Read Online All the Broken Things by Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer - Free Book Online Page A

and out of the teens, the mothers, the small children, the dads, in behind a tent that held the bingo.
    “Don’t mind my home,” said Max, pointing to a silver trailer. He opened the door and ushered Bo into a strange plush living space. It was upholstered in soft red material, even on the ceiling. “I live here on and off,” Max said. “My real house is sometimes too far to drive home to. Sit down, sit down!” He gestured to a red Formica table that was bolted into the floor. “For the record,” he said, “I did not start the so-called freak show. The freak show has an ancient history, of course. Lazarus Colloredo and his twin John Baptista must take full credit. They made a fortune, even if they could neither move very fast nor entirely enjoy the gifts of wealth. They were joined at the waist, young man!”
    Max’s voice mesmerized Bo. Bo had no idea what Max was talking about but he wanted to keep hearing that voice. He sat at the table watching Max’s fingers dance while he spoke.
    “Can I get you a drink, kid? A pop or something?”
    “Yes, please.”
    Max pulled a ginger ale out of the tiniest fridge Bo had ever seen and plunked it down on the table. Hestood there smiling at Bo and scratching his neck. “I do like your moxie, kid.”
    Bo pulled the tab on the pop can and took a sip. “Thank you,” he said.
    “I meet a lot of kids looking for work,” Max said. “I tell them to go home to their mommies. But you? You’ve got something. A little glimmer. A spark. And Gerry says you like to fight.”
    This was not true. He did not like to fight. He just did it. “I’ve never fought a bear,” Bo said.
    But Max was not listening to him. “That teenager at the whirligig? I’ll fire him this afternoon. Calling it a freak show. The audacity. I curate. I am a curator of humankind.” Here he waved his hands about and hit the tips of his fingers on the upholstered ceiling of the caravan.
    Joined at the waist
—Bo pictured something terrible. He sipped the cold pop and waited for what would come next. He took in the space—the blood-red interior—a miniature home, with a kitchen; the eating booth Bo sat at was like ones he’d seen in diners in his neighbourhood, but smaller. Through an open door down a short corridor, he spotted a toilet. The place smelled of bacon, and Bo realized he was hungry.
    Max said, “I do not—ever—call it a freak show. People deserve dignity, don’t you agree?” He was now rummaging in a drawer. Pure propulsion, he seemed to Bo. Max muttered, “Dignity at any cost.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers,glanced at it, put it back, rummaged some more and pulled out another, smaller batch of papers. “Gerry and I would like to give you a contract,” he said, frowning a little. He leaned down, his eyes very large as he met Bo’s stare. “Now, I want you to look at it and think about it before you sign it. A contract is serious—it’s a very serious document.”
    Bo nodded. He wished he had some idea what this man was talking about, and looked at the paper for clues. The contract said “Jennings’ Magic and Carnival Enterprises Unlimited” at the top and there was the bear-head design from Gerry’s card right underneath.
    “I’d like to see you fight first, of course,” said Max, “but do have a read-through.”
    Bo stared up at Max—at his hair, that smile, and the eyebrows—and then when he began to feel rude for staring, he surveyed the walls, the many framed photographs screwed to them so that, he supposed, they did not whip about when the trailer was in motion. He focused in on one of them. A boy not much older than he was, with another person growing out of his stomach.
    Max followed his gaze and intercepted his thoughts. “The handicapped are simply differently gifted,” he said. He caressed the frame of one of the photographs as he spoke. “The bearded lady is a scientific phenomenon! The cod boy, half-human, half-fish, is billed unfairly—for he is