tent walls, then enters the clamor and madness of the crowd.
“Too bad,” says the barker. “A love for the ages.”
“Goddamn, I’d pay double to see that,” says one of the group.
“Quadruple,” says the barker. “Once for each chin.”
The group laughs, then falls silent as all eyes turn to me.
The barker beats on the cage with his stick. “Give them a show, freak.”
I eat the finger again. It is shredded now and bits of dirt and straw stick to the knuckle. Two of the people, a man and a woman, hug each other. The woman makes a sound like her stomach is bad. Another man, the one who would pay double, says, “Do they really eat people?”
“Faster than an alligator,” says my barker. “Why, this very one ingested my esteemed predecessor in three minutes flat. Nothing left but two pounds of bones and a shoe.”
“Doesn’t look like much to me,” says the man. “I wouldn’t be afraid to take him on.”
He calls to the man with him, who wobbles and smells of liquor and excrement. “What do you think? Ten-to-one odds.”
“Maynard, he’d munch your ass so fast you’d be screaming ‘Mommy’ before you knew what was going on,” says the wobbling man.
Maynard’s eyes narrow and he turns to the barker. “What do you say? I’ll give you a hundred bucks. Him and me, five minutes.”
My barker points the stick toward the tent ceiling. “Five minutes. In the cage with that thing?”
“I heard about these things,” says the man. “Don’t know if I believe it.”
My mouth tastes his courage and his fear. He is salt and meat and brains and kidneys. He is one of them. I love him.
He takes the stick from the barker and pokes me in the shoulder.
“That’s not sporting,” says the barker. He looks at the man and woman, who have gone pale and taken several steps toward the door.
Maynard rattles the stick against the bars and pokes me in the face. I hear a tearing sound. The woman screams and the man shouts beside her, then they run into the night. Organ notes trip across the sky, glittering wheels tilt, people laugh. The crowd is thinning for the night.
Maynard fishes in his pocket and pulls out some bills. “What do you say?”
“I don’t know if it’s legal,” says the barker.
“What do you care? Plenty more where he came from.” Maynard breathes heavily. I smell poison spilling from inside him.
“It ain’t like it’s murder,” says Maynard’s drunken companion.
The barker looks around, takes the bills. “After the crowd’s gone. Come back after midnight and meet me by the duck-hunting gallery.”
Maynard reaches the stick into the bars, rakes my disembodied finger out of the cage. He bends down and picks it up, sniffs it, and slides it into his pocket. “A little return on my investment,” he says.
The barker takes the stick from Maynard and wipes it clean on his trouser leg. “Show’s over, folks,” he yells, as if addressing a packed house.
“Midnight,” Maynard says to me. “Then it’s you and me, freak.”
The wobbly man giggles as they leave the tent. The barker waits by the door for a moment, then disappears. I look into the torchlight, watching the flames do their slow dance. I wonder what the fire tastes like.
The Fat Lady comes. She must have been hiding in the shadows again. She has changed her billowy costume for a large robe. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, her face barren of make-up.
She sees me. She knows I can understand her. “I heard what they said.”
I stick out my tongue. I can taste the torn place on my cheek. I grip the bars with my hands. Maybe tomorrow, I will eat my hands, then my arms. Then I can be like Juggles. Except you can’t dance when you’re dead.
Or maybe I will eat and eat when the barker brings me the bucket of chicken hearts. If I eat enough, I can be the World’s Fattest Murdermouth. I can be one of them. I will take money for the rides and pull the levers and sell cotton candy.
If I could get out
“Too bad,” says the barker. “A love for the ages.”
“Goddamn, I’d pay double to see that,” says one of the group.
“Quadruple,” says the barker. “Once for each chin.”
The group laughs, then falls silent as all eyes turn to me.
The barker beats on the cage with his stick. “Give them a show, freak.”
I eat the finger again. It is shredded now and bits of dirt and straw stick to the knuckle. Two of the people, a man and a woman, hug each other. The woman makes a sound like her stomach is bad. Another man, the one who would pay double, says, “Do they really eat people?”
“Faster than an alligator,” says my barker. “Why, this very one ingested my esteemed predecessor in three minutes flat. Nothing left but two pounds of bones and a shoe.”
“Doesn’t look like much to me,” says the man. “I wouldn’t be afraid to take him on.”
He calls to the man with him, who wobbles and smells of liquor and excrement. “What do you think? Ten-to-one odds.”
“Maynard, he’d munch your ass so fast you’d be screaming ‘Mommy’ before you knew what was going on,” says the wobbling man.
Maynard’s eyes narrow and he turns to the barker. “What do you say? I’ll give you a hundred bucks. Him and me, five minutes.”
My barker points the stick toward the tent ceiling. “Five minutes. In the cage with that thing?”
“I heard about these things,” says the man. “Don’t know if I believe it.”
My mouth tastes his courage and his fear. He is salt and meat and brains and kidneys. He is one of them. I love him.
He takes the stick from the barker and pokes me in the shoulder.
“That’s not sporting,” says the barker. He looks at the man and woman, who have gone pale and taken several steps toward the door.
Maynard rattles the stick against the bars and pokes me in the face. I hear a tearing sound. The woman screams and the man shouts beside her, then they run into the night. Organ notes trip across the sky, glittering wheels tilt, people laugh. The crowd is thinning for the night.
Maynard fishes in his pocket and pulls out some bills. “What do you say?”
“I don’t know if it’s legal,” says the barker.
“What do you care? Plenty more where he came from.” Maynard breathes heavily. I smell poison spilling from inside him.
“It ain’t like it’s murder,” says Maynard’s drunken companion.
The barker looks around, takes the bills. “After the crowd’s gone. Come back after midnight and meet me by the duck-hunting gallery.”
Maynard reaches the stick into the bars, rakes my disembodied finger out of the cage. He bends down and picks it up, sniffs it, and slides it into his pocket. “A little return on my investment,” he says.
The barker takes the stick from Maynard and wipes it clean on his trouser leg. “Show’s over, folks,” he yells, as if addressing a packed house.
“Midnight,” Maynard says to me. “Then it’s you and me, freak.”
The wobbly man giggles as they leave the tent. The barker waits by the door for a moment, then disappears. I look into the torchlight, watching the flames do their slow dance. I wonder what the fire tastes like.
The Fat Lady comes. She must have been hiding in the shadows again. She has changed her billowy costume for a large robe. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, her face barren of make-up.
She sees me. She knows I can understand her. “I heard what they said.”
I stick out my tongue. I can taste the torn place on my cheek. I grip the bars with my hands. Maybe tomorrow, I will eat my hands, then my arms. Then I can be like Juggles. Except you can’t dance when you’re dead.
Or maybe I will eat and eat when the barker brings me the bucket of chicken hearts. If I eat enough, I can be the World’s Fattest Murdermouth. I can be one of them. I will take money for the rides and pull the levers and sell cotton candy.
If I could get out
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