seemed to quiver, as though they were ready again to go back grubbing in the ground for pieces of coal, as though he had just taken a short rest and the screeching whistle was about to begin. His face was hard.
“God looked through his eyes. The good things that Ansel saw in the world He saw in the world. Those things that were not good, the ugly and evil parts, made Ansel despair. Once—if you can imagine such a man—he went to a traveling carnival and saw written on the side of one of the wagons: COME SEE THE MOST HIDEOUS CREATURE IN CAPTIVITY, HALF HUMAN, HALF BEAST. BEWARE. Pictures in color of the thing; awful pictures. Children stood in front of the sideshow screaming and crying and holding on to their mothers just from these representations. Ansel stood along with several other men, paid money, and went inside. The canvas enclosure smelled of human feces and rotting meat. There, inside a cage, fastened to an iron ring set in concrete by a log chain welded on the other end to a steel collar around the neck, was a thing so horrible that many of the men fled back outside for fear their wives or children would venture in, hurrying them on down the dirt midway. Two of the younger men made fun of the thing, but could not laugh.
“I have a picture of it.” And she pinched open one of the gold trinkets hanging from her bracelet. She pulled out a small, tightly folded photograph and unraveled it to its full 1½-inch size. The likeness had yellowed, which, compounded with numerous cracks, made the original impression nearly impossible to decipher by merely looking at it. But there was just enough so that by studying it several times, turned in varying degrees to the overhead light, up close and at a distance, at first making presumptions about what it might be—primeval creatures, water reptiles, larvae, and large insects—then thinking what it must be, Glove saw beyond a shadow of a doubt a photographic representation of something ghastly . . . something the height of an old woman, with pale olive skin, completely hairless, stretched taut like a drumhead over its bones and sinews, the entire body seemingly without cartilage, both feet perfectly symmetrical, all toes even. And its face . . . hardly larger than a shrunken head, but the eyeballs of natural size, pupils the same color olive as the skin, surrounded by a yellowish white, its nose long, narrow, a covered knife bone so sharp down the front that the skin seemed about to break apart there, leading to an irregular hole of a mouth with pointed teeth inside (possibly filed down by the manager of the carnival, for the effect). Its tongue thick but long, able to reach out of its mouth and into its nose. Its five-fingered hands slight, as though made from number-ten wire. An olive sexual organ, shaped like a piece of corn smut.
“My God,” said Glove. “What are you doing with this? Why do you carry it around? Get rid of it.”
Cell took it back and replaced it devoutly in its hiding place, snapping the gold plastic heart shut on it. “It’s to remind me,” she said, “that there are such things in the world.”
“I should think you could just remember.”
“Maybe I could, but, anyway, your grandfather stood there with these other two men looking at Ernie.”
“Ernie!”
“Ansel named him Ernie.”
“Named that thing a human name! Ernie!”
“Stop interrupting. If you don’t want to hear the rest, just say so.”
Glove was quiet.
“Anyway, again, those other two men stood there until a fly lighted on Ernie’s shoulder, and despite the stretch of the skin, the whole covering of his shoulder flinched over his bones, the way a horse’s does. The fly fluttered away, but settled back again. And again the olive skin flinched. The two men shoved their hands in their pockets and stood with both legs close together, staring. The fly was buzzing back over the spot, and Ernie turned his head slightly towards it and his tongue snapped out of his mouth, his feet jerking a little, and stopped it in mid-air, carrying it back towards his mouth. Then he rubbed his feet together. One of these younger men made a heaving motion, but gagged successfully instead, and both went back outside and hurried off away into the sultry heat.
“‘Why do you let them do that to you?’ Ansel asked the thing. The canvas walls were hot and the sunlight came through in streaks of dust. Ernie’s eyes snapped from their gaze at the floor to meet your grandfather’s eyes.
“‘Nothing should live like you do,’ Ansel said.
“Into the dirt-filled showroom came the barker, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. From his stashing place behind a fold of canvas he pulled a gallon water jug wrapped in a dripping, badly worn towel, a precaution he had taken against the heat. He unwound the metal cap on top and, not bothering to use it as a cup, drank directly from the round mouth of the jug, and water ran down both sides of his chin. His thick-brimmed hat fell off. There was not much water left.
“‘That thing can’t talk, Mister,’ he said. ‘He’s stupid.’ He took another swallow and replaced the cap, holding the water for a minute in his mouth.
“‘He’s not,’ said Ansel. ‘How can you keep him here like this?’
“‘He’s not that stupid,’ the barker said and picked up his hat, not bothering to dust it off, ‘like a rabbit, that’ll chew its foot off to escape. He’ll eat when you throw food in and will even use a blanket to keep warm on cold nights. I even see him picking at the locks as though he were trying to open them . . . he’s smart, for an animal.’
“‘He understands talking,’ said Ansel. ‘It’s a man.’
“‘That’s crazy,’ said the barker as he looked outside at the dust and the blinding light and the three or four people still standing far away, watching. Things were not well with him. He had not made good money since Kansas City, where some people came back to pay three and five times for another look. He didn’t like the Midwest. He didn’t like anything about it. Everywhere there were flies. It was useless to return outside; he would sell no more admissions today.
“‘Look at his eyes,’ said Ansel. ‘He understands.’
“The barker came over to the cage and looked in absent-mindedly. He pointed his finger. ‘You call that understanding?’”
“‘Yes,’ said Ansel. ‘I do.’
“‘Down South, where I got him, people were hunting him with dogs. But he was a good climber and could lose them in the creek willows and live oaks. I got a glimpse of him one night eating out of a garbage pail and decided to trap him. Because of the way he looked, most people thought he was like a human.’ The barker sat down on a box. ‘But I just thought to myself—Now, where would something like that be safe in the daytime? So then I knew he’d have to live up high—not wanting to be bothered by the large ground animals, or the dogs. He’d also have to be up high to see from a long distance when the wolves were out, because they could run him down on a flat, even ground. At first I figured he’d be in trees. The people down there thought like you, that he might be human-like, because he could move along on his two legs, and had eyes that didn’t fill up the entire eye socket. Naturally, because of thinking like that, they also thought he was some kind of a supernatural thing, with powers and abilities beyond the comprehension of normal people. Further, they thought these powers and abilities were not good and attributed murders and pillages, most unexplained, to them. That, and they couldn’t catch him.
“‘But I reasoned again he would have to live up high in the daytime, but not always in trees. Cross-over trees—trees that he could use to escape—weren’t tall enough to give him cover. So I knew he’d have to be up high, with a clear view, but not always in trees.’
“Your grandfather
