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The brothers were lively, talkative fellows, which saved me from having to think of conversation. I enjoyed their banter and was content to listen. I must admit, I also was proud to be seen in their company—they were well built and handsome, and I hoped this reflected upon me. Here I am, girls, I announced silently. I’m just like them. There’s nothing up my sleeve but a regular arm.
After we’d eaten, the brothers said they would show me where the parade would start, before they went off to change. As we rounded the big top, I noted that small tents and cages again formed a midway in front of the large tent.
“What kind of sideshows have you?” I asked Frank.
“Sideshows!” he exclaimed. “Oh, no—Marvel Brothers doesn’t approve of sideshows. Much too common. Gives the place a bad name.”
“All those dancing girls doing the hootchy-kootchy,” Eddie joined in. “Terrible, terrible. Morally corrupt.”
“Dash, I’d like a few dancing girls,” said Frank.
Eddie laughed. “Dash, me too. All we’ve got is a menagerie. Much more wholesome.”
“What about games?” I asked.
“Even if the games are honest, every time someone loses, it perpetuates the idea that we’re all thieves and criminals,” said Eddie.
“Anyway, it’s gambling—Marvel Brothers doesn’t approve of gambling,” said Frank.
The Marvel brothers didn’t approve of much. I wondered that they went into this line of business. “So, there are no human oddities?” I asked.
“The proprietors of the Marvel Brothers Circus do not approve of people with physical differences who exhibit themselves,” said Frank.
Eddie put on a pompous voice. “God’s creatures should not be gawked at for their imperfections.”
“That’s kind of them,” I answered. “I’m sure that many people with differences would prefer a regular job instead.”
“Oh, that’s not in the Marvel Brothers philosophy either,” Eddie said.
“I hear some poor woman once tried to sell her baby to Geoffrey Marvel,” said Frank. “It had webbed feet, didn’t it?” he asked his brother, who shrugged. “Mr. G. Marvel had her arrested for white slavery.”
“What about the baby?” I asked. I almost agreed with Mr. Marvel about the mother.
“Had it put in an asylum, I think,” Frank answered, shattering any sympathy I might have had for the Marvel point of view.
“But that’s for mad people,” I protested.
“Well, those with deformities like that don’t usually have their wits about them, do they?” said Eddie. “It was the kindest thing to do.”
My heart ached to think of that poor child—as smart as any, probably—brought up as an imbecile, if someone in the madhouse didn’t kill it first. I opened my mouth to contradict and then shut it again. Would it do any good to disagree? Perhaps in time, when they knew me better, I could set them straight.
I supposed that the Marvel brothers wouldn’t approve of human oddities having children, either. They wouldn’t approve of me. How dare they? I thought, and then it hit me. If I were to keep my job, I would have to be quiet about my family. That didn’t sit well. I had left my family, yes, but I wasn’t ashamed of them. Or was I? I had just been basking in the reflected normality of the Arabian brothers because it gave me a chance with the girls. I flushed uncomfortably.
Eddie pointed out where a crowd had formed to watch the workers run here and there between wagons, harnessing the horses, camels, and elephants for the parade. Frank waved cheerfully as the brothers headed back to their car. I joined the knot of observers and marveled at the wonderful, ornate tableau wagons, bursting with primary colors and etched in gold. Scenes from mythology and the Bible enhanced the flat panels; creatures of story grew out of the carved adornments. A few of the wagons had plate glass sides—dens, I heard someone call them. One contained the largest lion I had ever seen, another offered a nest of live serpents, according to its painted sky board. I could make out something mottled and thicker than my thigh, twined around a tree limb propped within.
Riders on every sort of mount joined the assemblage, including Frank and Eddie on their camels. They waved me over to join them. Mr. Geoffrey Marvel stalked up and ordered the procession. Another big man acted as his lieutenant and looked so much like him that I could only assume him another Marvel brother. I no longer wanted to introduce myself. I had an uncomfortable feeling that they would divine my flaws and condemn me on the spot.
The band arrived and took its place on the lead wagon, creating a jumbled cacophony as they tuned their instruments. When the trumpeters raised a fanfare, the loose ribbon of gaudy participants took on a tighter discipline, then the Grand Street Pageant of Glorious, Gorgeous Cavalcade moved off. I trotted along beside the camels, as excited as the town boys who whooped and cheered and turned cartwheels in the street. I loosened my collar. Darn this being a grown-up. I missed the baggy shirts and bare feet of childhood. Clowns ran in and out of the crowd that lined the street, pinching the boys, pretending to kiss the girls, and throwing buckets of confetti at one another. I laughed with the townies and nodded to all who caught my eye, including a few blushing local girls. If I stopped to think, however, I amounted to neither fish nor fowl, with no clear place in the parade or out. How I wished I could be on a camel beside the Arabian brothers.
I imagined myself high above the street on a leggy beast. Behind me sat a dusky beauty, her arms around my waist. I waved to the crowd, and they cheered. The girl whispered in my ear that I was wonderful and what rewards she would give me.
Then I tripped over a curb and almost fell.
I must get that phantom girl out of my head, I thought, else I’ll do myself some damage. I grinned. I should know better than to let a fortune-teller’s tale of love and foreign ladies turn my head and give me dreams, but now that dancing girl was even haunting my waking hours. Ah, well, the feelings that accompanied her were delicious and worth indulging.
In a little ove
r an hour we were back at the circus lot, and I hurried to the Happy Times carriage to meet Mr. Rose for our first rehearsal. I felt the sweat on my brow as I stood in front of the target. I swore not to let Mr. Rose see me flinch, no matter what, but as it happened, the practice session went well. Although a few hits were a little snug for my taste, none actually touched me.
