"Freaks"...new interest

If you delve into the history of the film some curious and salient issues emerge involving MGM and the cultural aversion to the film. MGM was not happy with the film and even on no less that three attempts altered the ending on test audiences. A studio's disapproval is strike one. Box office receipts were dismal and the film was banned in several foreign countries. Loss of revenue was strike two. The fact that Freaks did not fit the typical genre of horror films but dealt with reality of deformed human beings did not set well with theater goers. A social misfit itself was strike three. The film disappeared and only sporadically surfaced in art houses and with the likes of Dwain Esper [another Kroger Babb ] an exploitation pioneer. More than likely Dwain Esper acquired exhibition rights and not ownership rights.

Interesting to note that the film was shown at the, I think, 1963 Cannes Film Festival with much success...a different generation and a new perspective have certainly changed its popularity.

Alternate endings

The film is based on a short story on Tod Robbins' "Spurs".

SPURS

by

Tod Robbins

I

Jacques Courbé was a romanticist. He measured only twenty-eight inches from the soles of his diminutive feet to the crown of his head; but there were times, as he rode into the arena on his gallant charger, St. Eustache, when he felt himself a doughty knight of old about to do battle for his lady.

What matter that St. Eustache was not a gallant charger except in his master’s imagination—not even a pony, indeed, but a large dog of a nondescript breed, with the long snout and upstanding aura of a wolf? What matter that M. Courbé’s entrance was invariably greeted with shouts of derisive laughter and bombardments of banana skins and orange peel? What matter that he had no lady, and that his daring deeds were severely curtailed to a mimicry of the bareback riders who preceded him? What mattered all these things to the tiny man who lived in dreams, and who resolutely closed his shoe-button eyes to the drab realities of life?

The dwarf had no friends among the other freaks in Copo’s Circus. They considered him ill-tempered and egotistical, and he loathed them for their acceptance of things as they were. Imagination was the armour that protected him from the curious glances of a cruel, gaping world, from the stinging lash of ridicule, from the bombardments of banana skins and orange peel. Without it, he must have shriveled up and died. But those others? Ah, they had no armour except their own thick hides! The door that opened on the kingdom of imagination was closed and locked to them; and although they did not wish to open this door, although they did not miss what lay beyond it, they resented and mistrusted any one who possessed the key.

Now it came about, after many humiliating performances in the arena, made palatable only by dreams, that love entered the circus tent and beckoned commandingly to M. Jacques Corbe. In an instant the dwarf was engulfed in a sea of wild, tumultuous passion.

Mlle. Jeanne Marie was a daring bareback rider. It made M. Jacques Courbé’s tiny heart stand still to see her that first night of her appearance in the arena, performing brilliantly on the broad back of her aged mare, Sappho. A tall, blonde woman of the amazon type, she had round eyes of baby blue which held no spark of her avaricious peasant’s soul, carmine lips and cheeks, large white teeth which flashed continually in a smile, and hands which, when doubled up, were nearly the size of the dwarf’s head.

Her partner in the act was Simon Lafleur, the Romeo of the circus tent—a swarthy, hurculean young man with bold black eyes and hair that glistened with grease, like the back of Solon, the trained seal.

From the first performance, M. Jacques Courbé loved Mlle. Jeanne Marie. All his tiny body was shaken with longing for her. Her buxom charms, so generously revealed in tights and spangles, made him flush and cast down his eyes. The familiarities allowed to Simon Lafleur, the bodily acrobatic contacts of the two performers, made the dwarf’s blood boil. Mounted on St. Eustache, awaiting his turn at the entrance, he would grind his teeth in impotent rage to see Simon circling round and round the ring, standing proudly on the back of Sappho and holding Mlle. Jeanne Marie in an ecstatic embrace, while she kicked one shapely, bespangled leg skyward.

“Ah, the dog!” M. Jacques Courbé would mutter. “Some day I shall teach this hulking stable boy his place! Ma foi, I will clip his ears for him!”

St. Eustache did not share his master’s admiration for Mlle. Jeanne Marie. From the first he evinced his hearty detestation of her by low growls and a ferocious display of long, sharp fangs. It was little consolation for the dwarf to know that St. Eustache showed still more marked signs of rage when Simon Lafleur approached him. It pined M. Jacques Courbé to think that his gallant charger, his sole companion, his bedfellow, should not also love and admire the splendid giantess who each night risked life and limb before the awed populace. Often, when they were alone together, he would chide St. Eustache on his churlishness.

“Ah, you devil of a dog!” the dwarf would cry. “Why must you always growl and show your ugly teeth when the lovely Jeanne Marie condescends to notice you? Have you no feelings under your tough hide? Cur, she is an angel, and you snarl at her! Do you not remember how I found you, starving puppy in a Paris gutter? And now you must threaten the hand of my princess! So this is you gratitude, great hairy pig!”

M. Jacques Courbé had one living relative—not a dwarf, like himself, but a fine figure of a man, a prosperous farmer living just outside the town of Roubaix. The elder Courbé had never married; and so one day, when he was found dead from heart failure, his tiny nephew—for whom, it must be conversion—fell heir to a comfortable property. When the tidings were brought to him, the dwarf threw both arms about the shaggy neck of St. Eustache and cried out:

“Ah, now we can retire, marry and settle down, old friend! I am worth many times my weight in gold!”

That evening as Mlle. Jeanne Marie was changing her gaudy costume after the performance, a light tap sounded on the door.

“Enter!” she called, believing it to be Simon Lafleur, who had promised to take her that evening to the Sign of the Wild Boar for a glass of wine to wash the sawdust out of her throat. “Enter, mon Cheri!”

The door swung slowly open; and in stepped M. Jacques Courbé, very proud and upright, in the silks and laces of a courtier, with a tiny gold-hilted sword swinging at his hip. Up he came, his shoe-button eyes all a-glitter to see the more than partially revealed charms of his robust lady. Up he came to within a yard of where she sat; and down on one knee he went and pressed his lips to her red-slippered foot.

“Oh, most beautiful and daring lady,” he cried, in a voice as shrill as a pin scratching on a window pane, “will you not take mercy on the unfortunate Jacques Courbé? He is hungry for your smiles, he is starving for you lips! All night long he tosses on his couch and dreams of Jeanne Marie!”

“What play acting is this, my brave little fellow?” she asked, bending down with the smile of an ogress. “Has Simon Lafleur sent you to tease me?”

“May the black plague have Simon!” the dwarf cried, his eyes seeming to flash blue sparks. “I am not play acting. It is only too true that I love you, mademoiselle; that I wish to make you my lady. And now that I have a fortune, not that—” He broke off suddenly, and his face resembled a withered apple, “What is this, mademoiselle?” he said, in the low, droning tone of a hornet about to sting. “Do you laugh at my love? I warn you, mademoiselle—do not laugh at Jacques Courbé!”

Mlle. Jeanne Marie’s large, florid face had turned purple from suppressed merriment. Her lips twitched at the corners. It was all she could do not to burst out into a roar of laughter.

Why, this ridiculous little manikin was serious in his love-making! This pocket-sized edition of a courtier was proposing marriage to her! He, this splinter of a fellow, wished to make her his wife! Why, she could carry him about on her shoulder like a trained marmoset!

What a joke this was—what a colossal, corset-creaking joke! Wait till she told Simon Lafleur! She could fairly see him throw back his sleek head, open his mouth to its widest dimensions, and shake with silent laughter. But she must not laugh—not now. First she must listen to everything the dwarf had to say; draw all the sweetness of this bonbon of humour before she crushed it under the heel of ridicule.

“I am not laughing,” she managed to say. “You have taken me by surprise. I never thought, I never even guessed—”

“That is well, mademoiselle,” the dwarf broke in. “I do not tolerate laughter. In the arena I am paid to make laughter; but these others pay to laugh at me. I always make people pay to laugh at me!”

“But do I understand you aright, M. Courbé? Are you proposing an honourable marriage?”

The dwarf rested his hand on his heart and bowed. “Yes, mademoiselle, and honourable, and the wherewithal to keep the wolf from the door. A week ago my uncle died and left me a large estate. We shall have a servant to wait on our wants, a horse and carriage, food and wine of the best, and leisure to amuse ourselves. And you? Why, you will be a fine lady! I will clothe that beautiful big body of yours with silks and laces! You will be as happy, mademoiselle, as a cherry tree in June!”

The dark blood slowly receded from Mlle. Jeanne Marie’s full cheeks, her lips no longer twitched at the corners, her eyes had narrowed slightly. She had been a bareback rider for years, and she was weary of it. The life of the circus tent had lost its tinsel. She loved the dashing Simon Lafleur; but she knew well enough that this Romeo in tights would never espouse a dowerless girl.

The dwarf’s words had woven themselves into a rich mental tapestry. She saw herself a proud lady, ruling over a country estate, and later welcoming Simon Lafleur with all the luxuries that were so near his heart. Simon would be overjoyed to marry into a country estate. These pygmies were a puny lot. They died young! She would do nothing to hasten the end of Jacques Courbé. No, she would be kindness itself to the poor little fellow; but, on the other hand, she would not lose her beauty mourning for him.

“Nothing that you wish shall be withheld from you as long as you love me, mademoiselle,” the dwarf continued. “Your answer?”

Mlle. Jeanne Marie bent forward, and with a single movement of her powerful arms, raised M. Jacques Courbé and placed him on her knee. For an ecstatic instant she held him thus, as if he were a large French doll, with his tiny sword cocked coquettishly out behind. Then she planted on his cheek a huge kiss that covered his entire face from chin to brow.

“I am yours!” she murmured, pressing him to her ample bosom. “From the first I loved you, M. Jacques Courbé!”

II

The wedding of Mlle. Jeanne Marie was celebrated in the town of Roubaix, where Copo’s Circus had taken up its temporary quarters. Following the ceremony, a feast was served in one of the tents, which was attended by a whole galaxy of celebrities.

