The Black Rose Legacy Ch. 03

The Black Rose Legacy Ch. 03

++++++++++

All characters engaged in sex (both Sasquatch and human) are over 18. Thanks as always to my writing coach RiverMaya, my editing guru AzureAsh, and my mystery beta reader.

This chapter takes place 15 years after Chapter 02.

++++++++++

1937 -- Pacific Northwest/Seattle, Washington

Eight years after the Great Depression started, times were still hard in America. Hard times notwithstanding, people, rich or poor, craved entertainment to get their minds off their worries, so the carnival business was good. The carnival I was with, 'Professor Love's Profusion of Nature's Anomalies & Animal Wonderment' -- basically a travelling human freak show, a small zoo, a few hoochie-coochie dancers and some games of chance (as in, 'no chance for you, sucker') thrown in along the midway -- was raking it in wherever we went in the Washington/Oregon/Idaho area.

I came to work at the carnival when my folks and I were living in in the forests of Canada; I was lonely and bored. One night, I caught the smell of popcorn, (I love it to this very day), and I followed it into a clearing where I found Professor Love's carnival temporarily camped between shows, on their way to Seattle. Nobody there seemed particularly alarmed at the sight of an 8'6" tall, 585-pound Sasquatch covered with black fur, in fact, the Professor was delighted to see me and offered me a job on the spot! As I was ready to leave Mom and Dad and strike out on my own, I went back to my parents and told them I was taking the job.

I was billed as the Missing Link Giant, although my real name was Gus. Or, more formally, Augustus Haggerty. I was the son of a human/Sasquatch man, Julius Haggerty, and a one-quarter Sasquatch/three quarters human woman, Daffodil Karpiak, both children of mixed couples themselves.

My grandmother Daisy was half Sasquatch, and my Grandfather Adam was a human. Although half-human himself, my pop Julius had inherited his looks and physique from my totally Sasquatch great-grandmother, Black Rose. He was well over 10' tall, and weighed probably 700-plus pounds. The only human-looking part of him was his blue eyes. I never met my great-grandfather Andrew, but my mother told me he was a kind man with the same blue eyes as my father's.

Professor Love's carnival was hugely successful because I mean, let's face it, it was more bang for the buck. One ticket into a movie cost 25 cents. That same 25 cents could get two people into one of our big tents: the tent containing the zoo, or into the tent containing the freak exhibits. A dime more would get two people into both. A nickel at the games might win a little kewpie doll for your girl; another nickel would get you a big bag of popcorn to share, so you'd get entertainment and a snack and still be a nickel ahead of going to the cinema.

Poor Fred Astaire or Shirley Temple on film didn't stand a chance against being in the animal tent, seeing Hercules the Elephant or Androcles the Lion; or on the freak side, seeing The Bearded Lady, or The Alligator Boy. The attraction that really kept the local rubes coming back, though, was the Missing Link Giant - me.

The way the act worked, was, the barker out front would go on about all the freaks of nature within, including the missing link between gorillas and humans. Once the rubes were in the tent, they'd view the exhibits of the other freaks prior to seeing me. First was Anna the Bearded Lady, who was a kind and lovely woman, even with her full black beard. She'd sit in her rocking chair and simply do her knitting while the locals gaped. If a child said she was fake, she'd offer them a chance to give her beard a little tug. (Kids were gentle, whereas teenagers and adults would deliberately try to hurt her.)

Then there was Freddy the Alligator Boy. He'd been a dirt-poor lonely farm boy with what the doctors refer to as ichthyosis, which gave him a covering of thick, scaly skin all over his body. Next to Freddy was Teagan The Tattooed Lady, whose tattoos covered her body from head to toe, including her face. Wearing only the skimpiest of clothes to cover her private areas, she was very popular among the men who passed through the tent.

These were the regulars, although some seasons we'd be joined by acts like fire eaters, sword swallowers, and knife throwers, or by people like Annie the Penguin Girl, a young woman with stubby arms and legs who was born with her fingers and toes fused, making her extremities look like flippers. The acts tended to vary, depending on the year. Road life wasn't for everyone. Two years into it, for example, Annie retired, marrying a farm boy who'd fallen in love with her after meeting her backstage.

