A Whole Nother Story (8 page)

CHAPTER 9

I
think I may have found your problem,” said Mr. Cheese-man as he emerged from beneath the hood, holding what looked like a twisted, mangled fencing sword. It looked like a twisted, mangled fencing sword because that’s exactly what it was.

“Is that a sword?” asked Gerard.

“It was,” said Jibby, taking it from Mr. Cheeseman. “It belongs to Jake, our sword swallower.”

“I think he’d have a hard time swallowing that one,” said Jough.

“Not if I rammed it down his throat he wouldn’t,” said Jibby. “He’s always leaving his things lying around. And now it’s cost us two full hours of travel time and one big headache.”

“Not to mention a really nice sword,” said Maggie.

“By the way,” said Jough. “Where is Jake? And where are the rest of your performers?”

“Sleeping in the bus, if I know them. The lousy layabouts.” Jibby scowled. “I’ll summon them right away so they can offer you the proper thanks for your very generous help.”

“That’s not necessary,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “We were more than happy to do it. Besides, we all needed to stretch our legs.”

“Well, I wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t give us the opportunity to repay you somehow,” said Jibby. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” said Gerard.

“Yes, starving,” echoed Steve.

“Then you shall stay for supper,” said Jibby in a tone that was not to be argued with. “I can say with complete confidence that our cook, the lovely Juanita, is the best cook of any traveling circus sideshow working today.”

“How many traveling circus sideshows are there working today?” asked Maggie.

“Hmm,” said Jibby. “If I had to guess, I’d say . . . one. But trust me when I say Juanita’s cooking is world class.”

“We wouldn’t want her to go to any trouble,” said Mr. Cheeseman.

“Trouble?” boomed Jibby. “It would be her pleasure. In fact, I believe that tonight, in your honor, Captain Jibby’s Traveling Circus Sideshow will throw a good old-fashioned wingding.”

Jibby laughed and clapped his hands together in unbridled delight.

“Excuse me,” said Gerard, tugging on Jibby’s heavily buttoned sleeve. “What’s a wingding?”

“What’s a wingding? Why, a wingding is, uh . . . it’s just like a shindig but without all the hullabaloo. Now, let’s meet the rest of the group, shall we?”

Jibby yanked open the bus door and climbed on board.

“All right, listen up and listen up good. Tonight, we’re puttin’ on a regular wingding in honor of our new friends who were kind enough to stop and help us out. So get your lazy backsides up and get ready to do some work for a change.”

Jough looked at Maggie and Ethan. Ethan shrugged, causing Jough and Maggie to smile.

“Tonight, we’ll have a feast like no other,” said Jibby as he climbed off the bus. “And entertainment that will leave you breathless.”

“Really?” said Gerard.

With this, Jibby sighed heavily and looked to the dirt beneath his feet.

“Well,” he started. “Not exactly, I’m afraid. There was a time when we were something to behold. But in recent years, I must admit we’ve lost a bit of our edge.”

“We don’t mind,” said Maggie with a smile. “Being left breathless is highly overrated.”

“Yeah,” said Jough. “Besides, I’m sure you’re just being modest.”

“If you think I’m being modest, then you don’t know me very well,” said Jibby with a snort.

The first to make his way off the bus was a short, chubby man with a blue and white bandanna tied around his head. What was even more noticeable about the man, however, was that he wore glasses and, beneath those glasses, over his left eye, was a large black eye patch.

“Ah, there you are,” said Jibby angrily. “Been lookin’ for this?”

Jibby thrust the mangled sword at the man in the bandanna.

“My best swallowing sword,” said the man in a low, sandpapery voice. “Where did you find it?”

Jibby looked to Mr. Cheeseman, who said, “Actually, I found it. It was wrapped around the fan belt. I’m Ethan, by the way. And these are my children: Jough, Maggie, and Gerard.”

Steve cleared his throat.

“And that’s Steve.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said the man, offering a slight bow.

“You must be Jake, the sword swallower,” said Maggie.

“Three-Eyed Jake is my name, sword swallowin’s my game.”

“Excuse me, sir,” said Gerard. “But why do they call you Three-Eyed Jake?”

“Why do they call me Three-Eyed Jake? Well, I’ll tell ya why. When I first got my spectacles here, people started calling me Four Eyes. ‘Hey, here comes old Four Eyes,’ they’d say. Then, when I lost my left eye, well, four minus one equals—”

“Three!” Gerard interrupted.

“Right,” said Three-Eyed Jake, reaching out and roughing up Gerard’s spiky hair. “Smart as a whip, this one is.”

“But how did you lose your eye?” asked Gerard, making certain he was out of range of Maggie’s elbow.

“Bit of advice,” said Jake. “Never practice sword swallowing if you’re farsighted and you’ve misplaced your glasses.”

