of candy floss, try for the packet of cigarettes at the rifle range,
and risk their luck with the new number game. I stopped to see
how this last one worked, twigged the gimmick at once, and
laughed at their audacity. It was plain the two lads hadn't worked
it for long, but they'd made a good start.
Next door the bearded lady had drawn her quota of gawpers.
The last sniggering group was going in and just before the cur-
tains closed, I saw her and wished I'd had a warning. By and
large, freaks are conceited, arrogant, dirty, believing themselves
entitled to special regard in man's esteem.
I'd seen this one completely. I'd marked the low-cut sequined
gown showing thin white shoulders and the silky dark beard that
fell to the tight canyon between her breasts. I shuddered. I felt
the goose flesh on my arms. My father used to tell me I'd have to
find some armor against these dislikes, but I never have. I've
tried.
I've drawn ten percent before now on a fellow who swallowed
live wriggling fish, I've even brought a dozen giraffe-necked
women across two continents. Rancid, those. They smell of stale
oil. But I've never touched a geek, although I do a certain amount
of business in the States. Never could, never will. They bite the
heads off chickens for a bottle a day. Blood. Feathers. Mustn't
think about it.
I dropped the iron curtain and crossed abruptly to the opposite
booth. Automatically my eyes registered the words: Ulric, The
Most Tattooed Man in the World. I relaxed. This wouldn't bother
me. Underneath the tattoo marks I knew he'd be normal, with the
right amount of fingers and toes.
More with a sense of retreat than anticipation, I entered the
booth. It was small, smelly, and stuffy. Standing among the tight
press of people at the back, I watched Ulric, The Most Tattooed
Man in the World, coming to the end of his act, his show, his per-
formance, whatever he styled it. Really he did nothing.
He just stood there, tall and rainbow-hued, clad only in the
briefest loincloth, flexing his muscles, while in pseudo, high-
pressure Americanese his barker told the story of the legend pic-
tured on the fine broad body. And the telling took him from the
soles of Ulric's feet to the crown of his proud head.
I listened, following the tale on the body. When I reached the
kaleidoscope of colors in his face and saw the eagle spread across
the hidden features, something fell into place. This man had been
tattooed in Japan.
You see, I read anything. Everything. Nearly always in trains,
planes, hotel lounges. And I remember what I read. Now I re-
membered reading about a bargain, and the terms of it were
these: in Japan, if a man agreed to be tattooed from top to toe and
left his body on death to a certain university, then he earned
himself $3,000. I knew this Ulric had made such a bargain and
when he died his skin would join the other skins, stretched tight
and taut at that university.
