird, but the thought of fish, of anything from that place, nauseated him. Cinteotl had brewed beer as well; János and Perry kept Lewis's glass from emptying, despite Dawn's worry that he wasn't convalesced enough to be drinking. It was true he hadn't regained all his weight or strength, and he would have liked to remain longer, nursed by Dawn and Bodyssia, but Dillon said they had reached a place where Lewis could leave.

Lewis didn't ask for details. With all that had happened, whether or not he believed the tale was irrelevant. He found himself willing to trust Dillon's judgment.

Miss Linda was now several months pregnant, the last of Cybele's babies.

Looking around the car at his companions' faces, he thought about their lives with the circus, the places they visited. The events back in the cave, in that parched land—his companions had no way of knowing how he had saved them. But that didn't matter. He smiled. In a way, they were all children, though with adult bodies and desires. He had been able to return them to their way of life. That was enough.

He would slip out later, without a big farewell, though really, most of them appeared indifferent to his departure. Its parts changed, but the circus remained, an organism immune to the exits of its members.

Desmonica, Lullaby, and the Chala women rinsed plates in the sink and left; Dawn kissed his lips; the acrobats kissed both cheeks and embraced him; Gold and Leonora carried their baby out without comment; Bodyssia picked him up and held him.

"You've gained a bit of weight since we found you out in the waste," she said. She set him on the edge of the table. "We'll see you around, then."

Perry shook Lewis's right hand with both of his. "Don't forget to check for Oblong Henry in the stores. We'll be here a few days, so you can always come back if this place isn't suitable."

Cinteotl presented him with a packet of food. "Never know what you'll find here," he said.

Lewis returned to his room. The view outside the window showed city streets with a familiar look. He had the money he had brought with him when he cleaned out his account before joining the circus, and Dillon had given him more, much more. Are No's fishing lure still hung over his desk; he took it down and wrapped it in a sock as he had when he fled that burning house. The etching, with its sad Cybele faces, he left on the wall, a present to whomever next used the room. He wore the boots and thick cotton shirt of his costume with the jeans he had worn the day he arrived. Shouldering his backpack and satchel, he walked away, down the hall to the caboose and out of the train.

Cold wind cut through his shirt, and this surprised him—he hadn't expected to return to the same season he had left so long ago, after Are No's fire. Around him on the broad avenue stood apartment buildings, restaurants, and bodegas. Horns honked. Taxis raced across lanes to pick up fares. He walked uptown, glancing at the windows of stores selling watches and silver jewelry. Had he seen that same display of chains and watches the week before visiting Are No's house? At 35th Street he turned and passed what appeared to be his favorite Korean restaurant, and a few doors farther, the hotel that housed the salon where he used to go for haircuts. He walked and walked, and though the walking brought him no closer to knowing whether he had returned to his own city, he found the question no longer troubled him.