Desdemona by Tag Cavello (love books to read txt) 📕

“Boo!” one of the patrons shouted.

“Shut up!” yelled somebody else.

“Driftin’ along with the tumblin’ tumbleweeds!”

Dante looked at his mug of beer. It was full to the brim—nothing like the little sips his dad would give him at parties from time to time.

“Time to earn your man card, Dante,” Brenton’s shadowy figure spoke. He raised his mug, Dawn hers, Sunny hers. “To young love,” the father said in a thoughtful voice. “May it be quick and keen as death’s arrow spearing. May it burn hot as the inhumed sea. And may the two of you, Dante and Sunny, be ever toward it endearing.”

Dante picked up his mug. He clinked it with the others (Sunny’s tiny arm trembled slightly with the weight of hers, making him wonder if she could really quaff such a large helping). Then he began to drink.

The first gulp refreshed him. The second was bitter. The third burned his throat.

Sunny couldn’t finish. Her mug hit the table half empty. Brenton’s mug—completely drained—followed. Then came Dawn’s, also empty.

“Come on, kiddo!” Brenton cheered. “You can do it!”

Dante took two more swallows. His head had begun to swim. The entire saloon now felt as if it were floating gently on Lake Erie. Over the glass he could see Brenton’s eyes twinkling like stars upon full masts. He took two more swallows. Sunny put her hand on his shoulder. “Do it, baby,” she whispered.

Determined not to disappoint her, he tilted the mug back farther. Farther. The beer trickled away. Almost gone. Almost gone.

Ah!

Now there was only foam! Victorious, Dante drank that too, then slammed the mug down hard enough to make the candle jump.

“Whoo-hoo!” Sunny screamed, throwing her arms round his neck.

“Well done!” Brenton pronounced. “I’m very pleased!”

For a moment Dante felt he might pass out on the floor. Sunny rescued him with a kiss on the cheek, which boosted his vigor.

Dawn began to clap. “You’ve got a man all right,” she told her daughter. In his drunken state Dante tried hard to deduce the amount of sarcasm in her tone. Yet she seemed quite sincere, and her face, like the others’, was radiant with pride. “It’s about time!”

∞

It was six o’clock by the time they reached the freak tents. Night had fallen, to which end the park became fully alive. Ghouls and ghosts capered in the streets. Some of them gave candy to the kids. Others tried to scare the teens and tweens. Sunny fell victim to this last, all but jumping into Dante’s arms when a green zombie lunged from behind the general store. Still feeling heroic, he pulled her close, shielding her body from the undead creature’s terrible maw.

“ARRRGHHH!” the zombie snarled.

“Arrgh yourself!” Dante told it.

“Would you like me to eat your braiiinnns?”

“No, thank you. I still use them from time to time.”

Cowering behind his shoulder, Sunny had gone from screaming to laughing. “Atta boy, Dante!” she said. “You ain’t afraid of no ghosts!”

The tents were not typically an attraction for Cedar Point—or at least, Dante couldn’t remember seeing them before. About ten stood at the edge of Frontier Town, each with a crier to tempt passers-by through their dark doors.

“See the Amazing Bertha!” one yelled. “Fattest woman in the history of humankind! Seven-hundred pounds of pure, sickening blubber! You’ll be shocked! Appalled! Disgusted!”

How politically correct, Dante thought dryly, his eyes on a picture of what looked to be a whale in a flower print dress.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” came the scream of another from across the street. “Ladies and gentlemen, inside this tent is an atrocity so stunning, so terrifying, you won’t believe your own eyes! Come and behold…the two-headed man!”

The crier stepped aside to reveal a cartoon drawing of a two-headed man. One of the heads wore an evil, twisted sneer, the other looked stupid enough to poop its own pants.

Brenton and Dawn paid it zero attention. They did, however, pause in front of another tent, where a giant picture of a snarling gorilla towered over the midway.

“Halo!” the crier sang, smelling fresh blood. He wore a checkered suit complete with cane and tweed top hat. To Dante, he looked perfectly ridiculous. “So you want to see the gorilla? Of course you do!”

“Of course we do,” Brenton said, nudging at Dawn’s rib.

“Ah!” the crier spieled on. “But the gorilla can only manifest itself through the body of a beautiful young girl! A young girl…like this one!” His white-gloved hand pointed directly at Sunny, who blinked but could not form a reply.

“You mean Sunny?” Brenton asked.

“Is that her name? Lovely! Perhaps she would be willing to take the stage! And then undergo a truly fascinating transformation!”

It was Dawn who spoke next. “You want to turn my daughter into a gorilla?” she said.

“Oh it won’t be me, madam! Instead, why don’t we make it her very own father!”

Brenton’s eyes grew wide. “Now see here, young man,” he blustered, “you can’t possibly think that I would ever—“

“Do such a thing!” the crier finished. As he spoke he raised his voice even higher, so that passers-by on the street could take notice. “Oh no! How could I ask a father to turn his sweet baby girl into a full grown gorilla? A beast! A monster! Well the answer is simple!”

“Tell me,” Brenton demanded.

A crowd of people were now gathering around the entrance to the tent. Sunny’s face wore an expression of one highly amused. She looked from one patron to the next, before finally settling her eyes on Dante. “Girl to gorilla,” she said.

“I doubt it,” he told her.

“Wait and see.”

“Because I see by your face that you think it’s impossible!” came the crier’s answer. The crowd was getting larger by the moment. Elbows bumped Dante’s ribs. Voices, most of them male, began to egg Brenton on. “Well, sir,” the crier said overtop them, “if it’s so impossible, then why not give it a try!”

“Yeah!” somebody shouted. “Go on! Change her into a monkey!”

“Gorilla!” corrected the man in the checkered suit.

