Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 13

It started snowing very heavily about an hour after Mr. Romany left.

Thaddeus turned on the radio, found out that there were traveler's advisory warnings out and that many of the roads had been closed, and decided to shut down the carnival for the day. He sent Big Alvin and me around to post signs to that effect. It took us about twenty minutes, and when we were done we hurried back to the dormitory tent to warm up and have some of Queenie's coffee.

Thaddeus was sitting at a table with Mr. Ahasuerus, the astronomy book turned open to a photo of the Crab Nebula, listening intently to the blue man.

"This I recognize," Mr. Ahasuerus was saying, pointing to the photo. "But you must understand that your stellar configurations are completely different from those I am used to. In other words, I may be acquainted with many of these stars, but not in the positions where they appear to you."

Thaddeus pushed the book over to him. "Is there anything else you recognize?"

The blue man thumbed through the rest of the pages, staring at each one carefully. Finally he shook his head. "I am neither an astronomer nor a navigator," he said. "This one," he added, pointing toward a tiny spot on a huge picture, "could be Mr. Romany's home star. It's the right color, and it seems to be in the right star cluster. But of course I can't be sure."

"How did your company ever pick a loser like Romany in the first place?"

Mr. Ahasuerus shrugged. "We employ hundreds of thousands of beings. From what I know of him, his record has been exemplary."

"Yeah. Well, beware of Greeks bearing gifts and hotshot junior executives with exemplary records." Thaddeus paused for a minute to light a cigarette. "Tell me a little bit about your organization."

"We're a loosely knit community of worlds that have united for economic and cultural benefits," replied Mr. Ahasuerus. "We bear absolutely no resemblance to the quasi-military empires that your more imaginative entertainments envision."

"That's not what I meant. Tell me about the company you work for."

"What do you wish to know?"

"Who runs it? How big is it? What does it do?" He exhaled a stream of smoke and smiled. "I feel more at home talking about businesses than galactic civilizations."

"So do I," admitted Mr. Ahasuerus, flashing his teeth in what I supposed was his equivalent of a grin. "We are what you would call a conglomerate. We have branches on hundreds of worlds, and we deal in everything from manufacturing to real estate to space travel."

"How did you come to pose as a sideshow?"

"I told you. We attract less—"

"I know that," interrupted Thaddeus. "But that means you must have sideshows on your home planet."

"No," corrected the blue man, "but they are quite common on many of our community of worlds. Indeed, had they not been known to Earth, I am sure Mr. Romany would have recommended that we bypass the planet. After all, there are thousands of other worlds worthy of interest."

"Romany told me he was surgically altered."

"That's true. It is a complex and painful operation, though relatively brief."

"What did he look like originally?" asked Thaddeus.

"I have no idea."

"How did they know to make him look the way he does?"

"We tend not to visit worlds that do not transmit television signals," said Mr. Ahasuerus. "Does that answer your question?"

"I suppose so," replied Thaddeus. "What kind of currency do you use?"

"It varies from world to world."

"Doesn't that get pretty complicated after a while?"

"It is no more complicated within the community than dealing in dollars and pounds and yen is to the nations of your world. Of course, when we travel beyond the community, a certain amount of creative financing is required."

"What particular kind of creative financing did Romany indulge in to bankroll your carnival?" asked Thaddeus.

"I really couldn't say," answered the blue man.

"I'm beginning to get the impression that you could teach us one hell of a lot about bureaucracies." He turned to me. "Wouldn't the Rigger make one hell of an advance man?" he said with an amused laugh. "You could plunk him down penniless on any world in the galaxy with nothing but a deck of cards and a pair of dice, and he'd own half the planet by nightfall."

He pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a long swallow. A gust of wind whipped through the canvas a minute later, and I asked if I could have a sip.

He shrugged and handed it to me, and I took a small mouthful. It burned my lips, and stayed hot all the way down.

"What was it?" I gasped.

"What do you care? It'll keep you warm." He took the flask back and then, as an afterthought, offered it to Mr. Ahasuerus.

"No, thank you," said the blue man.

"Right," said Thaddeus. "It would probably kill you." He screwed the top on and put it back in his pocket. "What are the winters like where you come from? Do they ever get this cold?"

"From time to time," said Mr. Ahasuerus. "Though it has been many years since I was on my home planet."

"Don't you ever miss it?" I asked.

