Circus

A Story by Laz K.

The body was hanging from the ceiling. He looked strangely comical - even more so in death than in life. He had a gentle, smiling expression painted on his face. His clothes and his hair - both white - made him look like the clownish version of an angel - or an angelic clown - rising, flying, ascending to heaven, but arrested, caught in midair forever.

Blue and red lights were flashing outside. The forensic photographer just finished his job, packed up, and left. A short, portly, balding man was left standing next to the body. Throwing away a burned down cigarette butt, he proceeded to light up another. With a sigh, he exhaled a puff of smoke and, through the small white cloud, he became aware of a familiar figure approaching. It was a slim, tall man, in a long overcoat. He was taking long strides, and soon was scanning the body with experienced eyes. Wasting no time on small talk, he looked at the body for a short while, and began to speak.

“Sergeant, what have we here? Suicide?”

“Yes, detective.”

“Are we sure?”

“Why would anyone want to kill a clown?”

“Anyone seen anything?”

“We have three witnesses.”

“Great. Where are they?”

“Right here. They saw it all.”

“You mean the animals? Cut it out, sergeant; I’m not in the mood for your jokes at 12 on a Friday night.”

“Well, that’s all we have: the elephant, the lion and the monkey. I don’t know if it makes a difference, but before the poor b*****d ‘released’ himself, so to say, he released them, too. Or, at least I think that's what he was trying to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“He opened their cages.”

“Were they recaptured?”

“No. They never left. When the body was found, the doors to the cages were open, but the animals just sat there.”

“Why open the cages?”

“They started working here at about the same time - the deceased and the animals. They were ‘Friends. Inseparable.’

“Is that right?”

“According to the staff, yes.”

"So, he wanted to set them free?"

"Them and himself, yeah, it seems."

“Have there been any signs? Change in behavior, routine, etc.?”

“He had stopped performing a week ago.”

“Why?”

“In the weeks leading up to his ‘final exit’ he had been showing signs of being disturbed. He often cried. He changed his face paint. He’d create elaborate, bizarre, scary masks, or make himself up to appear faceless. He’d walk out to do his thing, but he’d just stand in the spotlight, looking at the audience in silence. Other times he’d recite stuff…some nonsense about love, death, God, and such. You get the idea. Not exactly what you’d expect in his line of work. The audience didn’t like it - to put it mildly. Kids cried.”

“Psychotic episode? Depression? Midlife crisis?”

“One of those…or a combination, maybe.”

“What’s that you’re holding, sergeant?”

“His file.”

“Who kept a file on him?”

“The manager here at the circus. He has a file on everyone. Very thorough. Very detailed. Going back twenty years. Imagine that. Give the man a medal, I say. He did our job for us. It’s all here.”

“Let me see,” the detective said, and the sergeant handed him the file. He began to read half aloud: Immigrant…arrives to the country alone…highly educated…hardworking…dedicated.”

“And of all things, he decides to waste his talents clowning around. Go figure, eh?” the sergeant interjected.

“He was illegal. Limited options,” the detective answered without looking up.

“Right.”

“Was there a note?” the detective asked.

The sergeant handed him a piece of paper.

Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck. The future is just old age and illness and pain. I must have peace and this is the only way. All of a sudden all will and determination to fight has left me. I did desperately want to get well. But it was not to be - I am defeated and exhausted physically and emotionally. Try not to grieve. Be glad I am at least free from the miseries and loneliness I have endured for so long. I’ve lived 45 years - there aren’t 45 days I would live over again if I could avoid it. I am going out - and I hope it is out. Imagine God playing a dirty trick on me like another life!

The monkey started making some noise that sounded a lot like laughter. The man who had been standing there motionless for a while now, looked up and blushed. His face that was turning red now was accentuated by his white hair and white suit.

This ghostly apparition of a man had a piece of paper, a pen, and a piece of rope in his hands. In that moment, however irrational it might have seemed, he had the distinct feeling that the monkey was mocking him, laughing at the miserable mess of self-pity, melodrama, cowardice, weakness, tears, and blindness he’d allowed himself to become.

Looking into the monkey’s beady eyes his overactive imagination drew a speech bubble above the animal’s head with these words in it: “I am a prisoner, a slave, stuck behind bars against my own will. You are free. There’s the door, open it, walk out, choose your path.”

