Katherine Dunn - Geek Love

When your mama was the geek, my dreamlets,” Papa would say, “she made the nipping off of noggins such a crystal mystery that the hens themselves yearned toward her, waltzing around her, hypnotized with longing. ‘Spread your lips, sweet Lil,’ they’d cluck, ‘and show us your choppers!’ ”

This same Crystal Lil, our star-haired mama, sitting snug on the built-in sofa that was Arty’s bed at night, would chuckle at the sewing in her lap and shake her head. “Don’t piffle to the children, Al. Those hens ran like whiteheads.”

Nights on the road this would be, between shows and towns in some campground or pull-off, with the other vans and trucks and trailers of Binewski’s Carnival Fabulon ranged up around us, safe in our portable village.

After supper, sitting with full bellies in the lamp glow, we Binewskis were supposed to read and study. But if it rained the story mood would sneak up on Papa. The hiss and tick on the metal of our big living van distracted him from his papers. Rain on a show night was catastrophe. Rain on the road meant talk, which, for Papa, was pure pleasure.

“It’s a shame and a pity, Lil,” he’d say, “that these offspring of yours should only know the slumming summer geeks from Yale.”

“Princeton, dear,” Mama would correct him mildly. “Randall will be a sophomore this fall. I believe he’s our first Princeton boy.”

We children would sense our story slipping away to trivia. Arty would nudge me and I’d pipe up with, “Tell about the time when Mama was the geek!” and Arty and Elly and Iphy and Chick would all slide into line with me on the floor between Papa’s chair and Mama.

Mama would pretend to be fascinated by her sewing and Papa would tweak his swooping mustache and vibrate his tangled eyebrows, pretending reluctance. “Welllll …” he’d begin, “it was a long time ago …”

“Before we were born!”

“Before …” he’d proclaim, waving an arm in his grandest ringmaster style, “before I even dreamed you, my dreamlets!”

“I was still Lillian Hinchcliff in those days,” mused Mama. “And when your father spoke to me, which was seldom and reluctantly, he called me ‘Miss.’ ”

“Miss!” we would giggle. Papa would whisper to us loudly, as though Mama couldn’t hear, “Terrified! I was so smitten I’d stutter when I tried to talk to her. ‘M-M-M-Miss …’ I’d say.”

We’d giggle helplessly at the idea of Papa, the GREAT TALKER, so flummoxed.

“I, of course, addressed your father as Mister Binewski.”

“There I was,” said Papa, “hosing the old chicken blood and feathers out of the geek pit on the morning of July 3rd and congratulating myself for having good geek posters, telling myself I was going to sell tickets by the bale because the weekend of the Fourth is the hottest time for geeks and I had a fine, brawny geek that year. Enthusiastic about the work, he was. So I’m hosing away, feeling very comfortable and proud of myself, when up trips your mama, looking like angelfood, and tells me my geek has done a flit in the night, folded his rags as you might say, and hailed a taxi for the airport. He leaves a note claiming his pop is very sick and he, the geek, must retire from the pit and take his fangs home to Philadelphia to run the family bank.”

“Brokerage, dear,” corrects Mama.

“And with your mama, Miss Hinchcliff, standing there like three scoops of vanilla I can’t even cuss! What am I gonna do? The geek posters are all over town!”

“It was during a war, darlings,” explains Mama. “I forget which one precisely. Your father had difficulty getting help at that time or he never would have hired me, even to make costumes, as inexperienced as I was.”

“So I’m standing there fuddled from breathing Miss Hinchcliff’s Midnight Marzipan perfume and cross-eyed with figuring. I couldn’t climb into the pit myself because I was doing twenty jobs already. I couldn’t ask Horst the Cat Man because he was a vegetarian to begin with, and his dentures would disintegrate the first time he hit a chicken neck anyhow. Suddenly your mama pops up for all the world like she was offering me sherry and biscuits. ‘I’ll do it, Mr. Binewski,’ she says, and I just about sent a present to my laundryman.”

Mama smiled sweetly into her sewing and nodded. “I was anxious to prove myself useful to the show. I’d been with Binewski’s Fabulon only two weeks at the time and I felt very keenly that I was on trial.”

“So I says,” interrupts Papa, “ ‘But, miss, what about your teeth?’ Meaning she might break ’em or chip ’em, and she smiles wide, just like she’s smiling now, and says, ‘They’re sharp enough, I think!’ ”

We looked at Mama and her teeth were white and straight, but of course by that time they were all false.

“I looked at her delicate little jaw and I just groaned. ‘No,’ I says, ‘I couldn’t ask you to …’ but it did flash into my mind that a blonde and lovely geek with legs — I mean your mama has what we refer to in the trade as LEGS — would do the business no real harm. I’d never heard of a girl geek before and the poster possibilities were glorious. Then I thought again, No … she couldn’t …”

“What your papa didn’t know was that I’d watched the geek several times and of course I’d often helped Minna, our cook at home, when she slaughtered a fowl for the table. I had him. He had no choice but to give me a try.”

“Oh, but I was scared spitless when her first show came up that afternoon! Scared she’d be disgusted and go home to Boston. Scared she’d flub the deal and have the crowd screaming for their money back. Scared she’d get hurt … A chicken could scratch her or peck an eye out quick as a blink.”

“I was quite nervous myself,” nodded Mama.

“The crowd was good. A hot Saturday that was, and the Fourth of July was the Sunday. I was running like a geeked bird the whole day myself, and just had time to duck behind the pit for one second before I stood up front to lead in the mugs. There she was like a butterfly …”

“I wore tatters really, white because it shows the blood so well even in the dark of the pit.”

“But such artful tatters! Such low-necked, slit-to-the-thigh, silky tatters! So I took a deep breath and went out to talk ’em in. And in they went. A lot of soldiers in the crowd. I was still selling tickets when the cheers and whistles started inside and the whooping and stomping on those old wood bleachers drew even more people. I finally grabbed a popcorn kid to sell tickets and went inside to see for myself.”

Papa grinned at Mama and twiddled his mustache.

“I’ll never forget,” he chuckled.

“I couldn’t growl, you see, or snarl convincingly. So I sang,” explained Mama.

“Happy little German songs! In a high, thin voice!”

“Franz Schubert, my dears.”

“She fluttered around like a dainty bird, and when she caught those ugly squawking hens you couldn’t believe she’d actually do anything. When she went right ahead and geeked ’em that whole larruping crowd went bonzo wild. There never was such a snap and twist of the wrist, such a vampire flick of the jaws over a neck or such a champagne approach to the blood. She’d shake her star-white hair and the bitten-off chicken head would skew off into the corner while she dug her rosy little fingernails in and lifted the flopping, jittering carcass like a golden goblet, and sipped! Absolutely sipped at the wriggling guts! She was magnificent, a princess, a Cleopatra, an elfin queen! That was your mama in the geek pit.