she flipped up in the air, balanced for a moment on her head, and twisted her arms and legs together like a mass of twine before looking up at the Baudelaires with a sad frown.
'You see?' Colette said. 'I'm a complete freak.'
'Wow!' Sunny shrieked.
'I thought that was amazing,' Violet said, 'and so did Chabo.'
'That's very polite of you to say so,' Colette said, 'but I'm ashamed that I'm a contortionist.'
'But if you're ashamed of it,' Klaus said, 'why don't you just move your body normally, instead of doing contortions?'
'Because I'm in the House of Freaks, Elliot,' Colette said. 'Nobody would pay to see me move my body normally.'
'It's an interesting dilemma,' Hugo said, using a fancy word for 'problem' that the Baudelaires had learned from a law book in Justice Strauss's library. 'All three of us would rather be normal people than freaks, but tomorrow morning, people will be waiting in the tent for Colette to twist her body into strange positions, for Beverly and Elliot to eat corn, for Chabo to growl and attack the crowd, for Kevin to write his name with both hands, and for me to try on one of those coats. Madame Lulu says we must always give people what they want, and they want freaks performing on a stage. Come now, it's very late at night. Kevin, give me a helping hand putting up hammocks for the newcomers, and then let's all try to get some sleep.'
'I might as well give you
'Try to cheer up,' Colette said gently. 'Maybe a miracle will happen tomorrow, and we'll all get the things we wish for most.'
No one in the caravan said anything more, but as Hugo and Kevin prepared two hammocks for the three Baudelaires, the children thought about what Colette had said. Miracles are like meatballs, because nobody can exactly agree what they are made of, where they come from, or how often they should appear. Some people
say that a sunrise is a miracle, because it is somewhat mysterious and often very beautiful, but other people say it is simply a fact of life, because it happens every day and far too early in the morning. Some people say that a telephone is a miracle, because it sometimes seems wondrous that you can talk with somebody who is thousands of miles away, and other people say it is simply a manufactured device fashioned out of metal parts, electronic circuitry, and wires that are very easily cut. And some people say that sneaking out of a hotel is a miracle, particularly if the lobby is swarming with policemen, and other people say it is simply a fact of life, because it happens every day and far too early in the morning. So you might think that there are so many miracles in the world that you can scarcely count them, or that there are so few that they're scarcely worth mentioning, depending on whether you spend your mornings gazing at a beautiful sunset or lowering yourself into a back alley with a rope fashioned out of matching towels.
But there was one miracle the Baudelaires were thinking about as they lay in their hammocks and tried to sleep, and this was the sort of miracle that felt bigger than any meatball the world has ever seen. The hammocks creaked in the caravan as Violet and Klaus tried to get comfortable in one set of clothing and Sunny tried to arrange Olaf's beard so that it wouldn't be too scratchy, and all three youngsters thought about a miracle so wondrous and beautiful that it made their hearts ache to think of it. The miracle, of course, was that one of their parents was alive after all, that either their father or their mother had somehow survived the fire that had destroyed their home and begun the children's unfortunate journey. To have one more Baudelaire alive was such an enormous and unlikely miracle that the children were almost afraid to wish for it, but they wished for it anyway. The youngsters thought of what Colette had said–that maybe a miracle would happen, and that they would all get the thing they wished for most–and waited for morning to come, when Madame Lulu's crystal ball might bring the miracle the Baudelaires were wishing for.
At last the sun rose, as it does every day, and very early in the morning. The three children had slept very little and wished very much, and now they watched the caravan slowly fill with light, and listened to Hugo, Colette, and Kevin shift in their hammocks, and wondered if Count Olaf had entered the fortune-teller's tent yet, and if he had learned anything there. And just when they could stand it no more, they heard the sound of hurrying footsteps and a loud, metallic knock on the door.
'Wake up! Wake up!' came the voice of the hook-handed man, but before I write down what he said I must tell you that there is one more similarity between a miracle and a meatball, and it is that they both might appear to be one thing but turn out to be another. It happened to me once at a cafeteria, when it turned out there was a small camera hidden in the lunch I received. And it happened to Violet, Klaus and Sunny now, although it was quite some time before they learned that what the hook-handed man said turned out to be something different from what they thought when they heard him outside the door of the freaks' caravan.
'Wake up!' the hook-handed man said again, and pounded on the door. 'Wake up and hurry up! I'm in a very bad mood and have no time for your nonsense. It's a very busy day at the carnival. Madame Lulu and Count Olaf are running errands, I'm in charge of the House of Freaks, the crystal ball revealed that one of those blasted Baudelaire parents is still alive, and the gift caravan is almost out of figurines.'
Chapter Four
'What?' asked Hugo, yawning and rubbing his eyes. 'What did you say?'
'I said the gift caravan is almost out of figurines,' the hook-handed man said from behind the door. 'But that's not your concern. People are already arriving at the carnival, so you freaks need to be ready in fifteen minutes.'
'Wait a moment, sir!' Violet thought to use her low, disguised voice just in time, as she and her brother climbed down from their hammock, still sharing a single pair of pants. Sunny was already on the floor, too astonished to remember to growl. 'Did you say that one of the Baudelaire parents is alive?'
The door of the caravan opened a crack, and the children could see the face of the hook-handed man peering at them suspiciously.
'What do you care, freaks?' he asked.
'Well,' Klaus said, thinking quickly, 'we've been reading about the Baudelaires in
'Well,' the hook-handed man said, 'those kids' parents were supposed to be dead, but Madame Lulu looked into her crystal ball and saw that one of them was alive. It's a long story, but it means that we're all going to be very busy. Count Olaf and Madame Lulu had to leave early this morning to run an important errand, so I'm now in charge of the House of Freaks. That means I get to boss you around, so hurry up and get ready for the show!'
'Grr!' Sunny growled.
'Chabo's all set to perform,' Violet said, 'and the rest of us will be ready soon.'
'You'd better be,' the hook-handed man said, and began to shut the door before stopping for a moment. 'That's funny,' he said. 'It looks like one of your scars is blurry.'
'They blur as they heal,' Klaus said.
'Too bad,' the hook-handed man said. 'It makes you look less freakish.' He slammed the door and the siblings could hear him walk away from the caravan.
'I feel sorry for that man,' Colette remarked, as she swung down from her hammock and curled into a contortion on the floor. 'Every time he and that Count person come to visit, it makes me feel bad to look at his hooks.'
'He's better off than me,' Kevin said, yawning and stretching his ambidextrous arms. 'At least one of his hooks is stronger than the other one. My arms and legs are exactly alike.'
'And mine are very bendable,' Colette said. 'Well, we'd better do as the man says and get ready for the show.'
'That's right,' Hugo agreed, reaching into a shelf next to his hammock and pulling out a toothbrush. 'Madame Lulu says that we must always give people what they want, and that man wants us ready right away.'
'Here, Chabo,' Violet said, looking down at her sister. 'I'll help you sharpen your teeth.'
