IT WAS THE USUAL SORT OF CARNIVAL in the usual sort of town. Therides were the same, the cotton candy tasted the same, the flat jointspracticed a degree of moderation acceptable to the local law in separatingthe marks from their half dollars, whether with baseballs thrown at targets,with wheels of fortune, or what-but the separation took place just the same.
The sex lecture was trimmed to suit local opinions concerning CharlesDarwin’s opinions, the girls in the posing show wore that amount of gauzethat local mores required, and the Fearless Fentons did their Death-Defying(in sober truth) Double Dive just before the last bally each night.
The ten-in-one show was equally standard. It did not have a mentalist, it didhave a magician; it did not have a bearded lady, it did have a half-man halfwoman;it did not have a sword swallower, it did have a fire eater. In place ofa tattooed man the show had a tattooed lady who was also a snake channerandfor the blow-off (at another half dollar per mark) she appeared.absolutely nude! .. clothed only in bare living flesh in exotic designs!“-andany mark who could find one square inch below her neckline untattooedwould be awarded a twenty dollar bill.
That twenty dollars had gone unclaimed all season, because the blowoff washonestly ballyhooed. Mrs. Paiwonski stood perfectly still and completelyunclothed-other than in .bare, living flesh“ ... in this case a fourteen-foot boaconstrictor known as .Honey Bun.“ Honey Bun was looped around Mrs. P. sostrategically that even the local ministerial alliance could find no real excuseto complain, especially as some of their own daughters wore not nearly asmuch and covered still less while attending the carnival. To keep the placid,docile Honey Bun from being disturbed, Mrs. P. took the precaution ofstanding on a small platform in the middle of a canvas tank-on the floor ofwhich were more than a dozen cobras.
The occasional drunk who was certain that all snake charmer’s snakes weredefanged and so tried to climb into the tank in pursuit of that undecoratedsquare inch invariably changed his opinion as soon as a cobra noticed him,lifted and spread its hood.
Besides, the lighting wasn’t very good.
However, the drunk could not have won the twenty dollars in any case. Mrs.
P’s claim was much sounder than the dollar. She and her late husband hadhad for many years a tattooing studio in San Pedro; when trade was slackthey had decorated each other-and, eventually, at some minor inconvenienceto herself, the art work on her was so definitively complete from her neckdown that there was no possible room for an encore. She took great prideboth in the fact that she was the most completely decorated woman in theworld (and by the world’s greatest artist, for such was her humbly gratefulopinion of her late husband) and also in the certainty that every dollar sheearned was honest.
She associated with grifters and sinners and did not hold herself aloof fromthem. But her own integrity was untouched. She and her husband had beenconverted by Foster himself, she kept her membershiP in San Pedro andattended services at the nearest branch of the Church of the New Revelationno matter where she was.
Patricia Paiwoush would gladly have dispensed with the protection of HoneyBun in the blow-off not merely to prove that she was honest (that needed noproof, since she knew it was true) but because she was serene in herconviCtiOn that she was the canvas for religiouS art greater than any on thewalls or ceilings of the Vatican. When she and George had seen the light.
there was still about three square feet of Patricia untouched before he diedshe carried a complete pictorial life of Foster, from his crib with the angelShovering around to the day of glory when he had taken his appointed placeamong the archangels.
Regrettably (since it might have turned many sinners into seekers of the light)much of this sacred history bad to be covered up. the amount depending onthe local lawmen. But she could show it in closed Happiness ~eetiflgS of thelocal churches she attended, if the shepherd wanted her to, which he almostalways did. But, while it was always good to add to Happiness~ the saved didnot need it; Patricia would rather have saved sinners. She couldn’t preach.
she couldn’t sing, and she had never been called to speak in tongues__butshe was a living witness to the light.
In the ten-in-One, her act came next to last, just before the magician; thisgave her time to put away unsold photograPhs of herself (a quarter for black& white, half a dollar in color, a set of special photograPhs for five dollars in asealed envelope sold only to marks who signed a printed form alleging thatthey were doctors of medicine, psychology, sociology, or other such entitledto professional material not available to the general public-and such wasPatricia’s integrity that she would not sell these even for ten dollars if themark did not look the part; she would then ask to see his business card - nodirty dollars were going to put her kids through school-and also gave her timeto slip behind the rear canvas and get herself and her snakes ready for theblOW-Off.