The bridegroom, his dark little face flushed with happiness and wine, sat at the head of the board. His chin was just above the tablecloth, so that his head looked like a large orange that had rolled off the fruit dish. Immediately beneath his dangling feet, St. Eustache, who had more than once evinced by deep growls his disapproval of the proceedings, now worried a bone with quick, sly glances from time to time at the plump legs of his new mistress. Papa Copo was on the dwarf’s right, his large round face as red and benevolent as a harvest moon. Next to his sat Griffo, the giraffe boy, who was covered with spots and whose neck was so long that he looked down on all the rest, including M. Hercule Hippo the giant. The rest of the company included Mlle. Lupa, who had sharp white teeth of a incredible length and who growled when she tried to talk; the tiresome M. Jegongle, who insisted on juggling fruit, plates and knives, although the whole company was heartily sick of his tricks; Mme. Samson, with her trained boa constrictors coiled about her neck and peeping out timidly, one above each ear; Simon Lafleur, and a score of others.

The bareback rider had laughed silently and almost continually ever since Jeanne Marie had told him of her engagenent. Now he sat next to her in his crimson tights. His black hair was brushed back from his forehead and so glistened with grease that it reflected the lights overhead, like a burnished helmet. From time to time, he tossed off a brimming goblet of burgundy, nudged the bride in the ribs with his elbow, and threw back his sleek head in another silent outburst of laughter.

“And you are sure you will not forget me, Simon?” she whispered. “It may be some time before I can get the little ape’s money.”

”Forget you, Jeanne?” he muttered. “By all the dancing devils in champagne, never! I will wait as patiently as Job till you have fed that mouse some poisoned cheese. But what will you do with him in the meantime, Jeanne? You must allow him some liberties. I grind my teeth to think of you in his arms!”

The bride smiled, and regarded her diminutive husband with an appraising glance. What an atom of a man! And yet life might linger in his bones for a long time to come. M. Jacques Courbé had allowed himself only one glass of wine, and yet he was far gone in intoxication. His tiny face was suffused with blood, and he stared at Simon Lafleur belligerently. Did he suspect the truth?

“Your husband is flushed with wine!” the bareback rider whispered. “Ma foi, madame, later he may knock you about! Possibly he is a dangerous fellow in his cups. Should he maltreat you, Jeanne, do no forget that you have a protector in Simon Lafleur.”

“You clown!” Jeanne Marie rolled her large eyes roguishly, and laid her hand for an instant on the bareback rider’s knee. “Simon, I could crack his skull between my finger and thumb, like a hickory nut!” She paused to illustrate her example, and then added reflectively: “And, perhaps, I shall do that very thing, if he attempts any familiarities. Ugh! The little ape turns my stomach!”

By now the wedding guests were beginning to show the effects of their potations. This was especially marked in the case of M. Jacques Courbé’s associates in the side-show.

Griffo, the giraffe boy, had closed his large brown eyes, and was swaying his small head languidly above the assembly, while a slightly supercilious expression drew his lips down at the corners. M. Hercule Hippo, swollen out by his libations to even more colossal proportions, was repeating over and over: “I tell you I am not like other men. When I walk, the earth trembles!” Mlle. Lupa, her hairy upper lip lifted above her long white teeth, was gnawing at a bone, growling unintelligible phrases to herself and shooting savage, suspicious glances at her companions. M. Jejongle’s hands had grown unsteady, and as he insisted on juggling the knives and plates of each new course, broken bits of crockery littered the floor. Mme. Samson, uncoiling her necklace of baby boa constrictors, was feeding them lumps of sugar soaked in rum. M. Jacques Courbé had finished his second glass of wine, and was surveying the whispering Simon Lafleur through narrowed eyes.

There can be no genial companionship among great egotists who have drunk too much. Each one of these human oddities thought that he or she was responsible for the crowds that daily gathered at Copo’s Circus; so now, heated with the good Burgundy, they were not slow in asserting themselves. Their separate egos rattled angrily together, like so many pebbles in a bag . Here was gunpowder which needed only a spark.

“I am a big—a very big man!” M. Hercule Hippo said sleepily. “Women love me. The pretty little creatures leave their pygmy husbands, so that they may come and stare at Hercule Hippo of Copo’s Circus. Ha, and when they return home, they laugh at other men always! ‘You may kiss me again when you grow up,’ they tell their sweethearts.”

“Fat bullock, here is one woman who has no love for you!” cried Mlle. Lupa, glaring sidewise at the giant over her bone. “That great carcass of yours is only so much food gone to waste. You have cheated the butcher, my friend. Fool, women do not come to see you! As well might they stare at the cattle being let through the street. Ah, no, they come from far and near to see one of their own sex who is not a cat!”

“Quite right,” cried Papa Copo in a conciliatory tone, smiling and rubbing his hands together. “Not a cat, mademoiselle, but a wolf. Ah, you have a sense of humor! How droll!”

“I have a sense of humor,” Mlle. Lupa agreed, returning to her bone, “and also sharp teeth. Let the erring hand not stray too near!”

“You, M. Hippo and Mlle. Lupa, are both wrong,” said a voice which seemed to come from the roof. “Surely it is none other than me whom the people come to stare at!”

All raised their eyes to the supercilious face of Griffo, the giraffe boy, which swayed slowly from side to side on its long, pipe stem neck. It was he who had spoken, although his eyes were still closed.

“Of all the colossal impedance!” cried the matronly Mme. Samson. “As if my little dears had nothing to say on the subject!” She picked up the two baby boa constrictors, which lay in drunken slumber on her lap, and shook them like whips at the wedding guests. “Papa Copo knows only too well that it is on account of these little charmers, Mark Antony and Cleopatra, that the side-show is so well-attended!”

The circus owner, thus directly appealed to, frowned in perplexity. He felt himself in a quandary. These freaks of his were difficult to handle. Why had he been fool enough to come to M. Jacques Courbé’s wedding feast? Whatever he said would be used against him.

As Papa Copo hesitated, his round, red face wreathed in ingratiating smiles, the long deferred spark suddenly alighted in the powder. It all came about on account of the carelessness of M. Jejongle, who had become engrossed in the conversation and wished to put in a word for himself. Absent-mindedly juggling two heavy plates and a spoon, he said in a petulant tone:

“You all appear to forget me!”

Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when one of the heavy plates descended with a crash on the thick skull of M. Hippo; and M. Jejongle was instantly remembered. Indeed he was more than remembered; for the giant, already irritated to the boiling point by Mlle. Lupa’s insults, at the new affront struck out savagely past her and knocked the juggler head-over-heels under the table.

Mlle. Lupa, always quick-tempered and especially so when her attention was focused on a juicy chicken bone, evidently considered her dinner companion’s conduct far from decorous, and promptly inserted her sharp teeth in the offending hand that had administered the blow. M. Hippo, squealing from rage and pain like a wounded elephant, bounded to this feet, overturning the table.

Pandemonium followed. Every freak’s hands, teeth, feet, were turned against the others. Above the shouts, screams, growls, and hisses of the combat, Papa Copo’s voice could be heard bellowing for peace.

“Ah, my children, my children! This is no way to behave! Calm yourselves, I pray you! Mlle. Lupa, remember that you are a lady as well as a wolf!”

There is no doubt that M. Jacques Courbé would have suffered most in this undignified fracas, had it not been for St. Eustache, who had stationed himself over his tiny master and who now drove off all would be assailants. As it was, Griffo, the unfortunate giraffe boy, was the most defenseless and therefore became the victim. His small, round head swayed back and forth to blows like a punching bag. He was bitten by Mlle. Lupa, buffeted by M. Hippo, kicked by M. Jejongle, clawed by Mme. Samson, and nearly strangled by both of the baby boa constrictors which had wound themselves about his neck like hangmen’s nooses. Undoubtedly be would have fallen a victim to circumstances, had it not been for Simon Lafleur, the bride and half a dozen of her acrobatic friends, whom Papa Copo had implored to restore peace. Roaring with laughter, they sprang forward and tore the combatants apart.

M. Jacques Corbe was found sitting grimly under a fold of tablecloth. He held a broken bottle of wine in one hand. The dwarf was very drunk, and in a towering rage. As Simon Lafleur approached with one of his silent laughs, M. Jacques Courbé hurled the bottle at his bead.

“Ah, the little wasp!” the bareback rider cried, picking up the dwarf by his waistband. “Here is your fine husband, Jeanne! Take him away before he does me some mischief. Parbleu, he is a bloodthirsty fellow in his cups!”

The bride approached, her blonde face crimson from wine and laughter. Now that she was safely married to a country estate, she took no more pains to conceal her true feelings.

“Oh, la, la!” she cried, seizing the struggling dwarf and holding him forcibly on her shoulder. “What a temper the little ape has! Well, we shall spank it out of him before long!”

“Let me down!” M. Jacques Courbé screamed in a paroxysm of fury. “You will regret this, madame! Let me down, I say!”

But the stalwart bride shook her head. “No, no, my little one!” she laughed. “You cannot escape your wife so easily! What, you would fly from my arms before the honeymoon!”

“Let me down!” he cried again. “Can’t you see that they are laughing at me!”

“And why should they not laugh, my little ape? Let them laugh, if they will; but I will not put you down. No, I will carry you thus, perched on my shoulder, to the farm. It will set a precedent which brides of the future may find a certain difficulty in following!”

“But the farm is quite a distance from here, my Jeanne,” said Simon Lafleur. “You are strong as an ox, and he is only a marmoset; still I will wager a bottle of Burgundy that you set him down by the roadside.”

“Done, Simon!” the bride cried, which a flash of her strong white teeth. “You shall lose your wager, for I swear that I could carry my little ape from one end of France to the other!”

M. Jacques Courbé no longer struggled. He now sat bolt upright on his brides broad shoulder. From the flaming peaks of blind passion, he had fallen into an abyss of cold fury. His love was dead, but some quite alien emotion was rearing an evil head from its ashes.

“Come!” cried the bride suddenly. “I am off. Do you and the others, Simon, follow to see me win my wager.”

They all trooped out of the tent. A full moon rode the heavens and showed the road, lying as white and straight through the meadows as the parting in Simon Lafleur’s black, oily hair. The bride, still holding the diminutive bridegroom on her shoulder, burst out into song as she strode forward. The wedding guests followed. Some walked none too steadily. Griffo, the giraffe boy, staggered pitifully on his long, thin legs. Papa Copo alone remained behind.

“What a strange world!” he muttered, standing in the tent door and following them with his round blue eyes. “Ah, there children of mine are difficult at times—very difficult!”

