Circus of the Grand Design (19 page)

The day-illumining in the hall had dimmed to night, and as she came into the light of his room, he saw she wore a short denim skirt with a white linen jacket. She had curled her hair too and applied lipstick.

"You look great," he said. "What's the occasion?"

He told her he would change out of his costume and meet her in the dining car. He couldn't risk antagonizing her, not when events had brought him so close to acceptance into the circus, and to show he appreciated her effort, he put on khaki slacks, cream shirt, and black penny loafers, the clothes he had worn his last day at work, before taking the train to Are No's.

~

The dining car had transformed into competing bouquets of minty green. A planter box filled with ivy and ferns now ran along the window sills, spilling greenery onto the tables and down the walls, which had been repainted a warm terracotta. Flowering plants hung from the ceiling in wicker baskets, and on the floor by the counter, a dark-leafed shrub exploded from a red and yellow ceramic pot. The room exuded an atmosphere of expectation, as if the bones of the train welcomed Lewis into his new role.

But hadn't he just walked through here with the sack of armor? He must have been so preoccupied with his new role (and the shape of Dawn's underarms) that he hadn't noticed the changes. No—before that...
before that
...sitting...listening to Gold.

A hand gripped his elbow. "Hey prince," Bodyssia said, her voice soft.

Why were his knees resting on the floor?

"Felt faint for a second," he said, lifting himself back up. "I'm okay now."

Cinteotl bowed to them. "Good evening, my fine customers. A many-limbed banquet awaits you, dish after succulent dish." He reached behind the counter for a white linen cloth and placed it over one of the tabletops. They sat. Bodyssia took off her jacket, revealing a black, silky-looking tank top. When she twisted around to drape the jacket over the back of the bench seat, Lewis stared at her newly revealed underarms, banded by muscle, deep and mysterious.

Cinteotl returned with a candle in a silver candlestick, bottle of wine, and two glasses. He bowed again, filled the glasses, and left.

Bodyssia raised her glass. "Forlorn, unborn, shining sunrise, come to me now in warm embrace," she said, and he clinked his glass to hers. "Soft sky, lie upon the world. Steal away my soul on freight of gold. Shake yourself free of dust and time."

He found himself enjoying her flow of language and expression, so out of character for her. No one on the circus train was ever what they first appeared to be. Perry, with his books and metal, Dillon and his pennywhistle, Dawn...

"How often I lie outside where the winds blow dark. I follow a path laid by each step as I take it."

They finished a course and Cinteotl brought another. Lewis felt as though he was stocking up on food, preparing his body for a time when he would have none.

Feasting over, Bodyssia picked up her jacket and reached for his hand. She rose from the table, pulling him along. "Away with us to abodes of silken splendor." She draped an arm over his shoulders, forcing him to match her long stride. He lay his palm on her back, feeling the thick muscle beneath the fabric.

Her room had no furniture besides a futon mattress on the floor. The walls were bare white. A pile of straps and balls from her animal act lay in a corner.

"Oh, pleasures honed by honest labor, I claim this moment of our choosing." She picked him up and kissed him.

Where should he put his hands and what should he do with them? He couldn't imagine trying to undress her. She put him down and started unbuttoning his shirt. He surprised himself by unzipping her denim skirt. The skirt fell; she kicked it off, then bent to remove her shoes. He did the same with his own. When he looked up, she had taken off her shirt...muscles and skin, so much skin. She reached for his penis, so insignificant beside her long, thick fingers. An erection would be impossible.

"Pale member, may you find comfort soon," she said, and kissed him there. She lowered herself onto the bed, pulling him after.

He started trembling, a slow shake that began at the toes and continued up his torso. She kissed his lips, then his chest. Why was he trembling? He touched her stomach, felt the hard muscle there, then slid both shaky hands along her sides to her breasts, unintentionally slipping the fingers of his right hand into the warm space of her underarm. She pulled him inside her and grunted; she cried louder, shook him, held his hips and moved him back and forth until she orgasmed, a soft, sweet whisper, then he did too, inhaling sharply with it.

