Katherine Dunn - Nightmare Carnival

“Rebecca?”

Betty’s there. Waiting.

“Nobody’s called me that in a long time.”

Two walnut cases. One their mother’s and the other their father’s, each containing a pair of guns. They are the Saunderis legacy and they make Leo queasy with horrid fascination. He’s never more afraid than when one’s in his hand.

These guns fed and clothed us when we first came to this country. Never sell them. You’ll always have a living.

“It’s not too late. I can do a single-bullet catch.”

Christos is pale and excited, on the cusp of imagined glory that will somehow make him whole.

“No. We’re doing this.”

“I think we should make it an even more special night. Announce that you and Rollo are going to be partners afterward. What do you think?”

“I can’t wait. You should’ve seen his face when I was coming in on the business.”

“You told him?”

“Just about me. I was teasing him. Can you imagine how happy he’ll be when he realizes it’s the three of us?”

“You shouldn’t joke with Rollo like that. He’s touchy. I wonder why he never said anything. And why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Sorry. I was preoccupied with this. Don’t worry. It’ll make it a bigger surprise for him.”

They are at the side of the stage. Rollo’s out front, warming up the audience.

“You both look wonderful,” Rebecca says as she joins them. They’re wearing tailcoats and starched shirts. Then to Christos, “I love you. I won’t love you any less if you call it off.”

Christos silences her with a full-mouthed kiss.

Then Rebecca puts a hand on Leo’s chest, over his heart.

“Promise you’ll look after him.”

“I promise.” A life of promises to women, Leo thinks.

It’s time. Brothers stand side by side.

“Remember you’re not aiming for my head,” Christos jokes.

There’s a roar as they run on. The spotlights fly about and then settle on them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!” Leo’s voice booms through the tent that’s been arranged with a stage at one end. Care’s been taken about the positioning of the benches. Nothing puts off punters like a stray bullet into the crowd. Even a painted wax bullet can kill a man.

Leo lowers his voice to draw the audience in.

“What you’re about to see has only been done four times. The last performance was by myself and my mother,” he pauses to give her back her proper name, “the famous Lilia Saunderis.”

It’s Christos’s turn.

“People have died doing bullet catches. My brother and I will perform a double-bullet catch for one night only. You’re going to witness history, a feat performed twice by one family!”

Leo steps up.

“We’re trained professionals. Don’t repeat this at home. If you’re of a nervous disposition we advise that you leave now.”

Rebecca brings out a single case. She’s dressed as the Firebrand. Her costume glints in the light. Leo’s chosen his mother’s guns.

“We’ll need a volunteer from the audience.” The spotlights are set swinging. They whirl about the audience. A drum rolls and there’s a hush. Christos drops his raised arm and the lights land and shrink to reveal two faces at opposing ends of the tent.

“Come on down!”

The first is a woman, dressed in a cotton smock and clogs. She looks overawed, blinking in the light. Rebecca has put down the case of guns and goes to meet her, smiling like she’s welcoming a friend.

“Madam, what’s your name?” Leo enquires, taking her hand. Her skin is rough and red from country living.

“Sally.”

“Thank you for your help, Sally. Would you mind waiting here for a moment while we meet our other volunteer?”

Rebecca holds his arm. It’s a man dressed in work boots and a shirt. He has an everyman face, essential in a shill, a circus man that Leo trusts. He’s not willing to chance his brother’s life on a real volunteer. Bad luck that it would be some wisecracker, the sort who’d load something else into the gun for a laugh.

“And your name?” Christos asks.

“Jack Milner.”

“Thank you, Jack. Do you know guns?”

“A little.”

“These are Delfontaine’s Rangers.”

“If you say so.”

The audience laughs. Rebecca carries a tray over to them, aloft on one hand. On it there are a pair of bullets and a pocket knife.

“Now, Jack, would you do us the honor of marking these two bullets so that we can identify them later?”

There is a pause while Jack scores the bullets’ casings with the knife.

“Now, Sally, I want you to take a good look at these as you’re going to see them later.” Leo hands her one bullet and waits, giving her time to examine it.

“Happy? Good.”

Christos takes the second bullet from Jack, repeating the ritual. Leo watches, pleased with Chris’s sleight of hand. After Sally’s inspection, they’ve both swapped the bullets, replacing them with fake ones on the trays.

Leo hates this part. The feel of the real bullet that he’s palmed and hidden in his mouth. The taste of metal filings that cling to the case.

“Now, Jack, we’re going to ask you to load one bullet into each gun.”

Jack the shill obliges, putting the fakes into the gun barrels.

Here it comes. Leo and Christos stand back to back like duellists at dawn. There’s a drum roll. They each count fifteen paces. They’ve been drilled by Rollo until their timing’s perfect. He’s even done target practice with the brothers.

They turn. Leo takes aim. Both of them have been careful to consider angles.

Leo squeezes the trigger. The sound deafens him temporarily. Something’s wrong. Christos looks at him, bewildered. There’s a slow trickle of blood from the hole in Christos’s forehead. It gathers in his eyebrow and falls in heavy drops. He staggers and then pitches backward.

Someone, maybe Sally, screams.

“How did you know?” Rebecca’s in the lounge. Henry stands in the doorway.

“A hunch. I remembered that you always called your dog by the name of Sam. It got me thinking.”

“How astute.” It doesn’t sound like praise.

“I saw you and Leo burn.”

“You were there?”

“Yes. I was only eighteen. You should be dead.”

“Come and sit down so we can talk.” Rebecca’s voice softens.

“Is Leo alive too?” Anything’s possible.

“No, Leo’s dead. You saw it yourself.”

“I saw them take your body away.” A charred corpse laid on the tarpaulin.

“Why have you pursued this?”

He can’t verbalize it. “I came to see you as often as I could.”

Rebecca’s look is both amusement and bemusement.

“You’ve fallen in love with your own fantasy. That’s about you, not me.”

“I need to know what happened.”

“You weren’t part of it. You were just a spectator.”

It rankles that he has no claim to her tale.

“I’m a witness.”

“You’re a pompous ass.”

She isn’t the sweet girl of his imagination. She has no truck with romance. He wants to shock her into revealing the truth.

“Your husband was murdered by his own brother and I think you burnt him to death to get revenge.”

“It was an accident.”

“It was a live bullet. It’s all in the book.”

“I didn’t read your book and I don’t believe it. Leonides would’ve cut off his own arm before he hurt Christos.”

“The bullet they found at his autopsy was real.”

“What possible reason would Leo have?” She stares at him.

“He found out Christos was robbing him.”

“Christos wasn’t a thief. And Leo wasn’t a murderer. Who told you that?”

“Rollo.”