The Man in the Tree

Chapter Twelve

What does it profit us to preserve these bones, Pretending that the dead will rise some day Clotted with earth, like monsters in a movie, Knowing that underneath the stone The slow centuries leach them one by one away?

Why should it disturb us that a loved one's eye Tomorrow may become a coney's foot and join the dance? Let the molecules go, dispersing into earth and silence: Let them turn again to wrist and elbow, hip and thigh, Trying the old game again, taking another chance. --Gene Anderson

He found Ducklin in a house trailer fitted out as an office, parked among other trailers and semis on a muddy lot outside Orlando. The carnival owner was a little older and fatter; he still wore his baseball cap, pushed back over his balding head. He shook hands and then sat down behind his desk, staring up at Gene. "How tall are you?" he asked.

"Seven feet eight, about."

Ducklin squinted at him and rubbed his cheek with his hand. "Well, we can hype that up a little. Maybe put lifts on you. Now, our season starts March twenty-eight. What I'd like you to do, if you could get down here say about the twenty-sixth, then Mike Wilcox, he's the sideshow agent, he could start showing you the ropes. One thing I can tell you now, you'll need a gold ring that fits easy enough so you can take it on and off and show it to the marks. Just a plain ring, like a wedding ring. Get it made by a jeweler. Then you sell 'em brass copies. Mike might have a box of them brass rings around somewhere to get you started. You buy them by the gross, cost you about eight cents apiece, and you sell 'em for seventy-five cents. Then there's photographs -- eight-by-ten glossies -- you can get them made before you come down. You ought to have about two thousand to start. You sell them, too, autographed, for a buck a shot. Now about transportation, you probably noticed, we travel by truck. How did you come down here?"

"I flew to Orlando and took a cab."

"Uh-huh. Well, you'll need a trailer or something to live in. Tim Emerson, that was our last giant, he had a converted moving van -- he died in fifty-eight. His widow probably still has it; I'll get Mike to find out and let you know. Now, let's see." He opened a drawer of the desk and pawed through it with grunts of exasperation. "Can't find a damn -- Oh, here. Now this is our standard contract for performers." He took out a ballpoint pen, scribbled briefly, and handed the pages over. "You can fill in your name and address up there, and then just sign at the bottom."

"I don't have a permanent address; I thought I'd look around for something down here."

"Well, put down the old one, then, just so we have a mailing address. Then when you get settled, let us know."

Under "Salary," Ducklin had written in an amount that seemed very low, but Gene signed the contract without comment. Ducklin put the pages away in his desk.

"Well, that's about it, then," he said, and held out his hand. "Glad to have you with us, John, and we'll see you, say, around the end of March."

He rented an A-frame cabin on Lake Brantley, north of Orlando, and spent the rest of the winter there alone. He had some of his things shipped down from New York; there was not room for much. The A-frame was jerry-built, and the window wall in front dripped cold air like a slow invisible waterfall.

At the end of January, Ducklin sent him a telegram advising him that Mrs. Emerson still had the converted van and was willing to sell. She lived in Augusta, Georgia. Gene telephoned and arranged to meet her.

The dead giant's house was a tall white Victorian building. It needed a coat of paint, and some of the gingerbread was missing. An orange cat rubbed itself against his legs as he rang the bell.

Mrs. Emerson was a pale, auburn-haired woman with discolored pouches under her eyes. He could not judge her height, but she seemed to be a little taller than most women. "You must be Mr. Davis," she said. "Come in."

They sat in the high-ceilinged living room, on faded plush chairs covered with antimacassars. "I understand you're with the Ducklin show now," she said, with a faint smile.

"Yes. I'm sorry about your husband, Mrs. Emerson."

"It's all right. It was hard on me at first, he was only forty-seven. We were talking about him retiring after the next season. It's a pretty poor life he had, on the road all the time, but what can you do?"

"Yes, I see."

"About the van, it's out in back, up on blocks. It's no good to me. It had an engine overhaul just before Tim died. it might need some more work, I don't know." She named a price.

