Carnival (4 page)

Martin cleared his throat. “I'm Martin Holland. This is Gary Tressalt. And you are? ...”

“I am Nabo. I own this carnival; run this establishment.” He pointed with a thick blunt finger to the long tent. “It is known as a Ten-in-One.”

“I saw the trucks come in yesterday,” Martin said. And then another thought flashed through his mind: I've seen this man before. I've seen all of this before. But that is impossible.

Then the thought was gone, as if neatly and quickly and deliberately excised from his mind.

His eyes touched the dark lenses of Nabo's glasses. The man's lips moved in some semblance of a smile. Martin didn't know if it was pleasant, or not. He thought the latter.

Gary looked at the closed flap of the tent, then back to Nabo. “He wears his make-up all the time?”

“It isn't make-up, friend. He was born that way. A cruel, vicious trick of nature. Ralph is actually quite intelligent and well-read. But due to the shape of his jaw, he finds speaking quite difficult—so he elects not to speak. To strangers, that is.”

Gary thought about that for a few seconds. “His condition could have been corrected by surgery.”

Again, Nabo's lips moved in what might have been a smile. Neither man could tell if the smile—if that's what it was—reached the man's eyes. Nabo shrugged his heavy shoulders. “He's approximately fifty years old. That type of corrective surgery was not performed back then.”

“What do you mean by that? That he is
approximately
fifty years old?”

“He was found in a trash bin in New York City as a baby. The authorities first took him to the dog pound.”

“That's hideous!” Martin said.

“That's the way it is outside these canvas walls, friend.”

“Who named him?”

Again, Nabo shrugged. “Who knows? Who cares? A nurse, a cop, a doctor, a janitor. The important thing is that he has a home, here, with us. And here, with us, no one ridicules him.”

“No one except the people who pay to see him,” Gary contradicted.

“But that, friend, is a very small price to have to pay for enjoying a feeling of belonging that he could find no place else on earth. And, do not think the ridicule is all one-sided. Don't think that we—and I am as much a freak as anyone else here—don't find some enjoyment in watching the faces of those who ridicule us. Perverse is not something enjoyed only by those who think of themselves as normal.”

Gary frowned at that. But he had to admit there was truth in what the man said.

“A Ten-in-One means that there are ten acts, or shows, under one tent?” Martin asked.

“How quick we are.” Martin couldn't tell if the man was being sarcastic or merely condescending. “Yes. You are correct on all three counts.”

That jarred Martin right down to his shoes. Was the man a mind reader? He was conscious of Gary looking at him strangely.

“Are you gentlemen officers of the law or some other officials of this town?” Nabo asked.

“I'm the mayor and Gary is one of the town's doctors.”

“Ah! Well, then. A tour—grand is in the eyes of the beholder—” Nabo thought that amusing and chuckled for a few seconds “—Is certainly in order.” He stepped to the canvas flap and pulled it open, toward him. A quiet dimness beckoned them from within. “Enter then. And welcome to Nabo's Ten-in-One, Mister Mayor and Mister Healer.”

The men hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside.

A huge shadow fell across their path.

* * *

Alicia puttered around the house for a time, but a restlessness within her made the routine work irritating. She changed clothes and called Janet. Her friend was also experiencing the same type of restlessness.

“I was just about to call you, Alicia. I just hung up from a call from Joyce. I'll pick you up in about fifteen minutes. We'll do something.”

It remained unspoken, but two of them knew what that something would turn out to be.

Janet picked her up in her Mercedes and together they drove over to Joyce's.

From there they went to the fairgrounds.

* * *

Linda and Susan and Jeanne got up very early, for them, and took their baths, then sat down on the bed to make plans for the day.

But no one had any ideas. And no one really wanted to go to the fairgrounds, either.

“Well, hell!” Susan said. “We can go over there just to see who's there, I guess. But I'm gonna tell you something: that place spooks me.”

* * *

Mark leaned against the counter in his father's hardware store: Business was off—way off. Hadn't been but a handful of people come in all morning. And that was unusual for a Saturday. Place was always jumping on a Saturday. People buying things for home fix-up and stuff like that.

