out an old-fashioned turnip watch. 'Are you ready to go at it?'
'I'm ready if you are.'
'Then let us proceed.'
Styles put up the same garish canvas paintings that he had used for his dismantled freak show. There had been no time to prepare a new one, and Bateman reasoned that any pictures were better than no pictures. He climbed up on the platform and observed for several minutes the trickle of locals who passed on the sawdust walkway below him. Then he blew into his hand mike, heard the resultant blast from the speaker, and began to improvise a spiel.
'Inside, ladies and gentlemen, inside, inside, inside. Inside this tent you will positively not see — ' he pointed to the garish pictures in turn, ' — Collosus the giant. You will not see Rosa the Bearded Lady. You will not see Torcho the Fire Eater. All this I promise you. What, then, you ask, will I see on the inside for the price of one lonely dollar? A fair question. I would tell you, my friends, I would describe in detail the wonder inside, but frankly you would not believe me. You would not believe me, and I would not blame you. For inside, inside, inside, for the price of one dollar, I have for you the most inconceivable, incredible, impossible, astounding, amazing, astonishing sight on the face of the earth.'
A few strollers stopped to listen to the spiel, grinning at the cascade of superlatives. Styles noted that nobody was reaching for his wallet yet.
'At momumental expense and superhuman effort the Samson Supershow has brought from faraway shores the most bizarre attraction ever presented in the Western world. Yes, in this very tent, my friends, blessedly caged to keep us from being attacked, is Grolo… the Animal Boy!'
The tip was building, but not fast. The Wheel of Fortune across the way had twice as many waiting to dump their coins on Umbach's crooked wheel. Styles forged on.
'Before your very eyes — no mirrors, no tricks with the lights — before your very eyes Grolo will become the, fearsome, the terrible, the fantastic… Animal Boy!'
The showman continued to improvise in this vein while a few people paid their dollars and straggled into the tent. For the first time since he had watched Malcolm's remarkable transformation the previous afternoon, Bateman began to have doubts. What if the kid couldn't do it? What if he hadn't really done it in the first place? Styles had put down a few belts of Old Overholt earlier to brace himself for delivering the bad news to his people, and it would not be the first time he had seen things that did not happen.
He pulled aside a flap and peeked into the tent. One good thing — if the kid did funk out on him, he wouldn't have a lot of money to refund. Not more than a dozen people stood on the dirt floor waiting for the show. Might as well get on with it, he decided.
Styles broke off the spiel and entered the tent. He stepped up on to the low platform at the far end and paused dramatically with a hand on the worn velvet curtain.
'My friends, in the next few moments you are going to see something no other human eyes have — '
'Get on with it, old man,' said a teenager who had come in with two friends. 'We already heard the bullshit.'
'Yeah,' said a man with the weatherbeaten face of a farmer. 'Let's see what you got back there.'
'Very well, my friends,' said Styles without breaking stride. 'Your impatience is understandable. Without further ado I give you… Grolo the Animal Boy!'
He snatched aside the curtain to reveal the chimp cage. Seated inside, for the top of the cage was too low to allow him to stand, was Malcolm. He looked around at the small crowd, his eyes large and apprehensive.
After the first intake of breath, a muttering rose in the crowd.
'That's an animal boy?' somebody said.
'What else does he do?'
'It's just another phoney!'
'Fake!'
'I want my money back!'
The last comment triggered Bateman Styles to action. He glared into the cage, giving Malcolm a wink that the marks could not see.
'I don't blame you one bit, my friends, and believe me every penny will be refunded to you. You see, it is not only you, but myself as well that has been flim-flammed here. I was given the most solemn assurances that this was, indeed, the authentic Animal Boy you may have read about or seen on television. I am embarrassed to admit to you that this young imposter hoodwinked me.'
Speaking directly to Malcolm, he said. 'Young man, you are a liar. A cheat. You misrepresented yourself to me and you have tried to steal the money from these good folks out in front. You are nothing more than a contemptible juvenile hoodlum. You should be caged in prison.'
To people out front, who were enjoying his tirade, Styles added, 'Go on, friends, tell this young impostor what you think of him and his type.' Searching for a reference they could relate to, he added, 'This is the same kind of punk who tears in here on a motorcycle, freaked out on drugs and who knows what all, and rips up the landscape, then goes roaring back to the city, leaving you to clean up his mess. Go ahead, tell him what you think of him and his kind.'
The people watching understood that this was somehow part of the show, yet they were carried along by Styles' florid speech.
'Boo!' came the first tentative yell.
'Get out of here!'
'Dirty biker!'
'Go home, faggot!'
Someone picked up a small stone from the ground and threw it. The stone clanked off the bars of the chimp cage.
Malcolm listened to the shouts and jeers and tried to concentrate on what Bateman Styles had told him to do. Styles had been kind to him and asked no questions, and he did not want to let the showman down. He concentrated. Nothing happened.
The boos got louder. Styles began to sweat as he anxiously watched Malcolm through the bars. The marks were getting carried away by their own voices. One of them heated a penny with a cigarette lighter and tossed it into the cage.
Malcolm blanked Bateman Styles out of his mind. He got off the stool and walked forward in a half-crouch to seize the bars. He looked down into the taunting faces and summoned back a series of images. The fire. The trap. The hunters. Dr Pastory and the table. Kruger and the cattle prod. Kruger hurting Holly.
He felt it begin.
The jeers of the crowd died in their throats. For a moment there was silence in the tent. Bateman Styles, along with the paying customers, stared in awe at the boy in the cage.
'What's happening to his eyes?' a plump girl asked her boyfriend.
'Look at his face,' somebody else said in a strangled tone.
'And his hands! My God, they're growing!'
'The teeth! Holy shit, the teeth!'
Styles watched the contortions of the boy in the cage.
Even though he had seen the process before in reverse, he was stunned by what was happening in there. The growls that came from the boy could surely not be human.
He let the transformation continue until blackened hairy hands started to bend the inadequate cage bars. Then he caught the message flashed from the dangerous green eyes. This must go no further. Without ceremony the showman snatched the curtain back in front of the cage.
'That's it, my friends. I think each and every one of us can agree that we got our dollar's worth here today. Grolo the Animal Boy. There will be another show in one hour by the clock. Tell your friends. I thank you.'
The dozen people who had witnessed the performance filed out silently. Once outside, they all began to talk at once, the general topic being speculation on how it was done. They scattered excitedly over the small carnival grounds to spread the word.