The children winced at the thought of it. Even Steve winced with his solitary eye.

“I had a glass eye for a while,” said Jake wistfully. “Beautiful thing it was. Haven’t a clue as to where I might have left the darn thing.”

“You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your neck,” said Jibby.

“Reminds me . . . almost lost my head once, too,” said Jake. “All over a beautiful woman and a bottle of rye.”

Jibby reached out and smacked Jake on the back of his head.

“Is that an appropriate story for children?”

“No,” said Jake. “I suppose it ain’t.”

“Right. Now run off and start setting up for a feast to remember.”

“Aye, Captain,” he said with a salute.

As Jake walked toward the back of the bus, another man, tall and thin with a simple expression on his face, stumbled off the bus.

“Everybody, this here’s Dizzy,” said Jibby. “Dizzy’s our tightrope walker.”

“Hello, Dizzy,” said Mr. Cheeseman with his hand extended. “I’m Ethan.”

Dizzy shook Mr. Cheeseman’s hand but said nothing.

“Don’t take offense,” said Jibby. “He can’t talk.”

“You mean he’s mute?” Jough asked.

“Mute?” said Jibby. “I wish. No, he has the ability to speak, that’s for darned sure. He just can’t because, frankly, I won’t let him. So many stupid things have come out of his mouth over the years that finally one day I completely revoked his speaking privileges. That was four years ago.”

“You mean he hasn’t spoken in four years?” asked Jough.

“Not to me he hasn’t,” confirmed Jibby.

“I can think of at least one other person who should have his speaking privileges revoked,” said Maggie, nodding toward her little brother.

“If I had my way, it’d be half the world’s population,” said Jibby with a smile and a wink before turning to address Dizzy. “Now listen, Dizzy. We’re throwing a wingding for our new friends here. So let’s get to work setting it all up.”

As Dizzy nodded and turned to leave, a look of inspiration suddenly washed across Jibby’s face.

“Wait! You know, now that I think about it, forget the wingding. Let’s go all out and make it a shindig. Why not? A shindig it is. Which means there’s plenty of hullabaloo to take care of, so let’s get going.”

Dizzy smiled his simple smile, then zigzagged toward the back of the bus, where Three-Eyed Jake was busy pulling folding chairs and banquet tables from the storage compartment.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” said Jough. “But Dizzy seems like kind of a weird name for a tightrope walker.”

Jibby breathed out a sigh of exhaustion.

“Not in this case it’s not,” he said. “That’s the problem with our whole operation here. It’s all fallin’ apart. Our strong man hurt his back and couldn’t lift a feather. Our fortune teller got hit on the head and suffers from short-term memory loss. Can’t remember predictions he made two minutes before. And three weeks ago I had to fire both Wolf Boy and the Fat Lady.”

“Why did you have to fire them?” Gerard mumbled through his giant plug of bubble gum.

“Because the darn fools went and fell in love with each other,” said Jibby bitterly.

“Sorry, but what’s wrong with that?” Mr. Cheeseman wondered.

“I have a very strict policy against employees dating,” said Jibby. “Ever since that tragedy last year with the Bearded Lady and the Human Torch. Anyway, try gettin’ people to fork over their hard-earned money to see a strong man with a back injury, a fortune teller with shortterm memory loss, and a tightrope walker with vertigo.”

Jough turned to Mr. Cheeseman.

“Dad?” he said. “What about the earmuffs?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “Are you sure you don’t need them?”

“I’m sure, Dad. I’ve been completely cured of that. I haven’t fallen down in over six months.”

“Okay,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “Run and get them.”

Jough ran back to the station wagon with Pinky right behind him.

“I’m not sure about the others,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “But perhaps we can help your tightrope walker with his balancing problem.”

SOME UP-FRONT ADVICE ON AVOIDING BACK INJURIES

A
lways lift with your legs, no matter how tempting it might be to use your hands.

CHAPTER 10

M
r. Cheeseman and his three children sat at a long banquet table and watched in wonder as everyone rushed about to set up a fabulous shindig complete with all the hullabaloo. Well, not everyone helped. Sammy the strong man, whose back was too sore to be doing anything, sat and watched as well.

Sammy was a dark man with a long brown ponytail and enormous arms, similar in circumference to the trunk of your average sycamore.

“I’m one-half Cherokee,” he explained in a soft and easy voice that belied the man’s brutish appearance. “One-half Cherokee, one-half Irish, one-half Turkish, one-half Australian, and one-half Korean.”

“Excuse me, but that’s five halves,” said Maggie.

“Yes. That’s why I have the strength of two and a half men. Or at least I used to,” he said sadly. “I once lifted a horse over my head, you know. Not a pony, a full-grown horse. A full-grown horse that had just eaten a big meal. I don’t think he liked it very much, but the crowd went wild. Boy, those were the days.”

