Carnival of Sorrows

by
Thomas McNulty^©

        The suffocating heat clung to her flesh like a hot whisper. They all felt it. One of them wanted her. She sensed it as a group of young men approached. She had her kiosk set up midway between the food concessions and the gaming booths. Rowena cast a spell. Just a small one, she said to herself, to make certain he's bewitched.
         The young man was appraising her Asian features, her dark hair that showed the faintest trace of red in the neon glare. Yes, his eyes took in her soft lips, the hint of tongue, her white teeth. But it was her Asian eyes – cat's eyes – that held him. He had the mark. She saw it in his aura, felt it in his soul. Her hunger rose.
        He was on the periphery of a group, all about twenty, hot and anxious. She studied him until he blended into the crowd. Then Rowena busied herself telling fortunes. The heat made it easy to turn a dollar. People were anxious, sweaty, eager for something not even the wisest of them could identify. She had plenty of time before he returned.
        The cards fell across the green felt.
        Her crystal ball glimmered.
        She had a small CD player under the table and she played Midnight Syndicate or Nox Arcana. She told all of the fat women there was good sex in their future. That's what they wanted to hear. She told the young girls there was romance in their future. That's what they wanted to hear, too. Later, they would all swear they saw a face floating in the crystal ball. The man of their dreams, ethereal, caught between shards of light.
        The carousel spun in the dying sunlight. Music drifted up from the tents.
        The day waned and faces appeared.
        Rowena noticed Maritza peering out at her from behind a bale of hay. Finally Maritza steeled herself and waddled swiftly across the causeway. She was remarkably light on her feet, nearly floating over the thick electrical cables that whipped into the Ferris Wheel's motor.
        "Will we eat?" Maritza asked.
        Rowena smiled.
        "I think so, yes."
        "It's been so long."
        "Yes. But I am certain tonight we will eat."
        "I won't need much," Maritza said, "Because midgets like me are so small. Only a little food will fill me up."
        "There will be plenty for all." Rowena said. "And don't call yourself a midget. You're a little person."
        Maritza nodded her head and drifted away. Not much time passed before Olaf the Strong-Man appeared. His biceps glistened with sweat, his leopard skin costume clinging to his perspiring form. He ran a calloused hand nervously over his bald head.
        "We are so hungry." Olaf said.
        "It won't be long now." Rowena said in a reassuring tone.
        "We've been here a week already."
        "Tonight." Rowena said.
        The Ferris Wheel's lights rolled into the sky and the calliope lured customers along the avenue of games. Coins jingled loose from pockets. Arcades hummed the melody of thieves. Cotton candy spun onto cardboard cones and slipped into the hands of eager children. Teenage girls clung to their boyfriends, happy to win a stuffed doll.
        The sun went down and more faces began to appear. The Bearded Lady, taking a break from her skit, passed with a furtive glance in Rowena's direction. The Pin Head Twins and the Tattooed Lady all strolled near her booth.
        He was back just as the sky was awash with a smoldering orange. When she looked up from The Hanged Man card she made eye contact with him. Forty feet away and through a crowd his gaze had found her and she knew for certain then. He held her with his eyes, defiant. She allowed a small smile to tug at her lips but then busied herself with a customer.
        She felt his eyes on her as she read a spinster's palm.
        The spinster faced a life alone in a small, dingy apartment. Her death from ovarian cancer at age 57 would be a relief from the disappointment of her life. Rowena told her it was possible that romance loomed in her future. A lie that's hope might dissipate in a week, but still, a week of hope could change things. Rowena knew that hope was the strongest lie.
        After the spinster was gone Rowena busied herself with the cards and intentionally avoided looking up. Then he spoke.
        "You're a sharp one, aren't you?"
        She looked up and held his gaze. Let him look into her startling green eyes. She knew what he saw. A green so sharp and clear it took a man's breath away. Her pupils were speckled with gold. Her tan flesh and intrinsically beautiful Asian features made her appear a centerfold, but out of place here amidst the gaudy machinery of a traveling carnival.
        "I beg your pardon." She said, smiling.
        He had long dark sideburns, wore black jeans and scuffed workman's boots. His t-shirt was matted with perspiration. She guessed him at twenty-one; virile and stubborn. A fierce looking punk who didn't know half of what he thought he knew. Trouble.
        "I noticed you earlier." She said pleasantly. "I was hoping you'd stop over."
        Surprised, he nodded his head. He broke eye contact, as Rowena knew he would. He calculated his next sentence.
        "I got a car. Maybe we can go someplace? I'll take you for a ride."
        "Yes, that would be nice. But I need to stay near the group tonight. Perhaps you'd like to stay awhile. There's a private place we can talk later."
        Confused but intrigued, he had no recourse but to say "Yeah."
        Perfectly white teeth smiled at him, eyes sparkling under manicured eyebrows.
        He had to get a grip. This was what he wanted, but he was confused at how it was unfolding.
