It was getting on to evening, the midway point between the circus shows. As I walked among the trailers and trucks of the entertainers' section, I heard “Knox” my name called out. I looked up into the doorway of one of the compartments, walked up the portable steps and looked in. Hidy the clown was sitting on a bunk.
“Come into my humble abode,” he said. “Let me guess. You're making your rounds, ensuring that all is secure in the mighty Young and Long Traveling Circus, am I right?” His hoarse, hollow voice was just audible.
“No,” I replied. “I'm just taking an evening stroll.”
“Ah, going out for your constitutional then.” He nodded and pursed his thick lips.
My eyes made a quick survey of his 'humble abode'. It consisted of a bunk, a folding chair, a trunk, and a small desk with a large mirror. Two fright wigs lay on the desk, along with brushes, combs and make-up kits. A number of clown jump suits with garish colors and powder puff buttons hung from a rack above the trunk.
“All the comforts of home?” he said hoarsely, and then gave a low chuckle. “Not quite.” His bulging eyes looked straight into mine. “Where you from, Knox?”
“Tennessee,” I answered.
“A long state. What part of Tennessee?”
“East Tennessee. Temperance.”
“Sounds like a high and dry place in the road.”
“It is,” I replied.
“Please, sit,” he gestured to the folding chair, “and tell me your story.”
“My story?”
“Yes. Everyone has a story.”
I shrugged. “Not much of a story for me.”
“You're not a runaway, are you?”
“A runaway?” I asked in amusement. “Do I look like I'm underage?”
“Age has nothing to do with running away,” he answered. “Just as everyone has a story, everyone is a runner. Some are running away from something, and some are running to something. Are you running away, or running to?”
“I'm not running away from anything,” I said, “but I can't say I'm running to anything either.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
He softly chuckled.
“Let me ask you a question,” I said.
“Shoot,” he responded.
“Are you running away, or running to something?”
“Oh, I'm running to something. Definitely. Now let me ask you another question—or two. When did you join the circus?”
“About three months ago.”
He smiled and wagged his head. “Three months...What possessed you to join it?”
“It was a matter of convenience, I guess,” I replied. “I was unemployed. I'm not married, have no dependents, no obligations. I was just sort of marking time, I guess you could say. The circus came to town, I was ready to leave, so I joined it. I guess I saw it as a way out.”
“So you are running away.”
“I guess so,” I shrugged. “But I'm not running away from any one thing. If I am running away, it's from a treadmill, a road that starts from nowhere and ends nowhere. That's my hometown—Temperance.”
“It's not just your hometown,” the clown said. “That road is all over the country. You're still on the treadmill.”
“Well, at least I'm going somewhere,” I replied. “I'm not physically running in place.”
He looked skeptically at me.
“I mean, I have no illusions about the circus. I had none when I joined it. Now, answer me another question.”
“Ah! Yes, by all means, let's play the game,” the clown laughed. “What's My Line, I've Got a Secret, To Tell the Truth.”
“I answered your questions” I replied, “now you answer mine.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
“How long have you been with the circus?” I asked.
He snorted. “Somehow I knew you were going to ask that. You'll also want to know what possessed me to join the circus of course. To answer the first question, I'll just say that I've been with the circus since Hector was a pup. Not this particular circus, but the circus. And what possessed me to join the circus? Well, now, what is a centaur with only two legs supposed to do? Why, join the circus of course. I've been with it ever since. Do you believe in fate?” he suddenly asked.
“What do you mean by fate?” I asked.
He grinned, showing his big buckteeth. “Fate...Do you know where we are?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “We're in Colorado. Near Denver.”
“So we are,” he said hoarsely. “But do you know where we are exactly?
“You mean the town? Here?”
“Yes.”
“It's a place called Aurora, I think. I don't know. I lose track of the towns, of their names.”
He nodded. “Yes, Aurora...What if I told you that Aurora is my hometown, that I was born here.”
“This is your hometown?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Yes, this is my hometown. And I must tell you that on the night of my birth, the earth did not quake, the moon did not become as blood, graves did not open and the dead walk out. Nevertheless, I was born here. This is my hometown.
