Elephant Song

FIFTEEN

As the bulls crossed the delta bridges on the way to Tarzak for The Season the second, Little Will noticed changes. From her rolling perch upon Reg's neck, the sun reflecting from the many whitewashed adobe houses lining the streets made her squint her eyes. Across the delta, the houses of the fishing village started by Leadfoot Sina dotted the dark yellow dunes above the blueness of the sea. A single pier extended from the beach over the water. Tied to the pier were two large fishing boats with fixed masts and several smaller craft.

The street-side walls of some of the houses in Tarzak sported decorations in celebration of The Season. There were multicolored bunches of flowers, garlands woven from scarlet-colored delta blood-tails, and painted designs and show scenes. Here and there was a sign identifying the house's inhabitant as a metal-worker, mason, carpenter, well-digger, or any of several other occupations. Upon the wall of Cholly Jacoby's house was painted: "Clowning—Cheap Laffs." Goofy Joe's house sported a slogan: "All the news that it pays to tell." Upon the wall of boss canvasman Duckfoot Tarzak's house was the simple message: "Complaints—and they better be good."

The people were different as well. Many wore long, hooded robes to protect themselves from the sun after the fashion of those in the desert town of Kuumic. There were many new Momans, perched upon shoulders or carried in arms and back-slings. The big change Little Will noticed, however, was in the faces of those who watched the bulls move through the town. This time the people watched. The indifference of The Season the last was gone. The faces were smiling, but Little Will could see lips silently mouthing numbers. They were counting the bulls that had made it to the celebration.

Little Will closed her eyes. They would find three bulls missing from the parade. Queenie and Cambo were dead, and Duchess was in the kraal back in Miira. Duchess was too weak to make the trip. Next season there would be fewer bulls; and then as each season came, the people of Tarzak would find themselves counting even fewer bulls. The image came into Little Will's head. The bulls were the tie to the past—to the show. To many, while the pachyderms still made parade for The Season, that mason was still a canvasman, that cobit-root gatherer was still a juggler, and that painter was still a propman. Bullhands were still bullhands, which meant the show still lived. The number of bulls making the annual parade was beginning to become a way of reckoning time—the time remaining on the show's ticket.

On the way to the kraal, the parade passed by where the celebration was held the year before. This year planks from Miira and Porse formed a circle of stands around a sawdust covered ring. At one side of the ring, Doc Weems was polishing the calliope, while jugglers, riders, tumblers, and equilibrists practiced their acts.

Things—puzzle-pieces—came together in Little Will's head. The image was unclear, but it was a wash of despair, loneliness, death. She shook it from her mind.

On the evening of Put Up, the first boat from Midway made landfall at Tarzak. Most of those attending The Season were there to greet those who had gone down with Number Two. Unaware of the vessel's approach, Little Will was with Shiner Pete, Waxy and Dot the Pot in Warts's house as Warts went over the past year's records from the town of Miira.

The lumpy Pendiian looked up from the papers he was reading and looked at Waxy. "Who are the Texas Ringers?"

Waxy rubbed his chin. "Well, as I remember Bullhook Willy telling it, the Texas Rangers was a program in the old United States that gave employment to the mentally handicapped."

Warts nodded. "I see. And this organization was employed by Al G. Barnes to execute the outlaw elephant, Black Diamond?"

"That's about the size of it."

"As the bullhands view it, then, these outpatients did a poor job of the execution."

Dot the Pot tapped her finger upon the papers Warts was reading. "Those coppers pumped over two-hundred rounds into Black Diamond. I hear there was some question as to whether Diamond died from gunshot wounds or starvation."

Warts held up his hand. "Coppers?" He turned to Waxy. "I thought you said that the Texas Rangers was a work program for the mentally handicapped."

"I did. Where do you think coppers come from?"

Warts stood, his bumps gathered into a stormy glower. "Upon my planet, Waxy, I was a translator in the Bureau of Regret—our department of police!"

