The Fransmonihew Circus

The Fransmonihew Circus

George lugged his heavy suitcase into a room full of the strangest people he had ever seen. They were all dressed in brightly colored costumes, some helping each other with make-up, others chatting about sports and things. The noise was deafening. He made his way slowly over to a short, portly man with a thick mustache.

“George Masano, I was told to be here. I’m the new clown.”

The short man scrutinized him carefully and said, “Not yet, you’re not. You may have impressed the boss with your routine, but now you have to impress them.” He gestured towards a curtained entrance through which the roar of a crowd was already forming. George nodded, feeling even more nervous than he had before. It wasn’t like him to get stage fright, but this time was different. His entire career hinged on this one performance.

“I assume you know when to go on?” he asked George. George nodded, set his suitcase down in the corner, and began unpacking his props. The suitcase looked like any regular suitcase that any regular man might bring into his regular office job, but instead of taking out papers and pens and a laptop, George brought out juggling clubs, an enormous horn, long, latex balloons (which he hoped he wouldn’t need, he hadn’t even bothered practicing making balloon animals), and a myriad of other equally random objects. His larger props were already stored in the back room.

“Here’s your costume,” the short man said, holding out a pair of overalls and a button down shirt, both so ugly and brightly colored it almost hurt your eyes to look at them. George felt very relieved he wouldn’t have to use the ratty, moth-bitten costume he’d brought. He changed quickly, then the short man ushered him to the back room where his unicycle and other dangerous-looking items were stored. The tension gripping George’s stomach tightened as some of the other clowns left the room to greet the audience.

“Nervous?” a very pretty girl in a sequined costume asked with a smile. George shrugged.

“Slightly.”

“I was my first time, too. Don't worry. You’ll relax once you get out there. As long as you’re having fun, the audience will love you.” George nodded gratefully.

“Ladies and gentleman! Children of all ages!” The ringmaster bellowed the familiar greeting from the center ring, “Welcome to the pinnacle of entertainment, the most sensational show you’ll ever see anywhere, the Fransmonihew Circus! Get ready to see the most daring, the most charming, the most breathtaking acts from around the world!”

The crowd cheered. The band began to play. George thought he might be sick. He looked into a grubby mirror on the wall and saw the familiar white make-up and big, goofy smile painted on his face. Suddenly he felt better. This image of himself always brought comfort. This was truly where he belonged.

His act was towards the middle of the performance. They announced his name (Georgio the Fool!) and he mounted his unicycle and rode out onto the ring, all nervousness having left his body. The whole act seemed to go by in slow motion. It was incredible. Everything was perfect. The audience was laughing so hard he saw at least one person spew soda out their nose. He himself was having the time of his life. When he finally performed his last trick, he waved good-bye and rode back into the dressing room, feeling as if he were parting with a dear friend.

After the show, everyone was ecstatic. They were all slapping him on the back, saying how wonderful he had done, and George was euphoric. Just when he thought the evening couldn’t get any more perfect, the owner of the circus, a tall, elderly man, met with George after everyone had gone to bed and told him they’d like to keep him permanently.

George went to bed that night thinking that all of his dreams had come true.

*          *          *

George had been asked to attend the next practice session. The short, portly man from the performance introduced himself as Basil Bradley and started showing George to all of the different performers. This wasn’t something to be taken lightly; these were the people George would be spending the next part of his life with.

“This is Hector, our strong man, and his partner, Franklin.” Hector and Franklin nodded, smiling broadly. “Neither of them speak very much English.”
George shook their hands, and the two of them continued.

“Alfred Borneo, ringmaster. A pleasure, I assure you,” a tall, young man said jovially and bowed before Basil had time to introduce him.

“Oy, Sandy! It’s the new clown!” an older woman shouted to another, and they both went over to George and folded their arms crossly. “Well, looky here. Fresh meat, eh?” she said in a mocking tone.

“This is Julia, our fortune teller, and this is Sandy. They’ve been with the circus since the beginning.” George didn’t like the expression on the women’s wrinkly faces.

“You’re lucky. The boss favors clowns the best,” Sandy said and let out a cackle that made George’s skin crawl.

“Speaking of clowns,” Basil said, taking George’s arm and leading him away from the old women, “Why don’t you meet the rest of them?”
While Basil led George over to where the other clowns were practicing, he explained, “If there’s one thing the Fransmonihew Circus is famous for, it’s our clowns. We have the best collection of circus clowns in the country, and don’t you forget it. You have a reputation to uphold. Well, I’ll leave you to get acquainted.” With that, Basil turned and left him.

