can’t see Lucinda’s splendors?”
A whistle blows and everyone freezes.
“Doors!” booms a male voice.
All hell breaks loose. The men at the concession stands scurry behind their counters, making final adjustments to their wares and straightening their jackets and caps. With the exception of the poor soul still working on Lucinda’s banner, all the black men slip through the canvas and out of sight.
“Get that goddamned banner up and get out of here!” Cecil screams. The man makes one final adjustment and disappears.
I turn. A wall of humans swells toward us with squealing children leading the way, yanking their parents forward by the hand.
Wade jabs an elbow in my side. “ Psssst . . . You wanna see the menagerie?”
“The what?”
He cocks his head at the tent between us and the big top. “You been craning your neck since you got here. Wanna take a peek?”
“What about him?” I say, jerking my eyes toward Cecil.
“We’ll be back before he misses us. Besides, we can’t do nothin’ till he gets a crowd going.”
Wade leads me to the ticket gate. Old men guard it, sitting behind four red podiums. Three ignore us. The fourth glances at Wade and nods.
“Go on. Have a peek,” says Wade. “I’ll keep an eye on Cecil.”
I peer inside. The tent is enormous, as tall as the sky and supported by long, straight poles jutting at various angles. The canvas is taut and nearly translucent—sunlight filters through the material and seams, illuminating the largest candy stand of all. It’s smack in the center of the menagerie, under rays of glorious light, surrounded by banners advertising sarsaparilla, Cracker Jack, and frozen custard.
Brilliantly painted red and gold animal dens line two of the four walls, their sides propped open to reveal lions, tigers, panthers, jaguars, bears, chimps, and spider monkeys—even an orangutan. Camels, llamas, zebras, and horses stand behind low ropes slung between iron stakes, their heads buried in mounds of hay. Two giraffes stand within an area enclosed by chain-link fence.
I’m searching in vain for an elephant when my eyes come to an abrupt stop on a woman. She looks so much like Catherine I catch my breath—the plane of her face, the cut of her hair, the slim thighs I’ve always imagined were under Catherine’s staid skirts. She’s standing in front of a row of black and white horses, wearing pink sequins, tights, and satin slippers, talking to a man in top hat and tails. She cups the muzzle of one of the white horses, a striking Arabian with a silver mane and tail. She lifts a hand to push back a piece of her light brown hair and adjust her headdress. Then she reaches up and smoothes the horse’s forelock against his face. She grasps his ear in her fist, letting it slide through her fingers.
There’s an enormous crash, and I spin to find that the side of the closest animal den has slammed shut. When I turn back, the woman is looking at me. Her brow furrows, as though in recognition. After a few seconds I realize I should smile or drop my eyes or do something, but I can’t. Eventually the man in the top hat puts his hand on her shoulder and she turns, but slowly, reluctantly. After a few seconds she steals another glance.
Wade is back. “Come on,” he says, slapping me between the shoulder blades. “It’s showtime.”
• • •
“L ADIES-S-S-S-S-S-S AND GENTLEMEN-N-N-N-N-N-N-N! Twen-n-n-n-n-ty-five minutes till the big show! Twen-n-n-n-n-ty-five minutes! More than enough time to avail yourselves of the amazing, the unbelievable, the m-a-a-a-a-a-a-rvelous wonders we have gathered from all four corners of the earth, and still find a good seat in the big top! Plenty of time to see the oddities, the freaks of nature, the spectacles! Ours is the most dazzling collection in the world, ladies and gentlemen! In the world, I tell you!”
Cecil stands on a platform beside the sideshow’s entrance. He struts back and forth, gesturing
A whistle blows and everyone freezes.
“Doors!” booms a male voice.
All hell breaks loose. The men at the concession stands scurry behind their counters, making final adjustments to their wares and straightening their jackets and caps. With the exception of the poor soul still working on Lucinda’s banner, all the black men slip through the canvas and out of sight.
“Get that goddamned banner up and get out of here!” Cecil screams. The man makes one final adjustment and disappears.
I turn. A wall of humans swells toward us with squealing children leading the way, yanking their parents forward by the hand.
Wade jabs an elbow in my side. “ Psssst . . . You wanna see the menagerie?”
“The what?”
He cocks his head at the tent between us and the big top. “You been craning your neck since you got here. Wanna take a peek?”
“What about him?” I say, jerking my eyes toward Cecil.
“We’ll be back before he misses us. Besides, we can’t do nothin’ till he gets a crowd going.”
Wade leads me to the ticket gate. Old men guard it, sitting behind four red podiums. Three ignore us. The fourth glances at Wade and nods.
“Go on. Have a peek,” says Wade. “I’ll keep an eye on Cecil.”
I peer inside. The tent is enormous, as tall as the sky and supported by long, straight poles jutting at various angles. The canvas is taut and nearly translucent—sunlight filters through the material and seams, illuminating the largest candy stand of all. It’s smack in the center of the menagerie, under rays of glorious light, surrounded by banners advertising sarsaparilla, Cracker Jack, and frozen custard.
Brilliantly painted red and gold animal dens line two of the four walls, their sides propped open to reveal lions, tigers, panthers, jaguars, bears, chimps, and spider monkeys—even an orangutan. Camels, llamas, zebras, and horses stand behind low ropes slung between iron stakes, their heads buried in mounds of hay. Two giraffes stand within an area enclosed by chain-link fence.
I’m searching in vain for an elephant when my eyes come to an abrupt stop on a woman. She looks so much like Catherine I catch my breath—the plane of her face, the cut of her hair, the slim thighs I’ve always imagined were under Catherine’s staid skirts. She’s standing in front of a row of black and white horses, wearing pink sequins, tights, and satin slippers, talking to a man in top hat and tails. She cups the muzzle of one of the white horses, a striking Arabian with a silver mane and tail. She lifts a hand to push back a piece of her light brown hair and adjust her headdress. Then she reaches up and smoothes the horse’s forelock against his face. She grasps his ear in her fist, letting it slide through her fingers.
There’s an enormous crash, and I spin to find that the side of the closest animal den has slammed shut. When I turn back, the woman is looking at me. Her brow furrows, as though in recognition. After a few seconds I realize I should smile or drop my eyes or do something, but I can’t. Eventually the man in the top hat puts his hand on her shoulder and she turns, but slowly, reluctantly. After a few seconds she steals another glance.
Wade is back. “Come on,” he says, slapping me between the shoulder blades. “It’s showtime.”
• • •
“L ADIES-S-S-S-S-S-S AND GENTLEMEN-N-N-N-N-N-N-N! Twen-n-n-n-n-ty-five minutes till the big show! Twen-n-n-n-n-ty-five minutes! More than enough time to avail yourselves of the amazing, the unbelievable, the m-a-a-a-a-a-a-rvelous wonders we have gathered from all four corners of the earth, and still find a good seat in the big top! Plenty of time to see the oddities, the freaks of nature, the spectacles! Ours is the most dazzling collection in the world, ladies and gentlemen! In the world, I tell you!”
Cecil stands on a platform beside the sideshow’s entrance. He struts back and forth, gesturing
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