III

A year had rolled by since the marriage of Mlle. Jeanne Marie and M. Jacques Courbé. Copo’s Circus had once more taken up its quarters in the town of Roubaix. For more than a week the country people for miles around had flocked to the side-show to get a peep at Griffo, the giraffe boy; M. Hercule Hippo, the giant; Mlle. Lupa, the wolf lady; Mme. Samson, with her baby boa constrictors; and M. Jejongle, the famous juggler. Each was still firmly convinced that he or she alone was responsible for the popularity of the circus.

Simon Lafleur sat in his lodgings at the Sign of the Wild Boar. He wore nothing but red tights. His powerful torso, stripped to the waist, glistened with oil. He was kneading his biceps tenderly with some strong-smelling fluid.

Suddenly there came the sound of heavy, laborious footsteps on the stairs. Simon Lafleur looked up. His rather gloomy expression lifted, giving place to the brilliant smile that had won for him the hearts of so many lady acrobats.

“Ah, this is Marcelle!” he told himself. “Or perhaps it is Rose, the English girl; or, yet again, little Francesca, although she walks more lightly. Well no matter—whoever it is, I will welcome her!”

By now, the lagging, heavy footfalls were in the hall; and, a moment later, they came to a halt outside the door. There was a timid knock.

Simon Lafleur’s brilliant smile broadened. “Perhaps some new admirer that needs encouragement,” he told himself. But aloud he said, “Enter, mademoiselle!”

The door swung slowly open and revealed the visitor. She was a tall, gaunt woman dressed like a peasant. The wind had blown her hair into her eyes. Now she raised a large, toil-worn hand, brushed it back across her forehead and looked long and attentively at the bareback rider.

“Do you not remember me?” she said at length.

Two lines of perplexity appeared above Simon Lafleur’s Roman nose; he slowly shook his head. He, who had known so many women in his time, and now at a loss. Was it a fair question to ask a man who was no longer a boy and who had lived? Women change so in a brief time! Now this bag of bones might at one time have appeared desirable to him.

Parbleu! Fate was a conjurer! She waved her wand; and beautiful women were transformed into hogs, jewels into pebbles, silks and laces into hempen cords. The brave fellow, who danced to-night at the prince’s ball, might to-morrow dance more lightly on the gallows tree. The thing was to live and die with a full belly. To digest all that one could—that was life!

“You do not remember me?” she said again.

Simon Lafleur once more shook his sleek, black head. “I have a poor memory for faces, madame,” he said politely. “It is my misfortune, when there are such beautiful faces.”

“Ah, but you should have remembered, Simon!” the woman cried, a sob rising in her throat. “We were very close together, you and I. Do you not remember Jeanne Marie?”

“Jeanne Marie!” the bareback rider cried. “Jeanne Marie, who married a marmoset and a country estate? Don’t tell me. Madame, that you—”

He broke off and stared at her, open-mouthed. His sharp black eyes wandered from the wisps of wet, straggling hair down her gaunt person till they rested at last on her thick cowhide boots incrusted with layer on layer of mud from the countryside.

“It is impossible!” he said at last.

“It is indeed Jeanne Marie,” the woman answered, “or what is left of her. Ah, Simon, what a life he has led me! I have been merely a beast of burden! There are no ignominities which he has not made me suffer!”

“To whom do you refer?” Simon Lafleur demanded. “Surely you cannot mean that pocket edition husband of yours—that dwarf, Jacques Courbé?”

“Ah, but I do, Simon! Alas, he has broken me!”

“He—that toothpick of a man?” the bareback rider cried, with one of his silent laughs. “Why, it is impossible! As you once said yourself, Jeanne, you could crack his skull between finger and thumb like a hickory nut!”

“So I thought once. Ah, but I did not know him then, Simon! Because he was small, I thought I could do with him as I liked. It seemed to me that I was marrying a manikin. ‘I will play Punch and Judy with this little fellow,’ I said to myself. Simon, you imagine my surprise when he began playing Punch and Judy with me!”

“But I do not understand, Jeanne. Surely at any time you could have slapped him into obedience!”

“Perhaps,” she assented wearily, “had it not been for St. Eustache. From the first that wolf dog of his hated me. If I so much as answered his master back, he would show his teeth. Once, at the beginning when I raised my hand to cuff Jacques Corbe, he sprang at my throat and would have torn me limb from limb, had the dwarf not called him off. I was a strong woman, but even then I was no match for a wolf!”

“There was poison, was there not?” Simon Lafleur suggested.

“Ah, yes, I, too, thought of poison; but it was of no avail. St. Eustache would eat nothing that I gave him; and the dwarf forced me to taste first of all food that was placed before him and his dog. Unless I myself wished to die, there was no way of poisoning either of them.”

“My poor girl!” the bareback rider said, pityingly. “I begin to understand; but sit down and tell me everything. This is a revelation to me, after seeing you stalking homeward so triumphantly with your bridegroom on you shoulder. You must begin at the beginning.”

“It was just because I carried him thus on my shoulder that I have had to suffer so cruelly,” she said, seating herself on the only other chair the room afforded. “He has never forgiven me the insult which he says I put upon him. Do you remember how I boasted that I could carry him from one end of France to the other?”

“I remember. Well, Jeanne?”

“Well, Simon, the little demon has figured out the exact distance in leagues. Each morning, rain or shine, we sully out of the house—he on my back, and the wolf dog at my heels—and I tramp along the dusty roads till my knees tremble beneath me from fatigue. If I so much as slacken my pace, if I falter, he goads me with cruel little golden spurs; while, at the same time, St. Eustache nips my ankles. When we return home, he strikes so many leagues of a score which he says is the number of leagues from one end of France to the other. Not half that distance has been covered, and I am no longer a strong woman, Simon. Look at these shoes!”

She held up one of her feet for his inspection. The sole of the cowhide boot had been worn through; Simon Lafleur caught a glimpse of bruised flesh caked with the mire of the highway.

“This is the third pair that I have had,” she continued hoarsely. “Now he tells me that the price of shoe leather is too high, that I shall have to finish my pilgrimage barefooted.”

“But why do you put up with all this, Jeanne?” Simon Lafleur asked angrily. “You, who have a carriage and a servant, should not walk at all!”

“At first there was a carriage and a servant,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, “but they did not last a week. He sent the servant about his business and sold the carriage at a near-by fair. Now there is no one but me to wait on him and his dog.”

“But the neighbours?” Simon Lafleur persisted. “Surely you could appeal to them?”

“We have no neighbours; the farm is quite isolated. I would have run away many months ago, if I could have escaped unnoticed; but they keep a continual watch on me. Once I tried, but I hadn’t traveled more than a league before the wolf dog was snapping at my ankles. He drove me back to the farm, and the following day I was compelled to carry the little fiend until I fell from sheer exhaustion.”

“But to-night you got away?”

“Yes,” she said, and with a quick, frightened glance at the door. “To-night I slipped out while they were both sleeping, and came here to you. I know that you would protect me, Simon, because of what we have been to each other. Get Papa Copo to take me back in the circus, and I will work my fingers to the bone! Save me, Simon!”

Jeanne Marie could longer suppress her sobs. They rose in her throat, choking her, making her incapable of further speech.

“Calm yourself, Jeanne,” Simon Lafleur [told her sooth]ingly. “I will do what I can for you. I shall [discuss the matter] with Papa Copo to-morrow. Of course, you are no l[onger the] woman that you were a year ago. You have aged sinc[e then, but] perhaps our good Papa Cope could find you something t[o do.]

He broke off and eyed her intently. She had [sat up] in the chair; her face, even under its coat of grime, ha[d turned] a sickly white.

“What troubles you, Jeanne?” he asked a trifle breathlessly.

“Hush!” she said, with a finger to her lips. “Listen!”

Simon Lafleur could hear nothing but the tapping of the rain on the roof and the sighing of the wind through the tree. An unusual silence seemed to pervade the Sign of the Wild Boar.

“Now don’t you hear it?” she cried with an in articulate gasp. “Simon, it is in the house—it is on the stairs!”

At last the bareback rider’s less sensitive ears caught the sound his companion had heard a full minute before. It was a steady pit-pat, pit-pat, on the stairs, hard to dissociate from the drop of the rain from the eaves; but each instant it came nearer, grew more distinct.

“Oh, save me, Simon; save me!” Jeanne Marie cried, throwing herself at his feet and clasping him about his knees. “Save me! It is St. Eustache!”

“Nonsense, woman!” the bareback rider said angrily, but nevertheless he rose. “There are other dogs in the world. On the second landing, there is a blind fellow who owns a dog Perhaps that is what you hear.”

“No, no—it is St. Eustache’s step! My God, if you had lived with him a year, you would know it, too! Close the door and lock it!”

“That I will not,” Simon Lafleur said contemptuously. “Do you think I am frightened so easily? If it is the wolf dog, so much the worse for him. He will not be the first cur I have choked to death with these two hands!”

Pit-pat, pit-pat—it was on the second landing. Pit-pat, pit-pat—now it was in the corridor, and coming fast. Pit-pat—all at once it stopped.

There was a moment’s breathless silence, and then into the room trotted St . Eustache. M. Jacques sat astride the dog’s broad back, as he had so often done in the circus ring. He held a tiny drawn sword; his shoe-button eyes seemed to reflect its steely glitter.

The dwarf brought the dog to a halt in the middle of the room, and took in, at a single glance, the prostrate figure of Jeanne Marie. St. Eustache, too, seemed to take silent note of it. The stiff hair on his back rose up, he showed his long white fangs hungrily, and his eyes glowed like two live coals.

“So I find you thus, madame!” M. Jacques Courbé said at last. “It is fortunate that I have a charger here who can scent out my enemies as well as hunt them down in the open. Without him, I might have had some difficulty in discovering you. Well, the little game is up. I find you with your lover!”

“Simon Lafleur is not my lover!” she sobbed. “I have not seen him once since I married you until to-night! I swear it!”

“Once is enough,” the dwarf said grimly. “The imprudent stable boy must be chastised!”

“Oh, spare him!” Jeanne Marie implored. “Do not harm him, I beg of you! It is not his fault that I came! I—”

But at this point Simon Lafleur drowned her out in a roar of laughter.

