The Boy with Too Much Hair

We had just begun to set up on the edge of Los Banos for their Frontier Days. Usually the San Joaquin Valley in early September can be hotter than hell, but a heavier-than-usual ground haze filtered the sun so that it barely penetrated. I figured that by night we would be sitting in a heavy fog.

I found a pay phone at an Esso station just down the road and gave Osgood Warbling a collect call at his home in Fresno, which I did every week to update him on our take and expenses. "You heard Smith and Prescott folded," he said. "I bought one of their attractions. Let me tell you, it's going to put Warbling Brothers Road Show and Circus on the map. People are going to take notice of us now. We're moving into the big time."

I didn't ask what he bought. As a matter of pure fact, I said as little as possible to him. He had a temper that usually started with pissed off and quickly jumped to downright mean.

"When can I expect it?" I asked.

"They'll be there before night. Get it up and running by tomorrow."

Sure enough, around dusk a flatbed truck came rolling in carrying a tent and poles for a big attraction. A converted school bus lagged behind, the windows blacked out.

The truck rolled to a stop, and a tall, skinny blond climbed down from the passenger's side. She didn't wear any makeup, and I figured her for thirty or thereabouts. "We been on the road since six this morning, all the way from Aho, Arizona. Need to stretch my legs." She stood half a head taller than me, but she was so thin that if she turned sideways, she might disappear. "Where do we set up, Boss?"

"West end. The ground's a little grassy, but there's plenty of room." I stepped to the truck and threw back a portion of the tent to reveal a couple of words, enough for me to understand. "Are you part of this?" I asked.

"I'm Ruby, the girl who can tie herself in knots."

"How many are you?"

"Besides me there's Anatol, the three legged Russian, and Vilma, the bearded lady, and Stacy the half man, half woman, and Leon the pin head." Then as an after thought, she said, "Oh, and there's Benji."

"Benji? Sounds like a dog act?"

"He's just a kid," she said, "but he's the hairiest kid you've ever seen--the hairiest person you've ever seen. He and his father joined us after Smith and Prescott sold the show, so they haven't signed on yet. We told them that was up to you."

"Ain't I the lucky bastard," I said. Frankly I never much cared for the kind of sideshow where the rubes gawked at the freaks. That old saying is true, you know, there but for the grace of God--

I shot a thumb toward the open field "Get moving. You need to be ready by morning. That's what Mr. Warbling wants, that's what he'll get."

"What about Benji and his father?"

"I'll follow you down and talk to them," I said.

By the time I caught up with them, I found the father slouching against the bus. The bus door stood open, and the occupants were already in the process of unloading the truck.

The father looked old and worn out and sick. His face was bloodless and full of wrinkles like wadded up tissue paper. Heavy bags hung under his eyes, and he was almost as thin as Ruby. When he saw me approaching, he perked up some and forced a smile, but he still looked like a man who should have been in a hospital bed. "I'm Kyle Pendergast. My son Benji--"

"Where is he? I want to see him." I looked at the troupe at the truck but didn't see the kid Ruby described.

"He's in the bus. I put him in his cage."

"His cage?"

He looked at the ground and kicked up dust with the toe of his shoe. "I thought you might like to see him the way he's displayed."

"So show me."

I followed him into the bus. At first because of the dark interior, I had trouble seeing much. He led me to the rear where the seats had been removed to create space for luggage and props. At first all I could make out was the steel cage about five and a half feet high, and within its confines, a dark figure huddled in a corner.

"Benji," Pendergast said.

Benji stood. Like a good many teenage boys, he was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, but he was no ordinary boy. Shorter than most--he probably stood no more than five-one or five-two--he was as Ruby warned, the hairiest person I had ever seen. His forehead and cheeks were covered in it. It fell over his ears and hid the backs of his hands. It even spilled over the top of his feet. "What's your shtick, Pop?" I asked Pendergast.

"I've made up a whole story to tell people. He's a wolf boy, see, raised by wolves," said the old man. "Found by hunters in the wilds of Canada and brought back to civilization. Give him your wolf yell, Benji."

The kid threw back his head and howled. I swear it was the clearest and truest wolf howl I ever heard, and I doubted anyone could have told the kid's from a real one. I know I couldn't have.

I had to admit the kid was good, and the story of a boy raised by wolves had worked since Kipling. The rubes would eat it up. "You're on," I said. "One rule: don't cause trouble, either with the roustabouts or the performers or the rubes. You follow that, we'll get along fine."

Pendergast appeared relieved, and he shook my hand so hard I thought he wanted to take my arm right off my shoulder.