After staring at the static acts, the rubes were ushered into a small arena of 30 seats with a small stage. First up was Polly The Pint-Sized Pianist. Polly Hays was lovely dark-haired little thing; she was what was referred to as a proportional dwarf, which meant all parts of her body were small to the same degree. Imagine the movie star Dorothy Lamour, except 3'8" instead of 5'5", and 40 pounds instead of Miss Lamour's 117, and that was her. I really liked looking at her, she was so pretty. Polly's act was to come out dressed in a tiny evening gown and sing while playing a tune on her miniature upright piano.

Then came Sergei the Russian Strongman. He was 6'7", with huge muscles in his arms and legs. He'd come out and lift various things, including a baby grand piano. The suckers didn't know the piano was just a shell, with nothing inside. I knew for a fact Sergei had nothing on me strength-wise, because when we were loading and unloading the carnival, I'd carry the tentpoles while he'd barely pick up anything. For all of his blustering, I suspected the Russian feared me as well.

The final event was me being rolled out clad only in blue denim pants with the lower legs torn off, entrapped in my 'iron' barred cage - actually lightweight hollow gas pipes, painted black to look like iron. As I paced back and forth like I was unsettled, the barker would come in and ask the audience to please remain calm and make as little noise as possible so as not to agitate me further. Rubes being rubes, there was always a wiseass or two in the back who'd make monkey noises - hoots and howls, that sort of thing -- and I would rear up to my full height and pound my chest, as if it made me angry. The barker would warn them, to no avail, of course -- it was all part of the act. They'd hoot and holler, and sometimes throw rocks or pieces of fruit or vegetables.

This was when I'd give out a long deep howl that gave goosebumps to anyone who heard it, (my dad taught it to me) and begin to act enraged; if someone actually hit me with something they threw, the rage might even be genuine. I'd roar, grab the bars of the cage door and shake them violently, and the deliberately shaky latch would pop open, allowing me to jump out at the audience. A carny shill in the audience would shout, "WATCH OUT HE'S LOOSE", whereupon the now-terrorized audience would flee towards the exits.

If I found a slow-moving small adult (never a child, they're far too fragile and too easily to emotionally scar), I'd grab them and hoist them over my head, roaring again. Once the crowd had fled the tent I'd put the shocked person down, and most of the time they'd flee as well, with a fine story to one day tell their grandchildren.

And so the weeks went by. We carnies were pretty tightknit, each of us with our own camping wagons with colorfully painted wooden sides and a shingled top where we slept, and that held our clothes and possessions. In the old days, the wagons used to have big wooden-spoked wheels and were drawn by a team of horses. These days they were on a chassis with truck wheels, drawn by a truck tractor instead of horses.

We performers seldom went into town, and if someone needed something, we'd send one of the roustabouts into town for it since they were only really busy twice during the run - at the beginning erecting the tents, and at the end tearing them down. Otherwise, once they re-tightened the tent ropes every morning, they would be mostly done for the day.

We usually had a communal meal in the mess tent every morning, and every night after the performances. After the evening meal, we'd sit around and talk about what stupid things local rubes had done that, then retire to our wagons for the evening. Road life being what it was, sometimes people retired to wagons not their own, Polly and Sergei being one such couple.

Him being too large to fit in her smaller-sized wagon, they spent their nights in his. I could not for the life of me understand the attraction, as Sergei was a crass and overbearing braggart, whereas Polly was educated and eloquent. Opposites attract, I guess. Truth be told, I was kind of jealous of the Russian jerk.

I was now 24, and while my eyesight wasn't so good, I'd inherited my parent's excellent hearing and sense of smell. One night I heard loud arguing coming from the wagon parked next to mine, which happened to be Sergei's. I heard his voice, as well as Polly's. Pulling on my giant-sized coveralls, I stepped outside to see what was going on when I distinctly heard a slap and a scream from Polly.

Wasting no time, I tore the door on Sergei's wagon off its hinges just in time to see Polly, crumpled on the ground and clad in a soiled white nightdress holding her cheek. Sergei was standing over her with his hand raised as if he was going to strike her again before I interrupted. Sergei had been drinking, and the powerful smell of alcohol on him was nauseating, even to me.