“I went to see my parents today,” he continued. “Dear old mom and dad.” He snorted. “Nothing has changed. I went into their house, and there they were—there we were, just like old times. Dear old mom and dad. We probably talked for a grand total of ten minutes before they left. Dad asked me if I was still a clown, and mom asked me how much I was making, and they informed me of their bodily complaints. And that was it. They didn't say anything else. They just suddenly said, 'Well, we've got to go to town, to the store'. And they got up and left.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Nothing's changed. My parents and I were never very close. Not what you'd call a close-knit family.
“My hometown,” he mused. “Not another place like it...I got arrested today.”
“Arrested?” I asked.
He grinned and nodded. “I took a walk in my hometown, and got arrested. After I left dear old mom and dad's house, I thought I'd take a stroll down the old town's lane. I went to the town square, sat on a bench, and, lo and behold, here comes a cop. Seems as though I was the old proverbial stranger in town, so he checked me out; translation: he rousted me. Then, I did the unforgivable. I grew cheeky. So he arrested me, took me to jail.” He laughed harshly. “The funny thing is, I knew him. I went to high school with him. But he didn't remember me. Kept me in jail for four hours, then, out of the goodness of their hearts, they let me go.” He sighed deeply. “What a day. By the time I got back to the circus, I'd missed the first show. And guess what? I got chewed down by old man Young himself. He chewed me out for missing the first show. Gave me an ultimatum. Told me if I missed another show or screwed up in any way, I was through with the circus. Old man Young...For some reason, he doesn't like clowns—or monkeys. It's not just me. He has a vendetta against the entire profession of buffoonery. No one knows why. Perhaps he was frightened as a rug rat by some clown. If he could dispense with them, he would, but he can't do it, because, after all, what's a circus without clowns? So, all in all, it's been quite a day.”
He grinned at me, baring his teeth. “So, tell me, Knox. Do you believe in fate?”
“I don't know,” I replied.
“An honest answer,” he nodded his head. “I like that. Tell me this, do you believe in anything?”
“Yes, but don't ask me what.”
He laughed. “Well-put. You do realize there are only three absolutes in this life, don't you?”
“Three absolutes?” I asked in puzzlement.
“Yes, there are three absolutes—no more, no less. And I, out of the benevolent generosity of my dark heart, am going to tell you what they are. The first absolute is—sex, of course. The second is laughter and cruelty.” He paused and looked at me as if he waited for a response. Then he said, “Do you see? Or do you object?”
“Laughter and cruelty,” I said, “they're...”
“Yes?”
“They're not the same.”
“True, but they are related. Intertwined, so to speak. Laughter contains an element of cruelty. Without cruelty, laughter would not exist.”
“I don't know about that,” I said. “I mean, there are lots of things which cause laughter and which aren't cruel.”
“Name one,” he said.
“Well--” I began, and then stopped. I searched my brain, but I couldn't come up with any funny things.
“There is none,” he rasped in a low voice. “Think of the funniest thing you've ever seen, thought, or heard, and you'll see that what I'm saying is true. What causes laughter? What is its prime element? It's cruelty. It's not beauty, goodness, love. Cruelty makes people laugh; compassion and beauty do not.”
“I don't know,” I said.
“Have you ever watched our performance?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Ah, but have you ever watched the reaction of the audience to our performance?”
“No, I can't say that I have.”
“Watch it sometime. You'll see that the audience never laughs except when there is cruelty involved. Oh, they may be amused, they may smile at some buffoonery, but when it comes to laughter,” he grinned a cold grin and shook his head, “unh unh. The audience finds nothing really funny until cruelty rears its head. Then they laugh. Oh, yes, then they roar.”
“That's two,” I said. “What's the third absolute?”
He looked straight into my eyes. Then, in a hoarse voice, he whispered: “Death.”
His grin broadened and his horse-like teeth—yellowish ivory—dominated his face.
I felt a sinking in my chest and my throat grew dry.
