"Well thank you Giant," said Margie.
Teresa sighed. "Well you would say that wouldn't you. What with you being her servant an' all."
Margie blushed crimson.
"That's correct isn't it, Margie?"
Margie shifted uncomfortably. "That's not exactly what I said."
Margie turned to The Giant. "Giant," she started ...
"Mistress," interrupted The Giant, "if it's okay with you, I would like to retire for the night."
Margie remained silent for the longest time. Then she hung her head. "Yes, you may."
The two locked eyes for a moment before The Giant exited the room.
The following evening The Giant returned home from the circus with a large, heavy bag. The older woman had gone and Margie was sitting at the dressing table staring at herself in the mirror. Desperately she rubbed and pinched her cheeks, tousled her hair and pouted her lips. But the harder she tried, the more frustrated she became.
"Look at me," cried Margie. "Just look at me. I look like a wretched old woman."
What The Giant saw when he looked at Margie was a young woman overburdened with hair, makeup, frills, ruffles and bows. She no longer resembled a real living person.
All that Margie could see in the mirror, however, was a deathly pale and hideous vision.
There was nothing The Giant could say. He knew that the reflection Margie could see bore no resemblance to the young woman who sat before him. Even though she no longer resembled the Margie he knew and loved; beneath veil of avarice and narcissism, she was still beautiful.
"Do you think we could stay here a few more days?" she asked The Giant earnestly. "Just a few more days and I'm sure I'll be as beautiful as everyone else. Say
yes
Giant. Please."
The Giant opened up his bag. "I brought something for you. It weren't easy for me to bring it here. It could of got me in a lot of trouble." As if to emphasize the point, he wandered over to the window, peered outside then drew the curtains sharply.
Margie cheered up instantly. "What is it?" she cried. "Is it something from the Circus?"
The Giant reached into his bag, pulled out a smallish wooden box and carefully placed it on the floor in front of Margie. Margie's eyes widened as she clapped her hands together excitedly. "Is it a pair of shoes?"
"It ain't no shoes," replied The Giant looking increasingly twitchy. "Go on, take the lid off."
Margie lifted the lid slowly, peering through the crack before lifting the lid off entirely.
"It's water," she said looking both bemused and disappointed.
"It's a special kind of water," insisted The Giant, sliding the box closer to Margie. "Look at it and you'll see why it ain't allowed in Avaricia."
Margie eyed The Giant suspiciously, then leaned forward slowly. Suddenly she froze with shock and confusion. In the water's reflection she could see that the room around her looked vastly different. The room, which moments earlier had been dripping with opulence, was now aged and faded. The Damask curtains were now worn threadbare and the furniture broken and peeling. And then there was her face.
Staring at her own reflection in the water, Margie eventually broke the silence. "It's awful," she cried, tears streaming down her face.
Margie had finally seen what The Giant had been seeing. Little had she known how grotesque she had become. Instantly she grabbed the bottom of her dress, dipped it in the water and started wiping away the layers and layers of makeup that made her look like a porcelain doll. Her hair, lacquered and back-combed and adorned with all manner of ornamental creatures was stripped down and her dress, which weighed almost the same as a grown man, was thrown out of the window. Standing before The Giant wrapped only in a blanket from the bed, Margie apologised.
"I can't believe that I didn't see it. I'm sorry Giant."
But The Giant was distracted. It had been a long time since he'd seen Margie's back and the sight of it shocked him. Her back was not only pale and death-like, but also covered in a fine layer of ice crystals.
"Where did you get the water from?" asked Margie trying to wriggle back into her old cotton dress without dropping the blanket and exposing too much of herself to The Giant.
"I uh ... Grandma Doyle gave it to me. She runs the circus." The Giant lowered his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. "She told me that all the mirrors are cursed. That's why water is banned. It's pure. And so is its reflection."
Margie, still clad in only the blanket, knelt before the water and studied her reflection again. "Those poor people," she cried suddenly understanding. "They are never going to find happiness are they? They are always going to feel the pain of longing for something they can never have. They only see what they don't have and not what they do."
