Black Swan Planet Read online

  “You should have had him get in on the other side, Moe,” Norm said.

  “Oops. Sorry, Raka, I forgot the light didn’t work when you opened the door.”

  “It’s okay, Moe. Where are we headed?” I said.

  “Oh, I have a treat for you,” Norm said. “You see, a few weeks ago I got a letter from my friend, Cam. He’s in show business now and his troop is traveling through the area. From what I’ve gathered it’s a small traveling circus, and they have a special bachelor’s show for you.”

  “Gina said no dancing girls.”

  “Cam won’t do you wrong. He knows the rules. Oh, I can’t wait to see him! And he’s in show business now! Sounds like he’s made it big! His letter said that he took all his V.A. benefits and put it into this traveling show. He’s such a pal – even offering to let me get in on the ground floor as an investor!”

  “I think I’d wait and see what his show really is before pulling your money out of the bank,” I said.

  “Too late for that. Cam told me that this was my ticket to the life of luxury. I pulled twelve hundred dollars out of the bank; everything I had. Got it right here in my pocket. If things go right, I’m in like Flynn.”

  We turned onto a side road heading back into a farmer’s field. The crops and weeds had been cut short, to make a parking lot for this circus. The Buick’s lights painted the way past a small caravan of parked semi-trailers with red and gold letters over rusted metal. Each trailer had the painted word ‘Circus’; in some cases in fancy script, in others, it looked like it had been tagged with a spray can. One of the more rusted and damaged trailers had a faded painting of a fierce lion on the side. Someone had written ‘R.I.P. Fluffy’ over the lion’s chest. Another trailer had a giant gorilla painted on it, in a classic King Kong pose, holding a doll or a girl in its massive hands. ‘See Gargantua!’ written in a fancy script below it. The period at the bottom of the exclamation point looked like an asterisk, and in tiny letters, partially hidden by the gorilla’s backside fur, I spotted another asterisk and the note ‘not to scale’. They had several small tents and one large one. We proceeded to the biggest tent, assuming that would be the place to be. Norm walked ahead of us, whispering something in the ticket seller’s ear. Her face remained in the shadows, but I saw a crooked finger pointing at one of the smaller tents, and I heard a cackle of a laugh. “Cam’s waitin’ on ya’!”

  We made a sharp turn and headed to the small tent, dark blue in color and about fifty feet in diameter with a big wooden post in the center. The tent had been divided into smaller rooms, each with its own cloth door. I saw a dark figure emerge from the shadows. Norm seemed to recognize this person and with a hand signal, let us know to wait for a moment. This had to be the infamous Cam, but the man never acknowledged Moe or me. After about a minute, Norm returned.

  “It’s all set up. We start in this room here and work our way clockwise. When we are done in this tent, we go to the big. You ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, walking into the first room.

  On the center of a small table sat a glass globe, supported by a silver cup. Four chairs surrounded the table, three of them basic folding chairs, the other an ornately carved hideous thing. Lion and dragon heads, shields and swords, and tarot cards had been carved into the wood. The seat looked like crushed velvet, bright purple with sweat stains in the shape of a person’s butt. We looked around, not seeing anything, so we sat down in the plain chairs. Then we heard a cackling voice from outside. “Sit down. I’ll be with you in a moment.” It sounded like the same woman at the ticket counter, based on the voice, but I couldn’t be certain.

  She walked in carrying a kerosene lantern, and we finally got a look at her face. I stared at the ugliest woman I had ever seen. A drunken, horny Neanderthal teenage sailor on a hormone high would take one look at her and say, “Nope, I’m good.”

  In an attempt to describe her, I’ll say that what hair she had appeared matted and patchy. Her face pitted with ancient acne scars. Her ears had thick, long hair growing from the inside. Her eyes did not operate synchronously, so I couldn’t tell which one to look into as they crossed and swayed in random patterns. Her nose pointed out and then downward at a sharp angle as if staring at her shoes. That is if it could to see shoes past her enormous chest. My hat goes off to the engineer that designed her bra; I don’t think I could have held those puppies up with a series of pulleys, counterbalances, struts, and hoists. She had a certain odor of camphor mixed with ass about her that overwhelmed and turned my stomach. My eyes eventually made their way down to her feet and shoes. Oddly enough, she had nice feet; the feet of a teenager attached to a rotten and rancid body. This seemed ironically sad in its own way to me. Then she started talking.

