the clown, chapter 3: the mill burned down

to begin at the beginning, click here

words by genghis and rhoda

pictures by rhoda

"she's a reporter." billy freed squinted at geraldine through his dark glasses. "from the local paper?" he lowered the tent flap and came into the tent. "right now i'm freelancing," geraldine told him. "trying to sell to places like the all-world journal. but i was with the minsk times before." billy made a show of scratching his head. "minsk - where's that? somehere between peoria and cairo. illinois?" "no, it's in -" "ha ha, we know where it is, don't we joe? listen, there's no friendlier people than the belarussians anyhere, except maybe in mongolia, wouldn't you say?" "i'd have to agree," said uncle joe. "but don't forget the people in uruguay, especialy way in the backlands." "i see you gentlemen are true citizens of the world," geraldine noted politely. "that's right. say, did you ever go too mimi's in minsk? i remember they had great pelmeni and chips. and the buraki was pretty good, too." "oh yes, i used to go to mimi's all the time." "what was the name of that accordion player there? the one with the cork leg?" "mike." "mike, of course! so he's still there?" "last i heard, he was carrying on." "great. well, what exactly can we do for you?" "she's doing a story on the clown," uncle joe told billy. "the clown!" geraldine had the impression billy wasn't as surprised as he pretended to be, but smiled politely. "i'm attempting to do a story on the clown," she told him. "and you've been filling her in?" billy asked uncle joe. joe shrugged. "as best i can." "did you tell her about the manuscript?" "no, i forgot all about it. i thought you gave it to that detective in liberia." "no, he mailed it back to me. i'm pretty sure i still have it somewhere." "what is it?" geraldine asked. "some kind of confession?" "no, it looks like stuff he just made up. a made up story, you know? but this detective in monrovia, he thought it contained psychographic clues or some such." "you mean it's a novel?" "it's a made up story." "well, can i look at it?" "you can have it, if i can find it." geraldine had planned to drive the rental car back to heidi's place in the north woods, but decided to turn it in and take the bus instead, so that she could read the clown's manuscript on the way. the man at the ticket window at the bus station scratched his head when she told him her destination. "we don't have a bus that goes that far." he looked at geraldine suspiciously. "not too many folks want to go that far north." "well, then, just give me a ticket for as far north as you go." "and then what?" "well, " geraldine answered patiently. "i will either get a rental car or call someone to pick me up. how much is the ticket, please?" "i'm pretty sure there ain't no rental car place up there. couldn't swear to it, but i don't think there is. why not just rent a car here, the place is just next door." "i know, i just came from there." "pretty sure there's no rental car up there." "then i'll have to call for a ride, won't i?" "get there pretty late." "my friend won't mind if i wake her up." "must be nice to have a friend like that." "yes, it is." "if i woke my wife up to pick me up in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, she'd like to blow my head off with a shotgun." geraldine took her wallet out of her handbag. as she did, the clown's yellow manuscript popped a little way out of the bag. "you know, cell phones don't always work so good up there." "i've never had any problems. how much is the ticket, please?" "three hundred and forty-one dollars and twenty-nine cents including tax." "fine." "paying cash, huh? are you a criminal?" "no." "hey, you're not very friendly, are you? with the one word answers." "i'm sorry. i've had a long day, i'm a little tired." "hey, the circus is in town, you know. if you need to relax and unwind, you could do worse than go see the circus." "i've just come from there." "pretty good, huh?' "yes, it was. an excellent balance of authenticity and professionalism, i thought." the ticket seller's eye fell on the clown's manuscript sticking out of geraldine's bag. "what's that you got there? that looks like some pretty old paper." "yes, i suppose it might be." geraldine stuck the manuscript down more securely into the bag. "i haven't seen paper that old since i don't know when. the mill burned down a long time ago that made that paper." the man handed geraldine her ticket. "thank you. when is the bus due?" "about an hour. it ain't always on time, though. don't get all in an uproar if it ain't on time." "i won't." "it's never early though. that's one thing you got to say for it, it's never early." geraldine got a can of diet mountain dew and a bag of fritos out of the machines. she settled down in the corner of the bus station to read the manuscript of the clown's made up story. the story was on lined yellow paper, mostly in various colored pens (or pencils?) but with some typing. some of the pages had writing or typing on both sides. a few sentences and paragraphs had been blacked out or typed over with x's. death of a clown. happy the clown was dying. in the rain by the side of the road lit a cigarette. joe wayne in a mist of stars was in charge of the circus, because bakunin was away with the chimp chasing folding dust. wayne pulled his chair a little closer to the door of the trailer. the clown was lying on a golden cot that almost filled the space in front of the door, so there wasn't much room to get in or out or see the rockets. the rain was washing the night air clean as a plate in mrs miller's boarding house. "julie," mumbled the clown. "julie." wayne flicked ashes out the door. "julie - is julie there?" "i don't know who julie is, happy. there's nobody named julie in the circus. and there's nobody here but me and you." "that's just what i called her, it wasn't her real name. i don't think." "oh. i see." rockets across a single blue star in the waiting silence. red sparks and orange ribbons. "she was wonderful." "but you didn't know her name." "and she didn't know mine." "just a girl you saw once?" "i saw her all the time. they called her rockets and the star jumped up the rain across the highway. but they didn't know what they were talking about." "give a dog a bad name and hang him," wayne agreed. "or give a bad hang a good girl and raindrops." once upon a time there was a beautiful young princess and then the wanderer came to a high hill "relax, happy. look out the window. out the door. see the stars. one of them is your star." "they are all my stars." "that's a good attitude." a booming voice in the darkness in the mud. "wayne! wayne!" wayne didn't answer. the voice kept calling, fading away and then coming closer. kropotkin, the chief roustabout, crossed the shaft of dim light from the trailer. wayne lit a new cigarette from his old one and snapped the old one out the door. the clown fell sleep. his breathing was fading and misfiring across a gray and white rocket rainbow. kropotkin watched wayne's glowing cigarette butt fall at his feet. he went over to the trailer. raindrops bounced off his hat. "where you been, wayne? the place is falling apart." "i've been sitting here with happy. he's dying." "again?" "it's real this time. he's had it." xxxxxxxxx . at this point the manuscript was heavily x'd and blacked out. geraldine folded it to mark her spot and put it back in her bag. she took a sip of diet mountain dew and looked out the station window. the bus was pulling in.

