He swept his arm to the curtains behind him. They parted, the metal rings rattling on the wire. A large doll house sat on a table. Two men rolled the table forward to the edge of the stage. The audience waited, hardly breathing.
Finney turned and whispered to Jack. “It’s got to be Tiny Tim.”
“I’m waiting for the Snake Goddess,” Jack answered and squirmed nervously.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Louis bellowed, “Tiny Tim, the smallest man in the world!”
For a moment nothing happened, then the door of the doll house opened and Tiny Tim stepped out. A gasp fluttered through the audience. He was twelve inches tall, as promised, but the tiny figure was strangely misshapen. He was a hunchback and had a crooked leg. His face was like wax on the verge of melting. The crowd strained forward. They had known he was supposed to be twelve inches tall, but they hadn’t really realized just how small that actually was. Some in the back stood up for a better look.
Finney grabbed Jack’s arm and they stared, their eyes wide and their mouths open. The crowd began to murmur.
“How do they do it?” Rose hissed in amazement.
“Probably with mirrors… or something?” Harold answered and wished he could take off his sweater.
“Please keep your seats, ladies and gentlemen,” Louis admonished. “You’ll all have an opportunity to see Tim up close.” He turned to the tiny man. “Tim, would you like to sing and dance for the nice people? They’ve come to see you and it would be unkind to disappoint them.”
Tim looked up at Louis. “Yes,” he said in a small whispery voice that could hardly be heard.
There was another gasp from the audience. Finney and Jack clutched at each other in excitement that could hardly be restrained.
“Sumbitch,” Finney squeaked.
Rose stared and put her hand on Harold’s arm. “Is the guy a ventriloquist too?”
Louis held up his hand for quiet. “Okay, Tim. These nice people are waiting.”
The air in the tent rang with silence. Tim began to sing. His voice was tiny, but it was clear and melodious, and the song he sang was slow and sad. Then he danced, slowly, awkwardly, and grotesquely, his misshapen body unable to coordinate properly.
Evelyn frowned and looked away.
After a moment Louis leaned over and put his hand palm-up on the table. Tim stopped dancing and, still singing, stepped into Louis’s hand. Louis lifted him up.
The houselights brightened. Louis stepped off the stage and walked slowly down the aisle to the rear of the tent. He turned and paused, holding the tiny singing man before him. Every head was twisted around and every eye was on his hand. Even though Tim’s voice was very small, the inside of the tent was so hushed he could be heard clearly by everyone. Louis returned slowly to the stage.
He mounted the stage and put his hand on the table. Tim got off as the song ended and bowed to the silent faces. The silence continued for a moment and then was abruptly broken by frantic clapping from Finney and Jack. The others slowly picked it up. They laughed nervously. Then they cheered and laughed and slapped their hands together.
Tim bowed again, then turned and entered the doll house. The roustabouts came out and pushed the table to the rear of the stage, the curtains closing behind them. Louis held up his arms and grinned as the houselights dimmed. He waited a moment for the noise to die down.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Tim appreciates your warm reception, but there are many more wonders to see.” Shuffling and scraping sounds came from behind the curtain.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Louis continued, “there are many instruments of death used in the world to execute criminals and murderers. In France they use the guillotine. In the heathen countries of the East they use methods too terrible to describe before a good American, Christian audience. In this country several means are employed. In some states, murderers are hung, in others they are shot. The gas chamber is used and…” the curtains rattled open “… the electric chair, from which there is no escape!”
“Not too many recover from the guillotine either,” Rose murmured.
Louis walked slowly behind the heavy wooden chair spotlighted on the stage. He put his hands on the back of it and paused dramatically. The audience leaned forward.
“There is no escape… except for one man!”
Louis turned and swung his arm toward the wings. A man stepped out. He was barefoot and shirtless, but a black hood was pulled over his head. He stood with his legs apart and his chest out. He turned his shrouded face toward the rows of people.
“Electro, the Lightning Man!” Louis’s voice rang powerfully through the tent. Electro walked slowly to the chair. He was followed by the two men who had pushed forward the doll house. He sat stiffly, in an attitude of fearlessness, a sheen of perspiration on his chest. The roustabouts buckled heavy straps around his arms, legs, and chest and left the stage. Louis walked forward again. “Ladies and gentlemen, if Electro is ever executed in a state that uses the electric chair, there will be quite a few very surprised people.”
He grinned and there was a slight laugh from the audience. “This electric chair, ladies and gentlemen, is one that was actually used to execute hundreds of criminals in one of this great country’s state prisons. The electric current that will go through Electro’s body when I pull this switch…” he placed his hand on a large knife switch mounted on a pole attached to the side of the chair “… will be exactly the same as used in that state prison.”
The audience shifted expectantly.
“Are you ready, Electro?”
The black-covered head nodded. Louis closed his fingers slowly around the switch handle, paused to milk the last drop of suspense, and threw the switch. The chair hummed and crackled. Electro’s body twitched and jerked. Louis turned off the switch and the man in the chair slumped back.
“Are you all right, Electro?”
The head under the hood nodded again. There was an almost inaudible release of breath from the audience.
“Are you ready, Electro?”
The hood dipped slightly and Louis pulled the switch again. The electric hum and crackle resumed. Electro trembled. Louis reached behind the chair and brought out an iron bar with a rubber handle. He held the bar over his head so the audience could see.
“As you can observe, this has a rubber handle because, unlike Electro, I am not immune to electricity.”
Holding the bar by the rubber end, he reached out and touched the arm of the chair. A shower of sparks flew from the contact, filling the air with the smell of ozone. The audience inhaled loudly. He touched the chair again and again in many different places, each time producing a cascade of sparks.
Jack leaned over and whispered to Finney. “I think this is a trick.”
Finney nodded. “Yes, but it’s a very good trick.”
Louis put the iron bar away and turned off the switch. Electro slumped in the chair again, his chest rising and falling rapidly. A drop of perspiration rolled over his stomach.
“Are you all right, Electro?”
The hooded head dipped forward. Louis turned to the audience with an expansive smile and spread his arms for applause. The two roustabouts came from the wings and unstrapped the man in the electric chair. Electro stood up, bowed to the applause, and walked from the stage as the chair was pushed behind the curtain.
“I hope the rest of it isn’t as phony as that,” Harold groaned.
“Tiny Tim wasn’t a phony,” Evelyn pointed out, arching her eyebrows.
Harold grunted. “Electro the Lightning Man certainly was.”
There was once again shuffling and scraping behind the curtain. Louis walked to the edge of the stage and assumed a serious pose. The applause quickly subsided into silence.