Things do not work out as well, however, as the Ringmaster has anticipated. The Fat Lady in her gloom loses her appetite and begins to waste away. The Thin Man stops eating altogether and must be held in an upright position all day by props; And even the Ringmaster, normally of such stable even if unpleasant temper, grows inexplicably fidgety in the long fumbling nights alongside the couple’s troubled bed.
“She can’t sleep, the poor dear. Whimpering all night long. I try to soothe her best I can, but my hands, so to speak, are tied.”
‘“One squeak of the bedsprings and on come the lights!”
“The man’s a nut!”
“He looks down at my Man and says: That’s one muscle too many! And throws cold water on it—”
“All night in a cold wet bed!” At last, the Ringmaster negotiates a highly favorable contract of exchange with a rival circus, by which he is to acquire an Ambassador from Mars and a small sum of money for the waning Fat Lady. Another couple weeks, he thinks, and she would have been worth less. Hoo hee! a miraculous deal, a work of genius! Giggling softly (and no doubt meanly) to himself, he drops off that night into a comfortable slumber, the first in weeks, the bed beside him heaving fretfully the while with the parting anguish of the distraught lovers.
“It wasn’t murder, it was a revolution.”
“A revolution of love!”
As one, the entire complement of die circus arises at midnight—
“Now!”
“Freedom!”
“Equality!”
“Clobber the fuckin lech!”
— summarily executes and inters the Ringmaster alongside the deserted country road (castrating him symbolically in the process — circus people are born to symbology!), and installs the Fat Lady and die Thin Man as Representatives of the Common Proprietorship.
“We were all agreed. The Thin Man and the Fat Lady, in fact, were the last to know.”
“An Ambassador from Mars indeed! Did he think we had no pride?”
So joy reigns in the circus for weeks. Every performance concludes with a party. The two lovers’ happiness seems to radiate magically, attracting new masses of spectators, all of which augments, in turn, their happiness. It is indeed a paradise. The Thin Man exercises without compunction and quickly reaps a sturdy little pair of biceps. The Fat Lady, all aglow, switches calorie charts with the Thin Man, and within a week loses one of her several chins. Everyone, including the Thin Man, remarks on her beauty. Love is the word of the day. Circus people are basically good people. Their hatred for their former Ringmaster subsides, the souvenir taken from him is fed to the lions, and he is soon forgotten altogether. In a new day, there is no place for old resentments.
“I mean, you go along for years, see, thinking you got a Ring master on accounta you gotta have one. Ever seen a circus without a Ringmaster? No. Well, that just goes to show how history can fake you out!”
It was beautiful! All of it just happening! Acts coming on spontaneously, here, there, it was wild and exciting and unpredictable!”
“Suddenly it hits you, see. All your life you been looking at circuses and you say, that’s how circuses are. But what if they ain’t? What if that’s all a goddamn myth propagated by Ringmasters? You dig? What if it’s all open-ended, and we can, if we want to, live by love?”
“We even started enjoying each other’s acts!”
“I rode the elephant once!”
“Who says clowns gotta take pratfalls alia time? I learned to play in the band and train a bear and ride a horse through a fiery hoop!” But, just when the picture is pinkest, bad news: it becomes all too apparent that fewer people are visiting the stalls of the Thin Man and the Fat Lady, and those that do pass through, do so hastily and with little interest. “Okay, so they’re happy, so they’re in love. So what? You see one lover, you seen ‘em all.”
At first, everyone stubbornly disregards the signs. The parties go on, the songs and the celebrations. The Thin Man lifts weights as always, and the Fat Lady diets. Their glad hearts, though gnawed at a bit by apprehension, remain kindled by love and joy. One could almost say it was the romantic legend come true. But finally they can no longer ignore the black-and-white truth of the circus ledger, now in their care. Somewhere, apparently, there is a fatter lady and a thinner man. Their new world threatens to crumble.
“We didn’t wanna hurt their feelings, you know. We kidded them a little, hoping they’d take the hint.”
“Why couldn’t they just love each other for themselves?”
“For the good of the whole circus, we said.”
In their van one night, doubt having doused for the moment the flame of passion, they agree: the Fat Lady will restore her castoff corpulence, the Thin Man will return his set of barbells to the Strong Man. They re-exchange calorie charts. They begin in earnest to win back their public, found to be an integrant of their attachment, after all.
It is not easy. Worried by business reverses, the Fat Lady must work doubly hard to lay on each pound. And the Thin Man discovers that his little knots of muscle tend to sag instead of disappear. But they are driven by the most serious determination. The eyes of die circus are upon them. Momentary reverses only steel them more to the task.
“Chocolates! For me? It’s been so long!”
“With love.”
“But now that you’ve seen me like this, will you truly love me when I’m fat again?”
“To be honest, dear, I ain’t sure I can even tell the difference.” The worst part of the day for the Fat Lady comes when she steps upon the scales. Disgusted by her fat, she is disgusted she has added so little of it The Thin Man dutifully records her weight each day, and his presence comes to irritate her. He clucks his tongue when she fails to increase and sighs wistfully when she succeeds. She would cry but is afraid of the loss of anything, even tears. She refuses to submit to any activity which might make her perspire, and even demands that she be lifted in and out of the van each day.
The Thin Man steps daily before a full-length mirror. Disgusted by his thinness, he is disgusted that he still wears those little pouches under his skin. He wishes to be mere bone. Hilarious frightening unfleshed bone. The Fat Lady nags and pinches the little lumps that were once his muscles. He wonders if he has come to hate her.
“Hold up your arm there, loverboy, lemme feel that flab — hey 1 how cute! just like a little oyster!”
“Yeah? And so what?”
“So: oysters are a luxury, skinhead. People may pay to eat ‘em, but they won’t pay just to look!”
The Fat Lady, pointing out the Thin Man’s bagginess, doubts he has been firm in his resolution, and snoops about for hidden food. The Man, grimly checking the Lady on the scales each day, begins to suspect her of burning off calories behind his back. They sneak into each other’s stalls during the day, spy on one another at mealtimes, wrangle bitterly over the business books at night in their van. If one day the Fat Lady takes in a single dime more than the Thin Man, he must account for his obvious inconstancy of will. If a child carried past the Fat Lady’s stall fails to laugh and point at her, the Thin Man uses it as proof of her deceptions. Of what use is she to the circus if not even a child is titillated? What is worse than a baggy Thin Man who can’t make a dime?