The Giant swigged the water down in one great gulp then belched.
For once, Margie didn't laugh. "Take me away from here Giant."
"Now?"
"Now!"
The Giant wrapped a shawl around Margie's shoulders and smiled.
Le Cirque de L'extraordinaire
It was dark by the time they neared the circus. Of course, it wasn’t the kind of circus that you or I might think of. There was no red-and-white striped big top, no circus ring or clowns, no elephants or tigers. The circus The Giant belonged to was no more than an exhibition of freaks, monstrosities or marvels of nature. It was a Dark Carnival; a series of small curtained stages adorned with sensational billboards and pictures depicting all manner of grotesque spectacles: Welcome to the Hall of Ugliness; Witness the Greatest Deformities Within, Recoil with Horror; Be Repulsed; Chamber of Horror, Meet the Most Frightful Objects of Nature; Monster or Human, You Decide ...
These enclosed stages were beautifully ornate structures with exquisitely decorated exteriors and luxurious interiors. The outside of these structures were as much of an experience as the freak contained within. Beautifully painted scenes, which depicted far off lands, transported the waiting crowds to exotic far off realms or simply built the anticipation and fear.
From a distance Margie could see a large circle of small square structures which were decorated with fairy lights. These were the stages. Nearby she could see a circle of smaller structures. These were the wagons in which the freaks slept. Right now though, it appeared to be a hive of activity. Several of the wagons appeared to have small bonfires lit and she could hear music and the sound of happy chatter as she neared the camp. Some of her earlier fears began to dissipate as she followed The Giant along the path which was flaked either side by desert shrubs which, despite their giant thorns were alive with purple and yellow flowers.
How comforting, thought Margie, that something so pretty could survive in such an inhospitable place. The ground in which they grew was dry and seemingly hopeless, yet the plant wasn’t simply surviving, it was thriving.
"You have to understand," whispered The Giant as they neared, "these folks at the circus might look a bit 'culiar but they as normal and 'telligent as you an' me."
"Hey, it’s Stretch," shouted someone as The Giant and Margie entered the camp. "Couldn’t stay away, huh?"
That someone was Grandma Doyle.
Margie barely had chance to say hello and hold her hand out before Grandma Doyle’s face was inches from her own. Her head was tilted to the side as she observed Margie with her one good eye.
"I’m Ivy Doyle," she said, "but everyone calls me Gran. Who are you?"
Margie could smell the powder on her face. Her eyes were also heavy with ash-coloured shadow and her cheeks and lips bright red with rouge and lipstick. She reminded Margie of a child experimenting with makeup for the first time.
"I umm," started Margie.
"No time for all that!" interrupted Grandma Doyle. "It’s getting nippy out here, let’s get you warmed up before you freeze to death."
Grandma Doyle was small, bald and fat, with legs so bowed it looked like she was clenching an enormous invisible ball between her knees. She also had a moustache - real Groucho Marxian bristles - and a magnificent beard that spread out in a double plume.
"Here you go," she said. "Meet some of the gang."
Margie soon found herself seated between an older man whose face was covered in tattoos and The Human Mermaid; a pretty young woman whose legs appeared to be fused together in a fish-like tail. "My name’s Mary," she said, offering her hand to a grateful and suddenly relieved Margie. "And mine’s Tatty," said the older man.
The gang also consisted of Douglas the Dough Boy, a sixteen year old who could stretch the skin on his body like pizza dough and The Magnificent Magnet Man who was able to consume anything made of metal, bicycles, airplanes, knives and forks, so much so that any magnet put within inches of his body would stick like glue.
Grandma Doyle plonked herself down between Mary and Margie and started telling the gang the story of her own days as a circus freak. Everyone in the gang seemed to have heard the story a thousand times before, but were happy to hear it again.
