Nightmare Alley by William Lindsay Gresham Page B

Linklater, Cooley Mills, Ocheketawney, Bale City, Boeotia, Sanders Falls, Newbridge.
    Coming: Ackerman-Zorbaugh Monster Shows. Auspices Tall Cedars of Zion, Caldwell Community Chest, Pioneer Daughters of Clay County, Kallakie Volunteer Fire Department, Loyal Order of Bison.
    Dust when it was dry. Mud when it was rainy. Swearing, steaming, sweating, scheming, bribing, bellowing, cheating, the carny went its way. It came like a pillar of fire by night, bringing excitement and new things into the drowsy towns—lights and noise and the chance to win an Indian blanket, to ride on the ferris wheel, to see the wild man who fondles those rep-tiles as a mother would fondle her babes. Then it vanished in the night, leaving the trodden grass of the field and the debris of popcorn boxes and rusting tin ice-cream spoons to show where it had been.
    Stan was surprised, and gnawed by frustration. He had had Zeena—but how few chances ever came his way for him to have her again. She was the wise one, who knew all the ropes of the carny and everywhere else. She knew. And yet, in the tight world of the carnival, she could find very few opportunities to do what her eyes told Stan a dozen times a day that she would take pleasure in doing.
    Pete was always there, always hanging around, apologetic, crestfallen, hands trembling, perfumed with bootleg, always a reminder of what he had been.
    Zeena would beg off from a rendezvous with Stan to sew a button on Pete’s shirt. Stan couldn’t understand it; the more he thought about it the more confused and bitter he got. Zeena was using him to satisfy herself, he kept repeating. Then the thought struck him that maybe Zeena played a game of make-believe with him, and actually saw over his shoulder a shadow of Pete as he had been—handsome and straight and wearing his little black beard.
    The thought would strike him right in the middle of his act and his patter would turn into a snarl.
    One day Clem Hoately was waiting beside the platform when he came down after the last show. “Whatever’s eating you, kid, you better turn it off while you’re on the box. If you can’t be a trouper, pack up your junk and beat it. Magicians come two for a nickel.”
    Stan had acquired enough carny to reach over, take a half dollar from Hoately’s lapel, and vanish it in his other hand before walking away. But the call-down by the older man burnt into him. No woman or man his own age could drive the gall into his system like that. It took an old bastard, particularly when the stubble on his face looked silvery like fungus growing on a corpse. The bastard.
    Stan went to sleep that night on his cot in the Ten-in-One tent with fantasies of slowly roasting Hoately over a fire, inquisition fashion.
    Next day, just as they were about to open, Hoately stopped by his platform while Stan was opening a carton of pitch books.
    “Keep them half-dollar tricks in the act, son. They got a nice flash. The marks love it.”
    Stan grinned and said, “You bet.” When the first tip came wandering in he gave them all he had. His sale of the magic books almost doubled. He was on top of the world all day. But then came night.
    By night Zeena’s body plagued his dreams and he lay under the blanket, worn out and with his eyes burning for sleep, thinking back and having her over and over in memory.
    Then he waited until closing one night. He stepped back of the curtains on her miniature stage. Zeena had taken off the white silk robe and was putting her hair up, her shoulders white and round and tantalizing over her slip. He took her roughly in his arms and kissed her and she pushed him away. “You beat it out of here. I got to get dressed.”
    “All right. You mean we’re washed up?” he said.
    Her face softened and she laid her palm gently against his cheek. “Got to learn to call your shots, honey. We ain’t married folks. We got to be careful. Only one person I’m married to and that’s Pete. You’re a sweet boy and I’m