Texas Summer (11 page)

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please. I am happy to present to you Madame X, the Great Hermaphrodite — that’s right, I did say ‘Madame,’ because despite her hirsute” — and he smiled down at Harold and Lawrence, who appeared to be the youngest in the place, “— that means
hairy,
boys —” before continuing to the crowd: “yes, I say despite her hirsute characteristics, she is all woman. Madame X, will you please stand, and remove your robe?”

She slowly and gravely rose to her feet, removing the sash belt of her robe and pulling the edges aside for its entire length, revealing her large body, with two bare breasts, the left one — that which Harold had exposed — considerably larger than the other. Beneath the robe she wore a pair of olive-drab shorts, which covered her from her waist to midthigh.

“I now direct your attention,” said the barker, “to the legs of Madame X,” and as he spoke, she lifted one leg and stretched it to the side for all to see.

“They are hairless,” he said, “as are her arms, and indeed, ninety-five percent of her entire body. Her bodily parts on which hair grows are her head, her face, and her pubic region — and, yes, under her arms. Would you lift your arms, please, Madame.”

She did so, and great drops of sweat fell from her biceps to the platform floor. Her armpits, though without hair, were dark and appeared to have been dusted with white powder.

“You will notice,” said the barker, “that Madame X has shaved beneath her arms — with typical feminine vanity.”

This gave rise to a ripple of laughter from the crowd, including Lawrence, who added, with an elaborate grimace of distaste: “I sure wouldn’t want my nose stuck up there! Haw!”

Harold edged away from Lawrence. He felt a vague sympathy for this strange bearded person, perhaps because he had shared the stage with her for a brief moment.

“Now then, let’s get serious,” said the barker. “I know what’s in each and every one of your minds — you’re asking yourself, ‘Well, what about her genitalia — her private parts, her sexual parts — is it man, or is it woman?’ Let me assure you that every person” — he paused and shot a straight look to Harold and Lawrence — “every
adult
person here today will have their curiosity satisfied — because, for one dime, less than the price of a postage stamp, we will accompany Madame X to her private quarters, where she will remove all of her garments and reveal her genitalia for all to see!”

“What the heck is that?” Harold wanted to know.

“That’s her pecker an’ poon,” said Lawrence with a grin, then he scowled, “but he ain’t gonna let us see it — ’cause
you
look too dang young!”

“Reckon I look as old as you do,” said Harold. But the barker did not think either one of them looked old enough, so they were turned away from the inner sanctum of the Great Hermaphrodite.

Grossly incensed, Lawrence was prepared to storm out. “I bet she’s got a dang false pecker anyway!” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

The barker, with the Great Herm in tow, was leading the crowd through the opening to an adjoining tent. He gave Lawrence a humorless smile as they passed.

“Don’t go diggin’ no early grave for yourself, hoss,” he said quietly.

Lawrence, now doubly incensed, stamped around the tent, which was now empty except for the taxidermy collection.

“We oughtta tear this place apart,” he fumed.

Then he spotted a gap in the canvas wall of the tent, wrenched the frayed edges wider apart, and peered in.

“I’m gonna get a look at that dang pecker-poon yet,” he muttered.

Harold had taken an interest in a preserved Gila monster and failed to notice Lawrence’s tampering with the tent wall, until Lawrence suddenly turned toward him wild-eyed and grinning.

“Hey, c’mere,” he whispered urgently, “it’s the dang monkey man!”

“Huh?”

“The monkey man, the monkey man! It’s him, dang it!” Lawrence moved his head so Harold could see, through the gap and into a small canvas cubicle. In the middle of the room was a metal bed, its raised sides fitted with vertical rungs, like a child’s crib, and inside it sat a small, dark-skinned person with a tiny head, eating something held in both hands.

Harold nodded. “That’s him all right.”

“Hey, monkey man!” Lawrence hissed in a whisper. “Hey, Mister Dan!”

The small, bright-eyed aboriginal pulled himself up by the top rung of the crib and stared at the hole in the canvas.

“He heard you,” whispered Harold. “He’s lookin’ right at us.”

“Let’s go in there an get ’im,” said Big Lawrence.

“Are you crazy?”

“We can take him on the Loop-O-Plane,” said Lawrence, grinning at Harold like a madman.

Harold stared at him. “You must really be crazy,” he said.

“You mean you’re scared to go in there with me to get him?”

