Katherine Dunn: Nightmare Carnival

The muddy road down to the river was chock-a-block, women in fancy hats wielding umbrellas to shove their way through gangs of workmen in dirty overalls, Negro farm hands elbowing fat shopkeepers and bankers, children riding on their fathers’ shoulders. Everyone had come to gawp and gape and stare, providing as much a sideshow for the circus company as it was for the spectators.

Eric and Max sat in the rear of the pony wagon, mopping their sweating foreheads while Mae peeped through the wooden doors just behind the driver. She saw the mayor and his family, decked out in their Sunday best, the smallest of his boys trying hard to tempt Madelaine with a peanut held straight out in his chubby hand while his sisters recoiled, squealing in real or pretend fright. To the boy’s delight, the elephant obligingly took the peanut from him, the tip of her trunk as nimble as fingers.

She saw the preacher and his band of female parishioners, a black scarecrow surrounded by scrawny white chickens, still brandishing a Bible over his head, shouting hoarsely. “No true Christian can follow Our Lord Jesus Christ and then be found in a circus, that den of iniquity, wicked purveyors of drinking and dancing, gambling and adultery!” White flecks foamed in the corners of his mouth, while the women around him rolled their eyes in ecstasy.

She saw a man step out from among the worshipers, a half-eaten apple in his hand, the smoke from a lit cigar dangling from his mouth making him squint. She saw him tease Madelaine with the apple, waving it just out of her reach, until she stretched out her trunk eagerly, her mouth opening in anticipation. She saw him grin, switch the apple for his cigar, and toss it into the elephant’s mouth. And laugh.

For a moment, Mae felt the earth hesitate, everything gone still. Then Madelaine screamed, not her normal trumpeting but a cry of pain so deep Mae felt as if her own lungs were on fire. The elephant backed up, swinging her head frantically from side to side, ears flapping. The driver stood and swung his whip at the huge haunches pushing the pony to one side, then jumped off as Madelaine rammed into the wagon, tilting it dangerously. It teetered for a stomach-wrenching moment, then came down hard enough for a wheel to come off and throw Mae through the doors onto the now-empty driver’s seat.

Mae saw Madelaine spit out the cigar, now chewed into shreds, then whack her trunk hard against the man who had fed it to her. The impact threw him several yards, where he landed on his back. Stunned, he was struggling onto his elbows as Madelaine bore down on him, his eyes going wide just before she lifted one massive foot and slammed it onto his head. His skull exploded like a ripe watermelon, bloody brains squirting out in a grisly pulp.

The crowd screamed and ran, barging into one another mindlessly, slipping in the mud. The four young elephants bolted in the confusion, knocking North over as well. An old man, no shirt under his coveralls, white beard stained with tobacco juice, fired a shotgun into the air. As the crowd split away from him in panic as well, he pumped the shotgun and fired it again, this time into Madelaine’s side. She trumpeted, more startled than hurt, lashing out blindly with her trunk, turning around in a circle, mashing the dead body underfoot even further. North had staggered back upright and spotted Mae climbing down out of the wagon toward them.

“Hey, Rube!” he shouted, nearly unheard over the din of the crowd. Instantly, Max and Eric vaulted from the wagon; ride jockeys and riggers and roustabouts alike plowed into the mob, fists flailing. Mae stumbled across the rutted road to throw her arms around Madelaine’s trunk, and felt the elephant wrap it around her so tightly she nearly couldn’t breathe. Blood trickled from the bullet wounds in the elephant’s thick hide, dripping onto Mae’s arms and head. She could feel Madelaine trembling.

“My God, it’s killing her, too!” someone shouted. “Kill the elephant!”

“ Round me at twilight come stealing ,” Mae started to sing, breathless with fear, stroking the elephant’s trunk. “ Shadows of days that are gone . ”

Madelaine exhaled, like a huge sigh from a thundercloud, then lowered her head, her trunk loosening. “ Dreams of the old days revealing . ” The elephant stood still, then gently began to rock in time with Mae’s song. “ Mem’ries of love’s golden dawn . ”

The Bishop pushed his way through the brawling crowd, his top hat nearly crushed on his head, stopped, and exchanged a look with Mae. She kept singing, low and steady, as the Bishop took it in, all of it, the three of them as isolated in the midst of the riot as had they been in the big top spotlit by banjo lights.

“Kill the elephant! Kill the elephant! ” Mae saw the preacher, his black frock flapping around him like crow’s wings as he pumped his arms, the chanting growing louder in anger, his face contorted with rage and glee.

North stumbled into the charmed circle, nose bleeding, knuckles raw, but a glint of wild joy in his eyes that faded as soon as he saw the Bishop.

“Get the chains on her, now,” the Bishop ordered sharply.

Madelaine made no protest as North wrapped foot chains around back legs. “Keep singin’ to her, Mae,” he said.

“ Childhood days, wild wood days, among the birds and bees . ”

Madelaine allowed North to chain both her front feet as well, even holding up one leg helpfully to make it easier for him to slip the shackle on, her foot still stained with brains and blood. A cheer went up from the crowd as four uniformed policemen with batons pushed their way through to where Madelaine stood submissively, her trunk now resting limply around Mae’s shoulders, sensitive nostrils blowing hot on her neck.

“Get away from there, miss,” one of them shouted at her in alarm.

She glared back at him, and held onto Madelaine’s trunk, not caring that her deformed hands were in plain view. “ You left me alone, but still you’re my own ,” she kept singing. “ In my beautiful memories .”

“She’s safe enough now,” North said heatedly to the policeman. “So why don’t you calm these folks down before you’ve got more to worry about than this here elephant?”

The Bishop had climbed onto Mae’s wagon, balancing precariously. “ Free tickets! ” he bellowed. His ringmaster’s voice cut through the caterwauling, greedy eyes turning toward him, the violence ebbing. “Ladies and gentlemen! Free tickets to tonight’s performance under the big top! That’s right, all seats at absolutely no charge for the good citizens of Ashton! Tonight only! Hurry, hurry, hurry! Get them while they last, every ticket absolutely free, yellow, blue, and red, first come, first served!”

That did the trick, the rush toward the nearby circus tents and ticket offices churning up a quagmire in a near stampede.

“You all right there, Mae?” North asked her, unsure whether or not she was a prisoner inside Madelaine’s embrace, his ankus readied in one hand.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, just go,” she said, then closed her eyes, leaned against Madelaine, and sang softly. “ Memories, memories, dreams of love so true. O’er the sea of memory I’m drifting back to you . ”

With the crowd thinned out, the crew and rousties quickly corralled the four younger elephants, who helped push the pony wagon back upright and replace the wheel. It took only a few minutes to get them turned back to the lot, leaving Mae and Madelaine surrounded by skittish police officers unsure of what to do, puffed up with more bravado than authority. North returned with a team of roustabouts carrying more chains, binding the big elephant’s whole body so securely she could barely walk, then led her back toward the circus, where he secured her to a log behind the colored workers’ rest tent, out of sight of the public. The local police stood watch, one at each corner like an honor guard around a coffin.