We’re about a quarter up this side of Honeysuckle Hill when he says, “It’s a good night for the race, wouldn’t ya say?”
Bless his homely heart. He’s trying to cheer me up by telling me the Bazooka joke the same way I always do when he’s down in the dumps. “And which race might that be, E. J.?” I say, playing dumb the same way he always does.
He can barely contain himself. “Why, that would be the human one, Shenny.”
I am so surprised by what escapes out of my mouth. I don’t know if it’s relief from not having to search for my mama anymore or the comfort of having a steadfast mountain man by my side who’s going to help me find out how she died. It’s the first time I’ve laughed in a coon’s age.
Once we’re atop Honeysuckle Hill, E. J. and I can hear boogiewoogie music coming over the loud speakers. Lights that look like full moons are illuminating most of Buffalo Park. Flatbed trucks that’re loaded with rides and game booths and men are struggling with a tent, shouting, “Get ’er up.”
Colonel Button’s Thrills and Chills has come to town.
The half-raised red tent is for the Oddities of Nature show and a couple of them are already here. The fattest lady in the whole world-Baby Doll Susan? Her trailer has a picture of her painted on the side. Her dimples are the size of truck tires. The towel-headed man is relaxing on a folding chair under a shade tree reading a magazine, which strikes me so funny. I never imagined he did anything else with his life but lie down on a bed of nails in a diaper twice a day. The other oddities like Milly and Tilly the Siamese Twins and Tiny Jimbo, and that baby in the bottle that Bootie told me was coming this year, can’t be far behind.
I ask E. J., “What day is it anyway?”
He stopped to watch a couple of the hobos struggling to set up a game booth. “Damnit to hell and back!” E. J. says, throwing his cap onto the grass.
“Ed James!” I’m shocked. He rarely curses.
“Sorry. It’s just that… I shoulda got over here earlier.” He runs his hands through his bird’s nest hair. “My papa’s been feelin’… we could use some extra cash.”
Watching the hobos shuffling to and fro from the trucks, I say, “Don’t worry. Most of them won’t come back in the morning. You know how they are.” They can get work when the carnival comes to town because mostly everybody else in the show is as dirty and scruffy as they are. But they’re not hardy nor reliable. They’ll buy Thunderbird wine with the cash they make working tonight and sleep it off tomorrow.
I recognize a few of the local boys working up a sweat, too. John-John Ellis is here and so is Bootie Young. When Bootie notices me, he stops unloading admission boxes and waves, and I wave back and think once again how dreamy that boy is. I mean, really. He is super something. And he likes me, too. A girl can tell.
Unfortunately, they open the show to everyone no matter how repulsive they are, so Remmy Hawkins is here, too. He’s sprawled on the hood of his fancy car, wearing the same pair of greasy bibs that he’s always got on without a shirt. Judging by the stack of empty beer cans piled alongside the whitewalls, he’s been here most of the day.
Another group of burly men are unloading the merry-go-round piece by piece.
Mama.
That’s the last time I saw her alive. Riding on the merry-go-round that night with Sam Moody in her white blouse with red yarn trim on the pockets. Seeing that smiling swan… it makes my stomach hip-hop so I move my binoculars to the trees that run alongside that part of the park.
“Is that… Curry Weaver?” I ask E. J., not at all sure that it is. He’s standing by himself at the edge of the trees that line the north side of the park.
“Curry?” E. J. is spinning around. “Is he back from the Colony already?”
“He got sent to the Colony?” I ask. Usually the hoboes that get put up there are the habitual offenders. Curry’s only been in town for a few weeks. How much trouble could he get in? “How’d you know that?”
E. J. says sheepishly, “While Woody and you were up in the fort for those days… I got sorta lonely. I went up to the camp to see what Curry was doing. Maybe get some lessons.” E. J. is learning some hand-to-hand combat from the hobo who might not be a teacher or a writer like I first thought, but a soldier who has gone AWOL from the army. Since that war started over in Vietnam, deserters have been showing up at the camp, trying to blend in. I used to think that they were cowards, but when Ricky Oppermann came home from the war without half his skull, that changed my mind. I really liked Ricky even if he was planning on being a dentist like his father. Now he spends every day on his front porch drooling into a bib, so if that’s what Curry is-a deserter-I don’t like him any less for it. “But he wasn’t there. I got worried that he’d hopped a train so I asked around. Dagmar Epps told me that he got hauled off to the Colony by the sheriff.”
“Well, if
“She’s not retarded like you think she is,” E. J. says, real defensive. “Dagmar’s just had a bad string of luck. And she makes a great rabbit stew. Where do you see Curry?”
“There.” I point out to where the carnival lights barely reach, wishing that my sister was by my side. She’ll be sad that she missed seeing Curry. She’d be juiced by how good he cleans up. Instead of his usual hobo outfit, he’s got on a pressed blue shirt and khaki pants. He looks sharp. Probably thought getting fancy would help him get a job with the carnival. (He’s not been living at the camp long enough to know that all Colonel Button requires of his hires is that they got arms and at least one leg.)
“Well, look at that. It’s Sam.” He’s come out from behind one of the trucks and is standing a few yards away from Curry. “Let’s go over there,” I say to E. J. “I want to tell Curry how dapper he looks and I need to talk to Sam in the worst way.” First, to give him hell for not being forthright about Mama’s death, and second, to throw my arms around him. He has to know about Mama’s passing. He’s a detective. How he must have been suffering all this time.
I’m still watching when Sam turns and spots Curry. Extends his hand. They shake and start gabbing like they’re long-lost friends. I didn’t even know they knew each other. And is that Sheriff Andy coming to join in the conversation? Well, I’ll be. I know that Sam and the sheriff are on friendly terms… but Curry? I didn’t know that he knew either one of them. I guess, if what E. J. told me is true about that hobo getting taken up to the Colony, that’s when he made the sheriff’s acquaintance. So why is Curry being so buddy-buddy with him? I went up to the hospital to visit my gramma after she had her nerves break down. It’s not a place that you’d thank somebody for sending you. What could they be talking about? Sam is wagging his head in disbelief at whatever Curry is telling him, and the sheriff is, too. Sam is also shaking his sinewy arms. Is he warming-up for the baseball toss game the roustabouts are setting up next to the Guess Your Weight scale. No, he seems too agitated. Has Sam fallen off the wagon?
“C’mon.” I let my binoculars drop to my chest and we start heading towards Sam, the sheriff, and Curry when Remmy Hawkins stumbles in front of us and blocks our path.
“Oooeee, look what the cat drug out from under the porch,” he says. He means E. J. Remmy likes me. In a very disgusting way. “If it ain’t E. J.
It makes me sick that he can tell me and Woody apart. “Don’t call me your honey bun, you…” I want to tell Remmy that he’s an imbecile, but you know, this boy is drunk enough to be a keg with legs. And he loves to fight. He wouldn’t hurt me, but E. J.? Remmy loves picking on him. It’s practically his hobby to make fun of how poor and small he is.
Hawkins leers down at E. J.’s too-big shoes and says, “You come to get another pair offa Jinx the Clown?” He spits and that gob lands on the tip of E. J.’s royal blue sneakers, which are his only ones no matter how flappy they are on him. Elbowing him out of the way, Remmy sidles up next to me. “Ya might want to think about gettin’ off that high horse you’re on. You’re gonna have to start bein’ a lot more hospitable to me real soon.”
“Why would I do that? You givin’ away free tickets to the freak show or something?” The storm that swept through earlier might’ve cooled things down for a day or so, but I’m still feeling hot about Remmy showing up at the
