The Feet of God

78 - IS THAT REALLY ME?

Pulito’s hind legs scratched at the synthetic grass on the concrete strip as he completed his doggy business.  I realized I needed to pinch a gorilla’s finger, too.  And I was also feeling the pangs of hunger.  Such is the circle of life.

I returned to Jimmy-Bob’s truck and dumped the dog back on the passenger’s side seat, slammed the door shut, and I waited outside.  Just then I caught a glimpse of that sad-eyed kid again, but he ran right away.  I rubbed my eyes, not sure how he could vanish so fast.  Then I noticed Jimmy-Bob and The Amazing Stumppo had wrapped up their meeting and was headed my way.

Jimmy-Bob didn’t stop to chitchat once he got to his truck.  He simply hopped into the cab and started it up, telling me, “You be sure and drop by anytime you find yourself out our way.”

“Thanks, Jimmy-Bob,” I gave him a thumbs-up.  “Say, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Jimmy-Bob revved the engine.  “What?”

“Who’s that kid I keep seeing around with the sad eyes?”

“Kid?  There’s no kid.”  He looked far off for a moment.  “Slim had a boy, though.”  He sighed deep.  “Until that day down at the mill.  Things ain’t never been the same since.”  Suddenly, something seemed to distract Jimmy-Bob’s attention.  “Ooops,” he ducked for a second or two and popped up.  “Don’t forget your gift.”  He tossed the puppy out the window at me before he tore outta the place.  And I couldn’t believe my eyes.  As Jimmy-Bob drove off I could clearly see the moon-eyed ghost boy sitting in the back of the truck.  And there was Little Billy Peevy, stark naked, sitting right beside him.  They both stared direct at me with blank expressions.

“Well, isn’t this precious?”  The Amazing Stumppo took a step back from the little dog in my arms.  “I’m not particularly fond of animals, pets really, but I’m sure some of our talent will find your little friend…ummm, delectable.”  Then he flashed a sly smile at me.  While I tried to understand what he was saying, at the same time I wondered how he got them teeth so sharp-pointed.

“Come along now to makeup and costume.  There’ll be plenty of time to meet the Troupe De Bizarro later at dinner.”

Ding-ding-ding!  I just hit the jackpot.  Dinner will be served.  That would take care of one of my two needs, if not No. 2 exactly, so I brought up the increasingly urgent matter, even if it was bad-mannered to do so, especially under the circumstances of my new start in show business, but what the hell, nature’s duty called.

“Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have a head hidden around here someplace, would ya?”  I smiled as perspiration formed on my upper lip.

“Oh,” The Amazing Stumppo hopped backwards (which, I was beginning to notice, was a very persistent and annoying trait of his).  “Of course.  Around the back of the front truck.  You’ll see.  Can’t miss it.”

I walked over and found some plastic curtain strung around what was essentially a toilet seat hitched to the truck’s bumper with a nearby box of disposable plastic garbage bags.  Well, this didn’t take an engineering genius to figure out.  I pulled the curtain and set about my business just as that damn Pulito showed up.  He kept tugging and biting at the curtain and even shredded some before I could kick him away.  He came right back and jumped at my legs, tryin’ to get into my lap.  This wasn’t gonna happen.  I managed to fling him aside and I finished up as quick as possible.  I was pleased to see they had a supply of complimentary sanitary wipes available, and I thought to myself I could get used to this life.

I returned refreshed, but still hungry.  “What time do we eat?”

The Amazing Stumppo didn’t answer as he took me by my arm and walked me on a grand tour of the parked vehicles belonging to the Cirque De Bizarro.  I was shocked to find out that on the other side of the white van and big-rigs was a world of activity.  (How did this escape my notice?)  There was stages with big painted backdrops announcing different acts, a trapeze setup, miscellaneous props here and there, and numerous vans and old cars with little travel trailers attached.

My host seemed to respect that my condition was tender, so he walked me slowly to the door of one of the larger trailers.  He knocked on the door.  “Mr. Harry, we are in need of your special brand of theatrical enchantment.”

The door opened, and there stood an older guy wearing an obvious blue-dyed wig framing his greasepaint face.  (I was getting used to everyone in the Cirque De Bizarro wearing makeup.  What the hell, who cares anymore?)

“What kinda miracle you want now?”  The man spoke in a raspy voice, sounding a little bored, as he gestured for us to enter his small quarters.