The clowns were some of the only ones practicing in costume. Several were off to the side juggling, others were practicing their own routines while several more were working on pantomiming. Once they saw George, they stopped their respective activities to greet him.

“I’m Gunther. This here is Bunther. And this is Fred. We’re the Dunce Brothers,” one of them said, gesturing towards his two companions. They were standing according to height, Gunther being the tallest and Fred, a midget.
The rest of them all greeted him without a lot of enthusiasm. Afterwards they all returned to what they were doing, except for Fred who stayed and talked to him.

“I liked your routine. Very creative,” said Fred. He had a round, friendly face as well as the disproportionate limbs and high-pitched voice that come with being a midget.

“Thanks. You all seem awfully nice.”

“Oh, we are for the most part, once you get to know us. Some people are just plain grouchy, though, you learn to stay away from them.”

“Mr. Bradley says you’re the best group of clowns around.”

“He told Gunther, Bunther and myself about that when we first started, too. He likes to, you know, put pressure on people. It’s just his way of keeping people in line. You tend to ignore him after a while.”

“Oh, I see. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but this group seems to be the least lively of the bunch.”

“We’re all pretty tired; uh, the boss really rides us, you know, being his favorite and all. Sort of a gift and a curse.”

“Does it ever get difficult, getting attached to people and then having them leave the circus?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I assumed people come and go all the time. That’s how it works with most show business.”

“No, once someone comes here to be a clown, they stay.”

“Really? Why?” Suddenly the room became silent and George felt everyone staring at them, specifically, at Fred. It made George feel awfully uneasy.

“Well, because… uh… who’d want to leave? You know, this place really is perfect. You’ll love it here.” The noise in the room went back up again and George no longer felt as if a giant spotlight had been placed on them.

“Well, it’s been great talking to you, but Gunther and Bunther need me, and you surely have other people to meet. Till we meet again,” said Fred jovially and offered his fat little hand. George shook it and left the room, with one last glance at the most peculiar crowd of people that had given him the most peculiar feeling of discomfort.

*          *          *

George was packing up his belongings in his apartment. They had one more show to do in Ohio and then it’s on to Pennsylvania. Fortunately George didn’t own much and the whole operation didn’t take more than an hour. After everything was packed away he loaded it all into the taxi cab and drove out of the parking lot, for what he hoped would be the last time.

The exhilaration of knowing he had a job and was going to travel with them was making his head spin. All his life he had dreamed of becoming an entertainer and traveling the country, and now it was all about to come true. Better yet, he had no emotional attachment whatsoever to what he was leaving behind. Not that moldy, old apartment, not the shady, grouchy landlord, not the noisy, obnoxious neighbors, and certainly not the rats who would feed on the crumbs he dropped at dinner time, the only acquaintances he had ever made in the building.

His mother was dead, he didn’t know his father, he never got along with his brothers, so he hardly had what you would call a family. He was really looking forward to getting to know the other circus performers, to finally get what one might call a family, and he was more than happy to know that, as strange as it sounded, none of the other clowns ever left.

Finally the car pulled into the grassy field near where the circus was staying. George tipped the cab driver, got out his luggage, and made his way back to the trailers.

“George! You’re over here,” he heard Basil shout from a distance. “Come on, I’ll help you with your bags.”

George got his first glimpse of his trailer. It was actually a bit bigger than he was expecting. “You’re sharing a trailer with the Dunce Brothers. Hope you don’t mind.”
George shook his head and lugged his bag over to the small cot and dropped them at his feet. He sat down on the wool blanket and let out a big sigh.

“You like it?” Basil asked as he entered with George’s other bag. “I’ve brought you a little something to commemorate the moment.” George watched Basil bring out a bottle of champagne and two wine glasses.

“Thank you very much. You sure are a lot nicer than the other clowns made you out to be.”

“Well, I guess I can be a little grating at times, but I’m a nice guy, once you get to know me,” he said through his thick, bristly mustache as he cracked open the bottle and poured the frothy liquid into the glasses. “To you, and to the Fransmonihew! May they both live long and prosperous lives.” The glasses clinked together and George brought the sweet-smelling glass to his lips. Basil stared as he drank the entire glass in one gulp.