"Not with so many new worlds to see," he said. "Our friend the Rubber Man would have you believe that one world is pretty much like another, but he's wrong: each is unique and individual, and each is fascinating in its own way."

"Even this one?" asked Thaddeus.

"Of course," said the blue man.

"How long have you been on the road, so to speak?"

"Oh, perhaps twenty of your years."

"And you have no desire to return home?"

"I've seen home, Mr. Flint," said Mr. Ahasuerus. "These others"—he indicated the rest of the aliens—"are merely tourists and vacationers. I am a wanderer."

"You were a wanderer," Thaddeus corrected him.

"I will be again. Whatever agreement you make or do not make with Mr. Romany, you won't kill us."

"You're sure about that, are you?" asked Thaddeus.

"Yes," said the blue man. "First of all, it is in your best interest to keep us alive and working. And second," he added, looking straight into Thaddeus' eyes, "you're an exploiter, not a killer."

"You think not?"

"I think not."

Thaddeus shook his head. "I give a rubdown to the rainbow man and try to keep Dapper Dan alive, and all of a sudden you seem to think you're dealing with some kind of a pushover. Maybe I've been taking it a little too easy on you."

"What purpose would be served by abusing us?" asked Mr. Ahasuerus.

"Maybe it would make me feel better," said Thaddeus.

Mr. Ahasuerus was about to reply when Big Alvin walked up to the table.

"Yeah?" said Thaddeus.

"Four-Eyes is out of iron pills," said the big guy.

"You're just noticing that now?" said Thaddeus. "It's a damned good thing he's not depending on you to keep track of that stuff."

"Then you've got some more?"

"I sent Monk out for them when I closed the show," said Thaddeus. Alvin went back to his post, and Thaddeus turned to me with an amused smile on his face. "When I heard the roads were closed I figured that Four-Eyes was in for a bad night. Then I remembered all of Monk's stories about how he used to go hunting in the Klondike, so I went over to his bus and offered him fifty bucks to walk into town and pick up the pills. He finally agreed to go when I got up to eighty dollars, and just when I was sure that I was sending the poor son of a bitch out to freeze, he locked the money in that little metal coinbox he keeps in the bear cage, walked to his closet, and pulled out a pair of snowshoes and a fur coat that must have been made of forty sealskins. He's so goddamn warm that when he gets back I think the first thing he's going to ask for is a cold beer."

"When is he due?" I asked.

"Another hour or two. It depends on the snow." His gaze fell on the Cyclops. "Look at him!" he said disgustedly. "Healthy as a horse."

"Should I check on Dapper Dan and Rainbow again?" I asked.

"No. Swede's with 'em. They'll be okay." He looked out at the blizzard. "I'll tell you what you can do, though. Take turns with Alvin making the rounds every hour or so to make sure there aren't any locals freezing to death out there. If you find any, take 'em over to the Hothouse until they can figure out how to get home—and if they've got any money, send the Rigger by to pay them a friendly little visit." He looked up and saw Scratch approaching us hesitantly. "Well, well, what have we here?"

"Mr. Flint," said the Horned Demon.

"Yeah? What do you want?"

"The Man of Many Colors is an especially close friend of mine. I wonder if you could tell me how his condition is progressing."

"Pretty much the same," said Thaddeus. "Maybe a little better. It's hard to tell."

Scratch shifted his weight uneasily. "I would like your permission to visit him."

"Out of the question," said Thaddeus. "None of you leaves the tent."

"I know that you are shorthanded because of us," persisted Scratch. "Since we will not be on display tonight, I would be happy to take the place of whoever is tending to him and to the Missing Link."

"I'm sure you would," said Thaddeus. "I'm sure you would be equally happy to hit the Midway running and never look back."

"How far could I get in this weather?" said Scratch with a smile. "Where would I go?"

"A rule is a rule," said Thaddeus. "Forget it."

"It would mean a lot to him," continued Scratch.

"You don't listen too good, do you?" said Thaddeus irritably.

"Neither do you," said Scratch, obviously nervous but obstinately holding his ground. "I told you that I will not try to escape. I simply want to bring comfort to my friend."

"Swede has been over there an awfully long time, Thaddeus," I said.

"You, too?" he said, turning to me.

"What harm could it do, Thaddeus?" I said. "Nobody's going to run away on a day like this."

"Shut up, both of you!" he yelled.