        "So you tell them lies and take their money? Cool job. I could use some action like that."
        He laughed at his own bravado. His tone of voice gave him away. He wanted her to believe that he was savvy to everything, that he knew it all. All young men at his age were like that, but this one had a darker edge. That was why she picked him. He stood with his hands in his back pockets, his jeans nice and snug. He was muscular and lean. Like a cougar, she thought. Fifty years ago they called his kind greasers. Now he was just a punk.
        "I don't lie to everybody." She said evenly. "Some fortunes I tell are truthful."
        "Yeah, like you wanna tell my fortune."
        "I was hoping to." She smiled. A sweet smile, not too seductive. She didn't want to scare him away.
        "Yeah, well, I don't have money..."
        "Oh, its free." She said.
        He looked at her. The spell she conjured earlier wrapped around him. He never knew it, of course, but it had been waiting for him. He took the pack of cigarettes that he had rolled into his t-shirt's sleeve, plucked a white stem and lit up. He grinned. He had a slippery smile that told a future of its own. The smile of a thousand lascivious men Rowena had known, all baring their teeth like animals. He looked off at the crowd, almost as if he were aware of her trap, but was feigning disinterest. Rowena wanted to laugh.
        "Nothin's free." He said. "So why do you want to tell my fortune?"
        Rowena's practiced blush worked miracles. She looked away and let him take it all in. He worked at the cigarette, blew smoke into the sky. She could smell his sweat now, the testosterone boiling inside of him.
        After a reasonable pause she said. "I'm bored. I'd like some company."
        He snorted, almost derisively.
        "Yeah, like I can be your friend if that's what you're thinking. But it's not gonna be like we get together and watch the stars and hold hands. You know what I mean?"
        "Yes, I do. That's not what I'm looking for."
        He looked at her. He had dark eyes that seemed to repel the light. He had a rough stubble of beard along his jawline that clung to him like dirt and added to his swarthy appearance. And the darkness was real enough. Rowena felt its presence coil like a snake, reaching for her. She suppressed the urge to scream. Instead she gave him another smile, let her own eyes take him in. It was the kind of look that made men itch for a woman and this one was certainly beyond resisting her.
        "Yeah, yeah." He said, almost brutishly as he watched her rise from her seat. She came around the booth and he took it all in; the sway of her hips, the half-moons of jiggling breasts. Now she would be strong. The lightning took root in her fingertips as she prepared her body for his coupling; then her mind created a storm and she placed that spell to the side.
        "Do you see that red tent far in the back?" she asked.
        He followed her gesture and saw the tent set far back behind the gaming booths and travel trailers. Next to it was a blue tent.
        "The red tent, sure I see it."
        "Why don't we go inside. It will be so nice to be alone."
        Obediently he followed, as he was destined to follow.
        The tent was red silk and inside a small but ornate love seat, quite ancient and valuable, rested in the center. Nearby stood a small nightstand and next to that a candelabra. There was a small chair and card table upon which rested a tarot deck. He gave them barely a passing glance. The candle light rippled against silk walls.
        "Cool." he said.
        Rowena faced him thinking this was the moment but he hesitated.
        "I slept in a tent once," he began, "My buddy had one. Took it out to Colorado on a road trip. It was cool. We slept in the mountains."
        He looked at his hands, flicked ash from his cigarette, took a drag and dropped it onto the ground. Then, almost self-consciously, he ground the cigarette butt under his heel. His brow furrowed, his suspicion rising.
        "Like I said, no money."
        "This isn't about money." She said.
        If there was grief she set it aside, let the storm build, intent on her purpose. He was so young and it was folly to think he might be saved.
        She could not hesitate.
        She let her garments fall from her body. He was on her instantly, hands probing, kneading her with calloused fingers. She yielded to him, his weight crushing her as he reveled in her nakedness, conscious of the fact that she was somehow different, yes, and he was so lucky as he took her, and there was pain...soft, a tiny flicker of pain somewhere deep inside of him. He shuddered, not knowing that she had conjured another spell, groping her way along his lifeline...a sputtering glow like a candle brushed by a warm breeze...then she went back and saw his mother cut her umbilical cord with scissors...saw his mother drop the brawling infant into a trash container and flee the alley...she saw his rescue by paramedics, the childhood in a foster home with his alcoholic step-parents...saw the first pain he knew as a child, the pain that never left him...she saw these things and began to understand his sorrow...but Rowena was searching, tracing his lifeline with her mind's eye, seeking...until she went forward and found the murderer that he would become...there was a woman and her unborn daughter two years hence...and the mark on his soul, all of the long sorrows of his life a black thing that writhed in his heart...and she waited for him to finish...
        A few moments later he pushed up from her, satisfied, no longer interested. He had what he wanted. Rowena's spell lingered unseen in the air.
        "I'll tell your fortune now." She said, slipping on a robe.
        "Yeah." He sat numbly on the loveseat, buckling his pants, utterly bewitched. "What's my future look like?"
