Good Shit Part 2 (second version)

The flight from Bombay to New Delhi was uneventful. My only recollection was a tired surprise at how many well dressed Indian business men were on the flight and how much gold or what seemed to be gold was openly shown on the women.

New Delhi was a short stop, but not without a moment or two. I stayed at a hotel called the Janpath just off Connaught Circus. This is Delhi, the capital. Delhi the European looking center of India.

The first night was lovely. My hotel room had no air conditioning but did possess a huge fan which was in keeping with the sort of Raj mood I was in at the time. I tried to sleep but there was an incredible racket going on outside. Giving up on rest I opened my door and looked toward the source of loudness. Not hard to find at all. An Indian Circus, a real Circus, not the British coming together of streets that shares the name Circus was in proud business on the near horizon. I had to see.

Almost right away I was offered some hash and I bought it. Not the quality I was used to but not bad. I wandered up and down the Indian Midway, surprised at the groups of Europeans attending. All in all it was not a hell of a lot different from a circus at home except they still had a Freak Show with capitals. A small detour here for me to reminise, one of the big advantages in writing for myself.

When I was about 14 I ran away from home and lived with my Grandmother on the docks of Vancouver. She was a caretaker for a tug boat and barge company, and my bedroom was about 10 feet from the dock. I did not go to school that year, and to fill my time I went to what was called the Exhibition every day it was open, which was most of the Spring and Summer. I got so well known I was offered a job as a shill on one of the games. I sat and played the game all the time so there was always someone sitting. People do not like to be the first. I was also very good at putting the ball in the slot, making the little car go up the tracks, which meant no big teddy bears were handed out when yours truly was on the job. It was in that very chair I listened to the Beatles play Empire Stadium right next door. Looking back, I realize how much my life was predicted by working as a carnival shill while my peers screamed their guts out over "Please Please Me".

Although this seems as if I have gone off on a tangent, I have not, at least not too far. The point is, the Exhibition had a Freak Show with capitals during its prime run, when it was known as the Pacific National Exhibition. The whole thing fascinated me. The barkers or spokemen were great, talking in superlatives dressed up in penny opera.

"Come and see the Cat Lady of The Borneo" they sang, hands inviting all and sundry (keeping in the spirit) to view the wonders behind a painted canvas that showed whiskers, claws, stripes and long legs matched with huge breasts. Those painted canvases were a wonder unto themselves.

They continued their call out into the perfume of a Midway.

"Captured only by the daring of Colonel Ramsey Savage, and with the loss of three native porters, this feline miracle has been brought here for you , the General Public" to gaze at in awe. Come one and come all. Have I said she is beautiful, and it is her beauty she used to lure unsuspecting men" , glancing down he spied me and a friend, " and boys to their doom."

Here he would stop, holding the growing male crowd in his gaze, and raised his eyebrows in a way that clearly suggested what he was about to say was between us and him only. Taking a quick look around the Barker would lean forward and gesture us closer.

We moved as one, shuffling herd like..

"She lured men and boys like us, and she did this by promising in her hissing cat-like manner, a purrrfect time that the mensss and boysss would take to their graves. Hissssssss.

"Can you imagine" he went on in a normal tone, "can you imagine how wonderful her prey felt while enjoying her caress?"

All of us could, glancing at the picture of the beautiful Cat Woman.

The Barker clapped his hands loudly, turning us back to him. He was rocking back and forth on his heels and shaking his head. his hands were wiping at his now wet cheeks. Obviously great sorrow and grief had overcome him. Standing in the group, a part of the group, I could feel our empathy.

"It's alright" he whispered, dredging up his strength. "It's ok".

His eyes looked up at ours, and we stood a bit straighter as he reached down to the place men were men.

"After all this pleasure, when we were at our weakest and most vulnerable was what she waited for, this feline fiend from hell. After all this"....his voice began to rise..."after all this she struck, tearing our throats out with razor sharp claws and fastening on to the red fountain, she drank and began to eat, finishing even the largest and strongest in one sitting."

The crowd were stunned. Even the cynics, the unbelievers, were swept up in the masterpiece of oration they had been party to.

No another word would he speak, just holding out tickets to those of us who had the courage to face the monster. Who would not buy?What man would not want to face such doom from a safe distance?