After an hour he and Basil were both laughing hysterically as George poured the last bit of champagne into his glass.

“And I’m not talking about little mice either, I’m talking about huge, hairy rats, with tails this long! Ugliest things you’d ever see. And there were so many of them! I was afraid one morning I’d wake up and be missing an arm or a leg,” he said through his laughter. “Of course, I suppose if the rats didn’t get a piece of me first the landlord would. Talk about ugly! And hairy!” He was laughing so hard so hard he could hardly drink the rest of his champagne.

“Well, we seem to be out of wine. Or champagne, or whatever it was. More where that came from?”

“No, no, that’s quite enough for today, don’t you think? We do have a show tonight.”

“Oh, right, how could I forget that?” George said, suddenly feeling very tired.

“You should probably get some rest,” Basil said, getting up to leave the room. “And I should, too.” He yawned largely and George rested his head on his pillow, thinking it to be the most comfortable thing in the world.

*          *          *

George opened his eyes slowly. Everything was blurry. He rubbed his eyes and suddenly saw that someone else was in the room with him. It was Fred. He looked panic-stricken.

“The show starts in five minutes!”

“What?” George yelled. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was true. “My god, I’ve got to get going!” He stood up and saw that he was still wearing his street clothes, but his costume was on overtop.

“We went ahead and did your make-up and costume while you were asleep. You were out cold.”

At first George thought this to be a bit odd, but he didn’t have time to ponder it further. He pulled his shoes on and rushed out onto the big green lawn towards the huge circus tent. Mud squelched beneath his feet; it had begun to drizzle. His movements were sluggish and he felt as if he were carrying an anchor around his neck. His face also hurt. This was his first time drinking, but if this was what a hangover felt like, he would never drink again.

Finally he entered the crowded room once more. He got very queer looks from everybody. At first he thought it was because of how late he was, but it soon became clear that that wasn’t it.

“Glad you finally made it,” one of the clowns said. “Wouldn’t look too good for you to miss your second performance.”

George nodded; his face hurt so much he could hardly speak. Something definitely was not right, but he couldn’t put his finger on whatever it was exactly. The show started, and soon it was his turn to go on. He decided whatever this was was more than just a massive hang-over. As he was mounting his unicycle, he brushed his finger past his face. He looked down at his finger and saw a red liquid on it. It wasn’t makeup. It was blood.

The show went by quickly, and his performance wasn’t hindered terribly by his pain and sluggishness. He was relieved when he finally steered the unicycle off-stage and immediately collapsed, clutching his face.

“It hurts! It hurts so much!” he moaned. The other performers gathered around him, a strange look of indifference in their eyes. “I’ve got to get this makeup off!” he said as he got up and rushed into the near-bye bathroom.

He wet his hands with soap and rubbed fiercely at his face. He looked into the mirror expecting to see his normal face looking back, but instead he still saw himself as a clown. Not a single spot of makeup had come off. He instantly knew what had happened, but his mind was having a hard time getting a grip on it.
He ran out of the bathroom and saw the Basil standing there.

“You!” he screamed, dashed over him, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently. “What have you done to me? What have you done to me?” he shrieked, not caring whether the audience heard him or not.

The Basil at first said nothing, but he did not look at all surprised by this outburst. The other performers watched in silence.

“You… you tattooed this onto my face? While I was asleep? You… you disgusting…” he struggled to find the right word, but failed. “You drugged me! Why? Why did you do it, why?” his voice shook uncontrollably.

“Why does it matter?” Basil said, “You would never want to leave us, would you?”

“I’m not only leaving, but I’m calling the police! This… this thing you’re running will be shut down faster than you can destroy another one of your performers!” George picked up his unicycle, looked at the owner standing in the corner with an unbridled rage, and only just barely was able to keep from doing something that would have the police after him instead. He threw the unicycle to the side and stormed out of the tent.

*          *          *

Glass scattered across the floor of George’s apartment. He had never broken anything in his life, and now all four windows in his apartment were shattered. Fortunately he was allowed back into his apartment even though it technically didn’t belong to him. The landlord must have sensed how angry George was. He had never been this angry before.

He hadn’t called the police yet. With all of his belongings still locked up in his trailer, his dignity was the only thing he had left, and he wasn’t sure if he could recant his story to the police without crying.