The van was in the barn behind the house. There were pigeon droppings on the cab, and a starred hole in the windshield. The trailer had one door in the side, and no windows. Because of the dropped frame, there was a center section almost twelve feet high; in the front and rear, over the wheels, Gene found that he had about a foot of headroom. The floor and the steps were carpeted in greasy-looking green shag. The bed was set crosswise in the front, next to a discouraged brown loveseat. The dinette table and two chairs were in the center section; one of the chairs was giant-sized. In the rear were the gas range, aluminum sink, refrigerator, toilet, and shower.

He gave her a check for a thousand dollars more than she had asked for. She took it, but her expression told him that she thought he was crazy. She gave him the address of the firm in Augusta where the van had been converted; he went there and talked to a salesman in the shop. "Well, sir, I'd say you want the engine and transmission checked over, and then new plugs, tires, fan belt. The body, now, that ought to be all right."

Gene told him about the hole in the windshield; the salesman made a note. "Yes, sir, we'll take care of that for you, and we'll look at the plumbing and wiring. About the inside, did you want some new carpeting? Maybe furniture? Might be a little wore-out by now."

Gene agreed to everything: new custom furniture, appliances, cabinets, and fixtures. The salesman's cheerfulness increased with each item until his round, honest face shone with pleasure. At last he retired to his office and came back with a long written estimate. Gene wrote him a check. The salesman was actually rubbing his hands; Gene had read about this in books but had never seen it, "Well, Mr. Davis, we'll have her all ready for you by the first of March, and I promise you won't know the old van."

The van was ready on March tenth. Gene hired a driver to take him to Lake Brantley, then another, on the twenty-seventh, to drive him to the carnival winter quarters.

The carnival lot, muddier than ever, was crowded with trucks, semitrailers, and equipment of all kinds. Workmen were busy around a half-assembled Ferris wheel. Two men walked by carrying a long plank between them. Gene put his head out the window. "Can you show us where to park?"

One of the men said, "Hell, I don't know. Over there, I guess."

"My name is John Davis. Will you tell Mr. Ducklin I'm here?"

"Okay."

Gene paid off the driver, sat in the trailer and waited. After half an hour someone put his head in at the open door. It was a young man in a leather jacket; he had sleek brown hair and a friendly, humorous face.

"Hello, Mr. Davis? My name's Mike Wilcox, I'm the talker for the sideshow."

"Come in. The place is a mess."

Wilcox climbed into the trailer and cast an appraising glance around. "Your first time with the carnival?"

"Yes."

"Well, the main thing is not to carry anything you don't absolutely need. It's amazing what you can do without. You'll get the hang of it, though. Are you nervous?"

"A little."

"Not to worry. Being a sideshow attraction is the easiest thing there is in a carnival. You don't have to do anything, you just are, sort of like the Grand Canyon. 'Freak' is the word they use here, but it's not a putdown, you know, a freak is a member of the upper class, because not everybody can be one. You won't worry about that, will you?"

"No."

"Good. Now you've got your rings all right, have you, and your photographs?"

"Yes, they're in those cartons over there. Are you English?"

"Yes, Birmingham, how did you know?"

"Have you been with the carnival long?"

"Three seasons. I like it, I really do. Ducklin's a dear man, and they're all good people here."

"Would you like a beer, or some coffee?"

"Thanks, I can't stay. I did just want to talk to you for a moment and give you an idea what you're in for. We've got five attractions in the string joint at present, not counting myself -- the Fat Lady, the Lizard Man, the Two-Headed Calf, the Sword Swallower, and you. The Sword Swallower has a routine of course, and that's easy on me; I just have to introduce her and she does her act. Now in your case, all you've got to do is sit there, and stand up when I ask you to, and I'll do the usual sort of spiel. What name do you want to use?"

"It doesn't matter. John Davis is all right."

"No, Davis won't do. Too short. How about, let's see, how about Callaghan? John Callaghan. No, doesn't have the right flow somehow. Pettibone would be good, but for a midget, not a giant."