Harold gave him a look meant to reflect disgust. “What I mean,” he said coldly, “is that they could get us for
kidnappin’.
”

“He ain’t no kid,” said Lawrence, “he’s a monkey man.”

They crawled under the canvas wall, into the crib-tent, and crept up to the crib itself. Mister Dan offered no resistance when Lawrence picked him up, and, in fact, put his arms around Lawrence’s neck.

“Look at this dang monkey man!” said Lawrence, pleased at the apparent show of affection. “Let’s go get ’im some cotton candy and custard.”

“It may make him throw up,” said Harold.

They threaded the alleyway maze behind the tents of the oddities complex, Mister Dan now holding each of their hands, half running and half hopping between them. At the end of the passage between the tents, where it joined the midway, was another cotton-candy stand. While Harold and the aboriginal waited in the shadow of the tent, Lawrence ran over and came back with three cones of it. After a minute, Mister Dan had his wrapped around his head like a turban.

“How long you think it’ll be before they start missin’ him?” Harold wanted to know.

Lawrence shook his head. “Not long I reckon. Let’s take him in yonder.” He pointed to a sign over a barnlike building directly ahead of them:

Law West of the Pecos

Bar and Grill

THE BIGGEST BURGERS AND THE COLDEST BEER

AT THE ONION

The place was deserted except for a cowboy and two girls in a back booth. At the bar, Lawrence lifted Mister Dan onto a stool between them. He started spinning slowly around, pulling strands of the candy off his head and into his mouth.

“Three beers,” said Big Lawrence and he slapped two quarters onto the bar.

The bartender was a man who should have worn glasses, but did not, so that his squinting had given his face in repose an expression of constant disapproval.

“You boys ain’t old enough to drink beer,” said the bartender.

“Okay,” said Lawrence, “give us two
Cokes,
and give
him
a beer —
he’s
old enough.”

“That’s right,” said Harold, genial and positive, “he’s supposed to be about fifty.”

The bartender took two Cokes out of an ice chest, opened them, and sat them on the bar. “An’ I don’t serve niggers,” he said.

“He ain’t no nigger,” said Lawrence, “he’s a monkey man.”

The bartender’s frown deepened. “What?”

“It’s true,” said Harold, with what sounded like a touch of pride. “He works here at the Onion. They call him ‘Mister Dan.’ Ain’t you heard that guy on the midway? He says, ‘Come in an’ see Mister Dan, that funny little old monkey man!’” He nodded at their companion. “Well, that’s him.”

“That’ll be thirty cents,” said the bartender, and he picked up the two quarters.

“Well, give ’im a beer,” said Lawrence.

The bartender put two dimes back on the bar. “You boys drink up, an’ haul ass,” he said, “an’ git him outta here.”

“What’re you gonna do,” said Lawrence, “pull a dang ‘Hey Rube’ on us? Haw.”

From the back booth the cowboy’s drunken but friendly voice was heard: “Hey there, hoss, how ’bout two beers for two dears back here? An’ bring me a Coke setup.”

While the bartender was taking the two beers and the Coke setup to the booth in the back, Lawrence surreptitiously removed a half-pint of Wild Turkey from his pocket and poured some into his and Harold’s Coke bottles.

“Try an’ give ’im some Turkey,” he told Harold.

Harold looked at their companion, who was slowly spinning on the barstool, while pulling the cotton candy out in long strands and draping them sideways across his face, all in a slightly wild-eyed, but nonmenacing, fashion. But before Harold could get his attention, the bartender had returned, looking serious.

“I seen you just now, toppin’ them Cokes with Turkey,” he said. “I want you to pick up your change an’ haul ass.”

Lawrence cleared his throat.

“This here’s a public place,” he said with considerable authority. “I reckon we can stay here as long as we want.” He looked to Harold for affirmation.

“That’s right,” said Harold, nodding, “it’s a public place.”

“Public place hell,” said the bartender. “I
own
this bar, it’s private property.”

“This ain’t no real bar,” said Lawrence, “this here’s a
concession
— you don’t own it, you jest
rent
it.” He indicated Mister Dan with a jerk of his head. “So why don’t you give him a beer before we tangle ass-holes.”

It was then they noticed that the bartender was squinting beyond them, through the open door, across the dirt street, where, next to the cotton-candy concession, stood a tall man in khaki, wearing a Stetson on his head and a pearl-handled .45 on his hip.

