The Japanese Devil Fish Girl (15 page)

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Authors: Robert Rankin

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‘Wilde Frontier,’ said Professor Coffin, nudging George in the ribs.
 
 
Barnum’s American Museum stood upon Broadway in the theatre district of New York. It had so far been burned to the ground twice, the first time by Confederate soldiers during the American Civil War, but each time it rose again, a shameless, preening, gaily coloured phoenix from the ashes.
 
Having alighted from their conveyance and after a period of intense negotiation regarding payment, as neither George nor the professor owned any American currency, the two men stood looking up at the gaudy façade.
 
American Gothic, characterised by more frivolous and architectural adornment than the eye could comfortably encompass. A profusion of pinkly bummed cherubim fussed about swags of terracotta, amidst carven beasts of mythical origin, flowers and fruits and fripperies. The vast arched central window was of stained glass, the work of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who had taken the commission from Barnum whilst holidaying in the New York borough of Queens. It depicted the great showman as Noah, the ark behind him upon Mount Ararat and two of every kind issuing from it. Two of every kind of a kind that could be viewed at Barnum’s American Museum.
 
‘The man is a god,’ said Professor Coffin, bowing before the mad building. George just shook his head.
 
 
The driver of the cab had accepted a ‘diamond’ ring from the professor in payment for the fare. One that had apparently been in the professor’s family for several generations. Although one that George felt sure he recognised from a job lot the professor had purchased for one shilling several months before. At the entrance booth of Barnum’s museum there was no problem regarding the exchange of non-American currency.
 
The personable young lady who sat in the booth, wearing a costume that showed much bosom, worked upon a brass contrivance with many cogs and levers that with the touch of a numerical keyboard could be made to display the exchange rates of any currency that there was.
 
Both George and the professor were very impressed by this extraordinary mechanism. Although perhaps a mite dismayed to learn just how unfavourably the value of an English pound compared to that of an American dollar.
 
Professor Coffin parted with two English pounds and he and George entered the so-called ‘Dime Museum’.
 
There were five whole floors loaded down with wonders. There were marvels of many ages, wondrous beasts, live savages and a two-headed giant. There was the famed Feegee Mermaid, a troupe of performing monkeys, and even a selection of automatic beds.
 
‘Automatic beds?’ George asked, as he viewed a poetic poster advertising same.
 
‘There are marvels here of the scientific persuasion as well as those appertaining to natural philosophy.’
 
‘This place is heaven for you, is it not?’ asked George.
 
‘It is in the blood, my boy.’ Professor Coffin tapped his cane upon the body area that contained his heart. ‘It is either there, or it is not. Mr Barnum has raised the showman’s craft to an exalted level. Look there, George.’
 
The professor drew George’s attention to an enormous showcase that housed an exquisitely detailed diorama of the Battle of Waterloo.
 
At the touch of a button – and Professor Coffin touched this button – cogs engaged and the workings of complicated animation began: soldiers marched, muskets fired, men and horses fell.
 
George looked on and shook his head anew.
 
‘I do not recall, when studying history at school,’ said he, ‘that dirigibles were involved in the Battle of Waterloo.’
 
‘Poetic licence,’ explained Professor Coffin. ‘The iron-sided gunboats are perhaps a mite too modern also.’
 
They wandered through the marvellous museum. Viewed the dancing of Zulu warriors. The shrinking of a human head by Jivaro tribesmen. An exhibition of toad juggling. A pig race. A ‘Sapient Horse of Distinction’ that offered tips on the New York Stock Exchange. Giraffe-necked ladies and plate-lipped lasses. A giant called Tomaso and General Tom Thumb.
 
Barnum’s famous midget had circled the globe several times on his sell-out tours. He had been presented before Queen Victoria and almost every European house of royalty. He had gained great wealth and, more than that, great love.
 
General Tom Thumb sang several humorous songs, danced a solo gavotte and left the stage to riotous applause.
 
‘Now he,’ said George, ‘is arguably the greatest showman’s attraction ever to pull in the Rubes.’
 
‘’Tis true,’ said the professor. ‘Undoubtedly the most financially successful attraction in history. But we will do better than that.’
 
‘I am beginning to wonder about that,’ said George. ‘I am so filled with awe by all that I have seen and experienced of late that at times I wonder whether I am simply dreaming. But do think on this, Professor. There may be no truth at all to what we seek. She may just be legend. There may be no truth to Sayito.’
 
Professor Coffin flapped a hand at George. ‘Shush, my boy,’ said he. ‘We must have words with the proprietor of this esteemed establishment regarding that which we seek. But we must do it in such a fashion that the fabulous showman gleans no hint that we actually seek what we seek. Do you understand?’
 
‘I might if I put my mind hard to it,’ said George. ‘Do you think he is actually here?’
 
‘Yonder,’ said Professor Coffin, pointing with his cane.
 
To stage left stood a portly fellow, chatting with Tom Thumb.
 
He wore a grey suit cut in the American fashion, with portmanteau sleeves and a cuttlefish-skin, triple-breasted waistcoat. Upon his back was strapped an intricate contrivance of polished pine and burnished brass, which belched the occasional puff of smoke from a stovepipe chimney attached to his tall dark hat. The intricate contrivance was linked to the portly fellow’s high brass boots by a complicated system of leather belt-drives and hissing pistons.
 
George looked on, a-gawp.
 
And as he looked on at the portly gentleman and the extraordinary mechanical paraphernalia that adorned him, matters took a sudden and most unexpected twist.
 
