Amy Sterling Casil - Chromosome Circus

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AMY STERLING CASILCHROMOSOME CIRCUSAmy Casil's first professional sale was

"Jonny Punkinhead" in our June 1996issue. Since then, she has sold stories to

Talebones, Zoetrope: All Story Extra,and several Writers of the Future

anthologies and we'll be hearing more from herin the future (that's a

promise). She lives in Southern California, where shehas been working on

several novels, teaching writing, conducting onlineworkshops, and raising her

daughter Meredith. Her new story takes us to thecircus to look a t some of the

outcasts of that same society we firstencountered in "Jonny

Punkinhead."MACADAM'S CIRCUS HAD played out their week in Fontana, forty miles

east of L.A.,when Joshie the Clown found Little Bear. Joshie was packing up

the VR headsetsin the Tokyo Tank trailer when he heard whimpering. He

patrolled the rows ofgummy plastic chairs until he found the source: a boy in

a fuzzy blue sleepsuit,huddled in the next to the last seat in the back. The

hood was pulled tight overthe kid's head. He looked to be about four, and he

stared up at Joshie withstill brown eyes."Hey, don't be scared," Joshie said.

He put on his best clown grin. The boyshrank away and tucked his chin into the

suit.Montego Bay, Macadam's hulking lead carny, came up at that moment.

"Another lostkid," he said. "Better call the cops."Joshie said, "I don't know,

Monty. Look at his clothes."The sleepsuit was smeared with yellow streaks of

dried mustard. Joshie caught awhiff of sour child sweat as he loosened the

knot at the boy's neck which heldthe hood tight. He pushed the soft fabric

away from the boy's forehead to exposeshort, luxuriant golden fur."He's a

freak," Montego said.Amid the fur were two delicate pointed ears. The boy

growled deep in his throatas Joshie touched the tip of his right ear."No point

in calling the cops, is there ?" Joshie put his arm around the boy andlifted

him from the seat. The boy made little hooting noises as he nestled hishead

into Joshie's white and red striped ruff."Wonder if he can talk?" Montego

stepped into the aisle. Montego was a normal,in the sense that his powerful

chest and arms as thick as the average woman'swaist were paid-for

modifications, cosmetic only, as opposed to Joshie, who'dbeen born a clown,

his nose ending in a tip the size and color of a ripeapricot. Joshie's most

embarrassing disability was hidden beneath his red satingloves: he had only

three spatulate fingers and a thumb on each hand."Hootie-hoo! Hootie-hoo,"

said the boy."His parents must be real winners, dumping the kid here," Montego

said.Joshie shook his head. "Where else?"Montego fingered his chin. "You got a

point," he said. Then, his face darkened."You're not thinking about keeping

the kid?"Joshie stroked the soft fur on the boy's head. The small legs

tightened like avice around his chest. "Maybe," he said. "You know what? I

think he's a littlebit like Gyla.""Wrong color." Gyla was the silver wolf girl

and her fur was all over her body.Montego crossed his arms and his bulging

muscles tensed until it looked asthough they'd leap from the skin. "Don't be

stupid. Macadam will be royallypissed if you keep that kid."The boy squirmed

and Joshie got a whiff of the fur on his head. It was silky,but it smelled

dark and oily, or maybe it was only the filthy smoke from theburning tires. "I

know somebody who does child welfare in L.A. County. I'll callher when we get

there."Montego squinted at him. "Yeah? Well, maybe so. You'd better call

her.""Sure, Monty," Joshie said, grinning with his big red mouth. Montego

cracked asmile and waved him off.Joshie left the Tokyo Tank trailer and

started across the lot, his big red shoesflapping and crunching in the

pulverized blacktop. He started toward his owntrailer, then paused a

moment.The boy said, "Hot! Hootie-hoo!""Yeah, I'll take you to see Gyla,"

Joshie told him. His heart skipped a beat atthe thought of her, and he pushed

the feeling away. Gyla could never, ever haveany interest in Joshie other than

friendship. He'd told himself that a milliontimes. Gyla was beautiful, even

though Gyla was, like Joshie and the kid and themajority of the people of

Macadam's Circus, a freak. A vitally produced geneticaccident, sterile, a

sport, a loser. The big man, Macadam, had scales. A fishman. Gyla had silver

fur, a heartshaped face and golden eyes.Joshie crunched his way around the

back of the trailers to Gyla's, which waspink, freshly painted, with a nice

white awning over the door. The kid wasgetting heavy, and he was hooting

loudly in Joshie's ear by the time Joshieknocked on the door.Gyla wore only

her bright blue g-string when she answered. Joshie tried to lookat the

pictures on her wall and not her breasts when he came inside."What's this?"

she asked. She was buffing her silvery fur with a soft brush, thekind they

made for horses. She looked curiously at the boy, who kept his facefirmly

pressed into Joshie's ruff."I found him in the last row in the Tokyo Tanks,"

Joshie said. "Look at hishead."Gyla smiled and petted the boy's head lightly.

