Oz: Boy on a String By Kuzibah

Part 4 of the Summer Vacation Series Disclaimer: Oz and the situations connected to �Buffy the Vampire Slayer� are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the WB network, and (apparently) Evil Fox. No connection or ownership by the author is suggested or implied. Author�s Notes- For fans of my other stories (I hope there are at least a few) I just want to point out that the Parliament of Wonders is the same sideshow featured in my Angel story, �Warning! This is a Dark Ride!� That has absolutely nothing to do with this story, but I really liked the name. Archive- Sure, but email me and let me know where it�s going. Feedback- Absolutely. ******************* -Near Castle Desiderio, Spain "Step right up! Ladies and Gentlemen, children of all ages! We welcome you to the Parliament of Wonders, celebrating its 83rd year of continuous operation in Europe and the Americas. Eighty-three years! Hundreds of curiosities and phenomena! Step this way! "Barely thirty inches high, this petite Spanish beauty has entertained in the courts of Juan Carlos and Elizabeth II. She grew older but never grew up. Mother to four normal-sized sons. A singer. A poet. See her for yourself right on our stage. Dorella, the doll lady! "Captured off the coast of North Africa, this creature has defied scientific logic. Part man, part fish, he lives an entirely aquatic existence, eating only whole, raw salmon. You will not see his like twice in your lifetime. Rufino, the fish-boy! "Our next performer has studied with the Swami masters of the Indian sub-continent and the lamas of Tibet. Watch carefully as he inserts eight-inch shoemaker needles directly into his flesh! Mystically blocking, not only the pain, but also the flow of blood, he turns his body into a human pincushion! I warn those with delicate constitutions, they may wish to turn away from the amazing Jay Lily! "Now direct your attention to the cage on your left, as this seemingly normal young man transforms before your very eyes into a fierce, slavering beast! Don't be alarmed, I assure you the bars will contain him. Observe as he becomes the living legend--- the werewolf!" - - - - - - - - - - Oz jammed on his baseball cap to hide his identity from any of the crowd that might recognize him from the sideshow and climbed out of his cage. "Good show, Oz," the spieler called to him. "Thanks," Oz replied. Serafina, the snake charmer, loaded the last of her pythons into its Lucite case. "You're bringing your guitar tonight?" she asked Oz as he passed. "I'm not sure I'm coming tonight," Oz said. "I've only been with you a few weeks. I wouldn't feel right..." "Nonsense, you have to come," Dorella said in her child-like voice. "You're part of the family, now." "I'll see how I feel after the show," Oz said. He left the sideshow tent and headed for the back entrance of the larger "big top," where the circus's main show was underway. Rinaldo, the elephant trainer, stood in the midst of his three pachyderms. Their trunks were brushing his shoulders and arms affectionately as he fed them carrots out of a sack. He patted the side of the trunk of the largest animal, a 35-year-old female named Lucinda. "That's a good girl," he murmured. Oz joined him, touching Lucinda's flank, like a living wall, as he passed. "You need any help, Rinaldo?" he asked. "No, thank you, Oz," Rinaldo replied. "Some boys from the village, they carry for me to get the free pass. Times change, but that never does." Oz nodded, and Ernesto, one of the other elephants, poked his trunk into the young man's hand searching for a treat. "Sorry, nothing today," Oz told the creature, stroking the amazingly supple trunk. Rinaldo clapped his hands softly. "It's showtime, children," he said. He lifted his baton and tapped Lucinda's leg, cueing her that they were about to begin. The elephant, a consummate professional, lowered her head and lifted one leg, helping Rinaldo climb onto her back. He patted her head. "That's a good girl," he said again. Oz ducked into the tent, staying clear of the Papadoukas, a family of tumblers, as they made their exits, cartwheeling all the way. One of the daughters, Bema, smiled and waved as she saw Oz, then continued out to make room. Almost instantly, Rinaldo and his elephants thundered into the ring, trunks waving. The band struck up "Baby Elephant Walk" as the animals began their performance. As Oz watched he found himself surrounded by the Bellini clan, a family of aerialists who had been performing for five generations. The six who actually performed for the audience stood a little apart, quietly clearing their minds for the evening's exhibition, but all were there, both those who had retired from the ring and the youngsters still learning the craft. The focus of the family, their undisputed matriarch, Rosa Bellini, beckoned to Oz. Oz approached her reverently. He had seen photos of her when she had performed, an athletic beauty with dark, shining hair, but that was forty years ago. Now she leaned on a sturdy cane and was supported by two grandsons. Oz guessed she must weigh at least three hundred pounds. "What's this I hear about you not coming tonight?" she said. Oz let the ghost of a smile play on his