By eight that evening the heavy haze turned to fog, shutting out the moon and stars. The new crew worked through the night, setting up the tent. Despite the fog, the valley remained hot, and I had to keep the windows of my trailer open. The crew setting up the show kept me awake half the night, and I doubt I got more than four hours sleep. When first light crept through my window, I climbed out of bed grumpy as hell.

Even before breakfast, I went to take a look at the setup and found Ruby giving the front of the tent the once over. When she saw me, she said, "How's it look, Boss?"

I had to admit the bannerline--those long banners that promoted what was inside--looked impressive and promised a lot, usually more than these kinds of attractions could deliver. But they would draw in the paying customers.

"I've got one rule, " I said to Ruby.

"Mr. Pendergast told us." She looked me straight in the eye, and I liked that about her. "We never cause any problems. None of us."

"That's what I like to hear," I said.

Usually when new acts joined, I tried to meet them right away, let each person know I was boss, but if they needed anything I was there to help. That morning I just couldn't bring myself to take a look, not before breakfast. As it turned out, I didn't make it to the show all day, but the rubes did. Every hour on the half hour, and I watched people exit the tent and saw their faces, white and drained, shaken by their encounter with some primordial force beyond their understanding. My God, that kid had it down pat, a call so wolf-like it made me want to rush right in there and throw open his cage and turn him loose.

So word got around, and people came from all over to see the Wolf Boy, the lines for each show often winding around the side of the tent. People stood in the hot sun sometimes for close to an hour waiting to see him.

By early afternoon, the ground haze lifted. That night, the stars broke through the thin cloud cover, and the moon rose over the Sierra Nevada Mountains fifty miles to the east. At that point, the cries from Benji ceased, and people turned away from the show until only a few of the more curious purchased tickets for the next performance.

I went to see what the problem was. The show was going on when I entered, half a dozen rubes watching Ruby on the bare stage as she tied herself in knots. She wore a one piece stretch outfit that moved with her as she bent both legs behind her head and wrapped her arm around her legs. I found Pendergast back stage standing next to the cage, now completely encased in a thick burlap cover. "What's going on here? Where's the kid?" I asked. "Benji's not feeling well." He wheezed when he spoke like he was out of breath. "I--I sent him to the bus. He's worn out. Night comes, the boy tires easily. Weak lungs. I'm sorry. It can't be helped."

"What is this?" I asked. "You trying to get yourself a bigger piece of the take? Is that it?"

Right then I thought I heard a movement behind the burlap cover, like a body shifting its weight.

"No, no, please. It's nothing like that," he said. "Benji and me are glad to be here."

"So what the hell's going on?"

"It's only his condition." With the back of his hand, he wiped his forehead, heavy with sweat. "He's a good boy, but his condition--"

"Why didn't you tell me this last night when you came in? For two cents--"

He looked fearful, like he thought I was going to fire him right then and there. "Yesterday we were on our last legs. If you hadn't hired us on, I don't know what we would've done."

Like most guys, I'm a sucker for a sad story, but in this business, you can't let sentiment influence your decisions. If I thought Pendergast and his boy would have been a drag on us, I would have sent them packing. But as much business as they drew in that day, I would have been a fool to let them go. "I'll cut you some slack," I said. "Just don't expect any more special favors."

Relief flooded his face, and his tense shoulders relaxed. "Thank you. Thank you."

Just then the burlap moved, a push outward like a hand brushed against it. Startled, I started to accuse Pendergast of trying to pull a fast one. His boy was still in there, hidden away by the burlap. Then a breeze touched my cheek, and looking over my shoulder, I saw people exiting through an open door. What the hell was I thinking? I asked myself.

I followed the rubes out to the midway. I guess I could've checked the other acts then, seen what else the show had to offer, but I could do that tomorrow. Or the next day.

As the night dragged on, I couldn't shake the idea that the boy was still locked in that cage. That's nuts, I told myself, yet I wandered the midway from one end to the other and back again, and I still couldn't shake the idea.

To put my suspicions to rest, I went to the bus to see for myself the boy was there. I pushed the door open and walked all the way to the back. Very little light from the midway penetrated, making the interior a black tunnel, but the kid wasn't there.

Their last show was at ten that evening, and I hid in the deep shadows under an oak. There I waited until the performers dragged themselves out the rear of the tent and boarded the bus. The three-legged Russian, came first, his third leg, a deformed piece of useless flesh, draped over one arm. The pin head followed, then the bearded lady, then the half-man-half woman, and finally, Ruby.