"Don't be afraid, little guy,"she said. She gave Joshie one of her sharp,

hundred-watt smiles and his cheeksflamed under his greasepaint. "Hey, you're

just like me. Want to come to AuntieGyla?" She held out her arms, and the boy

hooted harder. Joshie grimaced becausethe kid was hooting right in his ear.

His floppy cauliflower ears were moresensitive than average ears, and even

though his rainbow wig gave someprotection, it didn't make any difference when

someone was making noises thatloud, that close to his eardrum.Then, the boy

started to scramble against Joshie, his little feet digging likeknives into

Joshie's ribs. "Hey, easy," Joshie said, but the kid had alreadyleapt away,

into Gyla's arms. She grabbed him and stumbled."Gyla!" Joshie stepped forward,

but she wasn't upset, she was laughing. She fellback on her blue velour couch

with the boy, who was hooting fiercely and tuggingat her silver fur wherever

he could get a handful of it."Yeah, you are like me, little guy." She looked

up at Joshie amid her wrestlingwith the child. "He's pretty dirty," she said.

"Need to give him a bath."Joshie nodded and sat on the edge of Gyla's dressing

chair. "That's what I camefor."Gyla deftly began to unzip the boy's sleepsuit.

"You'd better calm down now,"she told him. "Auntie Gyla's going to get you

cleaned up." The boy squirmed, joyobvious in every movement of his small,

wriggling body, and tried to buryhimself in Gyla's stomach."Help me out, Clown

Boy," Gyla said. She was laughing.Joshie got up, careful not to flap and break

something with his big, ungainlyfeet, and held the boy around the waist as

Gyla got him out of the suit. Savefor his face, the child was covered

completely in curly, golden fur."He looks like a teddy bear," Joshie said.

Better than a clown, he thought. Evenfish men like Macadam were better than

clowns.They got the boy into Gyla's clean, peach-colored bathroom and Joshie

ran thewater while Gyla poured pink bath crystals in the water. "See, it

makesbubbles," she told the boy. He flapped his thin furry arms and

gurgled.Like a baby, Joshie thought. He wondered if the boy's parents had even

tried totalk to him, or if they'd done as so many had done, treated the little

freak kidlike a pet. He seemed like an animal, but there was intelligence in

his darkbrown eyes. He splashed in the water, and giggled, just like a regular

kid.Gyla leaned over the tub and her perfect round furry breasts looked so

lovelythat Joshie forgot to breathe for a moment. The boy splashed, and where

thewater hit Gyla's fur, she was dark and oily-sleek. Joshie sat on the toilet

seatand bit his lip."Scrub his back, will you?" she asked. Joshie's hand

trembled and he grimaced ashe took off his glove. He didn't want Gyla to see

his ugly hand. He grabbed asoft brush with a wooden handle and worked suds

into the boy's fur.Then, the boy reached over and pulled the glove from

Joshie's other hand."Clown, clown," he said.Gyla gasped. "Hey, he can talk!""I

guess so," Joshie said. He tucked his hand in the pocket of his striped

satinpants.Gyla's delicate face grew serious. "You're going to call someone

about him,aren't you?"Joshie shrugged, then lathered the boy's head, careful

to keep the soap out ofhis eyes."He is like a little teddy bear," Joshie said.

He had a sudden reverie,picturing a little white house with a picket fence, a

mailbox, a revolvingsprinkler in the front yard, watering a perfectly trimmed

green lawn. He,Joshie, sitting in a swing on the front porch, and Gyla next to

him, in ablue-and-white checked housedress and a white apron. White slippers

on her tiny,furry feet. They were swinging, and the boy was wearing checked

bermuda shorts,running through the sprinkler, laughing."You'd better call

someone about him, Joshie," Gyla said, a little more firmlythis time."I know

someone in L.A. who helps kids like this," Joshie said."Well, good," Gyla

said. She got a star-shaped sponge wet and began to dab atthe boy's face.

"He's a nice kid, but how would you take care of him? You don'tknow anything

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