But not today.

Something weird going on in town, he thought.

“Hope it's just my imagination,” he muttered, and turned to straighten up a display rack.

* * *

And Jimmy Harold broke his restraints in the back of the ambulance, screamed once, and then died.

A giant of a man blocked their way. To their eyes, the man looked to be about ten feet tall, with the weight to go with it. He was anything but skinny.

“Tiny,” Nabo said gently. “These gentlemen are my guests. Doctor, Mayor, this is Tiny the Giant.”

Both men noticed that Nabo did not remove his dark glasses. And both men wondered how he could see in the gloom of the tent.

Martin and Gary held out their hands. The giant of a man ignored the offering of friendship. He glared down at the men for a moment, his eyes burning with what both men accurately perceived as loathing and hatred. Tiny turned his back to them and stalked away, up the long tent, and into the darkness. For a man his size, both men noted, Tiny moved very gracefully.

“Tiny has never been known for his social graces,” Nabo said, by way of explanation.

“Man like that could be very dangerous,” Gary remarked. He was wondering what lay in the darkness at the end of the long tent.

“All men are dangerous, Doctor,” Nabo replied. “But some of the most gentle men are big men. Tiny has never harmed a soul in any of his lives. He's a strick vegetarian; won't even hurt any type of animal. Can either of you say that?”

“What does he wear on his feet and how does he hold his pants up?” Gary asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“With a cloth belt and his sandals are not made from the skins of beasts.”

“Admirable, I suppose,” Gary muttered.

Personally, Martin had always admired those types of people, but he kept his mouth shut on that subject and spoke on something else he had picked up from Nabo. “You said lives? Plural?”

Nabo's lips again curved in that strange smile, creasing the dark face. East Indian ancestry, Martin thought. “Tiny believes in reincarnation. As I do. Don't you?”

“No,” Martin told him.

“Ummm. Well, we may get the chance to debate that subject at some later date. One never knows what the morrow will bring, does one? Are you gentlemen ready to view the men and women who offer themselves to the public's adoring eyes via this humble establishment?”

The front flap was suddenly jerked back. Bright sunlight flooded into the semi-gloom of the tent, the floor covered with fresh sawdust. Chief of Police Paul Kelson stood in the brightness.

“Mayor. Doc.” His eyes touched Nabo. “Whoever you are. The station just got a call from the ambulance. That Harold boy just kicked the bucket.”

Martin inwardly winced at the chief's casual expression of death.

“Damn!” the word exploded out of Gary's mouth. He started to ask “how?” but knew better than to ask Chief Kelson anything that might strain his brain. The man was a dope. “The boy will have to be taken to Harrisville for autopsy.”

Kelson shook his head. “Got a rub there, Doc. The county coroner is on vacation. Out of town. You're the assistant coroner.”

Gary came very close to telling the chief that he didn't need to be reminded of that. He didn't like Chief Kelson and almost always had to struggle to contain his dislike. And he knew that Martin did not care for the man, either. They had all gone to school together. Knew each other well. Kelson had been a bully in the first grade; a bully when he dropped out of school in the eleventh. And while Kelson was careful not to step across that invisible line, both men knew the chief resented them, resented and was envious of their success and their station in life.

The only reason he was chief of police in Holland was because there was seldom any serious trouble. It was a small and isolated community. Strangers were spotted immediately. The only trouble came from the ranchhands who could be counted on to have their weekend brawls at one of the local honky-tonks. Kelson and his people would break it up. A brutal boy had grown into a brutal man. Kelson liked to hurt people. Most bullies do. And like most bullies, Kelson shared something else with his counterparts around the globe: he was cruel to animals, he was a very insecure man, and he was a coward at heart.

“So you told the driver to return to Holland?” Gary asked.

Kelson shook his head. “Oh, no, Doc. I wouldn't never do nothin' like that without askin' you first. I'd be steppin' out of my place. And I sure wouldn't want to do that.”

Nabo smiled at the exchange.