“Wouldn't you agree?” he asked softly as he opened the lid of the trunk. He chuckled lightly. “Have you ever wondered what's beyond all this? What's on the other side? Have you ever thought of how you want to go? Do you want to go out with a whimper—or a bang?”
“Neither one,” I replied. “When I go, I just want it to be quietly.”
“Not me,” he said. He lowered a hand into the trunk. “When I go, I want to hear the sound of laughter.”
He pulled a revolver out of the trunk and placed the long barrel on his temple.
My heart thumped and a cold flash jabbed under my armpits.
“I want to go out with a bang,” he said.
He pulled the trigger. A loud pop sounded and a small flag unfurled from the revolver's barrel. BANG! was spelled out on the flag.
I sat silently for a moment, looking stupefied at the revolver and the flag. Then it hit me and I nervously laughed.
“Pretty neat, hunh?” he said. “Meet the newest addition to my act.” He lowered the gun and looked at it.
“What a chestnut. One of the oldest tricks in the clown's repertoire. But it works. That's the amazing thing. You should have seen the look on your face.”
I felt a momentary anger. I felt as if he'd used me as a guinea pig of sorts to gauge my reaction to the trick. But then I laughed again. It was so hackneyed, and yet so unexpected. It was funny.
“Yes, I'm definitely going to add this to my act,” he said. “The audience will bust a gut. It'll be a real killer.”
I still had about a half-hour till I went on the evening shift. I left Hidy's humble abode and headed for the rec tent.
“Huy-yooo. There he is.”
I looked around and saw Hacker stretched out in the doorway of the mechanics' trailer truck. He lifted an arm in greeting. I walked over and sat on the portable steps in front of the trailer.
“How's it hanging?” he asked.
“About halfway,” I replied.
“Well, the night's young and the day's been long,” he said. “Young and long, just like the circus.” He rumbled out a chuckle at his own wit.
“You working overtime this evening?” I asked.
“Naw, not really. It's my evening to be on mechanic's duty. I like these two-day stands. We should have more of 'em.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Once we leave here, we won't have another one till we reach Salt Lake City.”
“Where do we go after tomorrow?” he asked.
“West, about a hundred and thirty miles.”
“Damn, I hate those long trips.” He rubbed his rump. “My butt gets sore from riding.”
“Mine too,” I replied.
“Chief of insecurity,” he said. “Hey, I know what you need, Knox. Since you're the chief of security for the entire mighty Young and Long Traveling Circus, it's not advisable for you to go around unarmed. A chief of security needs a side arm.”
He got up and walked into the trailer to a metal desk, opened a drawer, pulled out an object and walked back and handed it to me. It was a gun in a holster.
It seemed to be my day for guns.
I pulled it out of the holster and held it gingerly. I kept my finger away from the trigger. I respected guns. I didn't know too much about them other than the fact that they were lethal weapons, made for one thing only.
I examined the revolver. It was heavy. Its barrel was dark gray and its stock reddish brown.; the color of dried blood, I thought. It was a wicked-looking weapon.
“Every chief of security needs some protection,” Hacker said. “Now you know you need and want this, and I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna sell it to you for a hundred bucks. I'll even throw in some shells.”
“A hundred dollars, hunh?” I asked, although I had no intention of buying it.
“That's right,” he replied. “It's my first and only offer. Now if you don't buy it, don't come around here tomorrow asking to see it, because it'll be gone. I know I can sell it.”
I slid the revolver into the holster and handed it to him. “I can't use it. I have no need for a gun.”
Hacker wagged his head and shrugged. “Okay, but you're passing up a damn good deal.”
He suddenly placed two fingers in his mouth and gave out a piercing whistle. “Hidy huy-yooo,” he hollered.
I saw Hidy the clown across the way shambling and jerking toward the rec tent. His walk was a combination hop, stride and jerk. It was as if his whole body was contorted with every step he took.
“Hidy hi, Hidy ho,” Hacker called out.
Hidy raised an arm and opened his mouth wide and gave out a skeletal grin, then he shambled into the rec tent.
Hacker laughed. “Going in to get his pre-show refreshment. He's running a little late.”
“He's had a rough day,” I said.