chapter 4: the headliner

the clown, chapter 2: at the lake

to begin at the beginning, click here

original story by genghis

words and pictures by rhoda

the story so far: geraldine garfield, aka the kid, a hotshot reporter for the minsk times (english language edition) had found her career at a crossroads after a series of professional and personal setbacks - including being duped by a young woman claiming to represent a worldwide gang of feral youths headquartered in karachi and the abrupt end of her torrid continent-spanning romance with helga morgenstern, the doyenne of international correspondents. for a change of scene, she had returned to her native north america, where, walking along the shore of one of that continent's magnificent lakes, she met heidi jones, a young woman she had attended high school ( the north american term for gymnasium) with. although geraldine and heidi had moved in different circles at that time, the inverse proportions of time, distance and accurate memory had acted in classic fashion, and they greeted each other with something close to ecstatic abandon. heidi was accompanied by the three youngest of her four children, and the oldest of these, a boy of eight with the unpleasing sobriquet of dylan, watched the two matron's emotional antics with the truly pitiless gaze that only the very young can summon, and which quickly bored into the back of heidi's head. "dylan, why don't you go look for some native american arrowheads, i know you are interested in them." "how do you know that?" "well, aren't you interested in them?" "not particularly. if you want me to leave so you can talk garbage with this lady, why don't you just say so?" "all right, dylan, why don't you run along so that i can talk to my old friend without your beady little judgmental eyes drilling holes in my brain, is that all right, john calvin junior?" "fine." dylan turned and was swallowed up immediately by the primeval forest. "kids these days," heidi shrugged at geraldine, reddening slightly. "yes," geraldine agreed. "i've had my own problems with kids these days." "mommy?" five year old hannah spoke up. "yes, dear?" "will dylan get eaten by a bear?" "well let's hope not. why don't you run along after him, and protect him?" "because he'll probably throw rocks at me." "oh, i don't think he'd do that. i have certainly spent enough time on educating him not to do such things. " "that doesn't mean he doesn't do them." geraldine changed the subject. she pointed across the lake. "are there any monsters in this lake?" she asked the little girl. "i don't think so," hannah answered seriously. "but there are monsters in the woods - and ghosts too." "oh?" "and ghosts of monsters!" geraldine smiled at the child. "sounds scary." "don't laugh. these woods are haunted by the ghost of - the clown!" suddenly the woods seemed a little darker and cooler. heidi pulled her jacket a little tighter around herself. "you must remember the stories about the clown," she said to geraldine. "i must," said geraldine. in truth, after so much time among the cathedrals and colosseums and cobbled streets of the old world, the new world and its nameless terrors had largely faded from her consciousness. "but why don't you refresh my memory ? wasn't there something about an abandoned summer camp?" "oh no," heidi and hannah exclaimed together. "that's wilroy you're thinking about it." "the clown was worse," hannah told geraldine. "much worse." "oh." it suddenly grew even darker. a few raindrops began to fall, thwacking loudly on the big green leaves on the trees, and sending small animals scurrying through the underbrush. "oh, dear," said heidi. "maybe we should be getting back." she awkwardly twisted the baby carriage with eleven month old woody in it around . geraldine smiled politely as it went over her bare toes. "would you like a ride back to town?" heidi asked geraldine. she started