“Madame Lulu does not particularly care about sleep of freaks,” Lulu said haughtily. “Please be telling the new freaks what to do for show tomorrow. The freak with two heads will be eating corn, please, and the little wolf freak will be attacking audience.”
“Violence and sloppy eating,” the man said, and sighed. “I guess the crowd will like that.”
“Of course crowd will like,” Lulu said, “and then carnival will get much money.”
“And then maybe you’ll pay us?” the man asked.
“Fat chance, please,” Madame Lulu replied. “Good night, freaks.”
“Good night, Madame Lulu,” replied Violet, who would have rather been called a proper name, even if it was one she invented, than simply “freak,” but the fortune-teller walked away without looking back. The Baudelaires stood in the doorway of the caravan for a moment, watching Lulu disappear into the night, before looking up at the man and introducing themselves a bit more properly.
“My name is Beverly,” Violet said. “My second head is named Elliot, and this is Chabo the Wolf Baby.”
“Grr!” growled Sunny.
“I’m Hugo,” the man said. “It’ll be nice to have new coworkers. Come on inside the caravan and I’ll introduce you to the others.”
Still finding it awkward to walk, Violet and Klaus followed Hugo inside, and Sunny followed her siblings, preferring to crawl rather than walk, because it made her seem more half wolf. The caravan was small, but the children could see by the light of Hugo’s candle that it was tidy and clean. There was a small wooden table in the center, with a set of dominoes stacked up in the center and several chairs grouped around. In one corner was a rack with clothing hung on it, including a long row of identical coats, and a large mirror so you could comb your hair and make sure you looked presentable. There was a small stove for cooking meals, with a few pots and pans stacked alongside it, and a few potted plants lined up near the window so they would get enough sunlight. Violet would have liked to add a small workbench she could use while inventing things, Klaus would have been pleased to be squinting at some bookshelves, and Sunny would have preferred to see a stack of raw carrots or other foods that are pleasant to bite, but otherwise the caravan looked like a cozy place to live. The only thing that seemed to be missing was someplace to sleep, but as Hugo walked farther into the room, the children saw that there were three hammocks, which are long, wide pieces of cloth used for beds, hanging from places on the walls. One hammock was empty—the Baudelaires supposed that this was where Hugo slept—but in another they could see a tall skinny woman with curly hair squinting down at them, and in the third was a man with a very wrinkled face who was still asleep.
“Kevin!” Hugo called up to the sleeping man. “Kevin, get up! We have new coworkers, and I’ll need help setting up more hammocks.”
The man frowned and glared down at Hugo. “I wish you hadn’t woken me up,” Kevin said. “I was having a delightful dream that there was nothing wrong with me at all, instead of being a freak.”
The Baudelaires took a good look at Kevin as he lowered himself to the floor and were unable to see anything the least bit freakish about him, but he stared at the Baudelaires as if he had seen a ghost. “My word,” he said. “You two have it as bad as I do.”
“Try to be polite, Kevin,” Hugo said. “This is Beverly and Elliot, and there on the floor is Chabo the Wolf Baby.”
“Wolf Baby?” Kevin repeated, shaking Violet and Klaus’s shared right hand. “Is she dangerous?”
“She doesn’t like to be teased,” Violet said.
“I don’t like to be teased either,” Kevin said, and hung his head. “But wherever I go, I hear people whispering, ‘there goes Kevin, the ambidextrous freak.’”
“Ambidextrous?” Klaus said. “Doesn’t that mean you are both right-handed and left-handed?”
“So you’ve heard of me,” Kevin said. “Is that why you traveled out here to the hinterlands, so you could stare at somebody who can write his name with either his left hand or his right?”
“No,” Klaus said. “I just know the word ‘ambidextrous’ from a book I read.”
“I had a feeling you’d be smart,” Hugo said. “After all, you have twice as many brains as most people.”
“I only have one brain,” Kevin said sadly. “One brain, two ambidextrous arms, and two ambidextrous legs. What a freak!”
“It’s better than being a hunchback,” Hugo said. “Your hands may be freaky, but you have absolutely normal shoulders.”
“What good are normal shoulders,” Kevin said, “when they’re attached to hands that are equally good at using a knife and fork?”
“Oh, Kevin,” the woman said, and climbed down from her hammock to give him a pat on the head. “I know it’s depressing being so freakish, but try and look on the bright side. At least you’re better off than me.” She turned to the children and gave them a shy smile. “My name is Colette,” she said, “and if you’re going to laugh at me, I’d prefer you do it now and get it over with.”
The Baudelaires looked at Colette and then at one another. “Renuf!” Sunny said, which meant something like, “I don’t see anything freakish about you either, but even if I did I wouldn’t laugh at you because it wouldn’t be polite.”
“I bet that’s some sort of wolf laugh,” Colette said, “but I don’t blame Chabo for laughing at a contortionist.”