Martin had to turn his head to hide his own smile. Kelson was no mental giant, but he sure knew how to stick the needle to people.

But Gary was better at it. He expelled breath and said, “Fine, Chief. That's good. A man should always know his place in the overall scheme of things.”

Nabo ducked his head as his smile widened.

Kelson's eyes narrowed. He kept his mouth shut.

Gary said, “Tell the driver to bring the body back here. Take it to Miller's. I'll meet them there.”

“Right, Doc. See you people.” Kelson walked out of the tent, his back stiff with anger.

“A very angry and dangerous man,” Nabo observed. “In this business, we see far too many of them and learn to recognize them quickly.”

“I'm sure that's right, Mr. Nabo,” Martin said. “If Kelson gives you any trouble, let me know.”

Again, that slight smile. “I certainly shall.”

Martin and Gary had not noticed as Tiny and the Dog Man and Samson had gathered at the far end of the tent, standing in the dimness, watching and listening.

“We'll finish the tour later,” Martin told him. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“You're quite welcome, your honor. Doctor. You both know your way out.”

Nabo turned and walked away, into the dimness of the other end of the tent.

As the men reentered the sunlight, neither said it aloud, but both knew the other was glad to be outside of that tent. There had been, was still, something odd about that place. And not just the poor misshapen and grotesque souls who earned their living displaying their deformities and other physical and mental uniquenesses.

Something was strange about that dark place.

Neither man, at the time, knew how to put that feeling into words.

But it would come to them.

Soon.

They rounded the corner of the tent and stopped. “Now what in the hell are they doing out here?” Gary asked, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

Martin smiled at his friend. “What are
we
doing out here?”

“Good point.” He waved at Janet and Joyce and Alicia.

The ladies walked over to join them. “Fancy meeting you two here,” Janet said with a grin. Martin and Gary braced themselves for what they knew was coming. “Must be something terribly important for you semi-pro's to miss your golf game.”

Gary and Martin never played with anyone else for a very simple reason: no one else wanted them as partners. They were, collectively or singularly, the worst golfers in the county. Possibly the state. Maybe the nation. They needed a computer to keep up with their scores.

“Very funny,” Martin said. “Ha ha.” But he was grinning. He jerked a thumb toward Gary. “He has to do an autopsy.”

“I'm sorry, Gary,” Alicia said. She had yet to meet her husband's eyes. “Who is it?”

“The Harold boy just died.”

“Died! ” the women echoed, Janet adding, “But you said last night that he didn't appear to have anything seriously wrong with him.”

“Yes. That's what I said, all right.” Gary's voice held just a touch of weariness. Doctors-aren't-supposed-to-make-mistakes syndrome.

Janet touched his arm. “Sorry, honey.”

He smiled at her. “I'll know the cause of death later on today. Hopefully.” He looked at Martin. “You want me to drop you off somewhere? You left your car at home, remember?”

“Yeah. No, I'll stay out here and prowl around with the girls. Catch up with you later on. You'll be at Miller's?”

Gary glanced at his watch. “Time we get the body in and washed down . . . I'd say . . . I'll be there until late afternoon. Ever seen an autopsy?”

“No.”

“Come on over. They're very enlightening.”

“Thank you for the invitation. I shall do my best to avoid it.”

Gary nodded his head and walked away, his mind on the upcoming work. Those watching him leave knew that he did not like to do autopsies. Especially on young people.

“So what's on the agenda, ladies?” Martin asked.

“What were you and Gary doing out here?” Alicia asked, for the first time meeting her husband's eyes.

Martin hesitated. He did not wish to tell the ladies about his memory-jogging dreams of the previous night. Not just yet. But the strange happenings around town? ... “Truth time, gals?”

They nodded. Martin noticed a flush creeping up his wife's neck at his words. He wondered about that. Then he told them about the conversation he'd shared with Gary about the occurrences that had been taking place around town.

Janet nodded her head. “Gary was sure hot about Rich coming in so late last night, and that's a fact. Came down hard on him. But I wonder why he didn't tell me about the rest of the kids doing the same?”