She held him tight, keeping him inside her. Half expecting her to disappear like Cybele, he stroked her chest and stomach, kissed her breasts; she smiled and closed her eyes. After a minute or so, she relaxed her grip. She started snoring.

He lifted himself off her, gathered his clothes, and dressed.

When he reached his car, Dawn was coming toward him. It looked like she had been rehearsing. She wore tights and had pinned her hair up. Her long-sleeved top covered her underarms.

"There you are, big guy, all dressed up nice and pretty."

He couldn't help laughing. After being with Bodyssia, it relieved him to encounter someone so much smaller.

"Well I guess you're glad to see me too." She reached up to kiss him. He could smell elephant all over her. "I got here just as soon as I finished rehearsing. I was going back to my room to get paper to leave you a note."

Note about what? He hoped this wouldn't take long, whatever she wanted. As he opened his door to let her in, he had a sudden tinge that Cybele be there, but the room was empty.

"I brought something to toast your new part." She held up a bottle of wine.

Dawn's newfound interest confused him, but then so had Bodyssia's. Everything conspired to throw him off balance.

"Luck, lights, and love," she said as she handed him a glass. "May the spotlight always give us happiness." They sipped. She stepped closer to kiss him again, then put her glass down on his desk. "Can I borrow a shirt? I want to get out of these stinky things."

He chose his tank top, a long-waisted basketball jersey from his college intramural team. The shirt would fit her like a dress. He handed it to her, wondering whether she would take off her clothes in front of him, but she went into the bathroom.

While she changed, he opened his journal and sat at the desk. Sex unlocks, he wrote, disassembles miniature puzzles and hides the pieces, each in its own universe, each whole even when apart, each taking on a semblance...Dawn emerged wearing his shirt. She raised both hands to the back of her head to unclasp her hair. He looked at her underarms, which had excited him so much when he saw them in the dining car, and found himself getting another erection. He needed to be close to them, press his lips in deep. He had barely brushed the surface of Bodyssia's, but Dawn, here before him, hers would be his treasure. When she sat on his lap he thought of the reversal of positions from his encounter with Bodyssia, but when she kissed him he stopped thinking.

Later, it was his turn to fall asleep and hers to leave. He heard her open and close the door. A few minutes later, he got up and went into the bathroom. When he came out, Cybele was sat at his desk, staring into the cloudy windows and stroking the rosemary. At least she's clothed, he thought, noting her sleeveless green dress, tied at the waist with a supple vine. She rose and pulled the vine apart. Her dress crumpled at her feet.

He was still naked, and as she reached toward him, he watched, amazed, as his penis grew erect to meet her fingers.

She released him and sat on the bed, waiting. He gazed at her, wondering how he could ever have loved anyone else. She raised her arms to bare their underside, and he rushed toward them, burying his face in the warm, tangerine-scented hair and skin.

~

He awoke curled fetus-like beside her, his head resting beneath her breasts. He was surprised, and pleased, to find her still there. With her skin against his face, a gentle scent of citrus flowed over him, like waking beneath blooming orange trees. He slowly became aware of his hands pressed against her thighs, and began to stroke her stomach. She stirred, but didn't wake; he pressed his cheek into her breasts. Despite her concrete presence in his bed, she remained an apparition to him.

She placed a hand on top of his head and he turned his face toward hers. "Good morning," he said, trying to act casual. "I'm starved—how about we go see what Cinteotl's got for breakfast."

With a look suggesting deep, unspoken significance, she handed him a stone figurine, an abstract, female form about the size of his thumb. The stone was black with gold veins; it warmed his palm, and he stared at it, wondering if the warmth came from her having held it, or if it radiated its own heat.

"Thank you. It's my treasure." He kissed her; she sank back into the mattress, bringing him with her.

A banging on the door woke Lewis from a dream of flying horses. He sat up, confused. What would happen if Bodyssia broke in and found Cybele in his bed? But Cybele wasn't in his bed. Her disappearance was unsettling. He had thought: this time she'll stay. The figurine lay on the desk. Not wanting whoever was out there to see it, he put it in a drawer. The knocking started again. "I'm coming," he said, and pulled on underwear and shorts.

Perry, not Bodyssia. "Come on, we've got to rehearse."