"Used to be called Ginger Beard," announced Grandma Doyle nodding happily at the memory. "Won competitions and everything. Elephant and Castle Bearded Lady Champion, 1923, 1924 and 1925!" she announced proudly. "But nothing compared to my mother’s mother mind you! Now she was known as Black Beardy. One of the biggest selling attractions at the Barnacle Reilly Circus, along with Mary Mungo the Human Midge, Lawrence the Lion Boy, Roland Rangoon the Rock Eater, and Brigadier Big the Tenby Giant."
As the fire crackled and the evening drew in, Grandma Doyle told everyone the story of how Black Beardy came to fall in love with Patrick de Lattre the Human Caterpillar.
"Patrick de Lattre was one of the most famous acts in the entire world because he had no arms or legs and crawled about on his belly like a caterpillar. Even so, anything you could do, he could do better. He could even sign his name and roll a cigarette.
Now, aside from the fact that Patrick was just a torso and a head, he was the best looking man this side of the moon. It was said he could make a woman fall in love with him just by getting them to gaze into his eyes. And he never had a shortage of that. Day in and day out he had woman falling down at his . . . well, his bottom I suppose. In any case," continued Grandma Doyle, "he only had eyes for one woman, and that was my grandmother. Head over heels he was. When he found out she liked violet poppies, he got everyone he knew, old and young, to go out and collect them from fields up and down the country. He collected so many of them poppies that they became extinct.
My grandmother, on the other hand, only had eyes for Lucky Sam the Lion Tamer. Lucky Sam was every bit as glamorous as a silver screen star with his film noir looks. His big trick - the one that always got the crowds going - was that he could put his head inside a lion‘s mouth. Two of ‘em, one after the other. But not just any old lions, hungry lions. Starve ‘em he would, for three days before every show. Then he’d have ‘em jumping through hoops and dancing around on their hind legs like they was a pair of poodles.
Then one day Lucky Sam’s luck ran out. He put his head inside the mouth of Babar Sher, a small shabby looking lion what had just been shipped in from Africa, and the lion’s jaw snapped shut. Just like that.
Now the audience, they ain’t never seen anything like it. They all think it’s part of the show. So, as his headless body collapses to the floor, blood spurting everywhere, the crowd begins to applaud. And they’re clapping and laughing and cheering and stamping their feet. Even the gargoyles which overlooked the entrance to the cage seemed to be laughing. They ain’t never seen such a spectacular magic trick.
Before long, people from all over the circus starts gathering round the lion tent to see what all the commotion was about, including my grandmother.
And you can imagine what happened when she saw Sam’s decapitated corpse twitching on the floor. And the satiated lion lying in a puddle of blood, its mangy muzzle resting on its mangy paws, peaceful as an old donkey.
In the twinkling of an eye she went from sanity to insanity.
For months, she lay curled up on a pile of cushions in her caravan, staring out of the window. Immovable. In complete desolation. Never uttering a sound. Not even when she sneezed. She was haunted by visions of her darling Sam, pleading desperately from behind giant lion’s teeth, as though he was trapped in some Hellish prison. Then, the lion would roar and Sam would scramble through the gap between the top and bottom jaw in an attempt to escape. But before he could get all the way out, the lion would snap its mouth shut like a bear-trap -- CRACK -- and Sam would be cut in half like a magician’s assistant. And poor grandmother would cry out in her sleep, louder and more wretched than any wounded animal, and the entire circus would wake up and shake their heads and whisper to each other: oh, that poor, unfortunate Beardy!
Through all of this Patrick de Lattre, the Human Caterpillar, refused to budge from her side, singing to her, and feeding her, and dabbing her forehead with a cool sponge whenever she dreamt of the hapless Sam. The weeks turned into months, and even though he was falling more and more in love with my grandmother, this limb-deficient Romeo was also getting a bit fed up with the one-way conversation. Finally, after several more months, he shook my grandmother awake and said:
‘Enough is enough. Pull yourself together!’
And she did. And they got married. Had six children. And lived happily ever after."
"I love that story," said Mary. "Heard it a thousand times but I never get bored of it."
"Right," said Grandma Doyle to Margie, "what are we going to do with you?"
Margie had no idea what Grandma Doyle meant.