"They used to call me Shorty in New York," Gene said.

"That's okay in fun, but not for the carnival. Let's see, John Wallingford. John Waterman. I want the three syllables. John Corrigan, too Irish. John Kimberley, Kimberley, I think that's got it. Sounds massive and dignified. What do you say?"

"All right with me."

"Okay, that's settled. Now you can't do an accent, I suppose, so we'll have to make you American."

"I thought I didn't have to talk?"

"People will be coming up to buy the rings, and the photos; you'll have to say a few words now and then, and you don't want to sound like a fake. So, let's see, suppose we make you from someplace like Wyoming. The wide-open spaces. Um, yes, I can work this up. Son of a rancher, and so on. Of course, if you have anything else in mind -- "

"No, that's all right."

"Now, there's one thing you ought to know. In the carnival, nobody ever asks you who you really are or where you come from."

"I'm sorry."

"No, not a complaint. I don't mind a bit myself, and plenty of people will tell you their life histories if you let them, but it's one of the rules that you don't ask. Actually it's one of the things I like about the carnival. Sort of like not having to show your passport."

"Yes, I see."

Wilcox gave him a keen look. "You're a bit down, aren't you?"

"A little, maybe. I'll get over it."

"Of course you will. Now I've got to move on, but if all goes well we'll have a run-through this afternoon, over in that direction, probably about three o'clock. Oh, one more thing -- you'll be needing a driver, and I think I've got one for you, a young man who works on the loop-the-loop. I'll send him round and you can make whatever arrangement you like with him." With a smile and a wave, he was gone.

At three o'clock he found Wilcox and a little group of people standing in a comparatively dry corner of the field. Behind them was a row of chairs, one of which was already occupied by a woman of astounding size; sitting down, she looked as broad as she was tall. Her small head, perched on top of this overflowing mound of flesh, looked as if it belonged to someone else. Her face was soft and sweet. The chair she sat in was a massive wooden construction, much heavier than Gene's, which had been set up at the end of the row; the rest were folding aluminum chairs with plastic webbed seats.

Wilcox saw him and waved him over. "Just in time," he said cheerfully. "Big John, I'd like you to meet the rest of our little troupe. This is Irma LeFever, our fire eater and sword swallower." Irma was a tall young woman, slender and blonde in a T-shirt and blue jeans; she smiled and took Gene's hand for a moment. "Welcome to the show," she said.

"This is Ed Parlow, the Lizard Man." A gray-faced, scholarly-looking man of about forty, dressed in a gray silk robe, nodded, but kept his hands in his pockets. "And this is Betty Ann Forster, our Fat Lady.' She smiled and nodded.

"Now what we'll do," said Wilcox, "is just run through for timing. Irma and I will do the bally, but we can skip that. The order will be Irma, then me with some clever card tricks and feats of prestidigitation, then the Fat Lady, the Lizard Man, the Two-Headed Calf, and finally our new giant, Big John Kimberley. What I'd like you to do is just to take your places while I'm doing the act that comes ahead of you. Before and after you can stand here and watch if you like -- John, this may be your last chance to see the others perform."

Gene was not sure why this should be so, but he said nothing. Irma, the sword swallower, walked over to the end of the row and stood waiting.

Wilcox cleared his throat. "Now, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the act you are about to witness is one of the most amazing, the most incredible, in the history of entertainment. I introduce to you Irma LeFever, the only woman fire eater and sword swallower in the world?"

Irma bowed, then pretended to pick up something in both hands. She held these invisible objects up for inspection, then put one of them down and raised the other. Leaning backward until her face was turned to the sky, she raised her hand and slowly brought the invisible thing she was holding nearer to her face. Gene, watching curiously, suddenly realized that the invisible thing was a metal rod with a ball of rags at the end. The ball of rags was blazing, and now she was lowering it to her open mouth. She closed her lips over it, then opened them and withdrew it. She bowed, then picked up something else invisible and appeared to drink. Now she raised the rod again and blew her breath over the end of it while Wilcox stepped out of the way. The illusion had become so vivid that Gene could see the blast of flame as she sprayed some inflammable liquid over the end of the torch.

