Read The Japanese Devil Fish Girl Online
Authors: Robert Rankin
The Japanese Devil Fish Girl (9 page)
‘Yes indeed, indeed.’ Professor Coffin grinned a mighty grin. He settled himself down into a chair at an empty table and beckoned George to do the very same.
George sat himself down, took off his bowler, diddled its brim with his fingers. His eyes did cautious wanderings about the clientele.
They were indeed most very special people.
A dwarf, his face tattooed after the fashion of the Maori, played at chess with a princely personage from the Indian subcontinent. This gentleman wore a neat white turban affixed with a single ruby, a high-collared shirt, a white bow tie, a double-breasted evening jacket of dark stuff with broad lapels of silk. This jacket, however, bulged curiously, and when the time came for this personage to make his move, a tiny hand sneaked out from the front of the jacket and moved the chess piece for him.
‘Laloo, the Indian double boy,’ said Professor Coffin, following the direction of George’s wandering eyes. ‘A parasitic twin sprouts from his chest. He calls it Anna, but it is a he. And plays a finer game than does Laloo.’
George Fox shook his head in wonder. ‘What marvellous folk,’ said he.
‘And many of them, as I told you, my good friends.’ Professor Coffin, through polite indication and no pointing whatsoever, drew George’s attention to a number of the establishment’s most notable patrons.
‘Fedor Jeftichew,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘Exhibited as Jo Jo, the Russian Dog-Faced Boy. Although a thick coat of hazel-coloured hair adorns him from top to toe and his face resembles that of a Skye terrier, no more charming and personable a young man could you wish to meet.’
Fedor caught the gaze of George and waved at him with a hairy hand. George smiled back and nodded and gave a little wave.
‘Carl Untham,’ the professor continued. ‘The Armless Prodigy. Born without upper limbs, he can do with his feet what any man can do with his hands. And he plays a virtuoso violin. Perhaps he will favour us with a tune later. But do not push the matter – he can become truculent when in his cups and has been known to kick the occasional nuisance out of the window.’
‘I will bear that in mind,’ George said.
Professor Coffin went on. He named a bearded lady and a frog-boy known as Hopp, a pair of beautiful Siamese twin ladies, a Wild Man of Borneo, a pinhead fop named Zip and an albino called Unzie, whose plaited hair hung down to his knees.
And then the suppers arrived. Two brimming bowls of nadger, with pickled frips on the side and a generous platter of dolly-bread that none would turn their nose up to. Even on a Tuesday, when the world preferred blunt rolls. George and the professor got stuck in to their suppers and George felt rather glad to be alive.
He had one of those moments that folk sometimes have and are grateful for. Moments of realisation and happiness, for good food and better friendship.
‘You smile as you chew,’ observed the professor. ‘A good sign, that, by my reckoning.’
George smiled somewhat more and swallowed as he did so. ‘I do enjoy working with you, Professor. Life on the road can never be said to be dull. Although . . .’ And here George’s face clouded somewhat. ‘I must confess to hatred of that Martian.’
Laughter choked Professor Coffin, who spat frips over George.
‘Pardon me,’ he said, a-wiping at his chin, ‘but you and that pickled horror are not a loving partnership.’
George continued with his feeding.
‘And in truth,’ continued the professor, dabbing once more about his Mr Punch chin, ‘I do not know how much longer we can keep that thing on display. It is coming apart all over and soon may be nothing but soup.’
‘My heart will not break when we flush it away,’ said George.
‘No, but your belly will rumble. We turned a fine penny tonight, young George. You are a natural on the bally. If we lose our Martian we must have something even better to replace him with.’
‘Perhaps someone here is presently unemployed,’ was George’s suggestion.
Professor Coffin shushed that one to silence.
‘These are top-class acts,’ said he, ‘who deserve and attain to top-class wages.’
‘But if they draw in the Rubes, then they surely deserve their pay.’
‘It can be complicated.’ Professor Coffin pressed on with his supper, presently finished same, dabbed himself hugely with his oversized red gingham handkerchief and leaned back in his seat, a-stroking of his belly.
George mopped up the last of his gravy with a slice of dolly-bread and made satisfied smackings with his lips. ‘I really did enjoy that meal,’ he said.
‘Fiddle de, fiddle dum.’ Professor Coffin supped upon porter. ‘It sets me to thinking, though.’
‘About what?’ asked George Fox.
‘As to what might replace our reeking Red Planet reprobate.’
A chuckle came from a table nearby and Laloo turned smiles upon them.
‘We overhear you, Cagliostro,’ said the well-clad fellow.
‘It is ever the showman’s lot to suffer hardship and privation,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘Whilst great folk such as you accrue kingly pensions, we showmen must fork out countless expenses, bear the heavy weight of responsibility and deposit but a few meagre pennies into our patched pockets.’
Laloo let out another chuckle. ‘And see that,’ he said to George. ‘He says all that without ever breaking a smile.’
‘And believe me, it is not easy,’ said Professor Coffin, breaking one now, and a large one too. ‘Years of practice, it takes, and I am getting no younger.’
‘In truth,’ said Laloo, ‘the days of the live show, with a prodigy of nature on display, may well be numbered. Mechanical marvels fill the public’s imagination and gaffs are everywhere.’
‘Gaffs?’ asked George, who was a stranger to the term.
‘Fakes,’ said Laloo. ‘As the professor observed, although obliquely, a live performer needs food, accommodation and payment. A bouncer, by contrast, needs none of these things.’
‘Bouncer?’ queried George.
‘Or “pickled punk”. A two-headed baby, or unborn Siamese twins, created from wax and hair and mounted in a display bottle. On a recent tour of America, I visited a company in New York by the name of Merz and Hansen – “Manufacturers of Petrified Mummies, Two-Headed Giants, Sea Serpents, Double Babies, etc.” They boast that they can create anything your imagination runs to and they only require twenty-one days to create it – the time it takes for the papier mâché to thoroughly dry.’
