Part XXX

Part XXX

The Carnival was set off the road on a parcel of community land just West of Slaughterville. It hadn't been hard to find since all of the announcement signs were still peppered on telephone poles along the route. We pulled into the empty gravel lot and parked about twenty feet from the entrance.

I think you should stay in the car.

Why? It's a carnival. It's daylight.

It's daylight, but this isn't your run of the mill carnival.

I'm tired of sitting in the car.

Suit yourself, but no whimpering or crying when things go sideways.

Carl nodded, a look of worry skittering across his eyes.

My business here is not yours, so if you come, you're on your own while I take care of it.

Carl nodded and we hopped out.

The entrance to the grounds was pretty standard, a collapsible arch of wood announcing the a point of disconnect. It was a portal, like all carnival entrances, brightly colored with hints of the wonders inside. Along the main arch was MOTHER'S TRAVELING FABULON in fanciful script of peeling paint.

We'd just stepped over the threshold, when the biggest clown I'd ever seem stepped out from behind a rolling popcorn cart and moved wearily toward us, while he stuffed handfuls of corn in his face.

He stopped in front of us and looked down, surveying us.

I'm Mr. Jingles.

I'm Aubrey, this is Carl. I talked to Father earlier, I'm here to see Mother.

Follow me.

Mr. Jingles turned without pause and walked away. I followed, with Carl squirreling up behind me.

Dude, that is one scary clown.

Just try not piss him off.

We zigged and zagged through the Carnival proper, while around us the Carnies were deep in the work of dismantling the show. It was like being back stage in Vegas, watching the magic become pedestrian when the lights were up.

Eventually we came to the rigs, where everyone camped. And Mr. Jingles put out his arm and almost clothes lined me. I came up just short enough to keep my head. Carl of course slammed into the back of me.

I'll see if she's available.

Mr. Jingles went up the steps and disappeared into the trailer. While we were waiting I caught Carl staring at a pair of twin girls walking the grounds. They were Siamese twins, sharing a dress. I smacked Carl on the back of the head.

You see anyone staring at you?

Why would they?

They may never have seen someone with half a brain walking around.

Carl hung his head then took a sideways cursory glance back at the girls. I smacked him again. he yelped and the door to the trailer opened again.

Mr. Jingles stepped out and came back down the stairs.

She'll see you.

Thanks.

Mr. Jingles then turned his attention to Carl.

You want a beer half brain?

Carl stared slack jawed until Mr. Jingles pushed him away from the trailer.

I hope you brought money too, we're going to play poker.

Carl reached in his pocket, freeing a moth. I handed him a couple of bills.

As Mr. Jingles led Carl away I took the steps to the trailer door, unsure what exactly it was I was going to ask, or how I was going to ask it.

Stepping inside, I had to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. As the door closed behind me I found myself standing in a small waiting area replete with two wing-back chairs and a potted plant, like the waiting room of a doctor who has their practice in their home. To the right was a curtain under which bright blue and green lights pulsed. To the left was another curtain under which no light was visible at all.

The Right Curtain swung open filling the small space with the cold wash of the bank of monitors and communications equipment arranged in a spectacularly small but efficient space. I then heard a familiar voice as a man in a wheelchair rolled through.

You must be Aubrey.

You must be Father.

We shook hands.

Have a seat, it'll be a minute or two. She'll let us know when she's ready. I sat on the edge of one of the chairs.

Coffee?

Sure.

Father pulled a cup from the side of his chair and a thermos from the other and poured a cup, handing it over to me.

It's only about 30 minutes old. It should still have a decent flavor.

I'm used to road mud, so I'm sure it's more than fine.

When you spend as much time on the road as we do, it's the little things that make the difference.

I took a sip. It was probably the best cup of coffee I'd ever had, complex and balanced with almost no acid and warm under tones of chocolate.

It's single source. We roast it here.

It's good.

It's Ethiopian Blue Nile.

Our little back and forth was broken when a voice, simultaneously strong and quiet pushed through the curtain to the left.

Father?

Yes Mother?

Please show our guest in.

Father took the coffee cup from my hand and maneuvered himself to open the curtain. I stood and ducked through the curtain, just fast enough to glimpse the small sitting room before me, where a woman, dark skinned and large, sat in a chair; her white milky blind eyes fixed on me. Then the curtain dropped and the room was plunged into darkness.