He had cried and would continue to cry. Right now he felt like the glass on the floor: shattered. Broken. Useless. What could he do? He would be treated like a freak wherever he went. No circus would hire a clown with his makeup permanently imbedded in his skin, let alone any other job.

Really, there was only one other option. The only place that would take freaks like him was the Fransmonihew, the place that had made him that way. They robbed him of everything, and now they owned him, just like all the other clowns. That was their plan. They knew they were safe because if he called the police the circus would be shut down and he would have no more options at all.

George stared into his reflection in the broken glass. It was so ugly. Before this colorful, smiling face gave him a feeling of comfort and happiness. Now he loathed it; he thought it was the most disgusting thing he ever saw.

The hours dragged on. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. George didn’t answer it. Regardless, the person behind it talked to him anyway. It was Fred.

“Listen, George, I know what you’re going through. I went through the exact same thing. The feeling of betrayal, the outrage, the sadness, the hopelessness. That’s what the Fransmonihew does. But you’ve probably realized there’s only one option.”

“I wouldn’t consider coming back even if you were the only circus on the face of the earth!” George spat. It felt good to say it even if he knew it wasn’t true.

“That’s why I’m here. Just in case you’re actually being honest, I have a story to tell. I tried running away from the circus. I tried leaving. Me, Gunther and Bunther, we all tried it. We tried every circus we could afford to travel to. Must have been thirty different ones, some of them the scummiest places you’d ever see, and they all said the same thing. They just wouldn’t hire someone with the face of a clown.

“And if the circus wouldn’t take us, then who would? We had to come and get our jobs back even after what they did to us, because of what they did to us. Almost every clown’s tried leaving, and every one failed. I’m trying to save you a lot of grief and agony and just except that the Fransmonihew Circus is your life from now on.”
Fred’s words stung George like acid. His worst fears had been realized, he now knew he was right. He had no other choice.

“But why should just the thought of not being able to leave ruin your life? Coming here was a dream come true for you. Why should that be any different now? Me and the others, we’re a nice bunch of folks. This won’t be so terrible. You’ll travel with us, entertaining people, making them laugh. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

George considered this change in thinking that Fred was suggesting impossible. But that wasn’t a problem. Right now he had to go back, and soon this change from resentment to contentment would happen naturally. Or so he hoped.

“Take the night to think about it. See how you feel tomorrow. Remember, you can come back whenever you want.”

George’s body was too tired and his face hurt too much to think about all of this. He lied down on the floor and almost instantly drifted off into the most restless sleep he would ever have.

*          *          *

George’s eyes fluttered open and he squinted as a ray of sunlight shone through the broken windows. For a second he hoped it had all been a dream, but as soon as he opened his eyes he knew it hadn’t, or else the windows wouldn’t have been broken and he wouldn’t have been sleeping on the floor.

He knew what he had to do. He got up, stretched and exited the building, ignoring the strange looks from the passersby. It was too long of a distance to where the Fransmonihew would be preparing to leave for George to walk; he would have to take the bus. This was not something he looked forward to. The people on the bus couldn’t stop staring at this man in the sweater and kaki pants with the face of a clown. His only consolation was that his face didn’t hurt as much as it did the day before, but it was still bleeding.

He got out a few blocks down from the large field where the circus was. It was far from any of the buildings of the city and much quieter. The tent was being emptied, and there were people everywhere, packing up the trucks for the trip to Pennsylvania. Or so George thought. The trucks that were being packed didn’t look like the ones the circus owned.

There was a strange feeling of depression among the workers. George was growing tired of this feeling of always being one step behind; something was up and he wanted to find out what. Everyone ignored him as he wandered about, looking for the owner, or Basil or anybody who could explain what was going on. He didn’t see any of the performers. Suddenly he saw the owner who had an extremely sad look on his face.

“I want to perform for you. I am… angry, but I am left with no choice.” The owner just shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry. We can’t pay our debts to the bank, they’ve taken everything. The Fransmonihew is no more.” He walked off, looking like his mother had just died.

George felt as if a cork in his side had been pulled out. He had no emotion, no feeling of anger, no sadness, not even thankfulness that this fate he had suffered wouldn’t be handed to anyone else. He pulled back one of the long, fabric curtains of the tent. On one of the wooden support beams high in the air hung each of the Fransmonihew clowns. One last piece of rope hung beside them, tied into an empty noose. George climbed up to the beam, put the rope around his neck, and took his place among the clowns.