But where were Pendergast and his son? I waited another fifteen minutes, and still they didn't show. By then I knew they wouldn't. I left my hiding place and went to collect the night's receipts.

After I counted the take, the best Friday we ever had, I locked it away in the safe in my trailer, Afterward I pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from the kitchen cabinet and poured myself a stiff drink. Thirty minutes later, I left the trailer and went back to the midway. It was well past midnight. We kept the lights on at the entrance and on the rides, but the tent lay at the far end of the midway. However, the full moon, now almost directly over head, gave me some light, plus I brought my flashlight. I pulled back the tent flap and stepped inside.

Deep shadows closed about me. Almost immediately I sensed someone else in the tent. I flicked on the light, and a widening beam cut through the darkness. I walked back stage.

"I thought you'd come," a voice said. I shifted the light, and found Pendergast standing beside the cage, still covered by the burlap. "I hoped you wouldn't--I prayed to God you wouldn't--but I knew you would."

"I'm going to ask you once more," I said. "What's going on?"

A low growl came from the cage, and I shifted the light. I could see the silhouette of a body inside the steel bars.

"You bastard!" I said.

"You don't understand," Pendergast said.

I wanted to take the flashlight and pound his face in. How could a man treat his son like that? Show him during the day, make a wad of cash, but at night, hide him away in a steel cage, make him feel like a real monster.

I stepped forward, and I think Pendergast believed I was about to hit him. Maybe I was.

He reached down and pulled free one end of the cover, and it slid away.

A violent roar filled the interior of the tent, and a body threw itself against the steel bars with such impact that for a moment the whole caged tilted and threatened to topple. The light caught the creature as it clung to the bars, the hands spouting claws, sharp and extended. It bared its teeth, except they weren't teeth but fangs, razor sharp, their ivory gleaming.

But it was its eyes that startled me, eyes surrounded by the dark fur, eyes that burned with hatred, eyes that said it wanted out of its cage to rip me apart.

The creature screamed, and I stumbled back, more scared than I've been in my whole life, before or since, and my elbow crashed into a supporting pole. The flashlight flew from my hand and hit the sawdust floor. Again the creature screamed, and I went down on my knees fumbling for the light as it rolled away. I grabbed it, and pointed the beam at the creature.

Pendergast threw the burlap back over the cage, and the scream died away. He turned and faced me, his expression one of sheer anguish. "I didn't want to show you. You gave me no choice."

"What is it?" My voice sounded hoarse and far away, like it wasn't me speaking. "It's Benji. It's his condition."

My hand shook, and the light bounced from floor to ceiling, side to side. "Condition? My god, man, it wasn't human."

"Benji's human all right," Pendergast said, "It's just at night, he has these spells. He'll be fine in the morning. You'll see." I didn't respond right away. Frankly I didn't know what to say. Hell, I had never seen anything like this, and I suspected no one else had either. Right then I knew there were plenty of angles to this thing. Plenty.

My silence obviously worried Pendergast, and he said, "Look, Boss, you're our last hope. I mean, I got no money, and if you kick us out, we'll have nowhere to go. Even his mother doesn't want him."

"Does he stay in that cage all the time?" I asked.

"During the day he's fine. Like I said, it's only at night, and I sleep right next to him. I don't want anyone accidentally letting him out."

"Just how dangerous is he?"

Pendergast grimaced and shook his head. "I've never seen him hurt a soul--not one soul."

"He would have torn me apart right now, and you know it," I said.

"You frightened him. That's all." The old man was close to tears.

The cloth on the cage pushed outward, and a ragged claw broke through. I felt a surge of panic, fearful the creature intended to take a swipe at his father. Pendergast showed no such fear. The old man took the taloned hand in his, holding it as any father might hold the hand of his boy. Inside the cage the creature uttered a pathetic whine.

"Can we stay?" Pentergast pleaded with his eyes as well as his voice.

"Do the others know? The ones you came with?"

He nodded once, and I said, "As long as they know, I guess you can stay. Just make sure--"

"I never leave his side," he said. "Never."

I left the old man there with his son. I called him old, but maybe he wasn't so old. Maybe the strain of living and taking care of his boy had made him old before his time.

As for letting them stay--I didn't have to think on it. As long as Pendergast kept Benji in line, as long as the kid behaved himself, I'd keep them around. After all, in one day they proved to be the best box office I had seen in a long while, the best ever for Warbling Brothers . And if I could persuade Pendergast to show the kid at night, we would have one hell of an attraction, special shows that would knock the socks off the rubes. For those we could double the admission price--even triple it.

Hell, the kid was a goddamn goldmine.

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