Man Made Boy (4 page)

WE WALKED THROUGH midtown. Once we got out of Times Square, there were fewer people and a lot fewer ads. It was nice, being out there in the fresh air, with the wind blowing through my hair. It felt like I could just keep walking forever and never come to a dead end. I knew that wasn’t true, of course. Manhattan is an island after all. Still, it was nice to think about.

Eventually, we came to a little pet shop on a quiet side street. There were three kittens in the front window of the store. Two of them wrestled, playfully showing tiny fangs. I had never seen kittens up close before. They were so cute and fragile, I was afraid to go near them.

Ruthven stopped in front of the door. “When we’re in this store, please allow me to do the talking.”

“No stories about threshers,” I said.

“Precisely.”

The store was crammed with brightly colored pet supplies like leashes, collars, and chew toys.

“Hey, Ruthven!” an older human male behind the cash register boomed in a jolly voice. He had a big belly and his thin, black hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

“Ah, Carmine.” Ruthven walked over to the register. “So good to see you.”

“The usual?” asked Carmine.

“If you please.” Then Ruthven gestured to me. “Carmine, this is my nephew, Frank.”

Carmine paused for a moment when he saw me, like he was acknowledging that I looked different. Ugly, I guess. But it didn’t
really rattle him like it did the girl. I wondered what the difference was.

Then he smiled. “Good to meet you, kid. Learning the ropes from your uncle?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said.

“No business like show business, huh?”

“It’s pretty cool.”

Carmine turned back to Ruthven. “Give me a second, I got it in the back.” He disappeared through a doorway behind the counter for a moment, then came back out with a large box. The top of the box was peppered with air holes, and I could hear tiny nails scratching the inside.

“So, hey.” Carmine carefully set the box on the counter. “I wanted to ask a favor.”

“Of course,” said Ruthven.

“My cousin is visiting from Florida in a few weeks and he wants to take his wife to see your show.”

“It would be my pleasure. Just name the date and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Much obliged.”

“And when are you bringing the missus to The Show?” asked Ruthven with a gently teasing smile on his face.

“One of these days, Ruthven. You’re not closing anytime soon, are you?”

“It’s still very much an open-ended run.”

“Yeah, see, I just assume it’ll always be there, so I never go. I should have learned my lesson when I missed
Cats
, but there you go.”

“Indeed. Well, the invitation is always open.” Ruthven handed him a couple of fifty-dollar bills, then gestured for me to pick up the box. “Take care, Carmine.”

As we walked back to the theater, I held the bag of clothes slung over my left shoulder and the box of rats under my right arm. Through the cardboard, I could feel the small, shifting bodies in the box against my side.

“So, Carmine doesn’t know what the rats are for, does he?” I asked.

“He thinks we have snakes in the show.”

“I guess that’s close to the truth.”

“Close enough for a human.”

“But what if he comes and sees the show and doesn’t see any snakes?”

“He won’t come.”

“How do you know?”

“A man like Carmine wouldn’t set foot in a theater.”

We walked in silence for a little while, then I said, “Still, he seemed nice.”

“He is very discreet. We have an understanding. I pay him exceptionally well and in cash, and he doesn’t question me about our excessive rat consumption.”

“He didn’t seem all that freaked out by me. And he was pretty comfortable with you, too. What about all that predator and prey stuff you were talking about?”

“Carmine may not believe in monsters, but he knows they exist.”

“Humans are pretty complicated,” I said.

“No, Boy. Rain-forest ecosystems are complicated. Humans are just a mess.”

ONCE WE WERE safely back in the lobby of the theater, I felt a weird mixture of relief and disappointment. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d
been out there. But I felt like I had just been getting the hang of it all, and now I was stuck back in the theater and its underground caverns. It was all so…small here.

“You did well, Boy,” said Ruthven. “Perhaps we could make this a regular occurrence.”

“Really?” I tried not to look as pathetically eager as I felt.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Boss,” called Charon, still sitting at the box office window. “The stage manager says that the Minotaur and the Siren are at it again.”

“Damn,” said Ruthven. “Can’t the Monster handle it?”

“He’s covering the stage door tonight.”

“Right, of course.” Ruthven looked at me. “This may take a while. I need you to deliver these things.”

I looked down at the box of rats under my arm. “This, too?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Naturally,” said Ruthven a little impatiently, his mind clearly on domestic disputes. Then he glanced at me and I must have looked worried. “It will be fine. Remember to be polite, and for God’s sake, don’t just leave it at her door without saying hello. That pisses her off to no end.” Then he was gone in a blur of darkness.

“So,” Charon called from across the lobby. “How is the big, wide world of humanity these days?”

“Huh?” I pulled my attention away from the task of delivering the rats. “Oh, it was cool. Humans are weird.”

“That’s the truth, Boy. Why, when they come to the window, looking for front row center,
of course
, and I tell them those seats have been sold out for months, somehow they think that if they just whine long enough, the seats will magically open, and…”

Charon went on talking about his favorite subject, but I
stopped paying attention. I stared down at the box in my hands and listened to the tiny furry bodies scramble around inside. Like they could sense their impending doom.

