“I could see no evidence of an accident. I assume he was born that way.” He shrugged. “Albinos are usually defective in some way or other—in addition to their lack of pigmentation. Quite often they’re sickly or simple-minded—or both.”
“Is…” She started to ask Dr. Latham to confirm or deny Henry’s assertion that Angel was simple-minded, but she was afraid of the answer. So she said, “Is Angel… sickly?”
“Doesn’t seem to be. He has quite an athletic build, though it’s hard to tell without a lot more thorough examination than I was able to do tonight. Well…” he stood up “… he can stay here tonight. He should be fine in the morning. You’d better run on to Rose’s party.”
“I’m not really in the mood for one of Rose’s parties.” She stood up also and fidgeted with a button, hoping Dr. Latham wouldn’t think she was being foolish. “Could… could I stay here tonight? He might… he might not be as frightened if I were here,” she blurted, making it up as she went along. “I don’t know what happened, but he was really frightened about something.”
Latham looked at her, about to tease her, but he saw how serious and worried she was. “You can stay if you want to. You can sleep in Francine’s room.” He grinned because she was so serious and so concerned. “However, there’s no telling what this may do to my reputation.”
She grinned also. “Shall I hide the car up the street somewhere?”
“Alas,” he sighed, “I fear the damage is done.”
“I’ll call Rose and tell her I won’t be there.”
She went to the phone on the parlor wall, gave the crank a couple of turns, and took down the receiver.
“Hello, would you ring the Willets, please?… Fine, Reba, how are you?… No, I didn’t go see it again tonight… Thank you… Hello, who’s this?… Oh, hello, Billie Rita. This is Evie. Is Rose able to talk?… Okay… Rose? I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make the party tonight, after all… No, I’m not sick, I—… No, I’m not going to the tent show. Something came up. I’ll tell you about it later… Yes, it’s very important… , Okay… ’Bye, Rose.”
She hung up the receiver and turned to Dr. Latham smiling. “Rose is having a fit. Most of the girls are going to the tent show instead of her party. Well…” she clapped her hands together nervously “… at least I came prepared to spend the night. I’ll get my case from the car.”
She went outside and got the case and the book from the back seat. She heard a distant rumble of thunder and looked toward the south.
“The cloud’s getting closer,” she said when she went back in the house. “It’s gonna be pouring down rain pretty soon. Oh, I brought this book that Francine wanted to borrow.” She put it on the mantel.
The phone rang. Dr. Latham looked at her and shook his head. “Somebody must have a pain. Should’ve known since there’s a cloud coming up.” He grimaced and took down the receiver.
“Dr. Latham,” he said, then looked at Evelyn and raised his eyebrows. “Hello, Rose… Francine left here some time ago. Isn’t she there yet?… Maybe she went by the tent show. Would you have her call me when she gets there?… Thank you.’Bye, Rose.”
He hung up the receiver slowly and looked at Evelyn. “Has Francine said anything to you about what’s bothering her? She’s been acting funny all day.”
“No,” Evelyn said and frowned. “She was upset about something last night at the tent show. I thought she was just embarrassed about the Minotaur.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Rose had been teasing her about… well, you know, about what the Minotaur did in the story. Rose had her all worked up about it, then, when the Minotaur came out, he wasn’t wearing very much and, well…” she felt herself blushing “… he was pretty sexual. I thought that was all.”
The doctor didn’t say anything, but his face was worried.
“Is it all right if I… look in on Angel?” Evelyn asked.
“Huh?” Dr. Latham’s eyes focused on her. “He’s asleep.”
“I know. I won’t disturb him.”
He shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.” He took his hat and coat from the hall tree. “You know where everything is. If you’re hungry, feel free to raid the icebox. I think I’ll take a walk down to the tent show. Good night, Evie.”
“Good night, Dr. Latham, and thank you.”
He gave her a little worried smile and left. She went into the clinic, but didn’t turn on the light for fear of disturbing Angel. She sat in the chair beside the cot and watched him. He looks like a baby when he sleeps, she thought. She leaned over and touched his slightly parted lips with her fingers. He stirred and turned on the cot, causing the sheet to slip off his bare shoulder. She could see the rapid movement of his eyes behind the closed lids.
She pulled the sheet back over his shoulder, then left the house and headed for the tent show.
22.
The people stood around Haverstock’s Traveling Curiosus and Wonder Show and listened to the gasps and shrieks and applause that swelled periodically from the tent. They looked at each other and grinned, fidgeting in delicious anticipation of the second show. But some of them looked nervously at the lightning that moved continuously closer and listened warily to the thunder that seemed a little louder each time.
The farmers with crops in the fields worried about hail or too much wind or too much rain. They had visions of rising in the pale morning light to find the wheat bent and broken, plastered to the ground by mud and water; the young maize so tattered and torn it would never recover to produce more than small anemic heads.
Others worried that the storm might cause them to miss the show. They all worried about cyclones. It was cyclone weather, they nodded to each other. Definitely cyclone weather. The one back in ’17, the one that blew away the old cotton gin, it came out of a cloud just like this one, just after dark like it was now. Those who remembered, and most did, agreed. But they always managed to forget that the same thing was said about every cloud that came up.
The ones who hadn’t been worried talked themselves into worry. They drifted away, one or two at first, those who lived farther out, who thought they might be able to make it home before the storm broke, then more. Children, thwarted at life’s grandest moment, begged to stay, to be left behind, abandoned, anything rather than miss the Wonder Show. Pleading turned to screams and tantrums and tears of frustration, and then to tears of pain when their fathers applied hands and belts vigorously to seats of knickers and overalls. Children whose parents had made no move to leave looked at their elders warily, searching for signs of departure.
Applause suddenly burst from the tent after an unusually lengthy silence.
Inside, the snake woman settled her coils into position on her platform and the curtain closed.
Louis stepped to the front of the stage and the applause quickly died. The rows of people shifted on the wooden benches. This was it. Angel the Magic Boy. They reviewed all the things they had heard and waited, hardly breathing.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Louis said a little nervously. “Ah… it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that Angel, the Magic Boy, will not be able to perform tonight. He has… ah… taken ill suddenly. Thank you.”
A groan arose from the crowd. Louis began speaking rapidly, trying to quell their dissatisfaction. “The last item on our show is Henry-etta, half man, half woman. Because of the delicate nature of this performance, we must request all children under eighteen years of age to please leave the auditorium.”
Phineas Bowen and Jack Spain left the tent in a daze, their faces as clouded as the southern sky.
“I don’t understand it, Jack,” Finney said, his voice high-pitched with disbelief. “How could Angel be sick? He’s magic. He couldn’t be sick.”