The magician, Dr. Apollo, performed on the last platform nearest to thecanvas fly leading to the blow-Off. He started by passing out to his audiencea dozen shiny steel rings, each as wide as a plate; he invited them toconvince themselves that each ring was solid and smooth. Then he bad themhold the rings so that they overlapped. Dr. Apollo walked along the platform~reached out with his wand and tapped each overlap-the solid steel linksformed a chain.
Casually he laid his wand in the air, rolled up his sleeves, accepted a bowl ofeggs from his 5ssistant, and started to juggle half a dozen of them. Hisjuggling did not attract too many eyes; his assistant was more worthy ofstares. She was a fine example of modern functional design and, while shewore a great deal more than did the young ladies in the posing show,nevertheless there seemed to be a strong probability that she was nottattooed anywhere. The marks hardly noticed it when the six eggs becameeve, then four three, two—until at last Dr. Apollo was tossing one egg in theair, with his sleeves still rolled up and a puzzled look on his faceAt last hesaid, .Eggs are getting scarcer every year,“ and tossed the remaining eggover the heads of those nearest the platform to a man in the back of thecrowd. .Catch!“He turned away and did not seem to notice that the egg never reached itsdestination.
Dr. Apollo performed several other tricks, while wearing always the sameslightly puzzled expression and with the same indifferent patter. Once hecalled a young boy close to the platform. .Son, I can tell you what you arethinking. You think I’m not a real magician. And you’re right~ For that you wina dollar.“ He handed the kid a dollar bill. It disappeared.
The magician looked unhappy. .Dropped it? Well, hang on to this one.“ Asecond bill disappeared.
.Oh, dear. Well, we’ll have to give you one more chance. Use both hands.
Got it? All right, better get out of here fast with it-YOU should be home in bedanyhow.“ The kid dashed away with the money and the magician turned backand again looked puzzled .Madame Merlin, what should we do now?“His pretty assistant came up to him, pulled his head down by one ear,whispered into it. He shook his head. .No, not in front of all these people.“She whispered again; he looked distressed. .I’m sorry, friends, but MadameMerlin insists that she wants to go tobed. Will any of you gentlemen helpher?“He blinked at the rush of volunteers- .Oh, just two of you. Were any of yougentlemen in the Army?“There were still more than enough volunteers. Dr. Apollo picked two andsaid, .There’s an army cot under the end of the platforms just lift up thecanvas_flow, will you set it up for her here on the platform? Madame Merlin,face this way, please.“While the two men set up the cot, Dr. Apollo made passes in the air at hisassistant. .Sleep ... sleep . . you are now asleep. Friends, she is in a deeptrance. Will you two gentlemen who so kindly prepared her bed now placeher on it? One take her head, one take her feet. Careful, now-. In corpselikerigidity the girl was transferred to the cot.
.Thank you, gentlemen. But we ought not to leave her uncovered, shouldwe? There was a sheet here, somewhere. Oh, there it is.“ The magicianreached out, recovered his wand from where he had parked it, pointed to atable laden with props at the far end of his platform; a sheet detached itselffrom the pile and came to him. .Just spread this over her. Cover her head,too; a lady should not be exposed to public gaze while sleeping. Thank you.
Now if you will just step down off the platform. Fine! Madame Merlin . . . canyou hear me?“.Yes, Doctor Apollo.“.You were heavy with sleep. Now you are resting. You feel lighter, muchlighter. You are sleeping on a bed of clouds. You are floating away onclouds-. The sheet-covered form raised slowly up about a foot. .Wups! Don’tget too light. We don’t want to lose you.“In the crowd, a boy in his late teens explained in a loud whisper, .She’s notunder the sheet now. When they put the sheet over her, she went downthrough a trap door. That’s just a light framework, doesn’t weigh as much asthe sheet. And in a minute he’ll flip the sheet away and while he does, theframework will collapse and disappear. It’s just a gimmick—anybody could doit,“Dr. Apollo ignored him and went on talking. .A little higher, Madame Merlin.
Higher. There-. The draped form floated about six feet above the platform.
The smart youngster whispered to his friends, .There’s a slender steel rodbut you can’t see it too easily. It’s probably where one corner of the sheethangs down there and touches the cot.“Dr. Apollo turned and requested his volunteers to remove the cot and put itback under the platform. .She doesn’t need it now. She sleeps on clouds.“He faced the floating form and appeared to be listening. .What? Louder,please. Oh? She says that she doesn’t want the sheet-it’s too heavy.“(.Here’s where the framework disappears.“)The magician tugged one corner of the sheet, snatched it away; the audiencehardly noticed that the sheet disappeared without his bothering to gather it in;they were looking at Madame Merlin, still floating, still sleeping, six feetabove the platform. The platform stood in the middle rear of the tent and theaudience surrounded it on all sides. A companion of the boy who knew allabout stage magic said, .Okay, Speedy, where’s the steel rod?“The kid said uncertainly, .You have to look where he doesn’t want you tolook, it’s the way they’ve got those lights fixed to shine right into your eyes.“Dr. Apollo said, .That’s enough sleep, fairy princess. Give me your hand.