I instantly felt rage rise in me, not regular anger but true Sasquatch rage. I'd seen my father manifest it a time or two defending mother and I against trappers or loggers that stumbled upon us, and let me tell you, they usually shit their pants and ran. Blinded by my fury, I reached in, grabbed Sergei by the neck, and flung him out the door like a rag doll. He landed in a crumpled heap in the dirt of the campsite. I let out a roar like I'd never heard before, and jumped on him. My first blow knocked him unconscious, but I wasn't stopping. I kept swinging my fists into his face. I was going to use all my strength to make him pay for hurting Polly!

Then I felt hands on me, trying in vain to hold me back; I looked, and it was the Professor holding one arm and Anna on the other. The Professor was shouting, "GUS, STOP, ENOUGH, YOU'LL KILL HIM!" and Anna was also begging me to stop. Somehow between the Professor's yelling and Anna's pleading, my rational brain took hold and I stood up.

I looked around, and saw the rest of the horrified carnival folks looking at me. My rage not yet completely diminished, I shouted at them, "NOBODY TOUCHES POLLY! NOBODY! I WILL KILL ANYONE WHO LAYS A HAND ON HER!" Then I threw my head back and instinctually let loose another ear-splitting roar. Not the one I used in my stage act, oh no, this once came from deep within me and was as frightening as I could make it. I think I got my point across. My nose caught the scent of fear piss, as if someone had just realized that calm, easy-going Gus was truly capable of violence.

Then I looked back at Sergei's wagon, where Polly stood shaking in the destroyed doorway, her eyes wide. I calmed a bit, then softly spoke to her. "Polly, are you hurt?" She shook her head no. "I want you to stay in my wagon tonight. I'll keep you safe, I promise." She nodded, so I reached into the wagon and picked her up. She felt as light as a saltine cracker to me. I carried her into my wagon, and closed the door behind me.

My emotions were in a whirl. Outside of picking berries and fishing with my mother or talking with Anna at breakfast, I'd never had any kind of experience with females, Sasquatch or human. While I'd secretly admired Polly ever since I joined the carnival, we'd not had much interaction outside of me wishing her a good morning, yet here I'd just defended her like she was my mate. I was confused, feeling so many things at once that I didn't know exactly what I felt, with one exception: with her in my arms, well, that felt good. Very good.

I set her gently on my bed and told her, "You can have the bed, I'll sleep on the floor. I used to sleep on the ground all the time when I lived in the wilderness with my parents."

That's when Polly did the unbelievable: she reached up and stroked my face with her tiny left hand. She had no way of knowing that for a Sasquatch, face-stroking is an incredibly intimate and loving gesture. Automatically, I turned into her palm and kissed it. Then I told her, "I have to warn you, in my family, the way you just stroked my face just now is how we show love and affection to each other."

She smiled -- how had I not noticed before how wonderful her smile was? Then she lifted up her other hand, stroked both sides of my face, and spoke for the first time since I'd yanked Sergei's door off its hinges. "Then I guess I'm getting it right."

Pulling my face down, she pressed her little lips to mine. I felt myself growing hard under my coveralls. She went on, her voice soft and tinkling like little bells, "Nobody's ever fought for me like that, Gus. How could I not love you now?" She scooted over against the wall side of the bed, and patted the mattress next to her. "Lay with me, please. I'll only feel safe tonight if you're next to me."

Obediently, I laid down beside her, and she snuggled in under my right arm. I pulled a blanket over us for fear she'd get cold. She smelled like lavender. She softly asked, "Do you ever get lonely, Gus?"

"Yes, but I'm used to it. Not a lot of other Sasquatch around, so it's not exactly like I have a choice of mates."

"Would you be willing to have me as your mate?"

That question got my head spinning. "I don't know how that would work. You're so small, I'd be afraid of hurting you accidentally."

She ran her hand through the fur on my chest, and it sure felt wonderful. "How about if you let me worry about that? Did you enjoy me kissing you?"

I don't know if she could see my blushing under my fur-covered face, but I definitely felt my cheeks burning. "Yes, I liked it a lot. My parents used to kiss, but I never had anyone to kiss me; you're actually the first one. It was...very nice."

Polly slid out from under my arm and crawled up onto my chest, then moved up until her lips were against mine again. Unsure of what to do with my hands, I cupped her little bottom. She moaned into my mouth, and I felt her tongue gently probe my lips. When she stopped kissing me, I gasped for air. Apparently, I was so shocked I had forgotten to breathe.