up the trail pushing the carriage in front of her. hannah and geraldine followed. "thank you. but you can drop me off at the old buffalo leg trail entrance." "but - why?" "because i'm staying at the old henderson place." "the old henderson place!" "don't tell me it's haunted." "haunted!" cried heidi. "it's possessed." "well. i haven't had any problems so far." geraldine looked around as the rain began falling harder. "what about the little boy?" "dylan? oh, he spends so much time in the woods he's half native american. he'll be all right." heidi maneuvered the carriage over the quivering body of a snake crossing the dirt path. "hah!" said hannah. "he probably made straight for the car and is waiting for us right now." by the time they reached the car - an early model duesenberg - the rain was coming down harder and rattling on the canopy of leaves above them. there was no sign of dylan, but heidi remained unperturbed. geraldine helped heidi strap the baby carriage to the top of the car. hannah got into the back seat with baby woody, and geraldine got into the front seat beside heidi and they started down the trail away from the lake, which was now being whipped soundly by the rain. "you sure you don't want to come to dinner?" heidi asked geraldine. "we've got some fresh bison steaks to throw on the fire. they'll be ready in no time." "why, that sounds great, heidi. i haven't had a good bison steak since i can't remember when. say, you don't mind if i smoke, do you?" "no, why would i mind?" geraldine took a pack of gitanes out and offered one to heidi, who was now gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands as they bumped down the rocky trail. "did you roll those yourself? they look mighty tight." "no, they were made in a factory. in belgium, i think." "oh, i don't think i want one of those." "suit yourself." "can i have one?" hannah asked from the back seat. "no!" answered her mother. "i've told you before, no smoking until you are eight years old." "awww - hey look!" a flash of lightning illuminated the trail and the trees which pressed against it. "did you see that?" hannah cried. "it was just the lightning," heidi told her. 'i'm afraid i wasn't looking," geraldine told her. "it was the clown!" hannah insisted. "oh, i don't think so." after that they continued their way without incident to heidi's log cabin, with the rain coming down unabated. heidi's oldest child, eleven year old joni, was sitting on the front step of the cabin paring her fingernails with a bowie knife. smoke was drifting from inside the cabin, where dylan was grilling up the bison steaks. "did you do your homework?" was the first thing heidi asked joni. "yeah. and i made myself a rabbit stew, so your new friend can have my steak." "no need to be a smarty pants and a martyr, missy, there's plenty of steak to go around." "whatever." joni took her cigarette out of the corner of her mouth and spit on the ground between the gap in her front teeth. heidi glared at her but moved inside with geraldine and the two other children behind her. the inside of the cabin was was lit by an oil lamp. shadows flickered on the walls. "make yourself comfortable," heidi told geraldine, pointing to a big stuffed chair in the corner. later, after they finished the steaks, heidi and hannah took turns telling geraldine the story of the clown, as joni and dylan smoked and sulked. at first geraldine listened with only one ear, paying more attention to heidi than the story. a woman with four kids, she thought, quite a change of pace from helga morgenstern. but then she began to pay more attention to the story... "coffee?" uncle joe asked the kid. "sure." the kid put her notepad down and shook her wrist, which was a little sore. the flap of the tent opened wider and billy freed the shooting gallery proprietor came in. he looked at the kid suspiciously. "who's this?"

chapter 3: the mill burned down