“You jest wait here, son,” said the bartender. “I’m gonna git that deputy to put you...an’ him...an’ your nigger frien’...
under
the goddam jail.”

“You ain’t man enough to tangle,” Lawrence yelled after him.

“Hey, we better get outta here,” said Harold, watching as the bartender started across the dirt street toward the deputy.

“Yeah...,” Lawrence was reluctant to admit, “I reck-tum.”

Now the bartender was talking to the deputy and pointing toward the bar. “Come on, let’s head out the back.”

“What about Mister Dan?” asked Harold.

Now the bartender and the deputy were coming toward them. Lawrence scooped up the monkey man. “Awright, let’s head out!” he exclaimed, obviously with a full head of adrenaline now in anticipation of the chase.

They hurried toward the back, passing the booth where the cowboy and the two girls were partying.

“Hey, where you good-lookin’ boys goin?” one of the girls yelled.

The cowboy laughed. “Looks like they’re headed fer tall cotton,” he said.

“What’s that big un’ carryin’?” one of the girls wanted to know. “Looked like a old niggerman.”

“That wudn’t no nigger,” said the cowboy.

“He was carryin’ him jest like a li’l baby,” she said. “Jest like a li’l babe-in-arms!”

“I think you’re drunk, hon,” said the cowboy. “Here, have another one.”

In the dark corridor leading past the deserted kitchen and to the back door, they passed several coat hooks on the wall, one of which had an old jacket hanging on it.

“Git that dang coat,” said Lawrence.

“You mean steal it?” asked Harold.

“No, jest git it!”

Before they reached the back door, Lawrence took the jacket and draped it over the monkey man’s head and shoulders.

“Awright now,” Lawrence said as they stepped out into the blazing reality of the Texas afternoon, “try an’ ack natch’ral.”

They headed for the less frequented area of the livestock and produce exhibitions.

“What’s he doin’ in there?” Harold wanted to know after a few minutes.

Lawrence lifted the top of the jacket and peered in.

“Jest settin’ there,” he said. “Hey, did you see them two girls in the booth back yonder? They were ready to have a party.”

“Looked like they
were
havin’ a party,” said Harold.

“I don’t think they liked that shit-kicker they was with,” said Lawrence. “They were mighty friendly. I got half a mind to git rid of this monkey man an’ head back there. Think we oughtta?”

“Are you crazy?” asked Harold. “He’s awready called the law on us.” He looked at the bundle in Lawrence’s arms. “Besides,” he went on, “we can’t jest up an’ leave him, can we?”

“Awright then,” said Lawrence. “You carry him.”

Harold was reluctant.

“We better not switch, he’s probly got use’ to you by now.”

Lawrence seemed pleased by this notion, but was not prepared to admit it.

“Hell, he wudn’t even notice,” he said, but he lifted the jacket for a glimpse. The monkey man stared at him with wide unblinking eyes and an expression of mild concern. Then he slowly opened his mouth, at the same time screwing up his face in an extremely curious, but unthreatening, grimace.

“Just look at this dang monkey man!” exclaimed Lawrence, and he laughed aloud. “Ain’t he somethin’!” He gave the bundle an affectionate squeeze. “I’m gonna run with ’im,” he said, “an’ see what he does!”

And he took off in a sprint, along the thoroughfare between the livestock and the produce exhibitions, where only a few people were strolling, most of them elderly couples. Lawrence ran past them, yelling in a loud voice: “Look out! I got the monkey man! Coming through with Mister Dan, that funny little ole monkey man!”

The monkey man, now half uncovered, had gotten quite excited by the rushing about, and began to make high-pitched squealing sounds of apparent delight, waving his arms, gesticulating wildly, and grimacing in an extraordinary way.

Heads turned at the curious sounds and the spectacle.

“Did you see that? Did you see that boy runnin’ like a crazy person an’ carryin’ a little niggerman? Good Lord!”

“Oh no, I don’t think it was a nigger. It didn’t look like no nigger to me.”

“Well what the hell was it?”

“Sounded to me like he said ‘the monkey man.’”

“
Whut?
”

Harold had to run full out to catch up with them.

“Be careful!” he yelled at Lawrence. “Don’t drop him. Don’t drop Mister Dan!”

The notion somehow tickled Lawrence.