“I’m sorry. I didn’t build these goddamn biceps overnight, they don’t shrink overnight neither. You can’t exercise backwards, I tell her. You just go limp and hope for the best But I do that and she just laughs at me. I think she’s got her eye on Daredevil Dick.”
“Think of my nerves, I tell him. If they ain’t fat nerves, he says,
I got no use for them. All day, he’s stuffing me. Even wants to add intravenous feedings. One day he brings home this dumbbell. He’s got a mean glint in his eye — Nothing doing, I say. But it gives him this idea. Maybe you oughta get pregnant, he says. That’d work for nine months, I say, but then what? And he gives me this strange look.”
The situation deteriorates rapidly. The Thin Man becomes sour and morose, his shoulders stooped, head sunk in dark thoughts. The Fat Lady, immobile and glum, goes so far as to belch obscenely when a passerby remarks that she is really not so fat after all. They quarrel without cease, and their gloom spreads like wet sawdust through the whole circus. Gate receipts diminish and even the peanut sales drop off.
And then one night, the Thin Man moves abruptly to the old Ringmaster’s van, something of a sacrifice on his part, since in the interim it has been used by a pair of camels. The Fat Lady bellows after him that she is glad to see him go (it’s not true about Daredevil Dick, though: who could think about love in times like these?), as he stamps peevishly out of her van, the business books smuggled under his shirt He renegotiates the old deal with the rival circus, and before anyone realizes what has happened, they have an Ambassador from Mars in their midst and the Fat Lady is gone. There are some unspecific rumbles of discontent, but since no one wishes to be sold to die rival circus, known to be on its last legs and infamous for its corrupt and tyrannical Ringmaster, these rumbles are held within discreet limits.
“Well, it was a crisis, after all. He did what he had to do. You had to think about the competition. They were all out to get us. It was the best thing for everybody.”
“She was my best friend. Everyone loved her. But no one seemed to care. I was alone. What could I say?”
“You get used to everything in this life.”
The Thin Man, in power, gains strength. He squares his shoulders and sets about getting the circus back on its feet He is ruthless with himself as he has learned to be ruthless with others.
The harder he works, the more rigorously he fasts. He will be thin, and damn the world! And even the unhappy Fat Lady, leagues distant, surrenders wearily to her fate and, doing so, finds it easy enough to expand once again.
But wait! See what we have come to! The Fat Lady separated from her inseparable Thin Man! The solution, for all the Thin Man’s admirable will, cannot but fail. It is a circus without pleasure. What are three rings of determination? These are dismal shadowy, tents and who can wander through their yawning flaps without a taste of dread? No, no, it is worse even than the mythological Thin Lady coupled with a Fat Man! Our metaphor, with time, has come unhinged! A rescue is called for!
Let us suppose, then, that the Thin Man is suddenly deposed, never mind why or how.
Taking everything for himself.”
“Even started growing a moustache, bought himself a whip!”
“We had a meeting and—”
Never mind. The Ambassador from Mars, unexpectedly popular, assumes the Thin Man’s functions, and the Man himself is exiled to the rival circus in exchange for a Family of Webfooted Midgets.
And so here we go! The Thin Man, all atremble and with tears springing to his eyes, here he comes, rushing pell-mell into the Fat Lady’s tent! All the circus people, the visiting crowds, the animals run behind, snorting, whooping, laughing giddily. Whoopee! into her arms! and she clasps him eagerly and forgivingly to her heaving bosom. Spectators weep for joy! The image is made whole!
“Beautiful! In spite of all history!”
“See how their joyful tears flow!”
“Oh! I’m all weepy and excited myself!”
“He buries his head in her lap!”
“Hold me!”
Later, when the world’s love is momentarily spent and the crowds have slipped weakly away, she makes a space for him in her little van. It is rundown, like this whole decrepit circus, yet there is a corner in it still for happiness. This Ringmaster is, as all have rightly averred, a corrupt and mordant bastard, greedy beyond belief. But, by staying very fat and very thin, respectively, they satisfy his daytime proddings, and by night he is too absorbed in his ledgers to pay them notice.
Thus, though the sacrifices have been considerable, if indeed not prohibitive, we have obeyed the innocent bite in our forks and held fast to our precious metaphor.
Yet, somehow, strangely, it has lost some of its old charm. We go to the circus to see the Fat Lady and the Thin Man, and though warmed by them, perhaps even amused and incited by them still, we nevertheless return home somehow dissatisfied. Fat, yes, the Fattest, and Thin — but what is it? Maybe only that, as always, they are ludicrous, and that now, having gone to such lengths to reunite diem, we are irritated to discover their limits, to find that the Ludicrous is not also Beautiful.
“Like, well, like they oughta do more for us somehow—”
“After all we’ve done for them!”
“Thin Man, Fat Lady, all right, it’s cute, it’s funny maybe, but…”
Well, let us admit it, perhaps it is ourselves who are corrupted. Perhaps we have seen or been too many Ringmasters, watched too many parades, safely witnessed too many thrills, counted through too many books. Maybe it’s just that we’ve lost a taste for the simple in a world perplexingly simple. For, see, there? There a child laughs gaily at the Thin Man’s tense smile, and there a young couple giggle in front of the unctuous Fat Lady.
So, what the hell, some circus music, please! Some raging lions and white horses and the clean cracking of black whips! Crackerjacks! Peanuts! And a monkey to wrap his tail around the flagpole! For remember: these two, magic metaphor or no, are not the whole circus. Nor — to borrow from the hoariest spiel of them all — in this matter of circuses, is life one. There are three rings—
“Lazygentamun, absolutely unique, this way, patrons of the arts, desolate wastes, deepest Injah, suckled by werewolves, nekkid and hairy—”
“Raithiswhay, folks! She’s half-human, half-reptile! Yawone believe yer eyes!”
“Absolutely wild gotta stand back limited time only, getcha tickets here, before goin inta the Big Top, see him now may never get another chance lives entirely on human flesh, ya heard me right, son! and we don’t know how long we can keep him alive—!”
— And then there are more. Who can grasp it all? And who, grasping, can hold it! No, we have lost many things, go on losing, and must yet lose more. Even the Thin Man will grow old and bent, the Fat Lady will shrivel and die. We can hang on to nothing. Least of all the simple.
“This way, boyzungirls, inna the Big Show startin in jusfiminnit! still plennya seats but goodwonzur goin fast! yessir mistuh and how many—?”
“Hey cottoncandy popcawn sodypop!”
“Getcha soovuhnih booklet while they last! Fittysens two quawtuhs of a dollah! Byootiful faw-color alla stars take a thrills home with ya!”
“There they come! It’s the parade!”
“Lass chance now folks tellyawhawgawnuhdo! limted time only fore the Big Show gets unnerway! pay tenshun madam while supply lasts one quawtuh hurry! alla thrillsnchills Big Top in faw colors one quawtuh fifferadollah add extra bonus feachuh bagga nuts! you there—!”
But listen! the losses! these too are ludicrous, aren’t they? these too are part of the comedy, right? a ring around the rings! So, damn it, let us hoot and holler and thrill and eat peanuts and cheer and swill the pop and laugh and bawl! Come on! All us Thin Men! All you Fat Ladies!