Brownie Carnie Town - A Short Story by Kaitlyn Smith

This is a short story that focuses on the abuses of Brown folks demeaned to a mere carnival trick. It features the rantings of a racist, Southerner set in the 1940s when white people were 'discovering' cultures, contrasted with the modern, Brown culture stereotypes.

“Pick a side, any side!”

“Come one and Come all…”

“Step right up to watch the freak show!”

“Popcorn, get your popcorn here!”

“Miss?”

The hazy world of sunspots and monotonous voices are lost in a whirl of colour forming into cards. Attached to them is the smooth brown hand of the magician in front of me. He has a thin face and a full beard with a curled moustache. His eyes are big and brown like the eyes of a dairy cow or a kangaroo; a crooked nose hangs from his face. On top of silk-slicked hair is an old, purple turban wrapped tightly, overcoming its weather, in a clean swoop. A gold tassel dangles from a piece of red court, and I can smell the faint scent of patchouli rising from his skin, covering him in a mysterious aura. It heats my face and ears.

Upon his shoulders, a monkey skitters strangely across. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth: hypnotizing. It stops on the man’s right shoulder, still and statuesque, hardening into a great mass at his neck. It twitches faintly as if taking its last, labored breaths. The magician shows no sign he knows the creature is there, or care that my gaze disturbs him.

My date nudges me. “Yo, pick a card.” He’s been impatient all night. I look back at the man and find that the lump is gone. “Pick a card,” the magician says again. I narrow my eyes looking for the meaning of this trick.

I slide my hand among the cards, worn and tattered in some areas, but otherwise clean and smooth to touch. I pick one, and the magician folds the deck back into a block pile with a swift flick of his wrist. He leans back, and places his boney index fingers against the dents in his temples. The magician begins to moan, screwing his nails into his forehead, deepening the corners of his face. For a moment he looks like Frankenstein’s monster.

In a fright, the magician mumbles and circles his torso in an epileptic conniption. His forehead grows smaller, as the hump on his shoulder, where the monkey had been, slowly reanimates.

 “Don’t show me,” he whispers into my face. His nose almost touches mine before I can gasp at the appearance of the creature on his back. His voice is raspy, rich and quiet, echoing in the back of my mind; I become deeply paranoid.  It’s mine! I think. He can never have it!

My date gets jumpy and starts to tug on my sleeve, but my eyes are interlocked with the magic man before me. His brown skin and brown eyes all seem to blend together. But, the longer I stare a grey haze spots my view. Streaks of black lightning flash across my line of sight, and then everything goes black.

I blink and find my body evades me. Detached, my hands won’t move; numb, my tongue won’t speak. I work out a line of gibberish until I hear someone ask for assistance. The darkness lifts and there’s a man yelling at me to get off the ride. When had I got on one?  Immobile, my body constricts, my breathing restricts in reaction to this chaotic motion of events I cannot control.

Then, I hear a gentle, crooning voice dissolve smoothly into my body and my muscles relax, my nerves stop screaming, the pain subsides from my lungs and I start to breathe again.

I turn to the voice to see a familiar face. It is the brown man. His clear, brown eyes betray the differences this face holds to the one I almost remember. Above a short and scruffy beard hangs a nose with a slight crook, and a mysterious mass grows out of the side of his neck.

He helps me down from the ride and I step back slightly in astonishment. The lump moved!

I shake my head to clear my mind of tricks; an uneasy sense of déjà vu washes over me. But. There! The hump that connects his shoulder to his neck. It twitched.

My enlightenment is too much to bear; I lose a grip on my surroundings. “Where am I,” I ask as my legs begin to buckle.

The brown man gives no answer, but looks with a solemn, sadness. His eyes are stiff with a silent scratching, like an animal stuffed against its choice.

He waves his hand in front of my face as I feel my body fall. His arms hold me like a feather.

“Ace of spaces.” I black out.

“Ace of Spades”

So May’s been standing on that stage looking just as gourgeous as the day I met her, right. Lulled into some kind of weird sleep but she’s standin’ up, right. This magician hack on stage waves his hand in front of May’s face and her eyes flutter open. She wakes up from some kind of magic, mumbo-jumbo shit. Hypnosis, the brownie called it. Bah! It’s horse shit! I mean, what idiot in their right mind thinks that stuff is real, no offense baby, but I mean, it’s not scientifically proven, just a bunch of nonsense, but of course May had to try it. So, I’m looking at her from our table, and she looks weird. She’s got a worried look on her face, and she’s just staring at this guy, right. But I figure you know, May can handle it, I’m here if she needs me. So May is looking at that magician rather intently. I’m thinking, what are you lookin’ at darling?

“Ahh!” May gasps! Covers her mouth like this and points at the Indian fella. Well of course, I’m in my seat, right, ready to jump at the chance that the nig— ooh, heh can’t say that one anymore right pals?! –pulls a fast one, but May just says, oh man, get this! May says:

“There… There’s a monkey,” she says. Well that did it. The whole fuckin’ audience burst into laughter right! You get it?! May’s pulling a fast one on the Paki. She was faking it the whole time. My baby’s a superstar actor, right May? Man, this stupid bastard, thought he, he could fool an educated, white woman. You should’ve seen this idiot! Stupid bright purple turban on his fackin’ head! And his shitty ass beard! There was even a chord attached to his rug with a gold tassel, it was like you pulled the chord and ring! “Room service!” Tea please. I laughed so hard I was gonna piss my pants. Oh! Oh! And you should have seen this curry muncher standing up there, stonefaced. Ooh! Ooh! I fucking gestured at him, yelled,

“Hey Brownie! Move your arms like this!” Right. And I showed him to move like a monkey. Oh God! It was funny. It was fucking funny was what it was. The crowd thought it was hilarious. They laughed, and laughed and laughed and laughed and…

“Pick a card, any card!”

A tall brown man stands with his hands stretched out, a deck of cards before me. On top of his head is a worn, tattered purple turban. The purple has faded and the gold tassel that flips around his head is fuzzing. Even the red chord that holds the tassel to the cloth has faded into a meek colour. He has full brown eyes, and a sparse moustache growing on his upper lip and his nose is crooked. But the strangest thing is the monkey walking back and forth on his shoulders. It walks back and forth, back and forth, until finally the monkey dissolves and the only thing left is a large lump on the man’s neck.

Alakazoo alakazam, turn this monkey into a man.

Forever conjoined, forever to stay

In a land without food and so little pay.

You’ll entertain the masses, and say with a flick,

Pick a card, any card – a trick with a switch.

Alakaloo Alakalee, turn this man into a monkey.

Forever conjoined, forever to tell,

That white man came to buy and to sell.

You’ll run back and forth with a flick of your tail,

White and brown separated by an animal’s veil.