        Rowena sat in her chair and let the arcane cards spill across the table.
        "If I let you leave here you'll kill a woman and her unborn child in two years."
        He looked at her with uncomprehending eyes.
        "Yeah?"
        "So I can't let you leave here."
        She rose and crossed the room and before he could move she pressed her fingers to his face and the spell took hold.
        He blinked once and took in a breath and died.
        Rowena cradled his head as he slumped over, holding him gently so that his body wouldn't fall to the floor. Almost immediately Olaf entered the tent and took the body in his massive arms.
        "He will make a good meal?" Olaf asked.
        "Yes." Rowena said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "And we saved two lives."
        Composing herself, Rowena followed Olaf to the blue tent behind the arcades. He set the body on a long wooden table and Rowena helped him strip the clothes away. Olaf brought out a black satchel and unzippered the case. A gleaming collection of razors and small saws winked in the glare of the lightbulbs strung across the tent. The propane stove flared to life; the charcoal grill began to heat.
        Olaf chose his instruments and went to work. He was methodical and worked with care. The dissection was meticulous. The flesh peeled away and the bone marrow was extracted and mixed with flour to make pie crust. The muscle cut into steaks, sandwich strips and sausages. As Olaf was working The Bearded Lady and the Tattooed Women entered the tent. The Bearded Lady cut small filets from his flesh and fried them in a pan. She salted the filets, waiting anxiously for the meat to darken. The smell of cooking meat mingled with the charcoal smoke and congealed with the humid air. It was a heady aroma that made Rowena's stomach growl.
        The Bearded Lady left momentarily with the Tattooed Lady and returned carrying a trunk between them. From this they unwrapped a set of porcelain dishes inset with an intricate scene etched in dark blue. Seraphim took flight against a storm tossed sky. Rowena glanced at the dishes, recalling the afternoon long ago when the archangel Moloch had presented the dishes to her.
        "If their souls shall perish in their youth," she said softly, recalling Moloch's words, "Their life shall be wounded by angels."
        Olaf, hearing Rowena, glanced at her but remained silent.
        They prepared the food and cooked into the night. At last, they gathered at a large table for their dinner. The Tattooed Women said a quick prayer.
        "A woman and her unborn child shall be graced." Rowena announced.
        Olaf ate his steak slowly, savoring the charred meat. Tears welled in his eyes, dropping heavily onto his plate.
        Then...a...flash...he was the child...lost in the dark...he saw...he felt...he was...the child...weeping in the dark...the fear that welled in him and paralyzed him; the whipping from his step-father's belt. It was such immense pain for a child to bear. Olaf had not known such pain was conceivable. Olaf the strong became the weak and hurt boy with each bite, yet he could not stop eating. He endured the pain.
        He wept silently as he ate.
        He tasted of the killer's pain and wept.
        They all ate silently, tears falling from their eyes, chewing the meat slowly.
        The sting of the belt buckle upon skin caused them to gasp.
        The Pin Head twins held each other a moment.
        After several years he no longer cried but they cried now as they ground him with their molars, consuming him.
        The men that ran the arcades and game booths avoided eye contact with the others. They ate silently, refusing to acknowledge anyone's presence.
        Something that was colder than ice had formed on the boy's soul.
        He re-shaped himself without the heart they had ripped from his body long before his death. The desolation of lost angels could not compare to this and Maritza paused momentarily, held her face into the sleeve of her blouse and sobbed uncontrollably. After a few moments she began chewing again.
        Pain became his sword. Sunlight never to warm his pale flesh.
        So they had their meal, lost with the needle points of despair from the dead boy's soul.
        "Tell us about the unborn child." Maritza said later.
        Rowena finished chewing her food and looked into the sad faces gathered about the table.
        "She will be a beautiful young girl." Rowena said, "But more than this I cannot see."
        "But you know that she will be beautiful." Olaf said.
        "Yes, very beautiful. And her mother is beautiful."
        "Two beautiful women to enjoy life." Olaf said. "That alone is a blessing."
        "Yes, it is a blessing." Maritza said.
        "It's all that we can do." Rowena said.
        Each of them satiated their hunger, weeping over their food; but at last their hunger was appeased and their grief was muted by the languid feel of a full stomach.
        Later, Olaf stood at the table rubbing his belly. The tears had left stains running down his cheeks. "This one was very sad." He announced.
        "Yes." Rowena agreed.
        "But I am full." Olaf said. "Now we can travel again."
        Olaf went from the tent and Rowena and the Tattooed Woman and The Bearded Lady gathered all of the dishes and cleaned them in a washbasin. When the dishes were sparkling they stored them neatly in the trunk, handling each dish reverently. They wrapped the dishes in small cotton towels to help prevent them from breaking. Then Rowena and The Bearded Lady lifted the trunk and returned it to their trailer. Once the crate of dishes were secured they went out to find Olaf and help the men disassemble the rides and prepare for the morning's journey.