‘Oh,’ and, ‘Ow!’ cried P. T. Barnum, leaping suddenly high.
 
General Tom Thumb scuttled away as the clearly rattled Mr Barnum now performed what appeared to be an extravagantly high-stepping dance all about the stage, accompanied by further vocal outcries which rose to an uncomfortable crescendo.
 
‘He is on fire,’ observed George. ‘And his bodily machinery is out of control.’
 
‘Fiddle de, fiddle dum,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘Do something quickly, George.’
 
But George did not hear him say this, as George was already hastening to assist the smoking showman cavorting about on the stage. George leapt up onto the stage and tore down one of the curtains. This he threw over P. T. Barnum and wrestled that man to the floor.
 
There were great hissings and splutterings of steam and Barnum’s legs thrashed wildly. But George held him down and beat at the smoking firebox that fuelled the apparatus.
 
Presently, and much to the relief of all concerned, there was silence and stillness and George unwrapped the showman and helped him to his feet.
 
‘Are you all right?’ George asked him. ‘Or should I summon a medic?’
 
P. T. Barnum divested himself of his belligerent backpack, unclipped the linkages to his brass footwear and booted all and sundry across the stage.
 
‘Thank you, young man,’ he said to George. ‘That demonic contrivance would surely have done for me had you not intervened with such inspiration. I fear the world is not yet ready for Barnum’s Patent Pneumatic Pedestrian Perambulators. Mechanical walking aids. I think I might just reconsider Mr Henry Ford’s invitation to invest in his horseless carriage arrangement. Indeed, by golly, yessiree.’
 
‘I am glad I was able to offer assistance,’ said George. ‘You are sure that you are undamaged?’
 
‘Right and round as a silver dollar.’ Barnum dusted himself down. ‘And forever in your debt for sparing me from torment. My name is Phineas Taylor Barnum and I would be honoured to learn of yours.’
 
‘I am George Fox,’ said young George Fox. And shook the showman’s hand.
 
16
 
P
T. Barnum’s office was a wonder to behold. George, to whom wonders had been falling upon of late with such frequent rapidity that he felt he could surely accommodate a few more, just gawped about the crowded room with lower jaw a-dangle.
 
George had introduced Mr Barnum to the professor. That certain handshake had come once more into play and the great showman had welcomed the lesser showman as a fellow traveller and invited both he and George to enjoy a drink in private quarters.
 
Mr Barnum’s desk was simply huge. Carved from elephants’ tusks, inlaid with tiger teeth and topped with rolled leather from koala pelts, it dwarfed a full-size billiard table and was littered with more curiosa than could reasonably be described. George discerned domes of glass containing foetal skeletons mounted in tableaus representing historic events. The Siege of Troy. The coronation of Queen Elizabeth the First. The Storming of the Alamo. An American planting the Stars and Stripes flag upon the surface of the moon. George rolled his eyes at that one. The wall-mounted heads of stuffed bison and bears gazed down upon George with their glassy stares. A suit of samurai armour, all tortoiseshell and porcupine quills, stood in one corner. A waxwork figure of Jesus Christ, blessing fingers raised above a map of America, stood in another. And many too were the mechanical instruments of copper, brass and steel.
 
‘Seat yourselves where you can,’ advised Mr Barnum, seeking out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whisky and three crystal tumblers. Professor Coffin cleared circus posters from a green leather swivel chair and settled upon it. George wheeled over a massive elephant-foot stool and lowered his bottom upon that. Mr Barnum decanted liquor and pushed the glasses as far as he could across the spacious desk. With much strained reachings and assistance from George, Professor Coffin availed himself of the drinks and took to toasting Mr Barnum.
 
‘Not a bit of it,’ said that man. ‘To George, for saving my Baltimore bacon.’
 
‘To George,’ said the professor, raising his glass.
 
Drinks were drunk and lips were smacked approvingly.
 
‘And so,’ said P. T. Barnum, ‘what are you two gentlemen doing upon this side of the Great Pond?’
 
‘We are circumnavigating the globe,’ said the professor, ‘aboard the
Empress of Mars
. The eighth wonder of the world, I believe she has been called.’
 
‘Hm,’ went P. T. Barnum. ‘I have recently been having some discussions with the President of this fair land regarding the construction of a larger and more luxurious version of this airship.’
 
George Fox raised his eyebrows and sipped some more at his drink.
 
‘As we were in New York,’ continued Professor Coffin, ‘we just had to visit your museum. It is famous throughout the world. It was not to be missed.’
 
‘One does what one can to provide entertainment, education, enlightenment and edification. I trust that you have not been disappointed.’
 
‘Well . . .’ said the professor, and he paused.
 
‘Well?’
asked Mr Barnum. ‘What should I make of this “well”?’
 
‘I believe that we were misinformed,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘We were told that you had a most wonderful attraction here.
The
most wonderful attraction that ever there was. What was it called again, George? The Chinese Fish Woman or something, was it?’
 
George Fox noted the guarded wink. ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘Japanese, I think, yes, that was it – the Japanese Devil Fish Girl.’
 
P. T. Barnum leaned back in his chair, beyond his desk. His round head nodded gently and he made a thoughtful face. ‘The Japanese Devil Fish Girl,’ he said slowly. ‘Well now, there is a thing.’
 
‘We would very much like to see her,’ said George. ‘Is she presently engaged as one of your resident artistes?’
 
Mr Barnum’s face now gained a quizzical expression. ‘One of my resident artistes?’ he said. ‘Well, there’s another thing.’
 

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