  “You have come to see Madame Goffenshlein. I know why you are here.”

  “You do?” I said because I didn’t really even know.

  “Yes, I do. What name do you go by? I hear more than one.”

  “Raka.”

  “Raka. I know two meanings for that name. One is ‘Moon in the Sky’, the other is ‘The Fool’. I wonder which one you are. I see so many unanswered questions. Madame Goffenshlein sees all, and knows all.”

  She set the lantern down, reached into its globe with one finger, and rubbed off some of the black soot. Then she spat in her other palm and rubbed that sooty finger into the spit. “Give me your hand.”

  “That’s not very sanitary,” I said.

  “Give me your hand.”

  She grabbed my right hand and flipped it palm-up under the light. Then she smeared the slobbery black soot on my palm and forced my hand closed for a moment. She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped my hand off, leaving dark soot lines in the creases and wrinkles. She stared at my hand, my face, and my hand again. A disturbed look snaked across her face, her eyes darkened, then brightened briefly, only to turn downward. She finally spoke. “You’ve come a long way.”

  “Yes, it was quite a journey.”

  “A journey you didn’t expect to make.”

  “That is true. My travel plans were not by my design,” I said.

  “I see a lot of things in you. You’re not above using people to get what you want, are you?”

  “I suppose that’s a fair thing to say. In my previous line of work, I sometimes had to manipulate people to get where I needed to be or get the information I needed. Although I will say I never directly hurt anyone or led them into danger.”

  “But you’d lie, fabricate stories, or falsify information, knowing that if someone got caught helping you they might lose their job, career, or even worse?” She said.

  “What I did was to expose the lies. A lie to expose a bigger lie…”

  “Is still a lie.”

  “Is still a lie,” I said, “but sometimes the end justifies the means.”

  “Perhaps. This is what confuses me. You seem to have found a moral compass now, in your friends, and your lover. But you know that this is temporary. Why do you continue?”

  “All things come to an end. At some point, each of us will die. I learned to believe in these people I call my friends, and I would never intentionally hurt them. They are my family now.”

  She rubbed her hand across some whiskers that grew from the tip of her chin in deep thought. “I believe that. But I also see you alone at the end.”

  “We’re all alone at the end,” I said, as a wave of sadness overcame me.

  “That is true. Now hold my hands while I gaze into the crystal ball. I will look past the veil and see what you have in store.”

  Then her eyes rolled back into her head and I swear I saw nothing but white with red veins where her pupils should be. She hummed and rocked, pulling my arms forward until my nose nearly touched the crystal ball. She stopped and went completely silent for a moment. I felt her hands go cold, and I saw her break out in a sweat all over her skin.

  She finally spoke, her voice cracking. “You will face a decision, travele
r. A difficult one.” She wiped a dripping bead of sweat off her nose. “Save one or save all. I fear that you will make the wrong decision. All things point to that mistake. So selfish, so childish, so scared. Yes, I see you making the wrong choice, and I see… Get out! Get out of my sight you, you, you’re not human!”

  “Let’s go, fellas,” I said,standing up. “You heard the lady; she doesn’t want me here.”

  “Raka’s a good guy!” Moe said. “Voodoo bullshit is what this is. Let’s go see what else they have for us.”

  We moved on to the next little room inside the tent. A row of folding chairs faced a raised stage. Naturally, we sat down wondering what would happen next. Norm handed Moe and me beers that he had carried inside his jacket. He passed a church-key around and we popped the tops off. Music started to play; a jazzy song with some sassy saxophone parts. Then we saw a little man, and I do mean little, a dwarf or a midget. He pulled hard on the handle of a dolly and sat a huge cake. When I say “cake”, I mean it probably looked something like a cake ten years earlier. But by now, thick dust covered it and the paint had been scratched off in enough places that you could see the plywood. The song ramped up, and the top came off of the cake. Out popped a dancing girl.

