Dark Maze

there wish you had a nice big snake for beauty-ful Sparkle tonight?”
    The old gents had a throaty laugh. The teenage mothers watched, blank-faced, staring at Sparkle as if she were a goddess. I looked at the canvas poster of a dark-haired and full-bodied woman, with snakes choking the life from her body; I saw an essential fear in the eyes of the painted poster lady.
    Sparkle’s python arched and hissed as she squeezed its neck. Then it slithered into a new position, revealing one of her lace-covered breasts. Sparkle blew kisses to the crowd, turned daintily on her scuffed high heels and returned inside to her snakes.
    And the barker said, “You want to see Sparkle shake her snakes, she’s all yours at just half the price—today only! Just one single dollar gets you in! A dollar gets you dry, folks. Rain’s coming!”
    Then a man stepped from behind the curtain and positioned himself below the poster of a big red-faced fellow with his hands planted on his knees, his mouth opened wide, and spewing out frightened mice. The man in front of us on the riser was not nearly so rotund as the image on the poster, but was indeed large, and his cheeks and nose were ruddy. He stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest, looking like he very much wanted a drink.
    “Say hello to Waldo, folks!” the barker cried. “Waldo, the professional regurgitator!”
    The crowd was not enthusiastic.
    “What’s that?” the barker said. “You say you’d like a little demonstration? All right, I promised a free show, and I’m a man of my word. Who’s got a small object they don’t mind getting a little gooey?”
    Ruby poked me in the ribs. “Go on, give him something, Hock.”
    “No!”
    The barker squawked, “Somebody out there got a silver dollar? Somebody got half of that?”
    Ruby opened her purse and went into her wallet. “I’ve got a quarter,” she called out.
    “Well, hand it on up, little lady, and for being a sport, I’m going to let you into the show completely free of charge!” the barker said.
    One of the teenage mothers said to a friend, “Shit, I wish’t I’da had a quarter.”
    Ruby’s quarter floated on hands up to the barker, who in turn gave it to Waldo, who promptly swallowed it. Then he leaned off the edge of the riser and opened his mouth so that people in the front of the crowd could be sure the coin had gone all the way down.
    “Satisfied?” the barker asked.
    Then Waldo stood back up. His face reddened and contorted. He stroked his heavy neck with both hands as the barker intoned, “It’s coming... it’s coming... it’s...“
    Waldo spat up Ruby’s quarter. It glistened in the palm of his hand.
    The crowd offered a modest cheer. Ruby called out, “He can keep it.”
    Waldo pocketed the quarter and nodded his head toward Ruby. Then he returned inside the shed.
    “Now, folks—how’d you like to see Waldo do that little number with a live mouse?” the barker said.
    The old gents started clapping, and the little mothers came alive.
    And then the rain pelted the boardwalk, the thunder broke and the barker popped open an umbrella and motioned toward the shed’s door and turnstile and said, “One dollar, folks, and you’re high and dry and highly entertained. How about it?”
    Ruby and I hurried inside to escape the storm, as did twenty or so of the crowd. We sat in the lower tier of bleachers set up around a large, brightly lit stage. There was room enough for an audience of two hundred, but the bleachers held less than half of that, even with us newcomers.
    A huge blonde woman, easily three hundred pounds of femininity, was at stage center. She wore a gauzy, red ballerina’s outfit and was busy pulling a sword from her mouth. The crowd applauded listlessly.
    The barker bounded up on stage to pick up the pace. He used a microphone and wore a top hat.
    “Folks, let’s have a great big hand for the lovely Estelline, the hungriest little gal in all Coney Island!” His amplified voice was far louder than necessary.
    There was slightly more applause.
    “And now, a little something to tide her over until dinnertime. Mr. Drummer, if you please!”
    Seated at a drum at the rear of the stage, in the shadows, was a man about one-third the heft of Estelline. His sticks beat out an energetic snare roll. Estelline picked up a pair of thick swords and carefully lined up the blades as the drum roll continued. Then she tilted her big yellow head back and shoved the steel wad straight down