Waxy glowered back. "Well, Warts, nobody ever said you was perfect! In fact—"

"Pardon me, fellow artistes." A familiar face entered Warts's house. The kisser in question was attached to Mootch Movill, shooting gallery concessionaire.

"Mootch!" Little Will rushed and embraced the shaggy man. "The boat from Number Two is in!"

Mootch placed his hands upon her shoulders and held her out at arm's length. "I have quite accepted this effect I have on young lovelies, my dear." He lowered his head and squinted his eyes. "But who are you?"

Her eyebrows went up as her mouth opened. "Little Will."

Mootch's eyebrows reached for some altitude. "Bullhook Willy's girl?" She smiled and nodded. Mootch shook his head. "Time passes. My apologies, my dear, but when last I saw you, you were but a sprout. You have reached num-numdom." He patted her shoulder. "You're a balm to the retinas, my girl. How's the boss elephant man?"

Little Will's smile vanished. "Packy Dern's boss elephant man, now. Bullhook Willy's dead."

Mootch shook his head. "My apologies. We don't get much in the way of news over to Midway."

Little Will held her hand out toward Pete. "You remember Shiner Pete? We're married."

"Hoo." Mootch shook his head. "Tempus is fugitin' all over the place." He nodded at Pete. "My assesserbations, my boy." As he gathered Little Will in his arms and hugged her, he looked up at Dot the Pot. "You're looking in the peak, Dot darlin'."

Dot put her arm around Waxy's waist. "Waxy and I are married."

Mootch released Little Will, reached out and shook hands with Waxy. "My fellicitudes, Wax." He nodded toward Waxy's missing arm. "You're looking slightly lopsided these days."

"The price of a landslide, Mootch. I keep the Miira books, now."

Mootch released Waxy's hand and turned to Warts. "Which reminds me." He nodded at Warts. "As always, my bumpy little buddy, you look like hell."

Warts nodded back. "Likewise, I'm sure."

"I seek some information." Mootch draped the hulk of his arm over the Pendiian's shoulders. "Tell me, light of my life, is Carrot Nose alive?"

Warts shook his head. "He died when Number Nine went down. I'm very sorry."

Mootch sniffed and shook his head. "Regrettable. A great tragedy." He raised one bushy white eyebrow. "And Cheesy Kraft? Is he well?"

"No. He drowned."

"I see. I see. A pity." Mootch frowned. "And Razor Red Stampo? How is he?"

"He was killed roadganging in the Snake Mountain Gap. I'm awfully sorry."

Mootch Movill rubbed his chin as he looked at the roof of Warts's house. "Ah, Fate." He looked back at Warts as he reached into his pocket. "Many thanks, my lumpy little friend. You have done me a great service." Mootch dropped several copper BB's into Warts's outstretched hand.

Warts added them to the other BB's in his trouser pocket. Everyone in the show had a few of Mootch's BB's rattling around. They were represented as shares in the Caddywampus, a fictitious business enterprise of Mootch's primarily designed as an excuse to borrow money to support his ineptitude at poker. Warts looked up at Mootch.

"I just told you that your best friends are dead. How did I do you a service?"

Mootch pulled Warts to the door and pointed a hand toward the vastness of the outdoors. "Look at all that, my boy. An entire globe with thousands of parched souls thirsting for the first good story they've heard in a fly's age." He lowered his voice and spoke in elaborate confidentiality to the route book man. "Remind me sometime, Warts, to fill you in about the stupendous, man-eating sea reptiles our ship encountered on its journey across the Sea of Baraboo."

Warts went saucer-eyed. "Sea monsters?" He turned and reached for pen and paper. "I must record—"

Mootch slapped Warts's back. "Ah, my boy, you bring joy to an old man's heart!" He grabbed the lapels of his shredded coat. "And I am the only competent liar left on Momus."

He waved a hand at Dot, Waxy, and Little Will. "Farewell one; farewell all." Mootch Movill turned, clasped his hands behind his back, began whistling, and walked into Tarzak's busy street, off to do the good work.