Cuchulainn adored the carnival folk. He strived to emulate their composure and nonchalance among the fanfare. But even to live among the fanfare as they did was a dream, and a mystery to him. To operate the ferris wheel, the merry-go-round, the bumper cars, and the free access; how could he attain this life? How could he travel the towns, living off cotton candy and experimental donuts, and how could he look as unfazed by it all as they did?
The game master he interviewed spoke in riddles and even warned him against ‘this life’, as he called it. This only intrigued Cuchulainn more. What dangers did they face? What sacrifices did they make? He imagined them strung out in hookah tents, smoking opium and drinking illegal psychotropic absinthes, cursing the civilian horde. And he imagined himself among them as he left in detached longing. He alone understood them and they would gatekeep his future?
“Why?!” he cried. This was not the only disaster on his mind. He was no longer on speaking terms with his uncle, who had failed to win him a giant Snoopy, and refused to spend any more tickets trying. He insisted the games were rigged. A spoilsport’s words, Cuchulainn thought. A coward’s rationale. Yes.
“He is dead to me.”
It was hours before sundown. He had to forgive his uncle or sneak into one of these trailers and blend in when they set out for the next town tomorrow. He mulled it all over when suddenly in his peripheral he spotted a clown. A clown? He had only seen clowns in pictures before, and until now he was uncertain they were even real. Fascinating.
“Sickening!” Cuchulainn spat at the ground. “They make me sick!”
How could a person degrade themselves like that? To paint their face like a ragdoll and wear such ridiculous dress! The livelihood of a hired fool! Some people feared them, but they only made Cuchulainn furious. That the carnival, that ‘this life’ would take in an imbecile clown as their own but reject a stalwart like Cuchulainn was unforgivable.
But then he had an idea.
“Who am I to condemn a working showman?” He approached the clown, surrounded by some kindergarteners.
“Leave us!” He shooed them away. “Or we will burn you with cigarettes!”
“Oh my!” said the clown. “Don’t listen to him, he’s only a joker, like me!”
“Hahaha!” Cuchulainn laughed as they scurried away, screaming.
“What was that, man?”
“I have urgent business with you, clown.”
“You work here?” The clown looked around. “I guess I’ve seen worse.”
“Indeed,” Cuchulainn put his arm around the clown’s shoulder. “You see, I am a young impresario, and -”
“How young are you?”
“Do not ask my age! I have seen your work and you are unable to blossom in this environment. Consider my offer, clown. I put you on a stage, where you belong, and through my word-of-mouth network your name becomes ubiquitous! Now, I represent you, for a small cut, a mere twenty-five percent. Inevitably Hollywood will come to us, and -”
“What?”
“Yes, Hollywood, clown!”
“I don’t even know your -”
“Money is no object!” Cuchulainn laughed. “I have a well-to-do uncle. Though he is a miserly old scoundrel!”
“But -”
“You leave him to me! When your show is on, he will benefit as well.”
“My show?”
Cuchulainn yanked at the endless hanky. “Now, what is your clown name?”
“I don’t have one,” said the clown.
“That will not do. I will name you.”
“Ok, but I -”
“Stinker. Stinko, Stinky. Pooka?”
“Pooka’s pretty good.”
“Yes.” Cuchulainn thought about it. “Yes, I will be Pooka.”
“You’re a clown, too?”
“We are a double act!” Cuchulainn jumped for joy. “The Stinker and Pooka hour!”
“It’s an hour now?”
“Now, of course you will need an advance. Ten thousand dollars. But you must quit these fairgrounds today.”
“Did you say ten thousand?”
“I carry the uncle’s wallet,” said Cuchulainn. “Now, let me treat you to dinner and we can discuss business -”
“Well, thanks, man!”
“- once you win me the giant Snoopy.”
“What?”