“What happened to your back?” Gerard questioned before blowing a large pink bubble.

“Well, having the strength of two and a half men can be very stressful. People are always asking you to lift things. ‘Bet you can’t lift that pool table,’ they’ll say. Or, ‘Hey, let’s see you lift that pinball machine with one hand.’ It’s just too much pressure.”

“That doesn’t explain how you hurt your back,” said Maggie.

“Sure it does. All the stress started to give me nightmares,” said Sammy as though that would suffice.

“I’m sorry,” said Maggie. “But I still don’t see how a nightmare can result in a back injury.”

“Well, let me ask you this,” said Sammy. “Have you ever seen a movie or a television show where one of the characters is lying in bed having a terrible nightmare? Then suddenly he wakes up and bolts upright in bed screaming, with his face covered in sweat? Well, the same thing happened to me, except I was sleeping on my stomach.”

Mr. Cheeseman and his children winced.

“Ouch,” said Maggie.

“Ouch is right,” said Sammy. “My back hasn’t been the same since.”

“Pardon me for saying so,” said Mr. Cheeseman, “but it seems as though just about every member of your troupe here suffers from some type of physical affliction. Jibby’s missing a hand, Jake has lost an eye, Dizzy is, well, dizzy, and you’ve sustained what appears to be a very serious back injury.”

“Yes,” whispered Sammy. “It’s the curse.”

“What curse?” Gerard whispered back.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can say about it,” said Sammy mysteriously. “If I say any more, Jibby’s liable to take away my speaking privileges. And having the strength of two and a half men is stressful enough without losing my speaking privileges on top of that.”

“Have you tried breathing exercises?” asked Maggie.

“Breathing hardly seems like much exercise,” said Sammy. “Anything you can do in your sleep can’t be considered exercise, can it?”

“No, I mean using deep breathing and meditation as a way to relieve stress and to relax your muscles. My mother taught me. I’d be happy to show you. It might help with your stress and with your chronic back pain.”

“At this point I’m willing to try anything,” said Sammy.“Even something as crazy as breathing.”

When Jibby and his crew had finished setting up, they took their seats at the banquet tables and prepared to take part in a feast like no other, prepared by Juanita, an oliveskinned beauty with a soft, white smile.

Gracefully, she glided from table to table, dishing up generous portions of delicious foods from around the world: empanadas, goulash, souvlaki, and udon noodles.

“
Hay un montón de alimento. Coma tanto como usted
quiere
,” she said, which meant, “There is a mountain of food. Eat as much as you like.”

It was absolutely the best meal Mr. Cheeseman and his children had eaten in almost two years. Though a certifiable genius when it came to the ways of inventing useful objects, Mr. Cheeseman, unlike his beautiful wife, was no cook.

“This food is delicious,” said Jough.

“You sure were right about Juanita,” said Maggie to Jibby, who was sitting at the next table over.

“We may be knaves, but we eat like kings,” said Jibby, his fiery beard dappled with gourmet crumbs.

“She seems nice. She reminds me of Mom,” said Jough, watching Juanita as she filled the plates of the hungry crew.

“She may be nice, but Mom was even nicer. And even prettier,” said Gerard sadly. “I wish she were here right now. When is that stupid time machine going to be finished anyway?”

Silence fell over the table. Mr. Cheeseman dropped his fork. Jough and Maggie shot Gerard a look of horror.

Three-Eyed Jake moved his eyes to the left to find Jibby looking back at him. He then turned his three eyes back toward Gerard.

“Pardon me, lad. But did you say something about a time machine?”

Gerard looked to his father, not knowing what to say.

“No, no, no,” Mr. Cheeseman interrupted. “He didn’t say time machine. He said . . . dime machine.”

“A dime machine?” said Jake skeptically.

“Yes, you know. Like nickels and dimes.”

“I see. And just what does a dime machine do?”

“Well, it uh . . . it counts your dimes for you,” said Mr. Cheeseman.

“Yes,” said Jough. “I can’t wait until that dime machine is up and working. I’ve got this big jar full of dimes but I have no idea how many are in there.”

“You will just as soon as that dime machine is finished,” said Maggie.

“Yes,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “Should be done in a matter of time. I mean, in a matter of . . . weeks. So anyway, we should probably be going soon. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours and we need to find a place to stay for the night.”

“Well, you can’t leave yet,” said Jibby. “You’ve gotta stay for the entertainment. Look!”

Jibby pointed up into the sky with his right hand. All eyes followed the bright red handle of the Swiss Army knife to see Dizzy, standing on the crossbar of a telephone pole near the roadside. In his hands he held a long wooden balancing stick and, on his head, Jough’s specially designed balancing earmuffs.

