BY DR. AGONSON
The freak sits on his little wicker chair, his squinty eyes, like black marbles, following the passersby of the fair. Families and couples, young and old, they all pass by the tent with its big wooden sign advertising, The Freak Show. Simply painted portraits show the grotesque creatures inside, malformed animals, malformed men, and the things in between.
The freak’s stubby hand clasps a wooden fan, which at times is seized in quick, little bursts of fevered wristwork, at times lies still against the man’s breast, but mostly moves in gradual ups and downs. He is sweating. Large beads are seen forming on his brow and he feels others rolling down his back. It’s too hot, the air too thick, but he smiles when someone comes near, calling them into his tent of horrors with a broad grin and a light laugh.
His voice is airy and high, strange to hear to the strangers he meets, but his charm offputs his offputting features, or strives against them. He seems sweet, some say, others might say effeminate. He is, though he rarely mentions it, a eunuch, or as good as one. Born strange, unlike his brothers and sisters in body, unlike them in mind as well.
It was hard to say exactly what his mind was. He would laugh at things no one else would, or say things no one could quite understand; at least, no one could understand them when he said them. Time, however, would often unveil his cryptic remarks. It was wondered at that a creature with such beady little eyes could possess such powerful insight. Perhaps the organ he relied on was not his eyes but his ears; they were rather large, it is true.
His mother, perhaps the only person who ever loved him, swore up and down that he was gifted. After all, she would say, he is the seventh son of a seventh son. His father considered him a bastard, though, and treated this flabby thing as the unhallowed spawn of some devil.
He hoped, when he joined the circus, to tell fortunes. He was, after all, much better at it than their current fortuneteller, but he soon learned that the circus was not a place for his gift, or for truth. The people liked the bad fortuneteller because she invariably gave good fortunes. Howbeit if someone should actually be told his future? The freak knew what he knew, and people often didn’t want to know.
He was an actual prognosticator, she a good liar, but they were friends. After a time, they had both come to understand one another, which was why she would sometimes send clients his way. As strange as it seemed to her, there were some people who really wanted to know, or, as she judged, needed to know what she couldn’t really tell them.
His beady eyes scanned the dusty fairgrounds. He could hear the pop of guns, and the ding of little metal targets being felled. He could hear the ringing of the high striker as that new roustabout, with his bulging arms, showed how easy it was to win a prize. His eyes scanned, searching for the man he knew was coming. He had known it for weeks, but he didn’t tell the fortuneteller. She would send him to the freak if he told her he was coming or not, and it always seemed to upset her a little when he spoke so surely of the future.
But he was growing impatient. Though it was still hellishly hot, the sun was setting. The crowds were thinning. He wanted to get to bed, to uncover his horrific body and lie under a fan until the next day. He didn’t sleep anymore. He just lay there naked and waiting, listening to katydids or warbling nightbirds or dogs barking at things only he and the dogs understood.
But the man did come, a shadow silhouetted in the brilliant orange and yellow sunset. The freak’s beady eyes locked on him, and he smiled. Folding his fan tight, he set it down on what amounted to his lap. The man, the stranger, approached.
He opened his mouth, about to speak, but the freak cut him off:
“I know. The Lady Arizona sent you.” His high voice sounded almost like he was giggling, but the smile had faded away; his expression was serious. “Do not tell me more. I will tell you.” The freak paused, leaning to one side so he could take a deeper breath. “You do not ask this for yourself, but your master sent you.” The freak cocked his head like a bird and went on, “So you know what I say is true. Lady Arizona didn’t know that. She might have sent someone to tell me you were coming, to tell me the question you asked her, but she didn’t know you were someone’s agent. I knew. I knew before you were sent that you were coming. The circus is in town one more day, so tell your master to come to me and ask me his questions. I know where his daughter is, and the other things too. I know, even—and you must tell him this so that he believes—what happened out on the lake that one winter long ago.”
“What happened?” the servant asked.
The freak’s beady little eyes trained on the man. “He killed his brother.”
The stranger walked away. The freak knew he would not see the man again; no one would after he delivered his message to his master. The freak knew too, tomorrow he would tell his last fortune, and he would finally sleep.
Tale Told 