lips. "I've not been here long, Mama Rosa," he said. "I don't really know..." "You are coming," she insisted. "I will not take 'no' for an answer." Oz nodded. "I guess I'm coming, then." "And don't forget your guitar," said a grandson. - - - - - - - - - - The grounds were nearly empty of customers, now, and Oz returned to his van, parked near the edge of the camp. He carried a bucket of hot water he had picked up at the boiler truck. He thought, with wry amusement, that his friends back in Sunnydale would never recognize it as his, so transformed had it been by Etienne, the show's sign painter. "You have to be marked as one of us," the French artist had told him. He had then created an elaborate mural on the side of the vehicle featuring symbols of Oz's life. A row of six pinstripes--- guitar strings--- ran along every edge, along with musical notes and symbols. There were California palms and orange trees. Patterns from the lands where he had traveled. A red-haired girl, her hand extended, the only feature Oz had requested be included, though he didn't explain why. And everywhere, wolves, tangled together in a mad profusion. Like most circus art, it was lurid and a little disturbing, but Oz liked it. It kept the demons away. Oz set down the bucket and stripped to the waist. He sat on the van's back bumper, picked up a bar of soap he had left there that morning, and proceeded to wash vigorously. It was a habit he had picked up from the other circus-folk. Even at sites where showers with hot running water were available, it was traditional to fetch hot water at the boiler truck twice a day in a galvanized steel bucket with your name carefully painted on the side. And as with all performers, to break with tradition was to incur very bad luck. Oz pulled his towel off the clothesline strung between his van and the camper Rinaldo shared with his wife, Enid, a seamstress who helped design the show's costumes and keep them in repair. She had taken a liking to Oz, and had taken him under her wing. She exited her trailer, dressed in a pale green dress that complemented her faded red hair. She carried a large basket covered with a checkered cloth. "What are you bringing?" Oz called to her. "Oh, Oz, dear, I didn't see you there," she said. "I've made sweet rolls and I've a pot of berry jam. Rinaldo and some of the Bellini boys are roasting a lamb for the happy couple on the other side of camp.� Oz pulled a fresh shirt on over his head. "I didn't get them anything," he said. Enid waved her hand. "Not to worry, my dear," she said. "It's your presence that blesses the bride and groom. And I'm sure there will be plenty for all. Irmina's family, all the Gypsies, really, they've been preparing for weeks." "Derek's a good man," Oz said. "He'll take good care of her. You go on. I'll catch up." He ducked into his van and grabbed his guitar. He started walking towards the big top, and passed close to Irmina Grey's caravan, a wedding gift from her clan. It was an antique, a beautiful old circus wagon painted red and gold with ornaments hand-carved by Gypsy craftsmen in another age. Inside he heard childish giggling. He pushed a shutter aside to peek in. "What's going on in there," he called. Four little girls immediately stopped their work and turned to him with a gasp. When they saw him they giggled again. One held up a basket full of pink and yellow rose petals. Oz saw the petals scattered over the bed and the floor and smiled wistfully. "Sorry to interrupt, ladies," he said, and continued towards the tent. All around the big top strings of bare lights twinkled merrily. Lucinda, Ernesto, and Graziella, the elephants, milled around the entrance and each guest touched one of their trunks as they entered. For luck, Oz guessed. Everything tonight was for luck. He entered himself. Within, the center ring was bathed in pink and blue lights. Makeshift tables along the walls were piled high with fabulous food from the dozen or so cultures found among the circus folk. In the bleachers sat the guests: performers, trainers, engineers, artists, concessionaires, roustabouts, and many others, the many parts that ran the whole. Oz joined Enid in the stands. Derek, the groom, stood nervously with two of his friends, fellow electricians. Like Oz, he was an American, from Louisiana, who had run away from a scholarship at the Sorbonne to join the circus. For Oz, it had been far less romantic, more of an "ending up" than a "joining," but he didn't regret it. He had been recognized almost immediately for what he really was, and accepted as quickly. A priest, recruited from the local parish, no doubt, stood with the ringmaster not far from Derek. He looked oddly bemused. The wedding musicians, some of Irmina's family as well as three of the Irish roustabouts on pipes and boudhran began playing a traditional tune and Irmina, the bride, entered. She was a gypsy bareback rider from a long line of performers and horse trainers. She came in a traditional white gown and veil, perched sidesaddle on Vesta, her horse. Her father led the animal and chains of flowers were draped on its back, around her. They entered the ring and her father passed the reins to Derek. He led them to the priest and helped Irmina