“Whatever! Come on! I’ve got five bucks says it can’t be done!”

“And I’ve got ten,” Brenton said, grinning at the crier. Then, to Sunny: “What do you think? Wanna try?”

“Sure!” the girl replied.

Her answer didn’t surprise Dante. She would of course love the attention. Devour it like Hercules’ Nemean lion would a finger.

To a round of delighted applause, Brenton and Sunny walked into the tent. Dante and Dawn went next (as friends of the act, they didn’t need a ticket). Dim light welcomed them. Weak bulbs flickered on massive support posts. The floor consisted of odiferous yellow grass sprinkled with old popcorn. In front was a stage made of plywood. It smelled of spruce and glue. Sunny followed her father behind it, looking back at Dante once to blow him a kiss.

“Front row seats,” Dawn said to him. “That’s nice.”

There were no seats, of course. Everyone wishing to see the show had to stand. This fact in no way deterred the curious. Within minutes a hundred people occupied the tent. Once more Dante felt elbows getting too close. Heard puffs of hot breath. They talked in low tones—almost whispers—in regard to some undocumented respect for darkened rooms. Dante did his best not to pay attention. It wasn’t hard. A large purple curtain, the color of Sunny’s dress, hung over the stage. Along its hem he could see movement. Shuffling feet. People were working on the other side. Trying to set up whatever it was that needed setting up.

“What’s taking so long?” somebody wanted to know, though it hadn’t really been all that long. Five minutes at most. Yet the arrow of the complaint must have struck its target, for at that moment a jittery, creepy music piece began to play. High piano notes in staccato accompanied by guttural bass lines. Dawn informed him it was called The Witch by Tchaikovsky. When it was over the crier from outside took the stage. Smiling in the gloom, he raised his hands for silence. Everyone, including the complainer, obliged.

“Thank you!” the crier spoke. “Thank you all! The show—the most horrific show ever in the history of midway spectacles—is about to begin. Our subject is a sweet young girl, twelve years old, who will soon change, before your very eyes, into a savage gorilla!”

“YAYYY!” the crowd cheered.

“SAVAGE!” repeated the crier, to even more cheers. “Huge and bloodthirsty! Utterly insane! A monster to give you nightmares!”

“Really,” Dante heard Dawn say. “My Sunny isn’t a monster!”

“Are you ready?” the crier’s voice shrieked.

And the crowd: “YES!”

“Are you READY?”

“YES!”

Dante covered his ears. He didn’t know how good the crier’s act would be, nor did it seem to matter either way. To judge by the noise his audience was already well pleased.

“One more thing!” the crier sang out, raising his index finger. “One more thing! It should be noted here that I have instructed the girl’s very own father in how to change her!”

“NO! NO WAY!”

“Yes way! And to prove it, ladies and gentlemen let me introduce you to the kindly, the elegant, the distinguished, Mister Brenton Desdemona!”

Everyone applauded like lunatics as the curtain flew back to reveal Brenton, standing stage left, and Sunny, tiny and dainty, locked inside of an iron cage.

“Hello, Mr. Desdemona, hello!” said the crier. “You have a very lovely daughter!” He then held his microphone to Brenton’s lips.

“Thank you,” Brenton replied. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“Oh!” came the crier’s mock expression of surprise. “We have a gentleman in our midst! And tell me, Mr. Desdemona, do you feel you can incant the proper words to transform this beautiful girl into the hideous beast we saw on the poster outside?”

Brenton smiled. To Dante he looked perfectly at ease with his position. “Absolutely,” he told everyone. “It will be…very easy.”

At this the audience began to cheer again. A few of the men even threw their hats. It had no effect on Brenton. His face remained sober, his smile serene. He looked down at Dante and winked.

“Come on!” the crier said, all disbelief. “Easy?”

“My daughter,” Brenton said, never once taking his eyes from Dante, “always does whatever I tell her to do.”

“YAYYY!” erupted the crowd.

“You heard him, everyone!” yelled the crier. “Anything he wants done, gets done! So without further ado, let’s have our show!”

The tent continued in the way of old Bedlam for another minute, until finally Brenton raised his arms. Instantly his canvassed audience fell silent. Thanking them for their subordination, he turned to Sunny, who had waited through everything with a smile more crooked than the Cuyahoga, and eyes shining green in the peaked light.

The crier handed him his mic. Brenton nodded, raised it to his lips. “How are you feeling?” he asked Sunny.

“Pretty good!” she spoke into the mic. “A bit cramped but good.”

Titters from the crowd. A few coughs.

“Cramped?” Brenton said. “Well once you’re a gorilla it’s going to be a lot more cramped.”

“I know!”

“Think you can handle this?”

“Oh yes! No problem!”

“Then let’s begin. Take a deep, deep breath.”

“AHHHHHH!” Sunny gasped, filling her small, thin chest to its utmost capacity.

“Good girl! Now let it out slow.”

“Phewwwww!”

“Marvelous. Now then. Close your eyes. Clear your mind. Relax your muscles.”

Dante watched her take another deep breath, wait five seconds, and release it. He tried to see behind her, to the back of the cage, where doubtless a double in a gorilla suit was waiting for his cue to step forth. But no. The show’s collaborators had everything locked down water tight. Dante could find nothing in the gloom save for the eagerness of his own imagination to conjure terror. This, of course, was precisely what the act intended. Its religion was a sham, its promises hollow. Its wrapping paper, however, could not have been more enticing were it moist with the waters of Tartarus which ebbed and flowed in that place far underfoot. Thus Dante watched, transfixed. He could not move or even think to move. The act had him in its clutches.

“Gorilla,” Brenton said softly into the cage. “Think of a gorilla. Large. Muscular. Bestial.”

Submerged in darkness, Sunny stood, eyes closed, breathing