"Stretch told me that you have quite a talent," she said, with a cheeky wink.
Margie threw a look at The Giant which made it clear she wasn’t happy.
"You may not like it dear," said Grandma Doyle, "but I'll tell you something for nothing, it will make you a lot of bleedin' money."
Margie was stunned. She had no idea what to say. She didn’t want to work here. Inside she was screaming. She wasn't like
them!
"I don't want any money. Giant," she said angrily, "we don't
need
any money. We just need a bit of time to gather ourselves before we continue our journey."
"You do realise," said Grandma Doyle, "that money can buy you anything in Limbuss."
Margie continued to study the floor, without uttering a sound.
"Why would anyone want to
walk
to the Darkest of All Places when they could hire a balloon or a flying machine to take them there in a fraction of the time?"
The Giant's eyes widened with excitement and realisation. Why had
he
not thought of this? It was the perfect solution. He turned to Margie. "Oh please Margie, please. It ain't that hard and it's only for a few days ..."
"Only until you've made enough money to get you all the way there. Just think, dear, no more trekking through the dessert. And it's only going to get worse."
"Imagine how pleased Spider Beast will be when he finds out!" added The Giant.
Margie folded her arms across her chest and sighed wearily. "What is it that I have to do?"
"If it’s true what Stretch has told me about your back - and you’re prepared to let people touch it - then you could be sitting on a gold mine."
Margie shifted uncomfortably.
"Let me see it," said Grandma Doyle gently. "Come on child. I’ve seen all sorts of things over the years, believe me, nothing shocks me anymore. Look at you, you’re young, you’re beautiful ..."
Margie looked up. The circle of freaks had shifted several inches closer as everyone waited to see what all the fuss was about. What on earth did this girl have that would make Grandma Doyle so excited?
Margie turned round slowly and allowed her shawl to drop exposing the top of her back and shoulders. The freaks gasped in unison.
"Well," said Grandma Doyle in shocked amazement. "I ain't never seen nothing like that before in all my years. Does it hurt?"
Margie shook her head. "Not really."
"Just wait until you touch it," said The Giant excitedly. "Go on, put your fingers on it."
Grandma Doyle reached her hand out slowly. To her astonishment, it was shaking. As her fingers almost touched Margie’s skin she felt a peculiar sensation like a shiver going down her spine. She quickly pulled her hand away and looked at The Giant, "did you say something?"
The Giant shook his head.
"I must be going mad," she smiled, "I could have sworn I heard someone saying the word NO in my ear."
"Is there a problem?" asked Margie.
"No, no deary, just a silly old woman being daft." And with that she placed her hand on Margie’s back.
Instantly, her hand was covered with a layer of crisp white ice, as though it had been sitting in a deep freeze for a week. Grandma Doyle shrieked and as quickly as she’d placed her hand on Margie’s back, she ripped it away again. The whole thing happened so quickly that it was hard for those watching to see what had happened. Tatty and Dough Boy had no idea why Grandma Doyle was suddenly hopping round in circles, cradling her hand. Mary the Mermaid on the other hand, had seen her hand encased in ice and was sitting in stunned and shocked silence. She shook her head, quite unable to believe her eyes.
Margie quickly pulled her shawl up and pulled it tight around her shoulders. Like Mary she didn’t have a clue what had just happened and didn’t instantly make the link between her back and Grandma Doyle's obvious distress. She backed away into a shadow nervously watching as Tatty and Dough Boy tried to calm the old lady down.
Eventually Grandma Doyle stopped screaming and slowly pulled her hand out from under her arm pit where she had shoved it to warm it up. Tatty, Mary, Dough Boy and The Giant all gasped. Grandma Boyle’s hand was as white and ghastly looking as Margie’s back and the tips of three of her fingers had turned black as though they had been roasted to a crisp.
"What in the name of -" quaked Tatty. He never finished his sentence because he was interrupted by Grandma Doyle.
"Where is she?" she asked, her eyes ablaze. "Where is the girl? Where
is
she?" She sounded like a woman possessed.