What was Perry talking about? He stood in the doorway, staring at the jockey. Perry reached up and shook his shoulder. "Get it together, man, there's work to do."

"I'm ready. Meet you in the dining car? Need coffee."

Lewis sat on the edge of his bed. Horse, something about the horse...socks, those blue ones would do...whose eyes were blue? Perry wanted to rehearse with the horse...their act...that would be it, their act...hadn't prepared an act, he would put on the blue socks though, that would make a good start, and pants, boots even, if he was going to be getting on that horse, the real one, not the flying horse. No, the flying horse had been the dream. Cybele's horse didn't fly.

For luck, he took Cybele's figurine from the drawer and slipped it into a pocket.

Perry waited while Lewis drank a cup of coffee and ate a banana. When they reached the elephant car, Dawn and Leonora had finished their own rehearsal, and Barca was moving the elephants into the meadow pen. Dawn waved to Lewis. He wondered how she would act around him. Would she acknowledge their liaison publicly? And if she did, what about Bodyssia?

He sat on a stool while Perry tethered Gautier in the practice area and removed a saddle from a storage bin. Leonora and Barca left, but Dawn stayed. As she walked toward him, Lewis thought about what his sex with her had been like. He remembered few specifics past his excitation on seeing her underarms. The memory embarrassed him. Wouldn't she find such an attraction odd? He had never thought of himself as someone with sexual fetishes. And Cybele had known, had raised her arms to snare him. Despite the constant arousal Cybele brought him, he appreciated Dawn's humanity. At least he could, after a fashion, understand her. She stood close to him now, brushing her thigh against his and touching his arm while she spoke about how much she had enjoyed their time together.

Perry called to him. Dawn left. Until now, the significance of what was about to occur hadn't reached him. In the elephant pen the distant trees shook in an unnatural breeze. Prisms of neon emblems rattled through the mists outside the windows. How would he be able to perform in public? His life up to this point meant nothing. His future held Cybele, the horse, the circus. He found himself on the horse, Perry's horse, with Perry leading. Perry was saying something about their script being almost ready. Lewis hadn't been on a horse since summer camp, twelve, fifteen years ago. The gray walls held a texture previously hidden. They reminded him of trees. The train lived. It breathed, it changed, it comforted.

~

"Hard work has its rewards, both concrete and existential," Perry said. He closed the gate of Gautier's stall and followed Lewis. "It opens the possibility of perceiving a wider variety of situations, experiencing more flavors, sights, sounds." When they reached the dining car he told Lewis to wait there for him to get the script.

Lewis sat at a booth, staring at the clouded windows. Along paths obscure they moved to faraway places. He had lost the desire to leave. The circus had taken him. He reached into his pocket to touch Cybele's warm figurine.

Bodyssia walked into the dining car. A pink sweatsuit wasn't something he had expected her to wear. It softened her, brought her closer to his size. Funny how color affected perception; he would have to experiment...

"Prince Lamb!" Her bellow shook him out of his contentment. She picked him up and hugged him.

"You can't do this," he said, trying to be forceful, but with his face mashed into her neck the words came out muffled.

"What's that, dear?" She held him out from her so he could speak. He had a sudden vision of her pulling Dawn's arms off. He would have to take care not to anger her. At least she was no longer speaking poetic nonsense. Dangling in her grasp gave everything a new perspective and not one he enjoyed.

Bodyssia suggested meeting after her workout. When Perry returned, carrying a blue notebook, she lowered him. His feet touched down on the yellow floor. He had rarely seen Perry and Bodyssia standing together. She must have been a foot and a half taller. Perry and Dawn were about the same height; Bodyssia could break either of them apart.

She reached down to put a hand on Perry's shoulder. "Hey, I was thinking about what you were saying about the difference between chronological and spatial dimensions. It only makes sense if the medium is elastic enough to allow movement in all directions."

"Exactly, and in most instances it isn't. It needs a catalyst."

She turned toward the gymnasium car. "See you, Prince."

"What was that about chronological...?"

"Something we discussed after a recent show. I ramble on about odd theories, and our companions like to humor me." Perry set his notebook on the table. "Come on now, we have a script to work through."