A Lesson for the Cyclops

Chapter 18

Marco began to fidget once they were alone together.

“There’s no way to break it to ye gently,” he said, not looking her in the eye. “After we finish up here in Per, I’m afraid ye’ll have to find yer own way.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but it sounded ominous.

“Find my way where?” she asked.

Marco coughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Nobody’s coming to the Freak Show anymore,” he explained, his voice apologetic. “Word of the fencing is what’s drawing the marks now. It’s costing more to house and feed you freaks than it’s bringing in. The Players are going to have to do without ye.”

“You’re … you’re kicking me out?” The Cyclops felt numb. Surely, she was misinterpreting what Marco was saying.

“It’s not like that, Cyclops. It’s just business.” He fidgeted some more, looking guilty. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll pay ye a month’s wages when ye leave. Something to hold ye over.”

“Hold me over until what?” she said. Where else could she go, looking as she did? If she couldn’t earn a living as a freak, there was nothing left for her. She’d starve!

Marco had no answer for that one. He moved to leave the tent.

“Can I … can I do more work or something?” she said, desperate. “I could help put up the tents. I could clean up after the animals. Alfredo’s always wanted to do a knife-throwing act; I could try to be his target…” This last offer was almost suicide, but what other choice did she have?

“I’ll … consider it,” Marco said, but he was shaking his head as he said it. He edged towards the exit. “If there’s nothing else …”

He waited for some kind of response from her, but she had nothing left to say. After an awkward silence, he left.

The Cyclops sat at her dressing table for a while, stunned. Then at last, the realization began to sink in. An enormous sob of anguish welled up from the core of her being. Her lips quivered, and her single eye filled with tears. She fought them off as best as she could, because she knew that once she started crying, she’d never stop.

Her face contorted in a grimace as she strained to keep from falling apart. Pahula might return at any moment. Her cheeks were wet, and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief.

D’Arbignal popped his head into her tent and eyed her critically.

“I’m guessing that conversation didn’t go very well,” he said, his face all cheer, his eyes shining. “But I’m betting that what I have in this bag will bring a smile back to that face!”