“Ha, ha!” he roared, putting his hands on his hips. “You would chastise me, eh? Nom d’un chien! Don’t try your circus tricks on me! Why, hope-o’-my-thumb, you who ride on a dog’s back like a flea, out of this room before I squash you. Begone, melt, fade away!” He paused, expanded his barrel-like chest, puffed out his cheeks, and blew a great breath at the dwarf. “Blow away, insect,” he bellowed, “lest I put my heel on you!”

M. Jacques Corbe was unmoved by this torrent of abuse. He sat very upright on St. Eustache’s back, his tiny sword resting on his tiny shoulder.

“Are you done?” he said at last, when the bareback rider had run dry of invectives. “Very well, monsieur! Prepare to receive cavalry!” He paused for an instant, then added in a high clear voice: “Get him, St. Eustache!”

The dog crouched, and at almost the same moment, sprang at Simon Lafleur. The bareback rider had no time to avoid him and his tiny rider. Almost instantaneously the three of them had come to death grips. It was a gory business.

Simon Lafleur, strong man as he was, was bowled over by the dog’s unexpected leap. St. Eustache’s clashing jaws closed on his right arm and crushed it to the bone. A moment later the dwarf, still clinging to his dog’s back, thrust the point of his tiny sword into the body of the prostrate bareback rider.

Simon Lafleur struggled valiantly, but to no purpose. Now he felt the fetid breath of the dog fanning his neck, and the wasp-like sting of the dwarf’s blade, which this time found a mortal spot. A convulsive tremor shook him and he rolled over on his back. The circus Romeo was dead.

M. Jacques Corbe cleansed his sword on a kerchief of lace, dismounted, and approached Jeanne Marie. She was still crouching on the floor, her eyes closed, her head held tightly between both hands. The dwarf touched her imperiously on the broad shoulder which had so often carried him.

“Madame,” he said, “we now can return home. You must be more careful hereafter. Ma foi, it is an ungentlemanly business cutting the throats of stable boys!”

She rose to her feet, like a large trained animal at the word of command.

“Do you wish to be carried?” she said between livid lips.

“Ah, that is true, madame,” he murmured. “I was forgetting our little wager. Ah, yes! Well, you are to be congratulated, madame—you have covered nearly half the distance.”

”Nearly half the distance,” she repeated in a lifeless voice.

“Yes, madame,” M. Jacques Courbé continued. “I fancy that you will be quite a docile wife by the time you have done.” He paused, and then added reflectively: “It is truly remarkable how speedily one can ride the devil out of a woman—with spurs!”

* * * * * * *

Papa Copo had been spending a convivial evening at the Sign of the Wild Boar. As he stepped out into the street, he saw three familiar figures preceeding him—a tall woman, a tiny man, and a large dog with upstanding ears. The woman carried the man on her shoulder; the dog trotted at her heels.

The circus owner came to a halt and stared after them. His round eyes were full of childish astonishment.

“Can it be?” he murmured. “Yes, it is! Three old friends! And so Jeanne carries him! Ah, but she should not poke fun at M. Jacques Courbé! He is so sensitive; but, alas, they are the kind that are always henpecked!”

Watch or download the film

Freaks

Freaks [Wikipedia]

"Freaks" script

~ F R E A K S ~

The main title of the film is a paper sign, which is torn away by a circus sideshow barker.

BARKER:
We didn't lie to you, folks. We told you we had living, breathing, monstrosities. You'll laugh at them, shudder at them, and yet, but for the accident of birth, you might be even as they are.

The camera reveals an attentive group of patrons standing. On the wall is a sign: "Sword Swallower," and in the background we glimpse some indistinct figures seated, as if on display.

They did not ask to be brought into the world, but into the world they came. Their code is a law unto themselves. Offend one, and you offend them all. (He leads the crowd to a fenced pit, whose contents are hidden from the camera.) And now, folks, if you'll just step this way, you are about to witness the most amazing, the most astounding, living monstrosity of all time. (A woman screams.) Friends, she was once a beautiful woman. A royal prince shot himself for love of her. She was known as the peacock of the air...

Flashback to a beautiful woman performing on a trapeze. On the ground a pair of little people, male and female, dressed in formal attire, watch from behind a curtain. The female midget, Frieda, says something in German to her companion, Hans.

HANS:
She's the most beautiful big woman I have ever seen.

FRIEDA:
Why, Hans, how you talk! I should be jealous pretty soon.

HANS:
Ah, don't be silly.

FRIEDA:
Don't be silly? I think this woman's making eyes at my Hans. Of course, I ain't jealous.

HANS:
Oh, Frieda, my dear, I have eyes for only one woman--the woman I ask to be my wife.

A shot of the aerialist performing.
A shot of the strongman wrestling a bull.

A costumed performer holding a pony's reigns calls to Frieda. She walks over to him and they converse in German. The aerialist comes behind the curtain near Hans. She is twice as tall as Hans. She notices him eyeing her and pretends to accidentally drop her cape, which Hans retrieves. Frieda watches. When he lifts the cape for her, the aerialist turns her back to him, smiles, and waits for him to drape it on her shoulders.

HANS:
Are you laughing at me?

AERIALIST:
Why no, monsieur.

HANS:
Then I'm glad.

AERIALIST:
Why should I laugh at you?

HANS:
Most big people do. They don't realize I'm a man, with the same feelings they have.

The aerialist kneels to allow Hans to place the cloak on her shoulders. When he does, she grabs his hands and pulls him so his cheek is next to hers.

AERIALIST:
Thank you. You are so kind, monsieur.

Frieda watches with annoyance. The aerialist walks over to Frieda, who is sitting side-saddle on her pony, and touches her ruffled dress.

AERIALIST:
Nice, nice.

FRIEDA:
(waving her away) Don't, don't. (She motions her assistant to lead the pony away.)

AERIALIST:
(to Hans) You must come to see me sometime, and we'll have a little wine together. (She pinches his cheek. He thanks her. He is clearly smitten.)


SCENE: A WOODED ESTATE ON THE FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE

Two men are walking down a path. One, Jon, is employed by the other, Dubois, owner of the estate. We hear them speaking excitedly before we see them.

DUBOIS:
...only your imagination.

JON:
But Monsieur Dubois, at first, I could not believe my own eyes. A lot of horrible, twisted things crawling, whining, globbering.

DUBOIS:
Really, Jon, what were you drinking last night?

JON:
Nothing, monsieur, I assure you. (We see what appears to be a family group in the distance.) Oh, monsieur, there must be a law in France to smother such things at birth, or lock them up.

DUBOIS:
All right, Jon, if there's anything like you say on my grounds we'll have it removed.

They suddenly freeze and stare at what is ahead. A group of circus "freaks" are singing and dancing in a circle, while one lies on the ground playing a harmonica. There are four "pinheads," a "half-boy," a "human skeleton," a "human worm," and a dwarf. When they see the two men approach, they run to their mistress, a normal woman, for protection, as Jon yells at them.

JON:
Go away all of you! Don't you know tresspassing's the same as stealing.

THE WOMAN:
Oh, I'm sorry, monsieur. I am Madame Tetrallini. These are children of my circus.

JON:
Children! Monsters!

DUBOIS:
Oh, you're a circus. I understand.

MME. TETRALLINI:
So you see, monsieur, when I have a chance I like to take them into the sunshine and let them play like children. That is what most of them are--children.

DUBOIS:
Children...children. Please forget the mistake, madame. You are welcome to remain. Au revoir. Come, Jon.

MME. TETRALLINI:
Thanks a thousand, monsieur. (The freaks continue to huddle around her as the men leave.) Oh, shame, shame, shame. How many times have I told you not to be frightened. Have I not told you God looks after all his children?


SCENE: THE CIRCUS BACKLOT

Mme. Tetrallini returns with her charges. As she passes, some acrobats greet her with mock politeness.

FIRST ACROBAT:
(after she passes) There she goes taking them off to exercise. Nurse to a lot of mangy freaks.

The acrobats see the "half woman - half man" approaching from the other side. His/her gender separation is sharply drawn vertically down the center of his/her body.

SECOND ACROBAT:
(imitating the barker's pitch) Ah ha! Just as they are represented on the banners, you will meet them on the inside--living, breathing monstrosities: Josephine-Joseph, half woman, half man.

FIRST ACROBAT:
Have a cigar, Joseph?

SECOND ACROBAT:
You dropped your lipstick, Josephine.

FIRST ACROBAT:
Don't get her sore or he'll punch you in the nose.

Josephine-Joseph ignores them.
A woman is ushering some trained seals into their cage.

VOICE OFF CAMERA:
You're all wrong. I didn't d-d-do it.

STRONGMAN:
What are you trying to do, be funny?

The strongman and Roscoe, a female impersonator, enter. Roscoe is in drag.

ROSCOE:
(removing his wig) Ah, you just d-don't understand.

STRONGMAN:
A Roman lady getting off the bull and scratching yourself!

ROSCOE:
Well, c-can't a Roman lady itch?

STRONGMAN:
(helping Roscoe out of his dress) Why don't you take a bath.

ROSCOE:
I did, but it's the bull that needs the b-b-bath.

Josephine-Joseph walks by and "Josephine" turns and looks back at the strongman admiringly.

ROSCOE:
I think she likes you...but he d-don't.

Strongman laughs.


SCENE: AT THE CURTAIN

Having completed her act, Cleopatra, the aerialist, enters from the other side of the curtain, and walks to where Hans waits for her.

CLEOPATRA:
Oh Hans, those flowers you sent to me--they were beautiful!

HANS:
But none as beautiful as you.

CLEOPATRA:
Oh, thank you. (She kneels.) And Hans, I don't like to ask, but may I have the loan of another thousand franks until my money from Paris arrives?

HANS:
With pleasure, fraeulein.

CLEOPATRA:
Thank you. (She kisses him on the cheek.)

HANS:
I'll bring it to your wagon tonight.


SCENE: INSIDE A CIRCUS WAGON

The strongman stands by in his costume, shorts and a studded vest, while a pretty young woman angrily gathers her belongings.

STRONGMAN:
Oh forget it, forget it. Maybe I was just fooling.

GIRL:
Fooling? Fooling, huh? "Come little girl, I want to take care of you." Oh, and I fell for that!

STRONGMAN:
Ah forget it, forget it. (watching her) So you're quitting? Is that it?

GIRL:
Maybe I'm only fooling.