  Well, it really wasn’t a dancing girl so to speak, because she weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds and a huge, braided beard hung from her chin. She wore a silky red dress and danced seductively, raising her arms above her head to show off her armpits - that hair had also been braided together. Moe, Norm, and I all stared for a moment, turned to look at each other, and stared back without saying a word. This bearded lady came to me and gyrated in a clockwise motion. I tried to force my eyes in another direction, but like a train crashing before my eyes, I couldn’t stop watching.

  Finally, I mustered up the courage to say something. “Uh, Norm, Gina made me promise. No dancing girls.”

  Moe and Norm erupted into a fit of laughter, I felt a flush of heat rising to my cheeks, and the dancing bearded-wonder moved in closer to me. She rubbed up against me and came in real close to my ear.

  “It’s okay,” She whispered. “I’m not really a dancing ‘girl’.”

  I jumped up from my seat and said, “We’re done here!”

  Moe and Norm followed me to the next room.

  “What did she tell you?” Norm said.

  “She was a he.”

  “Ooh. Well Rama Lama Ding Dong! That’s nasty!” Norm made a sickening noise. “That’s just not right. Cam always did have a strange sense of humor.”

  We wandered into the next room to find the midget waiting on us. Now he wore in a full tuxedo, with a cane and top hat. Without saying a word, he reached over to an old Victrola, dropped the needle onto a record and cranked the handle. As the music played, I recognized the song as “Puttin’ on the Ritz”. The midget started to dance, just like Fred Astaire did in Blue Skies, kicking his little legs, jumping into the air, tapping his little feet. We stood there, beers in hand, watching this little guy dance his little heart out, and the truth is, he had skills. He’d plant the cane on the floor and jump, pushing himself high in the air with one stubby arm, click his heels in the air and come back down into a perfect slide-kick. He’d tap dance across a simple wooden stage until the record would skip. Then he’d get a disgusted look on his face, walk over to the Victrola, pressed the needle down until it got past the skip. He’d go back to his dance until the record skipped again. Time and time again, he’d dance, stop, press down the needle, dance, and stop. After about the tenth time this happened, his patients had expired. He turned to the Victrola, lifted a tiny leg and kicked it off the stage. Then he stomped off the stage, saying, “Go to the big tent next.”

  We finished off our drinks, shrugged, and continued.

  We found a couple dozen other folks there waiting for the show to start. We saw the man known as Cam approaching us. He stood about six feet tall, a bit of a pot belly on him. He had gray hair, white on the sides, cut into a classic burr style. He wore a well-worn suit with patches on the sleeves, added out of necessity, not style. His piercing blue eyes seemed to look through you, and he had an air about him that said, ‘Don’t mess with me.’

  As we approached, he grabbed my hand. “You must be Raka! The man of the hour. Come, come down here; we have a special seat for you!”

  He led me to the center of the tent, where he had a special seat for me. “We have to get you into costume!”

  He opened up a small crate and pulled out a dress, a veil, and a fancy lady’s hat. “Here you go; put this on over your clothes. You’re the star in our program!”

  “I really don’t—” I said.

  “Put it on!”

  Cam turned to the small crowd and raised his arms. “Our friend needs some encouragement. Let’s tell him. “Put it on. Put it on!”

  The crowd joined in with the chanting.

  “Fine,” I said, pulling the dress over my head and wiggling into it.

  “Now let me help you with the veil. You need to look demure for him,” Cam said, pulling the veil over my face and over one of my eyes, hooking it tightly. “Now for the hat.”

  He flipped the hat expertly down his arm and placed it on my head, pushing it down. Between the veil and hat, I could only see through a small slit. “Are you ready, Mr. Raka?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready for the show of the century. Welcome to the jungle!”