I jumped back, because that tone of voice usually preceded a blow, but he just sat motionless at the table, staring at his coffee cup, while Scratch walked unhappily back to his cot.

Finally, after almost half an hour had passed, Thaddeus got up, looked out the door at the snow, and walked back to me.

"All right, you fucking dwarf," he said with a sigh. "We'll do it your way. Hunt up a coat for Scratch and take him over to the trailer, and tell Swede to come over here to grab some dinner. And when you're done with that, tell the Dancer to bunk with Diggs or Monk tonight. I want his trailer."

"What for?"

"Because I'm getting goddamned sick and tired of sharing mine with a couple of aliens," he said.

I took the Horned Demon to our trailer, spent about five minutes convincing Swede that Thaddeus had really agreed to it, and then went off to find the Dancer. I finally found him sitting in the makeshift grandstand of the specialty tent, staring blindly into the past. I don't think he even knew it was snowing.

He agreed to move in with Monk for the night, and I went back to the dormitory tent to tell Thaddeus that the arrangements had been made.

While I was gone he had finished his entire flask of whiskey, and he was a little unsteady on his feet when he stood up. I helped him to the door, and then led the way to the Dancer's trailer.

It was freezing when we entered it—the Dancer had forgotten to turn the heat on—and I spent the next couple of minutes making it livable, while Thaddeus rooted through the kitchen cabinets until he came up with a bottle of Scotch, a present from some infatuated teenaged fan of the Dancer's.

The trailer looked more than neat and well-kept: it looked unused. The bed was wrinkled, but I doubted that the Dancer had crawled under the covers since he'd owned it. There were no crumbs in the kitchen or on the breakfast table, but again I felt that was due to his lifestyle—if that is the word for it—rather than any fetish for cleaning up after himself. There were photographs and tintypes of an the famous outlaws and lawmen of the Old West hanging on the walls, and I had a feeling that all of Billybuck's time in the trailer was spent sitting in his big leather chair staring at them, or dozing on top of his covers. Walking through the trailer produced an eerie feeling—but then, all carny people are strange. The Dancer was just a little stranger than most.

Thaddeus had finished almost half the bottle by the time I returned to him, and I cautioned him to slow down a little.

"Why?" he said. "The sooner I get good and drunk, the sooner I'll forget about those goddamned freaks."

"They're aliens, Thaddeus."

"Aliens, freaks, what the hell's the difference?" He stared moodily at a photograph of the O.K. Corral. "I'm losing control," he muttered at last.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Haven't you got eyes? Don't you see what's going on?" He looked over at me with an odd expression on his face. I wrote it off to the liquor.

"You're not making any sense, Thaddeus."

"Goddammit, Tojo! Ahasuerus acts more like my father than my prisoner. And that blasted Horned Demon knows that no one can leave the tent, and even so he thought he could get away with it."

"He did get away with it," I pointed out.

"That's what I mean! Why should I give a flying fuck about whether the rainbow man is happy or not?" He pounded a fist down on the arm of his chair. "Look at me! I'm sitting here staring at pictures of Wyatt Earp and Jesse James. And why? Because my own trailer has been turned into a nursing home for sick aliens!"

"It was your idea," I said.

"I know!" he yelled. "But why the hell did I think of it, Tojo? I don't do things like that!"

I didn't know what to say, so I simply kept quiet and stared at him as he took another drink.

"I'm losing control of things!" he repeated. "And that goddamned blue man knows it. He just sits there, taking everything I can dish out and thanking me for it. Why doesn't he fight back?"

"I don't know, Thaddeus." I reached out for the Scotch. "You'd better take it a little easy with this stuff."

"Get your hands off it!" he said hotly, grabbing the bottle back and taking another long swallow. "You're on their side, aren't you?"

"I'm on my side," I said noncommittally.

"Don't lie to me, you little dwarf! Everyone's on their side—you, Alma, Queenie, Monk, even the Dancer if he's spent two seconds thinking about it. The only one who doesn't give a damn about them is Romany."

"And you," I said.

"Right," he said without conviction. "And me."

He looked at the bottle for a minute, then hurled it against the wall, where it exploded into a thousand tiny fragments.

Then he stood up and walked groggily into the bedroom. I heard the springs squeak as he flopped down on the bed, I heard his shoes hit the floor as he kicked them off, and then I heard him mutter, in an unhappy and bewildered voice: "What is happening to me?"

 

Back | Next
Framed