She bowed again, set the torch down, and picked up something else, equally invisible. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, you are about to see an act of death-defying courage and skill. This sword is twenty-seven inches long, ladies and gentlemen; it is razor sharp and made of the finest Toledo steel. The slightest miscalculation, and Mademoiselle LeFever will die an agonizing death."

Irma, with a bored expression, leaned backward again, opened her mouth wide, and appeared to lower something into it very carefully and slowly. Now Gene could see the bright sword, which she was holding by the blade; it slipped down into her throat little by little until at last the hilt touched her mouth. Then she drew it out with a flourish, took another bow. Gene applauded; she gave him an ironic glance.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will be kind enough to follow me into the next room -- " Wilcox moved a few feet, down the row, turned, and faced them. "I suppose you know how hard money is to come by these days, but if you happen to know a little magic, it's very easy." He removed a coin from his ear, dropped it into a cup which had appeared in his other hand. Next he took coins from his nose, his other ear, and dropped them into the cup. He reached forward and got another one, apparently from an invisible member of the audience. Wilcox seemed to be enjoying himself, and he was very good.

When he had filled the cup with coins, he dropped them, cup and all, into his pocket and began to produce fans of cards out of nowhere. Gene applauded again when he was through.

Wilcox bowed. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, thank you. Now because you have been so very kind, in order to show my appreciation, I am about to make a special offer, for this day only, it will not be repeated, ladies and gentlemen: I am going to offer you the secrets of three astounding tricks with cards, each one of which will mystify your friends; they require no training, a child can perform them, and I am offering them to you not for twenty dollars, not for ten, not for five, no, ladies and gentlemen, not even for one dollar, but all three tricks for the insignificant sum of fifty cents, a half a dollar. Step right up, if you please -- who will be first? You, sir? There you are, thank you. And you, madame?" He pretended to sell several other packets of card tricks, then led his audience through an invisible curtain to the Fat Lady.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is unbelievable but true, the woman you see before you weighs the astounding total of six hundred and thirty-five pounds, enough solid human flesh to make four large men and have enough left over for a small boy. Betty Ann was born thirty-five years ago in a remote hamlet of Queensland, Australia. She was a normal infant, [ ladies and gentlemen, but when she was five years old she weighed eighty-five pounds, and she has continued to grow in weight and girth every year to this day, until, as you see her before you, she is the largest human being ever to live on earth, a model -- what do I want to say? Oh, damn. -- A miracle of nature, ladies and gentlemen, before your very eyes."

He moved on to the chair in which the Lizard Man had taken his position quietly.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, for your edification and amazement, I present the one and only Lizard Man. Ladies and gentlemen, it is unbelievable but true. Born in the dark bayou country of Louisiana, his mother was attacked by alligators in the swamp and lingered for two months between life and death. She recovered from her horrible ordeal, but when her child was born -- you see the result before you."

The Lizard Man removed his robe; he was wearing white boxing shorts. His arms, legs, and chest were covered with gray, peeling scales. Between the patches of scales, his skin was red and chafed.

"Was that okay, Ed?" Wilcox asked.

"Last year you said, 'Born in the mysterious swamps of Louisiana.' I thought that was better."

"Right. The mysterious swamps of Louisiana, thanks for reminding me."

The next space was empty except for a wooden table. Wilcox gestured at it. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, a true freak of nature, one of the mysteries of the age, the Two-Headed Calf. As you can plainly see, the calf has two complete heads, two noses, four eyes, four ears -- "

"Is it an invisible calf?" Gene said to Irma, who was standing near him.

She looked up and smiled with amusement. "It's pickled, in a glass tank. No use bringing it out for the run-through."

"Oh."

