5
"No," Manoj moans. It is dark back there. In the shadows, Manoj see rusted girders, misshapen wooden crates, strewn plastic bags, and piles of rotting garbage.
A horrifying thought comes to him: what if the clown is kidnapping him? What if the circus nabs little boys and girls at every town at which they stop. What if all the performing children here are actually abducted children? Didn’t the clown call Manoj over with the practiced manner of one who has done this many times? He must have seen that Amma was distracted and made his move.
Manoj tries to pull away, but the clown holds his hand in a vice-like grip. They stand amidst plastic bags filled with rotting food, and cardboard boxes stacked in a leaning pile, and other unidentifiable garbage. The stench is overwhelming.
A strange idea comes to Manoj: he understands, without comprehending the nature of his own thoughts, that this is the real face of the circus — this rot and refuse and ugliness. The entertainment is only a facade, a thin veil of lunatic cheer flung over fetid darkness.
"Please," Manoj whimpers. "I don't want to join the circus."
The man's face stretches in a leer. The smile grows and grows until it takes the very shape of the painted grin around his mouth, until it becomes a parody of that smile, a grotesque gash that reveals yellowing, broken teeth. The clown has a smell about him, the sickly-sour stench of alcohol, of a body long unwashed. And of something else, something vile... and adult.
Manoj lets out another moan of horror when he sees that the clown is now clutching at his own crotch with his left hand, "Something special," the man croaks. The clown draws Manoj's hand towards him and places it squarely over what feels like a throbbing wooden stick between his legs. The clown grins down at him and begins to jerk Manoj's hand in a piston-like motion.
Manoj begins to cry.
The clown leans forward and reaches out with his left hand and—
"Manoj! Manoj?"
His mother's voice, piercing, rising above the sound of the crowds, irate and angry, coming from beyond.
Manoj glances up and sees a shadow pass over the man’s face. The demonic visage slips away for an instant and reveals a man (just a man) somehow diminished.
"If you make a sound, I will kill you," the clown growls, but the menace has turned to bluster.
Manoj yanks his hand away with a hiss. The man grab at him, but Manoj ducks away and turns and runs. He runs hard without looking back. He breaks out of the shadows behind the tent and into the crowd. He is sure that the clown is directly behind him, trying to grab him.
He spots his mother. She is calling his name with a mingled expression of worry and anger. Her sisters are looking for him, too. He runs to them.
"Manoj, where were you?" she snaps.