STRONGMAN:
Well you're not quitting me, 'cause I'm kicking you out!

GIRL:
Oh?

STRONGMAN:
Oh no you don't. (He grabs an atomizer from her hand.) I gave you this.

GIRL:
Why you cheap...! Oh! (She storms past him.)

STRONGMAN:
And don't you come around crying tonight, trying to get back in. I'm through wasting my time and money on dames like you.

GIRL:
(turning to face him from the doorway) Yeah, you're time, but my money! (She turns and leaves.)

STRONGMAN:
(to himself) Ungrateful little tramp. (He sprays his bare chest with perfume and smiles with self-approval.)

The girl, Venus, is an animal trainer. Carrying her belongings outside, she storms past a clown who is removing his makeup, stops and turns to face him.

VENUS:
Well, what are you staring at? (She walks back to him.) Didn't you ever see a lady move before? (He takes off his false nose.) I guess you been listening to every word he said. That's it. That's it, go ahead and laugh. It's funny ain't it. (He just stares at her.) Yeah. Women are funny, ain't they. (He removes his bald top.) They're all tramps, ain't they. Yeah. Except when you can get money from them.

The clown spreads cold cream on his face as Venus goes into her trailer. Suddenly, he turns and, grabbing a towel, runs to her trailer.

CLOWN:
Well, I'll be...Say, who do you think you are, shooting off your hat. (He goes inside. The walls of the wagon are decorated with trinkets and glamour photos.) Hey, this is Phroso--Phroso you're talking to! Not any of those lugs you been chasing around with. Now you listen to me--

VENUS:
Oh, I didn't mean you. I had to take it out on somebody.

PHROSO:
Yeah, you dames is all alike. You sharp shoot your cheeks, and how you squeal when you get what's coming to you. (She sits down and starts to cry.) Aw, easy. Take it easy. Cut it!

VENUS:
It's my own fault. What gets me so cockeyed sore at myself is that I fell for that big bunch of beef.

PHROSO:
So you finally got wise to yourself, did you? (He wipes his face and hands.) Funny thing about you women, most of you don't get wise soon enough. You wait until you're so old nobody wants you.

VENUS:
Nobody does most of the time.

PHROSO:
Yeah, you ought to be tickled to death you're washed up with him. You're not so hard to look at. Give yourself a couple. You'll make the grade. Your break is coming.

VENUS:
Coming! Gone, you mean.

PHROSO:
Oh, now your gonna sit there feeling sorry for yourself.

VENUS:
Oh, no I ain't. (She stands.) Don't you ever accuse me of that!

PHROSO:
All right! All right!...But one thing. Don't go around filling your hide with a lot of booze, celebrating, 'cause fun what's got that way never done no one no good. Get me?

VENUS:
I got you...Say you're a pretty good kid.

PHROSO:
You're darn right I am. You should've caught me before my operation.

He goes outside. A pair of female Siamese twins, who are joined at the hip, comes walking by. They say hello to Phroso.

PHROSO:
Well, well, well! Tomorrow night's the big night, hey ladies?

VIOLET:
Yes, my sister's getting married.

DAISY:
(sarcastically) And I'm thrilled to death.

VIOLET:
She thrills at anything.

PHROSO:
Oh, Roscoe's a good kid.

DAISY:
She's only joking. She'll like him lots after she knows him better.

PHROSO:
Oh, that reminds me. Close your eyes, Violet. Go ahead, close them. (She does, and he touches Daisy's shoulder.) What did I do?

VIOLET:
You pinched Daisy's arm.

Roscoe is nearby, watching.

PHROSO:
Well, what do you know about that!

ROSCOE:
Oh, D-Daisy.

VIOLET:
Her master's voice is calling. (They go over to Roscoe.)

ROSCOE:
(to Daisy) Getting fresh, ay? Well, I don't like it one b-b-b-

VIOLET:
Well, come on. Come on. You'll have to hurry. We haven't much time.

ROSCOE:
(to Daisy) So you were flirting with that cheap clown, were you?

DAISY:
No, I wasn't.

VIOLET:
All he was doing was a trick with me.

ROSCOE:
You shut up. I'm m-marrying your sister, n-not you. (to Daisy) I saw him getting familiar with you.

VIOLET:
Oh come on, Daisy.

ROSCOE:
Oh no you d-don't. She's gonna stay right here!

VIOLET:
No she isn't! I gotta go. (They leave.)

ROSCOE:
Oh, phooey! You're always using that for an excu- for an excu- for an ali-b-b-bi.


SCENE: EXTERIOR, LATER

Hercules, the strongman, walks across the circus backlot, singing. He is in his street clothes. He hears a tapping sound and turns to see. Cleopatra leans out of her trailer window.

CLEOPATRA:
(seductively) Where are you going? (He walks over to the window, smiling broadly.) Well, you don't look around me so much.

HERCULES:
Oh yes, I have seen you.

CLEOPATRA:
So that's how it is. You got to be coy. Well? (As he leans up to kiss her, she withdraws. He goes to the door.) Ah! Come on in. (She puts on a flowery robe over her black slip. Cleopatra's trailer is larger than the others. The woodwork is elaborately carved.) Help yourself to a drink.

HERCULES:
Ah! That is fine. (He pours a drink.)

CLEOPATRA:
Do you like eating something?

HERCULES:
Always. (He hands her a glass. They toast and drink.)

CLEOPATRA:
(holding up an egg) How many?

HERCULES:
Oh, I'm not very hungry--about six.

She cracks it and puts it into a pan. Then she faces him, and strikes a suggestive pose, as her robe falls open.

CLEOPATRA:
How do you like them?

HERCULES:
Not bad. (Suddenly, he grabs her roughly.)

CLEOPATRA:
(laughing) Oh, but you are strong! You're squeezing me to death.

HERCULES:
And you like it.

CLEOPATRA:
Oh! You're taking my breath away!

They kiss. Josephine-Joseph is watching at the doorway. When Cleopatra sees her/him, her smile drops immediately. Hercules shouts and runs out after her/him. Josephine-Joseph is leaning against the wagon. Josephine powders her nose.

HERCULES:
Now here's something for your eye! (He punches Joseph. Cleopatra laughs.)


SCENE: EXTERIOR

Hans and Frieda are sitting at a table alongside a trailer.

FRIEDA:
But Hans, mein liebling, you have not been listening to a word I have been saying. (She taps his arm.) Hans!

HANS:
Yes, Frieda.

FRIEDA:
You have not been listening to me.

HANS:
Yes I have, Frieda, I have.

FRIEDA:
Then what was I saying?

HANS:
You were saying-- You were saying-- What were you saying?

FRIEDA:
I was saying tonight you must not smoke such a big cigar. Your voice was very bad in tonight's show.

HANS:
Please, Frieda, don't tell me what to do! When I want a cigar, I smoke a cigar! I want no orders from a woman!

FRIEDA:
Ah, Hans, this is the first time since we have been engaged you have spoken to me so. Why is it?

HANS:
(touching her arm) Oh, Frijy, I'm sorry. I-- Ah, here's our coffee.

A fat woman, comes and places two cups before them. Her manner is as if she were serving two little children.
HANS:
Five lumps of sugar in each.


SCENE: IN CLEOPATRA'S WAGON

Cleo is in her robe, peeling a potato. Hercules, in street clothes, is eating an apple and looking over a basket of fruit.

HERCULES:
Say, the little imp spent some francs on this.

CLEO:
Yes, he did, very. We're doing very well. (He sits and eats an apple. She walks over to him.) But I don't like fruit.

HERCULES:
You should eat a lot. It's good for you.

CLEO:
Next time I tell him I like champagne. (A knock on the door.) Who is it?

HANS:
Hans.

CLEO:
(She smiles, motions to Hercules to be quiet, and goes to the window.) Who?

HANS:
Hans.

CLEO:
Oh, my darling, your basket of fruit was lovely. But I am--uh--(She winks at Hercules.) I'm taking a nap. Can't you come back later?

HANS:
Yes, fraeulein.

CLEO:
Oh, thank you, dear. (Cleo and Hercules laugh silently.) Shhh, you'll spoil everything if he hears you.

Hercules falls back on the bed, laughing. She kneels beside him and they embrace and kiss.


SCENE: EXTERIOR

Venus sits on the steps of a wagon, sewing. Frieda is hanging clothes on a clothesline.

VENUS:
What's the matter? You ain't singing as usual.

FRIEDA:
Oh, this morning I have such a big washing to do.

VENUS:
How's Hans? (No answer.) I said--uh--how's Hans?

FRIEDA:
Oh, Hans is fine. Thank you, he's fine.

VENUS:
Frieda, something's wrong. What is it?

FRIEDA:
Oh, nothing... (She walks over to Venus) ...only--well--that Cleopatra woman--my Hans--oh, I cannot tell you.

VENUS:
She's still after Hans, ain't she.

FRIEDA:
Yeah. Always she's smiling by him.

VENUS:
Yeah, well if she smiles by somebody I know, she'll have to buy herself a new set of teeth.

FRIEDA:
But why is it we women always have got to worry?

VENUS:
Oh, it's always been that way. I guess it always will be.

FRIEDA:
Yeah. And by me she has no shame. Always when I can hear it, she says to him, "Many thanks, my darling, for the flowers. Thanks, my darling, for this," and "Thanks, my darling, for that." Always something he is give her.

VENUS:
Oh, don't you worry, Frieda, he doesn't love her--that big horse.

FRIEDA:
Yes, but she keeps after him. That's why I worry. (She goes back to her wash.)


SCENE: UNDER THE TENT

Hans stands gazing admiringly at Cleopatra, who sits in the bleachers. Hercules and the two acrobats are playing cards. They are intent on goading Hans.

ACROBAT:
(to Hercules) Why not pink tights, you know, with spangles all around. It'll show her figure off more.

HERCULES:
No. Nein. No tights, without tights. You know that stuff--they're flimsy--what you call that stuff? We'll see her through it.

ACROBAT:
Why not like Lady Godiva?

HERCULES:
Yeah, that's it, we'll have her ride the feathered white horse. (They laugh.)

HANS:
(losing control) What have you in your sawdust heads! (Cleopatra suddenly moans. Hans rushes over.) What's the matter! What's the matter!