The Amazing Stumppo touched my elbow, “Levantine Lizard, this is our makeup man, costumer and all-around draperer, Mr. Harry of Hollywood.  Mr. Harry, this is the latest addition to our ensemble, the Levantine Lizard.”  The Amazing Stumppo put his hand to his chin again and went, “Hmmmmmm.”  After a few seconds’ pause he said, “Maybe that’s a bit arcane, and perhaps too rococo for the rubes and yokels.  I think we shall simply bill you as Scaly, the Lizard Man.”

The impresario turned to Mr. Harry, “I need you to make him up more lizard-like, and put some kind of loincloth over his naughty bits to create the total effect of a man-like reptile.”

“And what exactly is Scaly’s condition?”  Mr. Harry gave me the ol’ hairy eyeball.  “It’s not catching, is it?”

“Oh, no, no, no, nothing contagious at all,” The Amazing Stumppo waived his gloved hands to indicate there was no need for alarm.

Mr. Harry seemed unconvinced as he slapped on some rubber gloves.  He stood back, put one hand on his hip and flipped on a small spotlight, and he began to press and probe all over with his latex-covered hands.  “I’m thinking some brown and red food coloring in a white vinegar sprayed on in alternating stripes.”

The Amazing Stumppo clapped his hands in delight.  “And the loincloth?”

“I got a purple sequin piece left over from one of Pyro-Tina’s numbers that should work.  I’ll have to let it out some though,” he eyed my waistline.

I ignored the impolite observation, but I had to speak about the costuming since this was about my future in the freak show.  “Uh, gee, Mr. Stumppo, purple is not very flattering to me.  And loincloths?  I dunno.”

His eyes fluttered.  “Oh please, Scaly.  No pretense here.  Just call me Stumppo.”

“Thanks, Stumppo.  And you can just call me….”

But he cut me off mid-sentence.  “Oh, Mr. Harry,” Stumppo oozed, “your divine talents are exactly why we stole you from Hollywood.  Who needs Max Factor, when you can really make a monkey look good?”  Stumppo turned toward me, “Or, in this case, worse.”

Again I checked my hurt feelings so’s not to jeopardize my new career with the Cirque De Bizarro.

Stumppo bowed as he made his exit, “Scaly, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Harry.”  And with that, he flew out the door.

Mr. Harry looked at the door and sneered, “Yeah, stole me from Hollywood with some incriminating evidence is more like it, you shithead.”  Then he turned to me and folded his arms across his chest.  “Okay, strip down and into the shower with you.”

For the second time within the last half-hour I’d been told to strip, and it was getting easier.  Mr. Harry kicked my clothes into a corner, obviously not wanting to touch them even with the rubber gloves he had put on.  He took me into the tiny bathroom of the trailer and just left me standing in the shower while he went off to mix up some food coloring and vinegar.

After about fifteen minutes he came into the bathroom carrying two spray bottles, one filled with red liquid and one filled with brown, a small paint brush, and two tiny bottles of food coloring.  Then, from his hip pocket he produced a pint of Cactus Jack.  “It’s likely to sting a bit, so you’d better have a sip of this first.”

I did my best to give Mr. Harry a brave smile as I sucked down half the tequila straight off.  “Will it sting more’n kerosene?” I asked.

“Hope not,” came the spare reply.

“Got any beer in that case?” I smiled hopefully.

Mr. Harry did not respond as he grabbed the brown bottle and started spraying down my back.  Shivers traveled through my whole body as the liquid squirted over my scabs and sores.

“Okay, brown down the back, red for the belly…just a little more here…could you lift that please, I have to get more red there…ummm-hummm, bend just a bit that way, oh sorry, sorry…too much?  Here, take another sip.  We’re just about done.  Almost there….”

I drained what was left of the Cactus Jack.

“Okay, now we’re gonna want to accentuate the face and those bulbous eyes,” he grabbed a tube of green makeup.  “Turn around here, lean down, okay, some here, a stripe there…yes…here we go…aaaaaand voilà…look!  Look at you.  You’re fabulous, ugly, just awful, even if I say so myself.  They’re gonna love you.”

Mr. Harry stepped away from the mirror that hung on the door so’s I could take a better look at myself.  Tears streamed down my green-streaked cheeks as I saw what I was:  a brown and red, bumpy-skinned, bulge-eyed monster.

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