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Sideshow

Mark Pearce

    At the back of the tent stood a short, three-legged wooden stool. On the stool sat a midget; his age was indeterminate, the misty middle-age between forty and fifty-five. Thin wisps of hair lay flat across a balding scalp. The feature which had earned him his job was a lack of arms. He had hands, but they were connected directly to his shoulders.
    That was it; a midget with no arms, sitting on a three-legged stool at the back of a tent.
    Stanley had never seen a malformed human. He had not even known that such a thing could happen. The poster had promised SEALO: THE SEAL BOY and had depicted the smiling head of a boy with a seal’s body. The boy in the poster was balancing a beach ball on his nose while clapping his flippers. Nothing in the accumulated experience of Stanley’s full seven years had prepared him for such a wonder. He had been determined to witness the miracle firsthand.
    Mrs. Gates had stopped Stanley’s group of second graders by the main ticket booth while she bought tokens for the Big Top. From where he had stood, Stanley had been able to see through a crack in the flap of Sealo’s tent. A crowd of adults had stood pointing and laughing at something on the other side of a waist high curtain. Stanley had imagined the seal boy entertaining them with all kind of astounding tricks.
    He had carefully counted his money. After allowing for the mandatory cotton candy and soda, he knew he would have just enough left to visit the sideshow after the performance in the Big Top was over. He had scurried with the other children into the main tent, determined to return after the show.
    The clowns and lions and high wire acts were thrilling, but they had paled before the wonder of what Stanley knew awaited him along the fairway. All through the circus he had kept envisioning the Seal Boy who would dance and do flips and balance balls and no telling what other amazing feats.
    The fairway had felt strangely different after the circus was over. Bloated on junk food, their taste for diversion temporarily sated, the circus goers had headed for their cars and homes. As Mrs. Gates corralled the children into lines at the restrooms, Stanley had slipped away, determined to see the seal boy.
    There were no lines or crowds milling about the sideshow tents. Even the barkers had ceased to hurl their spiels. The man at Sealo’s booth had acted as if it were an imposition to have to sell a ticket to the boy who didn’t know the time for wonders was over.
    And now there he stood, peering over the curtain that reached to his chin, looking at the midget with no arms. He felt no horror, just embarrassment — for himself and for the man.
    Sealo did not smile. “Go down to the end of the curtain,” he said, pointing with one of his armless hands.
    Stanley looked to where Sealo was indicating. He hesitated, not certain what was expected of him. He walked to the end of the curtain.
    “Push the pole aside,” said Sealo. “Come here.”
    Stanley hesitated. The curtain connected to an end pole which was pressed against the side of the tent. When Stanley pushed against it, he found it difficult to budge, being heavily weighted at the bottom. It was obvious no one was intended to come around the end.
    Stanley pressed hard against the pole, tilting it just enough to give him room to squeeze past. He slipped through and let the pole slide back into place.
    “Come here,” repeated Sealo, beckoning with one of his hands.
    Stanley approached. Even on the stool, the performer was not quite as tall as the boy.
    “What’s your name?” said the midget.
    “Stanley.”
    Sealo twisted his body and pulled a pad and pencil from his shirt pocket. He began to write on the pad, his body contorting to the effort. Uncertain as to whether Stanley was old enough to read, he spoke the words as he wrote:
    “To Stanley,” he said. “Always stay just the way you are. Sealo.”
    He peeled the sheet off the pad and handed it to Stanley, then offered him a hand to shake. Stanley tried to be gentle; he wondered if it hurt Sealo where the hand connected to the shoulder.
    Stanley left the same way he had come. As he went, he took a final glance over his shoulder at the midget on the stool.
    The sunlight of the fairway made him squint after the dimness of the sideshow tent. The grounds were all but abandoned now; dust comingled with bits of garbage in wisps of wind.
    Stanley rejoined the children in his group and was herded onto a bus. He spoke little on the long ride home. He thought about the quiet, gentle man who made his living by charging people to view his deformity. And he thought about the people who paid.
    There are friends you know for life, and there are friends you meet for a moment and never see again. Stanley would never forget Sealo; sometimes in his adult years, he would think back and wonder what had become of the diminutive performer.
    And sometimes, late at night, after a long day of shows, Sealo would remember the boy.

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