CLEOPATRA:
Oh, I think I sprained my shoulder last night. Give a rub, will you? (She pushes her blouse off her shoulder and Hans rubs her back. She and the men smirk at each other.) Further, further, down, down, over, over. Oh, it's so good to be rubbed.

THE MEN:
(extending cards, in unison) Our card, lady.

CLEOPATRA:
What for?

THE MEN:
A fellow rubber from Berlin.

Hans angrily shouts at them in German. They laugh.


SCENE: EXTERIOR

PHROSO:
(about to get into costume) That reminds me, I had a swell dream about you last night.

VENUS:
(interested) Oh, you did?

PHROSO:
Yeah. You were standing in a bathing suit on a rock, you know, like a statue, and the wind was blowing through your hair, and the waves were washing around you, and your figure--how it stood out. It looked great. Say, you have got a good figure.

VENUS:
Oh, do you think so?

PHROSO:
Sure...

JOHNNY:
(From off camera) Hey Phroso! (Johnny is the half-boy. He is a handsome, charming young man who has no body below his waist. He enters walking with his arms.) Did you try that gag I told you about?

PHROSO:
Yeah, I did, and it was a wow. Get up here, Johnny and I'll show it to you. (Johnny climbs the trailer steps as Phroso goes off camera.) I did everything you told me and it laid 'em right in the sawdust. Watch this. Venus, watch this.

JOHNNY:
Hello, Venus.

VENUS:
Hello, Johnny. Say, Phroso, what else did you dream?

PHROSO:
Then the dream changed and we was in Paris.

VENUS:
Paris!

PHROSO:
Yeah, at the opera, right in the front box. We were all dressed up.

VENUS:
Oh gee, what'd I have on?

PHROSO:
And did I look swell. Everybody was pointing at me. They were saying, "That's Phroso, the clown." And was I embarrassed. (Phroso is now in an oversized clown tuxedo.)

VENUS:
Well, did they say anything about me?

PHROSO:
(coming back out) Sure, sure.

VENUS:
What'd they say?

PHROSO:
Hit me. (He hands her an oversized mallet.) Go ahead, hit me. (Venus' smile has dropped.) On the head. (She takes the mallet and hits him over the head. His head disappears into his collar. He flails about, shrieking. Then his head pops out again.) Oh, that's how it is. You don't think it's funny? It's sad, is it? Well, it was just panicking 'em--that's how sad it is.

OFF CAMERA:
Phroso! Phroso! (One of the pinheads runs up to Phroso and whispers in his ear.)

PHROSO:
No! When? (He and the pinhead run off. He calls back to Johnny and Venus.) Come on! Come on, Venus, the bearded lady's baby's born!

Inside a wagon several freaks are gathered around the bearded lady, who lies in bed. Johnny comes in and balances himself on one hand on the bedpost. An armless girl lifts the cover with her foot to show the baby.

PHROSO:
Oh, ain't it beautiful! What is it?

ARMLESS GIRL:
A girl.

PHROSO:
Oh boy, that's great--and it's gonna have a beard.


SCENE: EXTERIOR

The human skeleton (an impossibly skinny man) brings a box of cigars over to the men playing cards.

ACROBAT:
Ah, how's the proud father?

SKELETON:
Fine.

ACROBAT:
What was it?

SKELETON:
Girl.

ACROBAT:
Better luck next time. You might get a couple of Smith Brothers.

SKELETON:
I'm trying. (Laughter. The skeleton walks over to a couple of dwarfs sitting nearby.)


SCENE: INTERIOR

The Siamese twins are making their bed.
DAISY:
Please, Violet, please don't quarrel with him any more.

VIOLET:
Oh well, if he's going to say anything, let him say it. Don't let him "p-p-p" for an hour. (Roscoe enters, hearing the last remark.)

ROSCOE:
Say, you're going to do as I say. I'm the b-b-boss of my home.

VIOLET:
Half of it, you mean.

DAISY:
Please, please, Violet.

ROSCOE:
(putting on a tie) Listen here, I d-don't want those tramps you g-go with hanging around my wife.

VIOLET:
Oh, be quiet! Hook up our dress.

ROSCOE:
(as he does so) Oh, your d-dress. I'll hook it up and something else. And another thing, you gotta cut out getting d-drunk every night, too.

VIOLET:
Is that so?

ROSCOE:
Yeah. I'm not gonna have my wife laying in b-bed half a day with your hangover.

VIOLET:
Come on, Daisy, let's get out of here.

ROSCOE:
Oh no she d-don't. She's gonna stay right here.

VIOLET:
Come on, I gotta go. (They exit.)

ROSCOE:
Ah, phooey! You're always using that for an excu- excu- for an alib-b-bi.


SCENE: INTERIOR

A dwarf is humming as he pours two drinks. His name is Angelino. The armless girl, Frances, sits nearby.

FRANCES:
Cleopatra ain't one of us. Why, we're just filthy things to her. She'd spit on Hans if he wasn't giving her presents.

ANGELINO:
Let her try it. Let her try doing anything to one of us.

FRANCES:
You're right. She don't know us. But she'll find out.

ANGELINO:
There you are. (He places a drink between her toes. He toasts and they drink.)

[The midgets, Frieda and Hans, are proportionally small, including their heads and faces, so they resemble children. Only the age lines in their faces, seen close up, reveal their age. The dwarfs, on the other hand, have almost normal sized heads and bodies, with very short limbs.]


SCENE: EXTERIOR

The "human worm" lies on a ledge as Rollo, the acrobat, brags about his act. The human worm (a.k.a. the "living torso") is a black man with no arms or legs. He is bald and wears loop earrings. While Rollo talks, the worm opens a matchbox, takes out a match, lights it, lights a cigarette and smokes--all done by manipulation with his lips and teeth.

ROLLO:
I kinda peeked out the corner of my eye and caught Mme. Tetrallini giving us the once over. I guess she knows she's got a good act--one of the best in the business. It isn't only our act that gets them. We've got personality. We know how to sell the stuff. Same way in the last town. Never heard such applause in your life. Let me tell you something that everybody around here don't know. We're only killing time with this circus. We've got bigger time to follow. And we can do it too. Well, catch our act tomorrow night. We've got something new.

WORM:
(calling after him as Rollo leaves) Anything I can do in the act, bro?


SCENE: EXTERIOR

Phroso is washing up as a pinhead approaches and taps him.

PHROSO:
Oh, Schlitzey, what a pretty dress. Oh, how beautiful you look tonight. (Venus, in a spangled costume, watches from the sidelines.) You're just a man's woman. You know what I mean? Huh? You. (Schlitzey is delighted.) If you're a good girl, when I get to Paris I'm gonna buy you a big hat, with a long beautiful feather on it. (Two more pinheads enter, arm-in-arm, and greet Phroso.) Oh, hello, Elvira. Hello, Jenny-Lee. Hasn't Schlitzey got a beautiful dress? Isn't that pretty?

[The pinheads are small women with heads that come to a point at the top. They are bald except for a tuft of hair at the top with a bow on it. Their faces are comically homely, and they are mentally retarded. They are cheerful, affectionate creatures.]

(to Jenny-Lee) When I get to Paris I'm gonna buy her a big hat with a long feather on it. And if you're a good girl, when I get to Paris I'm gonna buy you a hat with a bigger feather on it. (Schlitzey says something unintelligible, as if scolding Phroso.) Why, Schlitzey, what's the matter? (She comes over and slaps him playfully on the chest.) Oh, I'm sorry, Schlitzey. (She finishes scolding him and leaves. Venus climbs the steps to her trailer.)


SCENE: EXTERIOR

Frances, the armless girl, and Molina, a pinhead, are seated at a table, eating. Molina is older than the other pinheads. She also differs from them in that she has hair on her head, a long nose, a somewhat higher I.Q., and a sober demeanor.

MOLINA:
Did you see him? He's out there again tonight.

FRANCES:
He followed you from the last town.

MOLINA:
I know it, and if Eddie sees us there'll be a fight.

FRANCES:
Why? It's not your fault.

Rollo enters.

ROLLO:
Ah, there you are, Frances. Thought you'd gone to bed.

FRANCES:
Hello, Rollo.

ROLLO:
Well, hear that crowd out there again tonight? I bet you thought the tent was on fire, huh? Well, it wasn't. Just the Rollo Brothers panicking 'em again. (While Rollo talks, Frances feeds herself and drinks with her foot.) But then we do it in every town. We're so used to it, it's getting monotonous. Hey, come on and take a look at our act tomorrow night.


SCENE: INTERIOR

Fade from Frances' drink to close up of a drink being mixed. Camera pans to reveal first Cleopatra, half-reclining in bed, then Hans, who is serving them both.

CLEO:
Careful! Careful! Don't waste any of it. (as she brings it to her lips) Look how it sparkles.

HANS:
Like your eyes, dancing, gay, with bubbles.

CLEO:
Oh, it's delicious. Mmmm. Nice, nice.

HANS:
It comes by the finest vineyards of France.

CLEO:
Have you sent for it specially for me?

HANS:
(toasting) For the most beautiful woman in all the world.

CLEO:
Darling! (They drink.)


SCENE: EXTERIOR

Phroso is sitting in a bathtub, apparently naked, rubbing himself with a cloth. Venus comes out of her trailer and walks over to him. She is dressed to go out.

PHROSO:
Hello there, baby. Hey, where you been so long?

VENUS:
You're a funny guy, Phroso. (She walks up to the tub.) Sometimes you panic me.

PHROSO:
Don't I know it. I panic the world, because I use my noodle. (Venus leans on the tub.) I think up funny gags. I make the world laugh. With me, clowning is an art. (She is peering closely into the tub.) Hey, why the hat? The head cold?

VENUS:
Thought you and me had a date to go out.

PHROSO:
Oh! I forgot all about it. Well, I'm into this now. I gotta go through with it. (He appears to be vigorously scrubbing his legs.)

VENUS:
Well, make it snappy, will ya. I'm all dolled up for the occasion.

PHROSO:
Sorry, kid, can't do it now. (Suddenly he dips forward out of sight and slips out from the tub's false bottom. He stands. He is wearing pants.) We'll make it some other time, huh? (She sulks.) Aw, don't feel that way about it. I just got this idea all of a sudden and I gotta finish it. Funny gag, isn't it? (He is attaching a wire-spoked wheel to the base of the tub.)