“Gary?”

“Yes.”

“He didn't know anything about it until this morning, out at the club. Come on, let's walk around some.” He pointed to Nabo's Ten-in-One. “But stay out of that tent.”

“Why?” his wife asked. “Is there a girlie show in there?”

Martin bit back a sharp reply and patiently told the women about the Ten-in-One.

Joyce giggled at that. Janet grimaced at her friend's reaction and said, “There must be something wrong with me. Poor misshapen people have never held any fascination for me.”

Alicia looked to her right and put her hands on her hips. “Now what in the hell! ...”

Linda, Jeanne, and Susan were walking toward them.

No one said anything about the absence of Joyce's daughter, Missy, from the group. Missy and the other three girls she'd palled around with since learning to walk had themselves a major falling-out some months back. Missy was running with another group, Karl Steele's bunch of thugs. Missy, so the rumors went, had turned into a sixteen year old tramp. For a time, all concerned thought Joyce was going to have some sort of breakdown. She worked her way out of it with a lot of help from friends. Missy, however, continued to allow the entire male student body of Holland High to use her body.

Joyce and Eddie's other child, seventeen-year-old Ed, was a fine young man, very studious and brainy. He had plans to attend the U of N next fall, and when the boy tried to explain to Martin what his major would be, he had lost Martin sometime during the first ten words.

Martin thought it had something to do with space. Or semi-conductors. Or something strange and beyond a normal being's comprehension. Martin finally had to admit to his own son—after buying the family a new station wagon—that he couldn't figure out how to set the buttons on the super-dooper computerized radio.

Took Mark about fifteen seconds to set them. All on rock stations—done with a grin.

Alicia looked at her daughter. “I thought you girls would still be sleeping?”

“We all woke up real early,” Susan volunteered the astonishing news, since the girls were famous for staying in bed as long as their mothers would let them, on any given day.

“Real early meaning? . . .” Martin prompted.

“Around seven.”

“Jesus,” Janet breathed. “What is this world coming to?”

“We were by here last night,” Linda said. “We saw the giant man. Have you seen him?”

“Yes!” Martin said quickly, a flash of annoyance surging through him. Why? he asked himself. He felt he knew. “That man is dangerous, kids. I don't think he likes people very much. Maybe he has reason not to. But you girls stay away from that tent over there.” He pointed and explained why.

The girls picked up on his irritation. “Sure, dad,” Linda assured him. “We were just going to walk around some. Is that all right?”

“Walking around is fine. Just stay together and don't go off by yourselves.”

“OK if we tag along with you-all?” Susan asked, showing a lot of insight.

And it wasn't lost on Martin. He smiled at the con job. “That's fine. So come on, gang. Let's walk.”

They had not walked fifty feet when Janet looked up and pointed in horror. The eyes of the group followed her finger.

A roustabout had slipped, high up on the skeletal frame of a ferris wheel. They watched in morbid fascination as he lost his one-handed hold and fell spinning to the ground. Suddenly, they were running to the site.

They stopped at the same time, staring in disbelief.

The man had picked himself up and was brushing the dust off his clothing.

“Are you all right?” Martin ran to him.

The man smiled. “Oh, yes. I landed just right, I suppose. Thanks for your concern.” He turned and began climbing back up the frame of the ride.

“He must have fallen fifty or sixty feet!” Joyce said. “I saw him hit. He bounced and then landed on his feet like nothing happened.”

“That's impossible.” Susan summed it up. “Nobody falls that distance and just gets up and walks off. He fell at least three stories.”

Nabo had watched it all through the flap of his Ten and One. He frowned. He'd have to tell his people to be more careful.

* * *

Lyle Steele stepped out of his house and looked over his holdings—that part of the ranch that he could see from his front porch. His spread extended all the way over into Wyoming. The Bar-S, one of the oldest ranches in the state. Only the Watson ranch, the Double-W, was older, and only by about a year or so. The Double-W bordered the Bar-S to the east, then cut north, meandering up into South Dakota.