“That fiend Mink,” said Mr. Ginger. I hadn’t expected such strong emotion from him. The eyes of his twin flickered, as if he sensed his brother’s anger. “He betrayed Miss Lightfoot, you know. Lured her from her home with promises he never meant to keep, and now she is compromised and can never return.”
His words shocked me into silence.
“I can’t bear to see a gentle soul mistreated in that way,” said Mr. Ginger.
I nodded in agreement. “But what’s your story?” I asked. “A man of your unusual appearance could find work in much bigger shows. You could earn a fortune. You could draw huge audiences.”
Mr. Ginger sighed. “I have no need of a fortune, merely a living, and to be honest, I have no love of large audiences. This suits me fine.”
I was rudely persistent. “Why this show if you despise Mink so?”
“I have hopes,” he said, and left it there.
On the fourth day we crossed the Mississippi and entered Iowa. We must have traveled almost one hundred miles.
At midday we pulled onto a waste lot at the edge of a small town to join a wood-paneled caravan painted with Gypsy patterns and Mink’s name. As the troupe climbed to the ground, a figure rose from the caravan’s back steps and approached us. I wasn’t sure what this person could be, for it wore a flowered wrap and a turban but walked like a man in a man’s boots. Billy Sweet greeted the new person with a sibilant name that sounded like “see-see.”
“Who’s that?” I asked Bess.
“Oh, he calls himself Cecil-Cecilia, like he’s a girl and a boy,” growled Bess, “but we call him Ceecee for short. He says he’s a hermaphrodite, but his real name is Theodore Spittle, from Hoboken, New Jersey, and he’s as male as you … or do you have a secret?” She stared at me head-on, which meant crotch level.
I caught myself moving my hands to cover my privates, and Bess laughed.
“Where are the puppies?” Mink called.
Ceecee spoke in a high voice with a mean edge. “They were a nuisance, so I locked them up.” The creature inspected its nails.
“And Earle?”
“I sent him out to drum up business.”
“Taking your chances, aren’t you?” Dr. Mink snapped.
“Little Beauty said you’d be here.”
“Christ Almighty, Ceecee,” Dr. Mink exclaimed. “And you believed her? That clairvoyant bull crap’s for the marks.”
Ceecee shrugged. “She’s been right before.”
Mink turned his back on Ceecee in disgust and barked out orders. The usual bustle of setting up camp commenced.
As I unhitched and hobbled the horses, I couldn’t take my eyes from the painted wagon. That Ceecee talked like he’d locked up a litter of dogs, but was Mr. Northstar’s missing child inside? Finally I couldn’t stand to wonder any longer. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, walked up the caravan steps, pulled the outside bolt, and opened the carved back door.
I reeled at the stench and almost fell down the stairs.
A pot lay spilled on the floor, and soaked newspapers were covered in odorous piles. There are dogs in here after all, I thought. Then over the edges of the built-in bunks and around from the back of a trunk peered solemn little faces of all shades. Human faces.
16
I REACHED IN TO DRY THE TEARS of the nearest child, and she flinched away. The weight of her distended head toppled her backward, and when her delicate hands hit the boards to save herself, feces oozed from between her fingers. She had water on the brain. The poor little mite would probably never become a woman, and this was her childhood.
I clenched my fists. I didn’t want to deal with this, I wanted to grab Apollo and run, but my parents had taught me better than that. Having to take charge made me angrier than ever. I looked around for Mink and found Bess behind me. Words stuck in my throat.
She nodded at me, and her eyes matched my fury. “Mink!” she yelled.
The showman walked over, twirling his death’s-head cane, and my heart pounded. Apollo trotted behind him.
“Go on,” said Bess, giving me the lead.