“It’s Dizzy,” Gerard exclaimed. “He’s gonna walk on the wire.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” said Mr. Cheeseman to Sammy. “The way your luck is running around here, he’s liable to get electrocuted.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Sammy.

Dizzy took a deep breath and slowly slid his right foot out onto the wire. Following another deep breath, he slid his left foot out behind it. A look of relief washed over his face and soon turned into a smile. He lifted his left foot and placed it in front of his right. With each step, he gained more and more confidence until he was practically strolling across that wire.

When he reached the opposite side, the group let out a cheer. Mr. Cheeseman and his children rose to their feet to give Dizzy a standing ovation.

“Wow,” exclaimed Gerard. “Did you see that? I want to be a tightrope walker when I grow up.”

And the entertainment didn’t stop there. After dinner, Three-Eyed Jake put on a sword-swallowing demonstration that left young Gerard in utter awe, especially when he swallowed two swords at once.

“I want to be a sword swallower when I grow up,” Gerard declared.

Hearing this seemed to make Three-Eyed Jake very happy.

“Let me tell you somethin’, Gerard. Swallow a sword and it’ll change your whole outlook on life. Because once you do, nothing else seems that difficult.”

While Maggie taught Sammy a series of relaxation and breathing exercises and Three-Eyed Jake gave Gerard a tutorial in the fine art of sword swallowing, Jough and Mr. Cheeseman were being introduced to the fortune teller.

“Ethan? Jough?” said Jibby. “This is the Amazing Aristotle.”

“No relation,” said Aristotle, as he did any time he was introduced. “I’m no philosopher. I make no comment on the nature of things. It’s only my job to foresee them before they come to pass.”

Aristotle was a sturdy man with shiny black eyes, his arms and chest decorated with thick black hair. His bushy eyebrows looked like something you might use to scour a pot. Numerous dark green tattoos hid beneath the jungle of wiry black hair carpeting his forearms.

“Prepare to be amazed by my incredible psychic powers,” he said in an overly dramatic voice as he sat down at a small folding table cluttered with charts and maps of the night sky. Jough and Ethan sat down opposite him.

“Okay, now where were we?” asked Aristotle.

“We were preparing to be amazed,” said Jough, who was not certain exactly how to prepare for such a thing.

“Right,” said Aristotle. “And amazed you shall be. Psychic ability is a very rare attribute indeed. Now where were we?”

“Psychic ability is a very rare attribute indeed,” repeated Mr. Cheeseman.

“You can say that again,” said Aristotle. As the psychic studied the maps before him, Jough looked at Ethan and both fought the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“So, let me ask you. Is this your first encounter with a real live amazing psychic?”

“Actually, our dog is psychic,” said Jough.

Mr. Cheeseman used a small cough to hide the snicker that escaped his lips.

“What?” gasped Aristotle. “A dog that can predict the future! Do you dare mock the Amazing Aristotle?”

“No, of course not,” said Jough. “Our dog really is psychic. I mean, she can’t predict the future, but she’s able to warn us any time danger is nearby.”

“She got her psychic powers by drinking from the toilet,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “How did you get yours?”

“Certainly not by drinking from the toilet,” said Aristotle.

“Oh no, of course not,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “I didn’t mean to imply that. I was just curious, that’s all.”

“You mean curious as in fascinated?” said Aristotle.

“Yes,” said Jough quickly. “That’s exactly it.”

“Then prepare to be fascinated. Now where were we?”

“I think you were going to tell us our future,” Jough said.

“Yes, the future.”

Aristotle gazed at the well-wrinkled charts before him, then spoke in the direction of Mr. Cheeseman.

“I see you dancing with a beautiful woman. You are very happy.”

“Dad,” said Jough excitedly. “Do you think it’s Mom?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “What does she look like?”

“What does who look like?” said Aristotle.

Suddenly, the sounds of music struck the air. Jough and Mr. Cheeseman looked over to see Jibby standing near the bus and playing a fiddle, the bow clasped between the scissors of his Swiss Army hand.

The men in the group all leaped to their feet, clapping and stomping right along with Jibby. They took turns dancing with Juanita, her long pleated skirt twirling about like a red and green parachute. She first danced with Jake and Dizzy, then with Sammy, whose back seemed to be doing much better.

Mr. Cheeseman smiled as he watched. His smile caught Juanita’s eye and she twirled her way over to the table, offering him her hand. Suddenly Mr. Cheeseman’s smile disappeared. As lovely as Juanita was, all he could think about was what a fabulous dancer Olivia had been. Mr. Cheeseman looked at his son.

“Jough?” he asked.

With only one word, Jough knew what his father meant.

“Sure, Dad,” said Jough, and he stood up, took Juanita’s hand, and danced with her until Jibby’s tired arm could fiddle no more.