He saw Wilcox looking at him, and realized that it was his turn next. He walked to his chair and sat down.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your amazement and delight I proudly present Big John Kimberley, nine feet three and one-half inches tall, the tallest man who ever lived. Stand up, if you will, Big John, and let them see you. Isn't that amazing, ladies and gentlemen? Big John was born on a cattle ranch in the wide-open spaces of Wyoming in nineteen forty-four; he is twenty years of age, ladies and gentlemen, and he is still growing! Every article of his clothing has to be specially made for him. His shoes are hand-made in London, England; they are fourteen and one-half inches long. There is enough cloth in his coat and trousers to make suits for three men of normal size. The ring which you see on his finger contains four ounces of fourteen-carat gold, and it is one and three-quarters inches across. If you will, Big John, let me borrow your ring for a moment -- I'll be careful of it."

He held up the ring, showed that it would fit over two of his fingers. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, Big John has made replicas of this unique and valuable ring for distribution to the public as souvenirs. These rings are hand-crafted of genuine gold-filled metal, each and every one is an exact duplicate of the ring you see before you, and Big John has consented to sell a limited quantity of these unique and valuable rings for the amazing price of only seventy-five cents each! Take them home, show them to your family and friends, they won't believe you unless they see it with their own eyes. And for an additional proof, ladies and gentlemen, you may purchase for just a dollar one of these large autographed photographs of Big John. Get them now, because this offer may never be repeated! That concludes our performance, ladies and gentlemen, and I hope we have entertained and surprised you. If you can't believe your eyes, if you want to see it again, the next performance will begin in five minutes."

Wilcox looked at his watch and remarked, "Just on eighteen minutes -- that's a bit long, but we'll trim it down. Thanks, all."

The performers began to disperse; Gene saw Irma walking away hand in hand with a slender young man in dungarees. A stout little man had come up with a wheelchair, so large that Gene thought it must have been custom made; with the help of two workmen, he got the Fat Lady into the wheelchair and began pushing her toward the line of trailers. After a moment Gene found himself alone with Wilcox.

"I suppose you know you've added a couple of feet to my height," he said.

"Yes, that's all right. The marks don't know the difference, and nobody's going to measure you. There's never been a giant whose size wasn't exaggerated -- beginning with Goliath, probably."

"Or the Nephilim."

"Oh, sorry, who'were they?"

"'The sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair.' Genesis. The Nephilim were the children born of those unions -- 'There were giants in the earth in those days.' They had a lot of other names too -- Anakim, Emmim, Zamzummim. The Israelites found them in Canaan, and they said, 'We were as grasshoppers in their sight.'"

"Yes, I see. I'm not very strong on the Bible, I'm afraid -- never got past the begats. But about the nine feet and so on -- it's harmless deception, or beneficial really, because the marks pay to see a tall man, and the taller they think he is, the more they get for their money. We're all in the illusion business here. Well, I'm off -- tomorrow's the first of May."

"The first of May?"

"That's what they call opening day, heaven knows why. If anybody asks you, 'Are you first of May?' that's what they mean -- are you new to the show? You'll catch on. See you tomorrow."

The driver Wilcox had promised appeared later that afternoon; he was a pleasant, shy young man named Larry Scanlon, who seemed to think it was a privilege to drive for a giant. The carnival caravan put itself together late that evening, with what seemed an enormous amount of confusion; it was after one o'clock when Larry told him they were ready to roll.

"Does the carnival always travel at night?" Gene asked.

"Sure, because, you know, you got to tear down one place and set up the next day somewheres else. And besides there's less traffic at night and the staties don't hassle you so much. You might as well go on and go to bed, Mr. Kimberley. I see there's a intercom here in the cab -- is it working?"

"I suppose so."

"Let's try her out."

Gene went into the trailer and turned on the intercom over his bed. There was a hiss, then a crackling voice: "Mr. Kimberley, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Well, okay, then we're all set. If you want to talk to me, like if you wake up or anything, or there's any problem, give me a holler. Otherwise, why, just get your sleep. Good night, Mr. Kimberley."