'Something wrong?'
After a moment's hesitation Malcolm shook his head. 'I don't want to be called that.'
'What's the matter with Grolo?'
'That's okay. It's the other part.'
'Wolf Boy?'
Malcolm nodded.
'Judas Priest, why not? It's short, descriptive, and has a nice scary ring to it.'
'I don't like it.' There was a new, cold note in the boy's voice.
'Then we shall discard it,' Styles said decisively. He again went into his thinking posture — eyes closed, head back, lips pursed. This time he was out with it in thirty seconds.
'Animal Boy.' He studied Malcolm through narrowed eyes. 'Can you live with that?'
'I guess so.'
'Then it's Grolo the Animal Boy. I don't think it has the same appeal as Wolf Boy — '
Malcolm's eyes darkened.
'But, after all, you are the attraction here, and we'll call you anything you like.'
They left Styles's antiquated trailer together and tramped across the dark field toward Jackie Moskowitz's Airstream. The concession stands were up, the tents in place, the small ferris wheel erected, all ready to go at ten tomorrow morning. Some of the attractions like the kootch show and Bateman's tent would not open until evening.
In the back of the food tent the perpetual poker game was in progress. The laughter and good-natured cursing of the carnival hands floated through the clear night. Elsewhere it was quiet. The town of Silverdale, immediately to the north, showed only a sprinkling of lights.
The showman and the boy came to a stop at the owner's blimp-shaped trailer. Styles gave Malcolm a reassuring wink and banged on the aluminium door.
The little owner was wearing yellow pyjamas and a cut-off robe when he opened the door. He looked at Styles and the boy with distaste.
'Jesus, Bateman, is this important? I just took a sleeping pill.'
'I told you I'd get a new show.'
'Well?'
Styles swept his hand in a grand gesture toward Malcolm.
'I give you Grolo the Animal Boy.'
Moskowitz squinted up at them. 'Come in here in the light.'
Styles urged Malcolm into the trailer, then followed. The showman stood back while Malcolm shifted nervously from foot to foot. Moskowitz walked slowly around the boy, examining him from all angles.
'Animal Boy? What the hell does that mean? He's not a geek, is he?'
Styles was offended. 'Jackie, you've known me long enough to know I wouldn't bring you a geek. Grolo here will turn into a raging, roaring, frothing animal before the eager eyes of the paying customers. He will be a sensation.'
'Yeah? What's the trick?'
'Jackie, please. Would you ask Houdini how he did his water torture escape?'
'I would if he was looking for work.'
'This is by way of a trade secret. Even I do not know how he does it.'
'Okay, okay, so don't tell me.' Jackie picked up one of Malcolm's hands and examined it. 'He don't look much like an animal.'
'Not now, he doesn't. Just wait until tomorrow night when there's a tent full of marks waiting to see him.'
'I don't know, Bateman. I was thinking of using your space for a baseball pitch. I haven't had one for two years.'
'A baseball pitch? Can you imagine people paying more to knock over weighted metal milkbottles than to see a genuine bona-fide animal boy?'
'People like to throw baseballs.'
'They like to be scared too. Why do you think horror movies clean up?'
'Well
'Jackie, let me try it for this one week in Silverdale. I'll guarantee you a minimum.'
'Guarantee?'
'More than that. If we don't outdraw the kootch show and the Ring-Toss, I'll make up the difference out of my own pocket. And if we bomb, you can leave us here and you're out nothing.'
'Are you sober, Bateman?'
Styles held up a right hand. 'Not a drop since early this afternoon.'
The little man cracked off a huge yawn. 'Okay, you got a deal. I want to see this act myself. But remember, if your animal boy is a dog, it's adios.'
'Fair enough, Jackie, fair enough.'
'Now get out of here and let me get some sleep.' He looked up doubtfully at Malcolm. 'Uh, so long, Grolo.'
'Goodnight, Mr Samson,' Malcolm said.
As they walked back across the field together Styles clapped Malcolm on the back. 'Congratulations, my boy, you're in show business. This calls for a toast to our future success. Or do you indulge?'
'I don't drink, but you go ahead, Bate.'
'Thank you, my boy, thank you. I believe I will. Then perhaps I'll take a stroll over to the kootch girls' trailer. Care to join me in that?'
Malcolm flushed. 'Well, I, uh, don't know if I, uh…'
'That's all right. Plenty of time for sport. Probably better for you to get a good night's sleep. I'll fix you up with a blanket roll in the trailer and try not to wake you when I come in.'
Malcolm jolted out of a light sleep when Bateman Styles returned to the trailer sometime after midnight. It took a moment to realize where he was, then he closed his eyes and feigned sleep as the showman bumbled about the trailer trying clumsily to be quiet. Soon Styles was in his bed, snoring. Malcolm dozed off again with a tiny contented smile on his lips.
Bateman was up at dawn, apparently none the worse for his night's carouse. He scrambled some eggs and made hash-browns for the two of them, then left Malcolm alone.
The sounds and smells of the carnival as the people started coming in were enticing, but Malcolm stayed in the trailer. He was not yet ready to move among people again.
In mid-afternoon Styles returned looking pleased with himself.
'Good news, boy. At virtually no expense, I have procured a cage,' he said. 'We can't convince the good people you're dangerous without a cage, now can we?'
He saw Malcolm's expression darken and went on quickly. 'It isn't much of a cage, really. It would barely hold a determined pussycat. However, it will do until we can find something more impressive. It was lucky that Clete Matthews still had it from the time he was carrying a chimp act. The thing still smells faintly of chimpanzee, but I daresay we can get used to that, right?'
'Sure, I guess so.'
Bateman studied the boy for a moment, then sat down on the rumpled bed. 'Kid,' he said, 'I want you to understand what's going to happen tonight. You'll be in the cage inside the tent with a curtain pulled to hide you till we're ready. I'm out front talking — turning the tip, as we say, — to get the marks to part with their coin and come inside. Then I come in and say a lot of things to you and about you that won't sound nice. Don't you pay any attention. It's showbusiness. I want to get the marks riled at you so you can work up enough passion to… do the thing you do. You just… let yourself go, or whatever it takes, okay?'
'Okay, Bate.'
'Fine. We're going to make us a few bucks, my boy. And maybe have some chuckles along the way.' He pulled