Now I was really confused. This tiny woman had touched my face and kissed me, and it was all wonderful, but less than 24 hours ago she'd been with Sergei. I didn't understand what it all meant, and I had so many questions.

"Polly, are you really sure you want to be with me? When Sasquatch decide they love each other, it's for life. What about Sergei? Do you still love him? What if we were to become mates? Is it possible you'd leave me to go back to him? What about if you decided I was too big, and left to be with someone smaller? Either way, it would destroy me, I couldn't bear it."

Polly sighed, as if she were ashamed. "Yes, I was with Sergei, but I didn't love him. I may look like a young girl, Gus, but I'm actually 31. The doctors told me because of my dwarfism I'll never be able to have children, and there's not a big demand for a barren little spinster like me. I was terribly lonely like you until Sergei took an interest in me. He made me feel wanted, even though I knew he was a drunkard. He was all I had. That's why I was with him. I know that makes me sound like a terrible person and if you don't want me now, I'll understand. But if you do want me, I promise I'll be true to you." Then she added, "just like a Sasquatch."

We lay together in silence for a few minutes, and I savored the feel of her warm body on my chest and the smell of her hair. Polly may have been small, but she was kind and beautiful and tender and...suddenly I realized I'd never felt this way before, and I didn't want it to ever stop. Gently squeezing that wonderful soft bottom again, I softly replied, "I do want you with me, very much."

She moved up and kissed me again, so I rolled onto my side, wrapped my arms around her, and pulled her against me. "Promise me you'll love me forever," I whispered.

"I promise I will," she whispered back, and together we fell into a blissful slumber.

The next morning, still protective of Polly, I accompanied her to her wagon to change clothes, then we went to the mess tent where the cook was serving breakfast. The other carnival folks there went silent when we walked in. Given my rage of the previous night, I didn't really blame them, but then I heard one of the roustabouts mutter under his breath, "I'll bet she made him happy last night."

If I was a regular human, I might not have heard him, but due to my Sasquatch hearing, his words were quite clear. I quickly turned to face the guy and snarled, "You keep your filthy mouth shut about Polly. She's never done a damned thing to you." I felt my protective rage rising, and he must have seen it as well because his face went pale with fear. I leaned over and got in close. "Apologize to Miss Polly right now, or I'll give you the same as what I gave the Russian."

He stood up and blurted out, "I'm sorry, Miss Polly," then ran from the tent.

Then behind me I heard a woman's voice utter, "You're nothing but an animal." It was Madame Omerta, the fortune teller. Now I turned and faced her, my fury building again.

I snapped at her, "You ignorant old cow! You think because I play an animal in a cage that I'm stupid, deaf and blind? I lived in the wilderness for over 15 years, and trust me, with my ears I hear everything. It could just as easily have been you I was defending last night; there were plenty of times when I overheard Sergei sneak into your wagon on his way to sample that pie between your legs! Do you deny it?" Now that I'd revealed her clandestine coupling, Madame Omerta's face reddened, and she quickly left as well.

Now that I was really angry, I looked around at all the shocked faces and roared, "I thought we carnies were a family, that we stuck together! Apparently, everybody here is a backstabber!" Then I felt Polly take my arm.

"Gus, please calm down. Everyone here is still in shock about what happened last night, you're scaring them again." The touch of her tiny hands soothed me somewhat, then Anna the Bearded Lady got up from her breakfast, walked over, and hugged me.

"Polly's right, Gus. In the six years we've known you, you've always been such a gentle and easy-going fella. We'd never seen you that way before, and it really took us all by surprise. It's sweet that you protected Polly, but please, give us time to adjust."

I felt my anger drain out of me. Chagrined, I muttered "Thanks Anna." Ever since I'd met her, the bearded lady had been nothing but kind to me, so I had no reason to doubt her.

Our carnival life slowly returned to normal after that, albeit without Sergei. Once he sobered up, he'd packed up and left; his wagon was empty, his personal possessions were gone, and the only reminder of what happened the previous night was a broken wagon door.

A month went by, and except for the lack of a weight-lifter in the show, things were pretty much back on a fairly even keel. The other performers began to relax around me again, although the roustabouts continued to give me a wide berth. As lazy as Sergei was, they'd nonetheless looked up to him and I had handily dethroned their hero. As hardened and muscular as they were, I was stronger by far, and they now knew it.