As usual with Freak Shows, what was inside was always a disappointment. Just a sort of homely lady showing some skin with whiskers and tail glued on and stripes provided by makeup. I learned that day two valuable lessons. One, the pitch is what they pay for, and two, the freaks are not in the tent.

Back to a warm night in Delhi. I probably spent two hours looking at all the rides and games, enjoying the colours and noise while stopping nop and then to refresh myself with a toke of hash.

Preparing to leave and get some sleep I headed for the gate. It was the cadence of the Barker that grabbed me. It could be French, English or Hindi that casts that spell. No difference at all. I knew there must be a Freak Show with Capital Letters and my heart rate went up.

Weighing how much I needed sleep against my interest took a heart beat or so. I AM IN INDIA. How cool is that? So off I went. looking for pictures drawn on canvas bursting with colour and beautiful images. Following the rapid Hindi I swam through the crowds, homing in on the Freak Show. I suppose my motivation was nostalgia but I was stoned so who knows?

The voice belonged to a tiny man swaddled in robes. Irridescent colours of orange, lime, purple, red, blue and black covered him from his turkey neck down. His hands were jeweled, bracelets and rings fighting to relect all the light in the circus. To my stoned eyes his arms swooshed up to exclaim, and his fingers spread out to me and the others as if pointing to some special G spot on our bodies.

I understood not a word, but his face told all I needed. He had that not uncommon look in what used to be called the Northwest Frontier of brown skin and green eyes. There is a famous picture in the National Geographic of an Afghani woman who has this look exactly. The contrast, at least to me, is just lovely. Refreshing and seductive at the same time. Go figure.

The face was dominated by a hook nose that was so thin it seemed to exist in two instead of three dimensions. Truly a blade of a nose. High cheekbones and thin lips with white teeth finished the look off except for a scar in the shape of a question mark that sat high on one cheek. Me and my hash wondered what the question had been and hoped he had answered.

Tearing myself away I looked for my artistic canvas but could not find it. The only display was a small heading over the entrance to the tent written in both Hindi and bad English. "THE FAMOS MOLE GURL. That was it. I paid and walked in to a dark area that contained a few fellow seekers. Their attention was riveted on a plywood enclosure which measured around 6 feet per side, and lit up by a single bulb dangling overhead.

As I worked my body into a position to see I noticed how quiet the crowd was. All my previous experience with Freak Shows involved large groups of males calling out suggestive lines or just being insulting. Apparently not in India. At least not in Dehli and certainly not tonight.

My gaze left the faces around me, and feeling the start of disquiet I took my first look at the FAMOS MOLE GURL.

Have you ever looked at one of those puzzles that sometimes shows up in the comic section of a Sunday Paper? The kind of puzzle where nothing is discernible until you spend some time letting go of expectations and allow the camoflauged image to come into sight. This was the same.

My first impression was of a large duffle bag covered in hair. The hair was long and gray, and someone had combed or brushed it in the same direction. Around this time I became aware of a strong odor that remindd me of mothballs. I confess I flinched when the hairy duffle bag raised its head and looked out at us.

The features were human and Indian, but were also covered in hair. As soon as I saw her brown eyes and lips I came into ownership of the whole picture. Both her hands and feet consisted of flippers which scrambled weakly against the area her body rested. I thought back to my brother Kevin, and all the time he spent lying in one spot, and realized with certainty she (there were hairy breasts coverd with a skimpy top) was looking to find comfort in her position.

I probably stood around 10 seconds, taking it all in. This was no trick, and there was no tail glued on or otherwise. The person in the pen was real. All of my North American Disney nurtured values were appalled, but even stronger was the shame I felt.

I backed out fast, heading back to my room. As I walked I remebered a tragedy from when I was a boy. Many women with child had been given a drug called Thalidomide to combat morning sickness. Severe birth defects were often the result, and this woman was old enough I guessed to fall into that category. Perhaps the daughter of a midddle class or wealthy family that could afford Western medical intervention. Or maybe it was not that at all, and just represented my lame attempt to put a box around the mystery. For all I know she may be the answer to the question on the barker's cheek.

The next morning I caught my flight to Kabul. I had breakfast at the hotel and had to wake up the waiter from his bed under my table to get service. He was better natured about it than I would have been in his place.