“Yeah, I heard,” Hacker replied. “He's definitely on old man Young's list. And once you get on that list, it's hard as hell to get off.”
“What is it with Hidy?” I asked.
“What d'you mean?”
“His condition. His walk. Is it some kind of polio, or what?”
“No, it's not polio. It's some kind of degenerative disease. I don't know the name of it, but it has to do with the body—and the brain.”
“Damn,” I said softly. “Degenerative?”
“Yeah. He'll probably be dead within five years.”
“He's dying?” I murmured.
“Yeah. But, then, aren't we all?”
“Yeah, but...not like that.”
Hacker shrugged. “We all have to go sometime.”
There was a full house under the big top. All the bleachers on both sides of the three rings were packed.
Young Young, as the nephew of old man Young was called, was doing his ringmaster bit. He wore a red coat with tails and a top hat.
He introduced the clowns, and they came scurrying out like a pack of psychedelic-colored rats. I noticed Hidy at the rear of the pack.
As Hidy ran in front of young Young, the ringmaster suddenly stuck out his leg. Hidy tripped over it and went sprawling. He ran smack into a pole and slid down. The crowd laughed.
Hidy slowly got up, holding onto the pole for support. A grimace of pain-frustration was on his face. He gave young Young a look that said What the hell are you doing? Young Young gave Hidy an innocent look as if to say What's the problem.
I stood there, amazed. I had seen the clowns' act a number of times, enough to know that what young Young had done was not part of the show.
The crowd around the middle ring sounded its laughter at the antics of the three clowns in the center. One clown with an enormous rubber hammer had bopped another clown who had staggered into a third carrying a ladder causing him to swing around and knock down the clown with the hammer.
The audience around the other two rings was quiet. The clowns in the far ring put on a rather elaborate pantomime. Hidy and a fellow clown put on a more lively pantomime in their ring. It involved Hidy being hypnotized by a clown-doctor, losing his hair, and then screeching when he viewed himself in a mirror. He then decided to do himself in because of his hair loss. The clown-doctor supplied him with a gun, he went through a pantomime of preparation, and then he brought the revolver up to his head. He set his arm on his forehead in a melodramatic gesture, and then he pulled the trigger. A loud pop sounded and the flag unfurled. Hidy looked dumbly at the revolver; then the audience began to laugh. Hidy chased the clown-doctor around the ring, and then they exited. The audience laughed and cheered and clapped.
I suddenly thought of what Hidy had said: “The audience never laughs except when there is cruelty involved.”
Yes...Hidy was right....
I awoke in a strange, unfamiliar way: gradually, after sunrise.
I stretched in my bunk, and then I just lay there, enjoying the luxury of not having to suddenly get up in the darkness of predawn.
I looked forward to the forthcoming day. It would be easy, almost like a holiday. I would have only a few hours' work during the two shows, and then about an hour's work after the last show. And it was payday too.
I made my way to the back door of the mess truck, stuck my head inside and engaged Cap the head cook in conversation and finagled a cup of coffee from him.
“You heard the latest?” he asked.
“No. What's up?”
“Hidy got sacked.”
“What!”
“Yep. This morning. Old man Young sacked him.”
“What for?”
“Him and young Young got into it.”
“They did?”
“Yep. It happened here at breakfast. I didn't see what or who started it, but I saw the main event. Hidy got the worst of it, which is not surprising considering the size of young Young, but Hidy got some licks in on him.” He chuckled, and then frowned. “I had to pull young Young off of Hidy. I felt like getting a lick in on him myself. Never did like him.”
“So, you don't know what started it?”
“No. I looked out onto the dining area, and there they were, going at it.”
“Last night I saw young Young trip Hidy, as he came out for the show.”
“Yeah, young Young, he's a prick. Only reason he's around is he's 'family'--old man Young's nephew. He's still a prick. Never did like him.”
“So why'd old man Young fire Hidy?”
Cap shrugged. “He don't like clowns, I guess. And he don't like Hidy. I don't know.”
“Sounds like he's just using the fight as an excuse to sack him.”
“Yeah, most likely. It's a damn shame.”
to be continued...
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