VENUS:
Yeah. I'm laughing myself sick.

PHROSO:
Aw, say, come on. (He gets up and goes to her.) Honey. Hey. Come on, come on, come on. Now, now, now, now. (She smiles.) That's much better. (He kisses her.)

VENUS:
That's the first time you ever done that!

PHROSO:
Ain't the first time I felt like doing it.

VENUS:
Yeah?

PHROSO:
Oh, Venus. (They embrace and kiss again.) I don't mind telling you I wanted to do this for a long time.

VENUS:
(whispering in his ear) So've I, Phroso.

PHROSO:
Well, we're all set now, hey Venus?

VENUS:
(softly) Yeah.

PHROSO:
(bursting) We're all set now!


SCENE: EXTERIOR

A handsome suitor holds Violet's hand as they sit together, while Daisy reads a book.

VADJEZ:
Please. Please do. Don't you want to make me happy?

VIOLET:
Yes...but I don't know what to say.

VADJEZ:
Just say yes, dear. Will you?

VIOLET:
Yes.

VADJEZ:
Oh, Violet. (They embrace and kiss. Daisy lifts her head and smiles in ecstasy.)


SCENE: EXTERIOR

PHROSO:
(still working on his tub) What are you kicking about? You got a good wife. You're happy.

ROSCOE:
Oh, that sister-in-law of mine--she wants to sit up half the n-night r-reading.

PHROSO:
Gee, that's tough.

ROSCOE:
Tough! You b-b- (He suddenly stops and stares. He pokes Phroso, who turns and looks. Cleopatra and Hans are saying goodnight. Hans kisses her hand, then descends the wagon steps and walks away.)

ROSCOE:
Cleo's gone on a d-d-diet! (Phroso laughs loudly.)


SCENE: EXTERIOR

VADJEZ:
It's awfully sweet of you to say that.

DAISY:
(shaking his hand) And I know Violet will be happy. Oh, here's Roscoe. (He enters.) This is Mr. Vadjez.

ROSCOE:
Glad to meetcha. (They shake hands.)

DAISY:
Violet and he are engaged to be married.

ROSCOE:
Oh, yeah?

VADJEZ:
Yes, and you must come to see us sometime.

ROSCOE:
Thanks. You must come to v-v-v- come to see us sometime, too.

VADJEZ:
I certainly will. Thanks.


SCENE: EXTERIOR

Frieda approaches Hans' wagon hesitantly. She knocks, then backs away.

HANS:
Who is it?

FRIEDA:
It's Frieda, Hans. (He opens the door.) May I come in?

HANS:
Yes, Frieda. (She enters and sits.)

FRIEDA:
Now that I'm here, I don't know how to say it--how to make you understand. (on the verge of tears) If you knew how I feel, Hans, to come to you about her.

HANS:
Oh, Frieda, I'm so sorry. I don't want to hurt you.

FRIEDA:
If you could be happy, Hans, I would not care.

HANS:
But I am happy, Frieda. Never in my life was I so happy.

FRIEDA:
No, Hans. You think it only. For you she cannot bring happiness.

HANS:
Ah, Frieda, you don't know! (He walks away.)

FRIEDA:
But I do, Hans.

HANS:
You think because she's so beautiful and I'm just a mi-

FRIEDA:
(cutting him off) Don't, Hans! To me you're a man. But to her you're only something to laugh at. The whole circus, they make fun by you and her.

HANS:
Let them laugh, the swine! I love her. They can't hurt me.

FRIEDA:
But they hurt me.

HANS:
Frieda, I have been a coward. I should have come to you in the beginning. Please forgive me?

FRIEDA:
Yes, Hans, I forgive you. It is only that you should be happy I want. (She turns to go.)

HANS:
Frieda, you won't worry now, will you?

FRIEDA:
(without looking back) No, I won't worry. (She exits.)


SCENE: INTERIOR

Close up of a necklace, as Cleo hands it to Hercules

CLEO:
Nice, very nice, hmm?

HERCULES:
It's platinum! Hey, where do you think the little pollywog is getting his money? (They laugh.)

CLEO:
Being so particular! (He hands her a drink as she sits on the bed.) What do you care where the money comes from. (She drinks.) How much is it worth?

HERCULES:
We got five hundred for the bracelet--but this looks like thousands!

CLEO:
I think next time I'll take a fur coat.

HERCULES:
Say, that little ape's got ideas about you.

CLEO:
Jealous?

HERCULES:
Me? I'll squash him like a bug. (A knock at the door turns their heads.)

CLEO:
That's his knock. I'll get rid of him. Go, quickly! (He goes into the next room, taking the liquor with him.) Come in. (Frieda enters.) What do you want?

FRIEDA:
(She slowly walks over to Cleo.) Its about Hans.

CLEO:
Well? I'm listening.

FRIEDA:
It's behind his back, everybody's laughing, because he's in love with you.

CLEO:
Go on.

FRIEDA:
I know you just make fun. But Hans, he does not know this. If he finds out, never again will he be happy.

CLEO:
What makes you think that I'm just making fun?

FRIEDA:
Your face--so beautiful--

CLEO:
--and Hans is so little, so cute, eh? Well, maybe I'm going to marry him!

FRIEDA:
If you marry, it will be at you they laugh and stare!

CLEO:
Of course. Nothing like being different. Cleopatra, queen of the air, married to a dwarf! (laughs)

FRIEDA:
A dwarf!

CLEO:
A dwarf.

FRIEDA:
Then it's not for Hans you care! It's the money!

CLEO:
Money. You...little mind reader.

FRIEDA:
Ah, he has told you of the fortune he has inherited. (Cleo's eyes light up.) Always he warned me to tell no one until after we leave the circus.

CLEO:
A fortune...and fancy you knowing about it too. Well, I can't be angry at him for that.

FRIEDA:
No! No! You cannot do this!

CLEO:
No? Hmm, you wait and see.

FRIEDA:
Please, you can't. (Hopeless, she exits. Cleo jumps up as Hercules reenters.)

HERCULES:
A fortune! I bet the little lame's worth billions!

CLEO:
A fortune! Can you beat that! A fortune! And I have him like that. (snaps her fingers)

HERCULES:
A fool he ain't. He knew enough to keep his mouth shut.

CLEO:
I could marry him. Yes! He would marry me. (Hercules laughs. Camera pans in on Cleo, who has become deadly serious.) Midgets...are not strong...They could get sick.

HERCULES:
(quietly) How?

CLEO:
It could be done...slowly.


SCENE: IN THE BIG TENT

Caption on screen: "The Wedding Feast."

All the freaks are seated about a huge table set up under the big top. Koo Koo, a pinhead, is dancing on the table to a harmonica played by the human skeleton. She wears tights and a feathered jacket, a big feather atop her head, and large round eyeglasses. She shimmies as the crowd laughs and drinks, including Cleo and Hercules, who are seated next to each other. Cleo's hand reaches under the table and pours something from a vile into a bottle of wine. She then lifts the bottle and pours a drink for Hans, who sits on her left, wearing a tuxedo.

CLEO:
(exuberantly) Oh, come on, my little precious, let's drink. Be happy! Drink! (As they toast and drink, Roscoe taps the table with a wooden spoon to gain attention.)

ROSCOE:
Hey, K-Koo Koo, give somebody else a chance! (Everyone laughs.) All right, professor.

PROFESSOR:
A waltz, please. (He inserts the entire length of a sword's blade down his throat. Madame Tetrallini and Schlitzey laugh and applaud. Frieda, sitting next to them, is somber.)

ANGELINO:
Show him up, Volcano! (The fire-eater places a flaming torch in his mouth. Elvira and Jenny-Lee laugh with glee and clap.)

CLEO:
Our wedding night! (laughs) What a thrill!

HANS:
(slightly tipsy) Never before did I think I should be so lucky.

CLEO:
Lucky! (laughs) I'm the lucky one, my little Hans.

HANS:
My Cleo's happy...happy.

CLEO:
Happy? (She laughs, as Frieda watches sadly.) I'm so happy I even could kiss you, (to Hercules) you big homely brute! (Cleo and Hercules kiss passionately. Hans' face drops. Mme. Tetrallini tries to comfort Frieda.) Ah, my little green-eyed monster. (to Hans, laughing) My husband is jealous! (Frieda is crying.) He loves me! (Frieda gets up and leaves. Mme. Tetrallini looks on the scene disdainfully, then hurls an epithet at Cleo and runs after Frieda.)

CLEO:
Come, my little lover. Drink to the happiness of your loving wife. (Schlitzey laughs.)

ANGELINO:
Attention! Attention! We'll make her one of us. A loving cup! A loving cup!

Josephine-Joseph, Frances, Johnny, Koo Koo, and the others pound the table and chant, as Angelino stands on the table top and pours from a bottle into the loving cup.

ALL FREAKS:
(chanting) We accept her--one of us--gooble, gobble--we accept her--one of us--gooble, gobble...

HERCULES:
They're going to make you one of them, my peacock! (He laughs. But Cleo stops laughing and stiffly rises from her chair. Angelino is walking back and forth across the tabletop giving the others sips from the loving cup. He trots over to Cleo, drinks from the cup himself, then offers it to her. She takes it in her hand.)

CLEO:
(shouting) YOU!...DIRTY!...SLIMY!...FREAKS! (There is silence.) FREAKS!...FREAKS!...GET OUT OF HERE! (She throws the drink at them.)

HERCULES:
Get out! You heard her! Get out! (laughs. They all slowly leave.)

CLEO:
You filth! Make me one of you, will you! (to Hans:) Well, what are you going to do? What are you a man or a baby!

HANS:
Please! Please! You make me ashamed.

CLEO:
Ashamed! You! Holy Christmas! (She sits next to him.) What must I do? Must I play games with you? Must Mamma take you horsey-back ride?

HERCULES:
Ha, ha, that's it! Horsey-back ride! (Laughing, he gets up, goes over and picks up Hans.) Come, come, my little fly speck. Momma is going to take you horsey-back ride. (Cleo laughs as Hercules places Hans on her shoulders. She gets up and dances around the table in her silken white wedding gown, bouncing Hans on her shoulders.) Geddy-up! Geddy-up! (Hercules grabs a trumpet from one of the departing freaks and runs after her, tooting it. Hans covers his face in shame.)