Wake up, wake up!“ He took her hand, pulled her erect and helped her stepdown to the platform.
(.You see? You saw how stiff she got down, you saw where she put her foot?
That’s where the steel rod went.“ The kid added with satisfaction, .Just agimmick.“)The magician went on talking, .And now friends, if you will kindly give yourattention to our learned lecturer, Professor Timoshenko-.
The talker cut in at once. .Don’t go .way! For this one performance only byarrangement with the Council of Colleges and Universities and with thepermission of the Department of Safety and Welfare of this wonderful city, weare offering this twenty dollar bill absolutely free to any one of you-.
Most of the tip was turned into the blow-off. A few wandered around, thenstarted to leave as most of the lights in the main tent were turned off. Thefreaks and other carnies started packing their props and slum preparatory totear-down. There was a train jump coming in the morning and living topswould remain up for a few hours sleep, but canvas boys were alreadyloosening stakes on the sideshow top.
Shortly the talker-owner-manager of the ten-in-one came back into the semidarkenedtent, having rushed the blow-off and spilled the last marks out therear exit. .Smitty, don’t go .way. Got something for you.“ He handed themagician an envelope, which Dr. Apollo tucked away without looking at it.
The manager added, .Kid, I hate to tell you this-but you and your wife ain’tgoing with us to Paducah.“.I know.“.Well ... look, don’t take it hard, there’s nothing personal about it -but I got tothink of the show. We’re replacing you with a mentalist team. They do a topreading act, then she runs a phrenology and mitt camp while he makes withthe mad ball. We need .em . . . and you know as well as I do you didn’t haveno season’s guarantee. You were just on trial.“.I know,“ agreed the magician. .I knew it was time to leave. No hardfeelings, Tim.“.Well, I’m glad you feel that way about it.“ The talker hesitated. .Smitty, doyou want some advice? Just say no if you don’t.“.I would like very much to have your advice,“ the magician said simply.
.Okay, you asked for it. Smitty, your tricks are good. Hell, some of .em evengot me baffled. But clever tricks don’t make a magician. The trouble is you’renot really with it. You behave like a carney-you mind your own business andyou never crab anybody else’s act and you’re helpful if anybody needs it. Butyou’re not a carney. You know why? You don’t have any feeling for whatmakes a chump a chump; you don’t get inside his mind. A real magician canmake the marks open their mouths and catch flies just by picking a quarterout of the air. That Thurston’s levitation you do-I’ve never seen it done anymore perfectly but the marks don’t warm to it. No psychology. Now take me,for example. I can’t even pick a quarter out of the air-hell, I can barely use aknife and fork without cutting my mouth. I got no act . . . except I got the oneact that counts. I know marks. I know where that streak of larceny is in hisheart, I know just how wide it is. I know what he hungers for, whether heknows it or not. That’s showmanship, son, whether you’re a politician runningfor office, a preacher pounding a pulpit . . . or a magician. You find out whatthe chumps want and you can leave half your props in your trunk.“.I’m sure you’re right.“.I know I am. He wants sex and blood and money. We don’t give him any realblood-unless a fire eater or a knife thrower makes a terrible mistake. Wedon’t give him money, either; we just encourage him to hope for it while wetake away a little. We don’t give him any real sex. But why do seven out often of a tip buy the blow-off? To see a nekkid broad, that’s why-and a chanceto be paid a double sawbuck for lookin’-when maybe they got one just asgood or better at home, nekkid anytime they like. So he don’t see one and hedon’t get paid-and sill we send him out happy.
.What else does a chump want? Mystery! He wants to think that the world isa romantic place when he knows damn well it ain’t. That’s your job . . . onlyyou ain’t learned how. Shucks, son, even the marks know that your tricks arefake . . . only they’d like to believe they’re real, and it’s up to you to help .embelieve, as long as they’re inside the show. That’s what you lack.“.How do I get it, Tim? How do I learn what makes a chump tick?“.Hell, I can’t tell you that; that’s the piece you have to learn for yourself. Getout and stir around and be a chump yours............