Carnival

It was more than she could bear any longer. Bess stumbled out of the pitch-dog-stand and felt her way over ropes, pegs and packing-crates to their house-tent. She had told Hutch she wanted to comb her hair, but she knew that he knew as well as she did what the trouble was.

Bess did not cry. It had been a year since she had done anything like that. She had been with Hutch, following the carnival with a pitch-dog stand, for over two years, and it was at least a year since she had cried. She lay down on the cot, breathing heavily.

She could hear Hutch's voice occasionally above the din and the raucous roar of the midway. No matter how high rose the pitch of screaming voices in the Fun House, or of the metallic grind-music in the Cuban Cabaret, or of the amplified hoarseness of the try-your-luck barkers, Bess could always hear Hutch's familiar sing-song spiel.

"Knock the little doggies off, and take home a brand-new silver dollar, folks!" She had said it so many times herself that Hutch's voice sounded as if the words were coming from her.

The dust raised by the carnival crowd's shuffling feet settled over her face and arms as she lay stiffly extended on the cot. The heat, the noise, the incessant glare of light settled on her like a heavy blanket.

"Knock the little doggies off, and take home a brand-new silver dollar, folks, a brand-new silver dollar."

Hutch's voice sounded mechanical again. Bess lay back on the cot. Hutch was talking to that girl who had been leaning against the railing in front of the stand for the past half-hour. There was always a different ring in Hutch's voice when he was trying to do two things like that at once. She knew what he was up to as well as he knew himself. He was trying to make a date with the girl. When he succeeded, he would disappear, the girl would disappear, and Bess would not see Hutch again until the next morning. It had been that way so many times during the past two years that she had lost count.

Bess turned over, trying to shut out the glare of the midway lights that filtered through the thin canvas. She did not even know the name of the town they were in. It might have been something like Emporia, Fostoria, Peoria. It was a cotton town somewhere west of Birmingham, and that was about all she knew. Towns had been all the same lately, since Hutch had got into the habit of going off with a strange girl several times a week.

Bess got up, combed her hair, and brushed the dust from her dress. While she was brushing her clothes, she heard Hutch call her. She left the tent and stumbled towards the stand.

"Knock the little doggies off, and take home a brand-new silver dollar, folks!" Hutch said while she climbed under the railing. He turned around and winked at her. "Knock the little doggies off, folks! Only a dime!"

Before she saw Hutch, Bess saw the girl. It was the same girl, the one who had been leaning over the railing and talking to Hutch when she left.

"How about it, Bess?" Hutch began.

Bess turned and looked the girl up and down. She was a plain-looking creature with straight blonde hair that needed shampooing. She did not seem much over twenty, but her hands were work-stained and a little wrinkled.

"Her?" Bess asked Hutch, futilely.

"What's the difference, this time?" he said a little impatiently.

"You seem to be a little less particular each time, Hutch."

"Now let's not fall out, Bess," Hutch said, rubbing her nervously on her back and shoulders.

Hutch ducked under the railing and disappeared behind the stand. The milling mob of people was churning up a cloud of dust that looked like dense yellow smoke in the glare of lights. Bess could feel particles of dust and flakes of grit settle on her arms and face. She brushed it all away.

The girl looked up at her nervously two or three times. She was gradually receding into the crowd. All at once she turned and pushed her way around the side of the stand out of sight.

A party of men and women pushed up the railing, filling the vacant space the girl had left. The people stared at Bess as if she were one of the freaks in the sideshow down the midway.

"What's the game?" one of the men asked her in a loud voice.

Bess stared down into the faces. Each one of them looked like Hutch and his girls.

Almost automatically Bess picked up a handful of battered balls and held them out in front of her.

"Knock the little doggies off, folks, and take home a brand-new silver dollar!"

"That's fair enough," one of the men said, handing her a dime.

The man threw the three balls, but knocked off only two of the three stuffed dogs. He turned away to leave.

"Wait a minute, Mister!" Bess cried after him. "I'll make you a better proposition!"

The man came back.

"I haven't any more dimes to throw away on a game like that," he said, shaking his head, "You people have got those dogs rigged up so they all won't fall off, even if I did hit them."

Bess leaned over the railing.

"Be a sport, Mister. Here's your chance of a lifetime. Look! I'm going to give you ten balls. If you knock off all three dogs, you can write your own ticket. Now, how's that for an offer?"

The man grabbed the balls, heaving them at the dogs. They all fell on the ground.

"You win the set-up!" Bess cried, ducking under the railing. "It's all yours! Go on in there and take it!"

She pushed into the crowd, elbowing her way out of sight. Soon she was blinded by the dust that rose up from the ground, and before she had gone half-way down the midway, she was lost, Pushing her way out of the crowd, she crossed a vacant lot and began walking along a street that looked as if it would lead her out of town. She did not care in what direction she was going, as long as it led away from Emporia, Fostoria, Peoria, or whatever it was.