SCENE: INTERIOR

Cleo sits on the bed. Hans stands, his hand to his forehead. Hercules hovers over Hans in dark sillouette.

HERCULES:
Ah forget it, Hans. She is sorry. I am sorry. Didn't I told you she was drunk? Didn't I told you we was only having a little fun?

HANS:
Please. I- I understand...everything. (He wipes his face with a handkerchief.)

HERCULES:
No, you don't. I tell you, there's nothing between me and Cleo.

CLEO:
Oh, be quiet! Haven't you done enough damage for one night! Don't you realize what I'm being accused of?

HERCULES:
I ain't going to be blamed for something I have not done.

HANS:
I don't blame you, Cleo. I don't blame Hercules. (Angelino appears at the window.) Only me, myself.

HERCULES:
Now you're talking like a man. Ha, ha. (He slaps Hans on the back, causing him to fall against Cleo's lap.)

CLEO:
(to Hercules) You fool! (Hercules takes a drink.)

HANS:
Always I should have known you would only laugh at me. (He wipes his face.)

CLEO:
My sweet, I'd rather fall from the trapeze and break my neck, than hurt your feelings. Do you understand now? It was only a joke.

HANS:
Our wedding--a joke? Now I know how funny it is. Hans, the midget. (laughs) I'm the fool! Everywhere they're laughing. Laughing! Laughing! Laughing! Oh! (He puts his hand to his head and faints to the floor.)

HERCULES:
You give him too much.

CLEO:
No, I haven't. I know what I am doing. (She stands.) Come on. Pick him up. (Hercules puts down his drink, lifts Hans and hands him to Cleo, who carries him out and across to her trailer. The human worm watches from behind a wagon wheel.)


SCENE: HANS' WAGON

Outside, various circus people watch and wait. Inside, Cleo and the doctor are seated at the foot of the bed where Hans lies. Mme. Tetrallini watches from the inner doorway.

MME. TETRALLINI:
Doctor, what is it? What caused it? (Others are seen peering from beyond the front door.)

DOCTOR:
Poison. (Mme. Tetrallini and Cleo exchange hostile looks.) A bad case of ptomaine poisoning. (Mme. Tetrallini continues to look at Cleo with suspicion.)

CLEO:
Doctor, did I do wrong then, giving him mustard water?

DOCTOR:
No. Probably it saved his life. (Angelino is seen at the window.)

Outside, Frieda sits at her trailer door, with Venus standing beside her.

FRIEDA:
Never before did he drink like that. But she kept making him and making him.

VENUS:
(sarcastically) Drink, huh?

Hercules stands with his leg up on a wagon step. He looks worried. He steps away and disappears behind the wagon. Across the way a group of freaks sits quietly watching. Venus approaches Hercules behind the wagon.

VENUS:
You better get Cleo to tell the doctor what she put in that wine last night.

HERCULES:
What you talking about, eh?

VENUS:
The stuff she put in the wine!

HERCULES:
You're crazy.

VENUS:
Yeah? Well, you can't get away with it. I'll tell the coppers.

HERCULES:
So, hey, tell on your own people?

VENUS:
My people are decent circus folks. Not dirty rats what would kill a freak to get his money.

HERCULES:
Dirty little...(He grabs her as she turns to leave, but he sees the freaks watching and lets her go.) Ah, your imagination's getting the best of you.

VENUS:
Yeah? Maybe it is. But coppers don't have imagination, so I've been told. Don't make me have to go to 'em. (She leaves.)


SCENE: EVENING

Several freaks are standing watch. Hercules comes out of his wagon, in costume. Roscoe is standing there, in women's dress, holding his wig in his hands. They do not speak. After an awkward moment, Roscoe leaves. Beneath a wagon the human worm edges across the ground. Other freaks huddle under a wagon. Hercules laces his boot.

Inside Hans' wagon, Cleo, in her trapeze outfit, is putting away a glass. Hans is in bed.

HANS:
Cleo.

CLEO:
Yes?

HANS:
It has been the fifth night we have been married--a week since I have said all those things to you.

CLEO:
(going over to him) Don't, don't.

HANS:
Never can I forgive myself for what I've said.

CLEO:
(stroking his head) I've forgotten. Nothing matters, except for you to be well.

HANS:
(patting her hand) How good you are by me, Cleo. (Angelino watches at the window.)

CLEO:
I must fix your medicine, or I'll be late.

She goes into the other room and prepares his medicine. From the window, Angelino watches her add something to it from a little bottle. She returns to Hans and feeds him a spoonful, which he passively accepts. When she leaves the room, Hans eyes open and he leans forward and spits the medicine into a handkerchief. She puts the medicine away and returns.

CLEO:
I'll be soon back, my little. Don't be lonely.

HANS:
I'll never forget what you are doing for me, Cleo.

CLEO:
But it's what I want to do, my darling. Now, now I must hurry.

HANS:
Cleo.

CLEO:
Yes?

HANS:
(very weakly) Will you leave the door open, please?

CLEO:
Yes, my darling.

As she walks across the court to her wagon, Johnny crosses her path walking with his arms. Under the steps she is about to climb she sees other freaks lurking. She quickly goes in. Angelino slips into Hans' wagon and walks over to him.

HANS:
Tonight.

ANGELINO:
They will be ready.

HANS:
All right. You come to my wagon. (Angelino nods and leaves. Hans lies back and grins, mockingly.) I must hurry now and fix your medicine, my darling, or I will be late...(His smile drops.)...dirty...slimy...freaks.


SCENE: NIGHT

Thunder.

Beneath the line of wagons Johnny propels himself swiftly across the ground on his arms.

Lightning.

Beyond him we see the legs of men busy with preparations to set the circus to traveling again.

Johnny comes to the underside of a wagon where a group of freaks waits.

JOHNNY:
He's waiting.

ANGELENO:
Fine...fine.

Fade to a shot of wagons being pulled by horses through a violent storm. Inside one of the wagons Josephine-Joseph turns from the window to face the others.

JOSEPHINE-JOSEPH:
Soon we go. (She turns back to the window.)

In his wagon, Hercules puts on a hat, blows out his lantern, and then leaps from the moving vehicle.

Thunder.

In another wagon, Frieda and Phroso sit talking.

PHROSO:
Ah, you're imagining things.

FRIEDA:
No. Then I hear Hercules tell Cleo, "Venus knows too much."

PHROSO:
Hercules? Venus?

FRIEDA:
Yes.

PHROSO:
Oh, ho! Thanks, Frieda. (He puts on his hat and leaves.)

In Hans' room Johnny and a couple of dwarfs are gathered about his bed, as one of them plays an eerie melody on the flute. Outside, the storm rages. Cleo enters from the galley.

CLEO:
My little, you must go to sleep. Your friends better go now.

HANS:
I like them here.

CLEO:
No, no, no, Hans. They can come back tomorrow. I will give you your medicine and get you off to sleep. Go, go on, all of you, quick, quick. (As she goes to get his medicine, Hans abruptly swings his feet around and sits up. She returns with the spoonful of medicine and stops short.) What's this?

HANS:
Give me the little black bottle.

Lightning flashes.

She backs away. One of the dwarfs casually pulls out a switchblade and polishes it. Johnny takes a gun from his pocket and wipes it with his handkerchief. Cleo drops the spoon.

HANS:
(extending his hand) The bottle. (She pulls it out of her pocket and gives it to him.) You got this full of poison--to kill.

In the rain a figure climbs onto the rear of a moving wagon. Inside, Venus turns to see Hercules breaking in. She backs away, grabbing a crowbar for defense. As Hercules crawls in, Phroso leaps onto the wagon and jumps him from behind. They roll into the wagon and struggle, as the wagon rocks wildly from the bumpy ride.

VENUS:
Phroso!

PHROSO:
Get out, Venus!

Another wagon hits a rut and tips into a ditch. A scream. Cleo climbs from the tilted wagon and runs screaming into the woods. Little figures scramble out and run after her.

In the other wagon Phroso again cries out to Venus to get out. She calls for help at the window. Hercules and Phroso struggle wildly. Outside, Mme. Tetrallini runs about, shouting frantically. Hercules grabs Venus. Phroso jumps on him and they fall out of the wagon. In the mud below, Hercules is on top of Phroso, choking him. Suddenly a thrown knife strikes Hercules. Phroso gets away. Writhing in pain, Hercules looks up to see freaks crawling and slithering towards him from every direction in the pouring rain, with knives in their hands and in their teeth.

In the woods, Cleo is running and screaming, pursued by her revengers. Her scream fades, as the early scene of the sideshow barker standing over the enclosed pit, surrounded by circus patrons, reappears.

BARKER:
How she got that way will never be known. Some say a jealous lover. Others, that it was the code of the freaks. Others, the storm. Believe it or not, there she is.

In the pit is a creature with no human body beneath her head. A feathered, bird-like belly bulges from her frilly circus jacket. She support herself on shaky arms, as Johnny did with more grace, and her face is scarred, deformed, and has a dead expression. From her mouth comes a wild squawking sound, in keeping with her chicken-like appearance.


SCENE: INTERIOR OF A MANSION LIBRARY

Hans paces the floor. A butler enters.

BUTLER:
But, sir, they insist on seeing you.

HANS:
You know how I feel. I'm seeing no one. Have I not told you, Fritz? Send them away.

BUTLER:
Very good, sir. (He turns to exit as Phroso forces his way in.)

HANS:
I can see no one.

BUTLER
Excuse me, sir, you can't come in.

PHROSO:
Can't I?

BUTLER
No, sir, I have my orders.

PHROSO:
Well, I'm in ain't I? (to Hans) Oh, yes you can, Hansy old boy. There's someone you just gotta see. (He enters, followed by Venus and Frieda.)

HANS:
(to Frieda) Why did you come here?

FRIEDA:
Please, Hans, don't be angry. Venus and Phroso have been so kind by me.

HANS:
Please, go away...I can't see no one. (He turns away.)

FRIEDA:
But Hans, you tried to stop them. It was only the poison you wanted. It wasn't your fault. (She approaches him. Venus pokes Phroso and they smile and leave.) Don't...don't worry, Hans. Come to me, my lieber. Don't cry. (She sits and strokes his head as he sinks into her lap.) Don't, Hans. Don't cry. I love you. I love you.