Carol Birch - Orphans of the Carnival

‘Go back!’ he said.

‘Let me through.’

He uncrossed his arm and made a kind of calligraphy in the air with the tip of his knife, then sheathed and unsheathed it very quickly several times. It was a good sturdy hunting knife about six inches long, and he handled it like a pet ferret.

‘It’s got tits,’ someone said.

They giggled. The child was still screaming, choking on himself. His big sister or whatever she was slapped his back.

‘Tits!’

They circled slowly, cracking up with laughter.

‘You are horrible,’ said the boy with the bulbous face. ‘Did you know that? You are the most horrible thing in the whole wide world.’

‘Stop it,’ she said.

‘Filthy!’

She was faint. The tops of the trees swooped down towards her.

‘Stop it,’ she said.

Another stone hit her shoulder.

The round boy, his face bobbing in front of her, strutting with his old man’s pot belly thrust before him; faces, manlike boys, the screaming baby, the girl on the gate, the knife draining the world into its thin shine. The boy with big teeth came close, his lips thick and winsome. She met his eyes, tried to say, boy, please boy, be good, but his eyes were cold and angry. Fear of the knife stopped her throat.

‘Get back, filth,’ he said.

She turned to run back but everything looked different, just dark leaves and shadows in her way. Something hit the middle of her back. They were on all sides. Faintness came up in a big white cloud and covered her head, dragging her down on her knees in the mud. No one was coming to her rescue. The wet grass in front of her was flecked with drowned fragments of something feathery and pollenish.

She got up, turned and faced them, dirt on her dress. ‘I have to go into the field,’ she said.

‘Why?’ asked a boy with elf ears and a hungry face.

‘I have a show.’

‘A show!’ said the round boy. ‘You’re disgusting.’

‘It’s crying,’ said someone.

The scrawny girl began to laugh uncontrollably.

‘Shouldn’t be out scaring people,’ said the baby face boy seriously.

‘I just want to pass,’ she said. ‘I’m not hurting anyone.’

‘Can’t you shut that brat up?’ The boy with the knife turned his head and Julia tried to go round him.

‘Shut up, John,’ said the gawky girl, still laughing.

Then they were all at it, cackling away like jackals.

The baby screamed louder than ever.

‘Take him home, Alice,’ said a red-headed boy at the back, ‘Take him home.’

The girl shushed the baby, never taking her eyes off Julia. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said.

Now they were stooping, scooping up dirt and stones.

‘Let her go past, Bo.’ A voice, daring himself to speak, she couldn’t tell who.

‘Shall I?’ said Bo, sheathing the knife and standing with his hands on his hips. He wasn’t that big. ‘Shall I let you pass?’ He terrified her. He was mad, he might do anything.

‘Yes please, let me pass.’ Her voice was shaky.

A stone, badly lobbed, hit her just below the knee. The biggest yet, almost a rock.

‘ Stop it! ’

It throbbed. She wouldn’t be able to dance. She felt sick. Her eyes overflowed. They were behind her now too, circling, staring, daring one another closer and closer with their movements.

‘Don’t hurt me,’ she said, putting her hands over her face.

More stones, a shower.

She took her hands from her face. ‘Stop it!’ she yelled.

‘You stop it!’ they shouted.

‘Stop it!’

‘Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!’ they chanted back.

She ran through them to the gate. The gate wouldn’t budge. She shook it.

‘Look, it’s mad!’ someone shouted, and someone else screamed loudly. Then someone else. Then they were all at it, trying to outdo each other, and she turned and the knife was in front of her face. She screamed one pure scream of absolute horror and went down on her knees with her back in the corner of the gate, throwing her arms over her head and waiting for them to kill her.

The power of that scream from that face silenced everything but the baby, whose screams soared to new heights.

‘Get him out of here!’ snarled Bo.

‘Let it go,’ someone said.

‘No!’

Then a man’s voice, stern. ‘Bring that child over here!’

A gathering crowd.

‘What’s going on?’

Mud on her skirt.

‘What is it?’

‘One of the freaks.’

‘Escaped.’

‘Where?’

Then Beach, his face red to bursting. ‘For God’s sake! You! There! I see you!’ Gripping her elbow, pulling her up. He draped a shawl over her head, putting one arm around her and guiding her through the crowd. ‘Out of the way, please! Nothing to see, ladies and gentlemen!’ She trembled as he pulled her along, couldn’t stop it. ‘Just a few young hooligans of the locality preparing themselves for their criminal careers,’ he announced. ‘And I know every one of their names.’ She kept her eyes closed under the blanket and sobbed.

Back in her wagon, she sat down on the bank, covered her face with her hands and rocked. Beach stood gaping.

‘What the hell, Julia! What have I told you? If some old peddler hadn’t come and found me…’

‘Not now, not now,’ she said, ‘I have to lie down.’

‘I’ve been up and down the midway three times, I thought you’d run away.’

‘I went to see Cato,’ she said.

‘Who?’

‘Zeo the Wild Man.’

‘For God’s sake! You’re bleeding.’

‘Where?’

‘Can’t you feel it? There on your cheek.’ He gave her his handkerchief. ‘Thank Christ, it’ll hardly show under the hair. You can black it up a bit.’

‘I thought they were going to kill me,’ she said.

Blood on the handkerchief.

‘How many times have I told you?’

‘I know.’

‘ Don’t go off on your own. You know that. Anything could happen. What did I say?’

‘I know.’

‘There have to be certain rules.’ He leaned towards her, scowling, the skin across the bridge of his nose tight and shiny. ‘There has to be trust.’

‘I thought I’d die,’ she said.

She was trembling. He looked at his watch. ‘Lucky it didn’t get nasty,’ he said, patting her shoulder roughly. ‘Get yourself rested up. Get yourself clean. You won’t be so silly again.’

‘I hurt my knee,’ she said.

‘Can you dance?’

‘I’m not sure.’

She walked a few paces. ‘I think so. I feel terrible.’

‘Rest.’

‘I don’t want to go on. What if they’re out front?’

‘You kidding? They won’t get anywhere near the place.’

‘I’m not sure I can,’ she said.

‘Of course you can. You don’t let those savages stop you.’ He turned at the door. ‘You have an hour and a half,’ he said.

The rain was really coming down now, hammering on the roof. She took off the red boots and flung them away from her, lay down and cried for half an hour. I was careful, she thought. I wore my veil and gloves. I’ll go home, should never have left. Horrible. Deceived myself. Why bother? All that hate. To just walk down a street one time. Be the same. Not look up, look up all the time, saying why?

The faces of the children appeared and re-appeared.

I’ll be honest with you, Solana said. You can be as good as anyone, and you can be proud and always stick up for yourself and get respect, but there’s one thing you won’t get, nena , and that’s a man. Not with your face so far gone. Don’t expect it. Love? With a face that frightens children? What a joke!

Horrible thing! Filth! Back! She didn’t hate them, that was the truly terrible thing. She wanted to, she tried, but instead of hate there was just depthless sadness and a great hurting.