I considered putting it off for a little while and delivering the trowes’ clothes first. But if I got the chance to give Liel her outfit, I definitely didn’t want to do it while holding a box of rats. So, I would have to see the Diva first.

THE DIVA’S PRIVATE room was the biggest and best furnished dressing room in the theater. I stood in front of the door and stared at the gold-painted star with the script written across the top:
Madame Medusa
.

I’d only been in the same room with the Diva a few times, and never alone. Dad spent a lot of time with her, because she sometimes demanded company and when he was “switched off,” he could look directly at her without turning to stone.

I placed the box on the ground and knocked twice, very softly. The Diva didn’t like loud noises. I waited for what seemed like a long time, but there was no response.

“Madame Medusa? I have your…stuff from the pet store.”

“Boy?” Hearing her voice felt a little like the brain freeze you get from eating ice cream too quickly. “Is that you?”

“Y-y-yes, Madame.”

“So…Mommy’s finally letting you out from under her apron strings….”

I waited, shifting back and forth on the balls of my feet. I repeated to myself over and over that there was nothing to be worried about. Give her the rats, a few minutes of polite conversation, and then I could go give Liel her shirt.

At last, the Diva said, “Well, come in, Boy.”

When I opened the door, I was hit by a blast of humid air that smelled like rotting cedar. The fluorescent lights were off. Instead, the room was dimly lit by floor lamps draped in red and purple silk. Unlike all the other dressing rooms, this one had no mirrors.

Behind a white curtain, I could see Medusa’s silhouette on a divan in the corner. She appeared to be lounging on a pile of pillows, her back slightly arched. Thin shadows writhed around her head—the tiny snakes she had instead of hair.

“Very kind of you to bring me my weekly rations. Would you be a doll and put them here?” The silhouette of her arm rose up, then her finger slowly uncurled and pointed to a chair just outside of the curtained area next to her divan.

I moved slowly over to the chair. The curtain shielded me from the full impact of her magic, but my muscles still felt stiff. I put the box on the chair, then took a few steps back. When I did, I heard a muffled crunch beneath my feet. I had stepped on a large sheath of dried, colorless snakeskin.

The curtain parted slightly next to the chair, and Medusa’s hand slowly emerged. Her skin was absolutely white and gleamed with the wet-looking sparkle that snakeskin had after shedding. She placed her hand on top of the box and let it rest there a moment. Even seeing this small bit of her made my jaw clench and unclench.

“Tell me, Boy. Have you ever seen my act?”

“N-no, Madame.”

She drew her fingernail across the tape that held the box closed, cutting it cleanly. I could hear the rats inside scrambling around, squeaking in panic.

“I suppose your mother has deemed it unsuitable for minors.”

“Yeah.”

She laughed quietly and a chill ran through my body, bringing with it more muscle spasms.

“Well, you’re not a child anymore.”

“No, Madame.”

“Nearly the human legal age of adulthood, I believe.”

“One more year, Madame.”

Her hand hovered over the open box, weaving slowly back and forth.

“I get a little peevish after I’ve just molted. It’s hard to restrain myself onstage when I’m in that kind of mood. You know what happens then, don’t you? You’ve heard, at least.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Humans are such fragile things. It’s hard not to damage them.”

Her hand lunged into the box and withdrew a single struggling rat. It shrieked pitifully as she drew it back behind the curtain.

I watched her silhouette as she held the rat by its tail above her head. Her lips parted as she lowered it down. Then her mouth opened larger and larger, her jaw becoming completely unhinged. Then she snapped, the shrieks stopped, and the rat was gone.

It took her about a minute to swallow the rat. Once she finished, she said:

“On a night like this, when I’m feeling a bit waspish, it soothes me to have someone watching me whom I really like.” She turned her head toward me, and even behind the curtain, her direct gaze made my entire body freeze. My rib cage was so
tense I could hardly breathe. “I
really
like you, Boy. So, will you watch my act tonight?”

“S-sure, M-Madame,” I said through my teeth.

She turned her gaze away and my muscles relaxed a little. I took a deep breath.

“Wonderful, Boy. You are most kind.” She nestled deeper into her pillows. “I’m feeling sleepy now. You may go.”

“T-t-thank you, Madame.” I stumbled shakily back to the door.

“See you tonight at The Show,” she said. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“Of course not, Madame! See you tonight!” Then I left, wondering how I was going to do that when my mom had specifically told me I wasn’t allowed to see her act.

THE TROWE WERE the ones who had dug out the catacombs beneath the theater that we all lived in. It was some impressive work, navigating around city plumbing, sewers, electrical lines, and subway lines. Most levels were furnished like apartments. But the trowe lived on the lowest level, and they had purposely left it more cavelike. The rough stone walls gleamed damply in the harsh halogen lights that lined the stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs was a large, black, iron door, dotted with rust and grime. I lifted the massive door knocker and brought it down three times. Each time it struck, it echoed back up the stairs. After a few minutes, I heard a bolt slide open. Then the door swung inward. Ku’lah stood in the doorway.