“Contortionist?” Violet asked.
“Yes,” Colette sighed. “I can bend my body into all sorts of unusual positions. Look.”
The Baudelaires watched as Colette sighed again and launched into a contortionist routine. First she bent down so her head was between her legs, and curled up into a tiny ball on the floor. Then she pushed one hand against the ground and lifted her entire body up on just a few fingers, braiding her legs together into a spiral. Finally she flipped up in the air, balanced for a moment on her head, and twisted her arms and legs together like a mass of twine before looking up at the Baudelaires with a sad frown.
“You see?” Colette said. “I’m a complete freak.”
“Wow!” Sunny shrieked.
“I thought that was amazing,” Violet said, “and so did Chabo.”
“That’s very polite of you to say so,” Colette said, “but I’m ashamed that I’m a contortionist.”
“But if you’re ashamed of it,” Klaus said, “why don’t you just move your body normally, instead of doing contortions?”
“Because I’m in the House of Freaks, Elliot,” Colette said. “Nobody would pay to see me move my body normally.”
“It’s an interesting dilemma,” Hugo said, using a fancy word for “problem” that the Baudelaires had learned from a law book in Justice Strauss’s library. “All three of us would rather be normal people than freaks, but tomorrow morning, people will be waiting in the tent for Colette to twist her body into strange positions, for Beverly and Elliot to eat corn, for Chabo to growl and attack the crowd, for Kevin to write his name with both hands, and for me to try on one of those coats. Madame Lulu says we must always give people what they want, and they want freaks performing on a stage. Come now, it’s very late at night. Kevin, give me a helping hand putting up hammocks for the newcomers, and then let’s all try to get some sleep.”
“I might as well give you two helping hands,” Kevin said glumly. “They’re both equally efficient. Oh, I wish that I was either right-handed or left-handed.”
“Try to cheer up,” Colette said gently. “Maybe a miracle will happen tomorrow, and we’ll all get the things we wish for most.”
No one in the caravan said anything more, but as Hugo and Kevin prepared two hammocks for the three Baudelaires, the children thought about what Colette had said. Miracles are like meatballs, because nobody can exactly agree what they are made of, where they come from, or how often they should appear. Some people say that a sunrise is a miracle, because it is somewhat mysterious and often very beautiful, but other people say it is simply a fa
ct of life, because it happens every day and far too early in the morning. Some people say that a telephone is a miracle, because it sometimes seems wondrous that you can talk with somebody who is thousands of miles away, and other people say it is simply a manufactured device fashioned out of metal parts, electronic circuitry, and wires that are very easily cut. And some people say that sneaking out of a hotel is a miracle, particularly if the lobby is swarming with policemen, and other people say it is simply a fact of life, because it happens every day and far too early in the morning. So you might think that there are so many miracles in the world that you can scarcely count them, or that there are so few that they’re scarcely worth mentioning, depending on whether you spend your mornings gazing at a beautiful sunset or lowering yourself into a back alley with a rope fashioned out of matching towels.
But there was one miracle the Baudelaires were thinking about as they lay in their hammocks and tried to sleep, and this was the sort of miracle that felt bigger than any meatball the world has ever seen. The hammocks creaked in the caravan as Violet and Klaus tried to get comfortable in one set of clothing and Sunny tried to arrange Olaf’s beard so that it wouldn’t be too scratchy, and all three youngsters thought about a miracle so wondrous and beautiful that it made their hearts ache to think of it. The miracle, of course, was that one of their parents was alive after all, that either their father or their mother had somehow survived the fire that had destroyed their home and begun the children’s unfortunate journey. To have one more Baudelaire alive was such an enormous and unlikely miracle that the children were almost afraid to wish for it, but they wished for it anyway. The youngsters thought of what Colette had said—that maybe a miracle would happen, and that they would all get the thing they wished for most—and waited for morning to come, when Madame Lulu’s crystal ball might bring the miracle the Baudelaires were wishing for.
At last the sun rose, as it does every day, and very early in the morning. The three children had slept very little and wished very much, and now they watched the caravan slowly fill with light, and listened to Hugo, Colette, and Kevin shift in their hammocks, and wondered if Count Olaf had entered the fortune-teller’s tent yet, and if he had learned anything there. And just when they could stand it no more, they heard the sound of hurrying footsteps and a loud, metallic knock on the door.
“Wake up! Wake up!” came the voice of the hook-handed man, but before I write down what he said I must tell you that there is one more similarity between a miracle and a meatball, and it is that they both might appear to be one thing but turn out to be another. It happened to me once at a cafeteria, when it turned out there was a small camera hidden in the lunch I received. And it happened to Violet, Klaus, and Sunny now, although it was quite some time before they learned that what the hook-handed man said turned out to be something different from what they thought when they heard him outside the door of the freaks’ caravan.