‘Incredible,’ said George.
‘And a death knell to the travelling show,’ said the professor. ‘Perhaps we have become an anachronism. Our time is past. Soon it will be electrical whirligigs and bumping motor carriages.’
‘You sing a dismal song,’ said Laloo, ‘but one that lacks for candour on your part. Yes, perhaps we cannot do battle with the new, but why would we try? To do so would be foolhardy. We must adapt, as all must, as Man moves forwards into the future. And who knows this better than you, who has presented so many varied attractions, each in its way tailored to the current fashions?’
‘’Tis true,’ said Professor Coffin, raising his porter pot to Laloo and calling out for further ales. ‘But it is every showman’s dream to find
the
attraction. That most wonderful attraction that ever there was. Something that all of the world would pay to see. And also the other worlds too.’
the
attraction. That most wonderful attraction that ever there was. Something that all of the world would pay to see. And also the other worlds too.’
‘There are wonderful beings about,’ said Laloo.
‘There is Joseph,’ said the dwarf with the tattooed face. ‘Some say he’s the greatest of our age.’
‘Joseph?’ asked George.
‘Joseph Carey Merrick
2
,’ said Professor Coffin, ‘advertised as “the Elephant Man”. An extraordinary fellow by all accounts. But he has long retired from the travelling life and lives now at the London Hospital, on a special pension.’
2
,’ said Professor Coffin, ‘advertised as “the Elephant Man”. An extraordinary fellow by all accounts. But he has long retired from the travelling life and lives now at the London Hospital, on a special pension.’
‘Your Martian came from there, did it not?’ asked George.
‘Through the kind donation of Sir Frederick Treves, Mr Merrick’s sponsor and friend. I have obliged him with a few specimens over the years. He was quite eager to lend me the Martian.’
‘Glad to be rid of the smell,’ said George.
‘I now believe this to be the case, yes. And he told me a strange thing, too, as it happens.’
‘Go on,’ said George, as he, Laloo and the tattooed dwarf drew in close to hear the professor’s words.
‘In eighteen eighty-eight there were seven murders in Whitechapel.’
‘Jack the Ripper,’ said George.
‘Precisely. And several displaying wounds thought to have been inflicted by surgical instruments. And every murder within a stone’s throw of the London Hospital.’
‘A surgeon?’ said George.
Professor Coffin shook his head. ‘Not according to Mr Treves. Mr Treves says Joseph Merrick did them. He says that Mr Merrick confessed to him whilst drunken with champagne.’
‘A sensational tale,’ said Laloo.
‘And one that will never find its way before the public,’ said Professor Coffin, in a whisper. ‘Mr Merrick is the darling of the gentry and in failing health. He will die loved and that will be how history will record him.’
‘But—’ went George.
‘I did not say it was “just”,’ said Professor Coffin, ‘only that that is how it will be.’
There was a certain silence then, each man alone with his thoughts.
‘Of course,’ said the tattooed dwarf, ‘we all know what the greatest attraction in the world
would be
, if anyone could attain it.’
would be
, if anyone could attain it.’
‘Ah,’ said Laloo.
And Professor Coffin nodded.
‘What is it, then?’ asked George. ‘What might this be?’
‘A legend,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘A tall tale told in pot-rooms.’
‘I know of a man who claims that he saw Her,’ said Laloo. ‘Or claims that he knows of a man who did, or suchlike.’
‘What is it?’ George asked once again.
‘I heard,’ said the dwarf, ‘that Barnum
3
is even now in negotiations. That he hopes to present Her in London before the Queen’s Jubilee.’
3
is even now in negotiations. That he hopes to present Her in London before the Queen’s Jubilee.’
‘What is it?’ asked George. Once more. Again.
‘I have heard that you cannot gaze upon Her without the use of special goggles,’ said Jo Jo, the Russian Dog-Faced Boy. ‘That Her glance can turn you to stone just like the Medusa’s.’
‘If someone does not tell me at once,’ said George, ‘I will be forced to start a fight.’
‘Then out of the window you will go,’ said the armless Mr Untham.
‘Someone tell me, please.’
‘She is known by many names,’ said Laloo, ‘and there are many tales regarding Her origins. Some say that She is an unnatural prodigy, a genuine chimera of woman and of fish.’
‘A mermaid?’ said George. ‘A genuine mermaid?’
‘Not a mermaid,’ said the dwarf. ‘Although there is the involvement of fish. She is the last survivor of Atlantis. She breathes through gills but walks upon two legs.’
‘Atlantis,’ went Mr Untham. ‘Plah. She was born from an alchemist’s vat. Created by the last of all the Magi. Grown in a girl-shaped vase and brought to life by words drawn from the Grimoire of Moses.’
George glanced to Professor Coffin.
Professor Coffin shrugged. ‘There are many, many theories,’ he said, ‘but all agree that She
does
exist somewhere. And that She is the most wonderful creature in all of the universe. They call Her the Japanese Devil Fish Girl.’
does
exist somewhere. And that She is the most wonderful creature in all of the universe. They call Her the Japanese Devil Fish Girl.’
‘They call Her Sayito,’ said the dwarf.
10
E
ventually they returned to Hounslow Heath, somewhat mellow from drink. As the air within the showman’s wagon was once more ill-favoured by Martian taint, the professor pulled out blankets and suggested to George that as the night was warm, they should bivouac on the roof.
ventually they returned to Hounslow Heath, somewhat mellow from drink. As the air within the showman’s wagon was once more ill-favoured by Martian taint, the professor pulled out blankets and suggested to George that as the night was warm, they should bivouac on the roof.
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