  Someone cranked up the old Victrola and the needle dropped with a loud hiss. The sounds of birds chirping and native drums in the distance. The typical Hollywood stuff. Cam starting in setting the stage. “Man likes to believe that he has made the world a safe place. But there are places where nature rules, places that don’t follow man’s plans. Tonight, we take a trip to one of these places. I warn you, this is not for the faint of heart!”

  When he said that, a lion roared from the recording, and a spotlight crossed the tent’s floor. We saw the midget again, still in his tuxedo and top hat, and he pulled a trolley with a huge lion atop a skid. Its mouth open as if roaring, but even in the poor light and limited vision, I could tell the lion had been stuffed, and poorly so. Its eyes looked like painted marbles, stitches went down its neck, and as the midget pulled the trolley, it wobbled side to side and one of its teeth fell out. Rest in peace Fluffy indeed.

  Cam continued. “Ladies and Gentlemen! The lion is not the true king of the jungle because that honor goes to Gargantua!”

  Music played as a shadow appeared on the wall of the tent, thirty feet high, clearly some sort of biped gorilla or monkey. As the shadow raised its arms to beat its chest, a woman in the crowd screamed. Cam raised an arm and declared, “Now let’s not have panic in the stands; I assure you that this beast is completely under control. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Gargantua!”

  Gargantua made his way into the center of the tent, and I finally got a decent look at him. Please don’t be a chimpanzee, please don’t be a chimpanzee, please! Anything but a chimp.

  My heart sank as I estimated the size of Gargantua. He looked like a monkey, the right sized for a chimpanzee. I couldn’t see very well, but my butt clinched up involuntarily just at the thought of being in the same room as a chimpanzee. This monkey wore some crazy Tarzan-inspired outfit; loin cloth, black leather vest, gentleman’s fedora, and carrying a wooden club. As he approached, I threw-up a little in my mouth, thinking about the vile creatures these beasts are. All the times Marco puked, flung poo, and bit me in the worst possible place, went through my head. I struggled to get away, in both fear and disgust, but I couldn’t budge. The music picked up, and the beast swayed, thumping his club against the dirt floor. The music surged, and he started to bounce. The bouncing turned into jumping, then he showed his teeth. I struggled further.

  Then the music changed. I recognized the song as Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.” The beast stood motionless until the midget appeared. Now, the midget wore a tiny dress, and they danced together in a swing style. T
he beast led, the midget acting as his partner. Strangely they danced perfectly in unison, their dancing elegant and beautiful if you ignored the fact that you watched some wild animal dancing with a creepy midget in drag. But then the music came to an end, and the monkey turned his attention toward me. He pushed the midget away, who feigned jealousy as this creature walked around me. He flipped his hat into the air, caught it deftly, and let it roll down his arm. Then he nudged me, raised an eyebrow, and started to unbutton his vest. I gagged and the chimp jumped up on my lap, started to grind against me, and flipped over, upside down, sticking his butt into my face. At that instant, I noticed the chaps. The ass-less chaps. His stuck his butt in my face; I stared into the abyss as visions of demons, hellfire and suffering filtered through my mind. I screamed, “I know this chimp! Marco, is that you?”

  The small crowd gasped and giggled. Marco turned over and ripped the veil from my face and tossed my hat away. He stared at me and grinned. He hugged me tight, squeezing the air out of me, and gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek. He truly looked glad to see me, and that scared me.

  What would he do next?

  Cam approached, snapping a whip toward Marco and yelled, “Isn’t that cute. They know each other. Considering how he recognized the chimp, I don’t think I want to know how. Anyway, back to work!”

  He snapped the whip, this time narrowly missing Marco with it. Marco turned to Cam and bared his teeth, growling a warning. Cam snapped the whip and this time, hitting Marco on the side, drawing a line of blood. Marco reached down into his Tarzan outfit, and with one hand snapped out a straight razor, his other wrapping around the whip. With a lightning-fast move, he sliced the end of the whip and leaped toward Cam, razor blade sizzling through the air. Cam rolled backward. Marco bounded upon him, about to lay him open with the razor blade when a pistol went off with a thunderous bang.