The bubble popped, disappeared; the monkey performed a few back-flips, rolled around on the ground, and with swift agility, climbed up the dead tree trunk that was placed in its cage, and hung upside down - still making the laughing noise.

The man looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. He felt pathetic with his plagiarized suicide note, his rope, and his fantasies about being found.

"This is ridiculous," he said it out loud. I am such a clown - or worse."

Next to the monkey’s cage, the elephant in its own enclosure, was swinging his heavy trunk, picking up grass and feeding. It was otherwise motionless, distributing its immense weight on its column-like legs. It was an image of strength, stability, and gravitas. If angered, it could snap grown trees or men like toothpicks, crushing anything in its path - unless of course its healthy instinct was conditioned out of it. A speech bubble popped up over the elephant’s head too, and the words read, “It was small creatures like you that trapped, captured, subdued and caged me. Do you call yourself weak?”

A low growling sound silenced the monkey, and made the elephant stop feeding for a second. The lion was lying in the back of its cage, half in the shadows, hardly visible. One did not have to see it clearly to feel the aura of a fierce fighter. It was breathing slowly, audibly drawing air in and exhaling it like a blacksmith’s bellows.

The man closed his eyes, and listened to the lion’s breathing. In, out, in, out, till he imagined himself to be air entering the lion’s lungs. He became the oxygen in the animal’s thick, red blood and travelled at high speed in throbbing tubes till suddenly he entered a large, open space.

It was like standing in a medieval cathedral. He looked up at the ceiling of the dome that pulsated, moved, and was alive. There was a loud drumbeat, powerful, rhythmical, unceasing, energizing, and maddening. Frescoes depicting prey being hunted appeared on the ceiling. The drumbeat got louder, ever louder, and they seemed to say, “Fight!” over and over.

“What do you think you’re doing back here?” someone cried, awakening the man from his reverie. It was a caretaker come to feed the animals. He had a bucket, a broom and a wheelbarrow with three plastic bags containing food for the three animals. The man was surprised at the acute sensations he was having. He was calm, but alert, and echoes of the drumbeat were still ringing out in his head.

“I came here after the show,” he said.

“You cannot be back here,” the caretaker insisted, but his voice wasn’t so loud anymore. He put his tools down, and waited not knowing how to proceed seeing that the man wasn’t much bothered by his demands.

“I am part of a circus show myself,” the man said.

“Oh, are you?” the caretaker said eyeing the man suspiciously.

“Yes, I’ve been part of a circus for a long time. A much bigger, much larger scale show though,” the man continued. Oh, you should see it! The tent reaches the sky, the dome is incredibly large and wide, and the attractions are so numerous! Not only numerous, but so fascinating, so captivating that you would not believe your own eyes! And the most amazing thing about it is that the audience fully participates in the show! Oh, it’s magical, truly magical! After a while, you can’t tell who’s a performer and who’s a member of the audience! So, you see, the show never ends! It’s on all day, every day!”

“So, what do you exactly do there?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m a clown,” the man answered. Or, rather, I used to be. I think I’m done with it. As a matter of fact, I came back here to say goodbye.”

“What? What are you talking about?” the caretaker was baffled, and fumbled with his phone wanting to call someone. The man was scaring him.

“You’re right. One cannot abandon such a show, no matter how cruel it gets! There’s no escape from it, is there?”

“Sir, what do you want? You cannot be back here. I’m asking you to leave,” the caretaker said in a shaky voice. His forehead was shiny and wet with perspiration.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s alright. I came here to be reminded,” the man said, and turned to look at the three animals.

“Reminded of what?” the caretaker asked almost in a whisper.

“Of how I used to be: playful, strong, fierce,” the man said. With that he crumpled up the suicide note in his hand and, along with the piece of rope, he threw it onto the caretaker’s dustpan. He then smiled and winked at the monkey, saluted the elephant by raising a hand to his right temple, gave a quick nod to the lion, and walked out into the night through the backdoor to rejoin the greatest circus show there is.

© 2020 Laz K.

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emmajoy

Read without stopping. Read again and thought it such an unusual story, wondered yet again, how it would end. This is a strange tale, a mystery, a spinning wheel going around and around and - by the finish.. still going on but sure to keep spinning into a place unknown.. or not. There are clues here, there are pointers and there is nothing but the reader galloping through your words! Comedy or tragedy, a metaphorical adventure or what.. tis intriguing, More people should read your work.