down. They stood before the cleric holding each others' hands tightly, Irmina's eyes shyly downcast, Derek grinning widely. The priest cleared his throat, and Derek sheepishly turned back the veil. "Dearly beloved family and friends of Irmina and Derek," the priest began, and the wedding was underway. The service itself was very basic: promises to be together in any circumstance, the ringmaster saying nice things about the couple, the exchange of rings, the exchange of vows, and you may now kiss the bride. From Oz's vantage point he could see Derek's face, could see the moment his expression changed, the moment it hit him that Irmina was his wedded wife, now and forever. It was like the sun breaking through clouds. Oz felt tears spring to his own eyes for just a moment. The musicians began playing again and the Greys, Irmina's family, rushed forward like a tide to embrace them both and kiss them on the cheeks. The party began in earnest, the band not slacking off even for a minute. As musicians tired, others took their place as they fortified with food and beer, and perhaps a dance or two, before returning to play some more. Oz joined in on his guitar, even suggesting a few standard American wedding songs of his own. He watched the dancers, the circus families, some with four generations traveling together. An older roustabout, his entire torso covered with tattoos to his wrists, cradled an infant Bellini while two pink poodles from the dog act played at his feet. Lezik, once an Olympic wrestler, now an oversized clown, held Dorella as easily as her doll namesake as they polka'd around the bride. Oz thought, not for the first time, that there were photographers and filmmakers who would exploit these tender family scenes as shocking and bizarre. For that matter, there were all sorts of people who would dearly love to get hold of a real, live werewolf. He'd met a few too many firsthand. Bema Papadouka climbed up beside Oz and tucked a purple daisy behind his ear. He raised an eyebrow at her and she laughed, then draped her hands around his neck. "Take five, my darling Mr. Wolf," she whispered in his ear. "Dance with me." Oz looked away, his eyes clouded. "Shoosh," she said, "only a dance." And he did join her in a dance, and let her lead him in the traditional steps. As the wedding celebration wound down, well past midnight, Bema rejoined Oz and let him walk her to the group of trailers where her family lived. On her doorstep, she took his face in her hands, rough and strong from her work. Oz took hold of her wrist and gently pulled one hand away. "Bema," he said softly. "I can't... until I know what I am, and what it means." "I know," Bema said. "But I tell you this. I am no innocent, and this is no fairyland. If you need to talk... I will listen." She kissed him very gently on the cheek. "Good night, dear one. And pleasant dreams." Oz returned to his own van. The mural, his mural, was faintly illuminated by trembling light from the lanterns on the trailers and the distant tent lights. He walked up to the red-haired girl Etienne had painted. Her face was more of an impression, without detail, but Oz's memories brought it into vivid focus. Her hand was extended, palm up, open. Oz ran the tip of one finger along the edge of the painted face, and sighed heavily. He climbed into the van and lit the blue-glass lantern on the shelf below the window. Inside the van had been modified, too, with a fold-down cot and storage lockers bolted to the walls. Oz stretched out on the cot and stared at the light patterns on the ceiling. He thought about the van, his home these many months. He inhaled deeply, taking in its scent. Somewhere under the chassis were dried flecks of dirt from four continents, maybe mere molecules embedded in the steel. Within the van were fragments of the explosives they had used to destroy the school, and some of Angel's blood, never completely wiped off the floor where it had spilled. And everywhere, Willow, like thousands of microscopic ghosts. He couldn't stay with the circus forever, he knew that, and he couldn't take one of its daughters away. But for a summer, it could be fairyland, where bears wore hats and coats, where Gypsy princesses rode to their weddings on horseback, where monsters danced with flowers in their hair. He extinguished the lantern and stared into the darkness. He thought of Rinaldo's elephants, the weight of their trunks on his shoulders. He thought about the dozens of Bellinis, all alive in that moment when one of them sailed through the air above the heads of the crowd. He thought about the Gypsy girl-children, dropping their flower petals all around the caravan. And he thought about Bema's callused hands, cradling his face. Restless, he climbed from bed and exited the van to stand in the air, feeling the night breeze like a caress. He walked to Bema's trailer and tapped lightly on the door. She came, clad in her shift and carrying a candle. She looked like an illustration in a children's book, Oz thought. "I want to talk," he said softly. "I need to tell the story of my life." Part 5 - Riley: They Do the Walk, the Walk of Life Main Menu   ~   Summer Vacation Series

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