We are all going to die. All of us. What a circus! – Charles Bukowski
Petulia rolled over and stood up as the sawdust hovered and the horse continued circling, oblivious to the human drama. The dancer rubbed a sore spot high on her pelvis where the impact had been. Sure no bones had been broken, she gauged her horse’s pace before taking two full paces and leapt on the creature’s broad, flat back. She picked up her routine right where she had been interrupted; this was her fifteenth evolution since dinner. Only ten more rounds remained.
Tomorrow would see a profitable crowd, the test case for spreading the word to the community. With luck, the circus would pay its expenses on that day and curry sufficient favor to harvest money for new vestments for the twins’ trapeze act. Her father’s teeth would bend iron as always, and her mother’s beard would draw the ogling masses. The other members of her family had done their practicing this day. The animals in their menagerie were all quiescent. For instance, the elephant was sleeping in its tracks, its left rear leg in its cruel iron fixed to the stake. The lion was snoozing next to its empty bowl. The light from the pine torch flickered in the first cool breeze of night. The big top spread from the huge pole at the center of her course.
Petulia let her mind range widely as she went through the motions that reinforced her muscle memory. She knew she must not become too involved cerebrally as her intuition was the key to her act. She let herself somersault and planted her bare feet on the horse’s back. In her earliest memories, she had dreamed of riding a unicorn. What a joke! Now disillusioned and humiliated by her ravishment by an itinerant stable hand, the girl forced back tears as, once again, she relived the rape, which had violated her hymen and damaged her soul. But she had never told anyone about that dark event, and she felt extremely lucky not to have been made pregnant. Her family would have been so ashamed.
From the corner of her right eye, she saw a hazy figure of a man admiring her and leering at her. He had the size and build of her former assailant. She was alarmed, but she kept her presence of mind and equanimity. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Each circuit was another reinforcement. Her watcher remained where he was standing. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. He stood so still, he seemed to be a shade. But he had a rasping cough, and he spat out mucous. She wanted him to say something to rule out her worst fear—that her rapist would return to violate her again.
Twenty-one. Twenty-two. She observed the man had moved, and he was approaching her track with determination. The torch was pushed sideways by the breeze as if the tent were now open to the elements. The sound of a deluge of rain outside was unmistakable. It was striking the big top in big drops. She concentrated on her finish and finale. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Now she raced to prepare her horse for the night. She did not know where her male watcher had gone. She felt relieved thinking he might have been a figment.
Petulia fed her horse oats in a bag, and she was brushing it down when from behind she felt a strong man’s arms surround her. The hated voice whispered in her ear, “Hi, Pet, I’ll bet you can’t get me out of your mind. On my part, I have not been able to forget the good time we had together before I left the circus.”
She struggled against his embrace and said, “You had better get lost, fast. If my father and brothers find you here, you will not live through this night.”
“I feel pretty confident, Pet. I bet you never told your father or your mother what happened to you that fatal night. When your family discover you have been violated, they will hate you and cast you out. But I know how much you enjoyed our sex. You cried out and held me to you. Tonight, you are going to know how much ecstasy you can have from me.”
“Help! Help! Please help me!” Petulia cried in despair.
“You are wasting your breath. The sound of the rain covers everything else. So, cry out or moan. Whatever noises you choose to make, no one will come to rescue you.”
The torch was now guttering, and rainwater was running down the main pole of the big tent. The man turned Petulia around and yanked at her clothing. She was now terrified at the thought of what was coming next. She scratched the man’s face with the nails of both her hands. She kicked at him, and, in frustration, he swung his fist at her face.
His fist never connected but was caught in mid-flight. The arm that restrained the man had an iron grip, and the face of that man was an emblem of fatherly indignation and rage. Petulia’s father did not look at her when he asked the young man, “Did you deflower my daughter?”
The man showed poor judgment when he laughed before he said, “I did, but I was not the first or the last.”
“Dear Petulia,” her father asked, “Did this man take you against your will?”
She buried her face in her hands. “Yes, Father, he took me. He was the first and he took me against my will. What he says about others is a boldfaced lie. I did not tell you or mother because I knew how disappointed you would be in me.”
“Oh, Petulia, I am not disappointed in you. As this young man is proud to have deflowered you, I am going to have a serious discussion with him right now. Why don’t you go to your trailer for a while as I work? The noise from what I shall do cannot be heard outside this tent. I think that is what he said—and I agree with him. I will come to comfort you when I have finished what I must do.”
Petulia stumbled to her trailer through the rain. She locked her door and took off her wet, torn clothing. The pounding rain made hearing anything outside the trailer impossible. She decided to take a shower.
One hour after the girl began her shower, she had dried off and gotten into her bed clothes. The rain had subsided. Her father knocked on her door and said, “Petulia, it is all right for you to come out and do as you please. You need never fear that young man again. Ask no questions about him. Consider him dead. Good night!”
“Father, don’t you now want to know what happened between us?”
“I know all I want to know. I have done what, as your father, I must have done. Now let’s get on with our lives. We have a show tomorrow that will make or break our family. Do you feel up to performing?”
“Yes, Father, now that the horrid young man is out of my life, I can do my routine perfectly.”
***
The next day dawned with sunlight breaking through the clouds. In the big top, there were no signs of violence. Petulia rode her horse in expanding circles around the outside of the tent to be certain no signs remained of the interchange between her father and her rapist. Her mother and brothers did not seem to think any less of her than before. So, the family went about their circus business, without fanfare. All their acts were flawless. Petulia’s act went particularly well as she received a standing ovation from the crowd.
That evening while they were counting their day’s earnings, the county sheriff dropped by looking for a young man with a criminal past. He wanted to know whether any of the family had seen a man answering the description on a poster. Petulia’s father told the lawman no such man had been seen by any member of the circus. The sheriff seemed satisfied, and he mentioned liking the performances that day as he was present with his entire family to enjoy it.
Petulia was naturally curious about what had happened to the man who had violated her once and then attempted to violate her again. Her father never mentioned him, and she did not have the courage to ask him about it. She did ask her mother about what would happen to any man who attempted to rape her. The bearded lady shook her head and said, “You would not want to know. My advice is to let sleeping dogs lie.”
DoubleSpeak 