“Wake up!” the hook-handed man said again, and pounded on the door. “Wake up and hurry up! I’m in a very bad mood and have no time for your nonsense. It’s a very busy day at the carnival. Madame Lulu and Count Olaf are running errands, I’m in charge of the House of Freaks, the crystal ball revealed that one of those blasted Baudelaire parents is still alive, and the gift caravan is almost out of figurines.”
CHAPTER
Four
“What?” asked Hugo, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “What did you say?”
“I said the gift caravan is almost out of figurines,” the hook-handed man said from behind the door. “But that’s not your concern. People are already arriving at the carnival, so you freaks need to be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Wait a moment, sir!” Violet thought to use her low, disguised voice just in time, as she and her brother climbed down from their hammock, still sharing a single pair of pants. Sunny was already on the floor, too astonished to remember to growl. “Did you say that one of the Baudelaire parents is alive?”
The door of the caravan opened a crack, and the children could see the face of the hook-handed man peering at them suspiciously.
“What do you care, freaks?” he asked.
“Well,” Klaus said, thinking quickly, “we’ve been reading about the Baudelaires in The Daily Punctilio. We’re very interested in the case of those three murderous children.”
“Well,” the hook-handed man said, “those kids’ parents were supposed to be dead, but Madame Lulu looked into her crystal ball and saw that one of them was alive. It’s a long story, but it means that we’re all going to be very busy. Count Olaf and Madame Lulu had to leave early this morning to run an important errand, so I’m now in charge of the House of Freaks. That means I get to boss you around, so hurry up and get ready for the show!”
“Grr!” Sunny growled.
“Chabo’s all set to perform,” Violet said, “and the rest of us will be ready soon.”
“You’d better be,” the hook-handed man said, and began to shut the door before stopping for a moment. “That’s funny,” he said. “It looks like one of your scars is blurry.”
“They blur as they heal,” Klaus said.
“Too bad,” the hook-handed man said. “It makes you look less freakish.” He slammed the door and the siblings could hear him walk away from the caravan.
“I feel sorry for that man,” Colette remarked, as she swung down from her hammock and curled into a contortion on the floor. “Every time he and that Count person come to visit, it makes me feel bad to look at his hooks.”
“He’s better off than me,” Kevin said, yawning and stretching his ambidextrous arms. “At least one of his hooks is stronger than the other one. My arms and legs are exactly alike.”
“And mine are very bendable,” Colette said. “Well, we’d better do as the man says and get ready for the show.”
“That’s right,” Hugo agreed, reaching into a shelf next to his hammock and pulling out a toothbrush. “Madame Lulu says that we must always give people what they want, and that man wants us ready right away.”
“Here, Chabo,” Violet said, looking down at her sister. “I’ll help you sharpen your teeth.”
“Grr!” Sunny agreed, and the two older Baudelaires leaned down together, and lifted Sunny up and moved into a corner so the three children could whisper to one another near the mirror, while Hugo, Colette, and Kevin performed their toilette, a phrase which here means “did the things necessary to begin their day as carnival freaks.”
“What do you think?” Klaus asked. “Do you think it’s really possible that one of our parents is alive?”
“I don’t know,” Violet said. “On one hand, it’s hard to believe that Madame Lulu really has a magical crystal ball. On the other hand, she always told Count Olaf where we were so he could come and find us. I don’t know what to believe.”
“Tent,” Sunny whispered.
“I think you’re right, Sunny,” Klaus said. “If we could sneak into the fortune-telling tent, we might be able to find out something for ourselves.”
“You’re whispering about me, aren’t you?” Kevin called out from the other end of the caravan. “I bet you’re saying, ‘What a freak Kevin is. Sometimes he shaves with his left hand, and sometimes he shaves with his right hand, but it doesn’t matter because they’re exactly the same!’”
“We weren’t talking about you, Kevin,” Violet said. “We were discussing the Baudelaire case.”
“I never heard of these Baudelaires,” Hugo said, combing his hair. “Did I hear you mention they were murderers?”
“That’s what it says in The Daily Punctilio,” Klaus said.
“Oh, I never read the newspaper,” Kevin said. “Holding it in both of my equally strong hands makes me feel like a freak.”
“That’s better than me,” Colette said. “I can contort myself into a position that allows me to pick up a newspaper with my tongue. Talk about freakish!”
“It’s an interesting dilemma,” Hugo said, grabbing one of the identical
coats from the rack, “but I think that we’re all equally freakish. Now, let’s get out there and put on a good show!”
The Baudelaires followed their coworkers out of the caravan and over to the House of Freaks tent, where the hook-handed man was standing impatiently, holding something long and damp in one of his hooks.
“Get inside and put on a good show,” he ordered, gesturing to a flap in the tent that served as an entrance. “Madame Lulu said that if you don’t give the audience what they want, I’m allowed to use this tagliatelle grande.”
“What’s a tagliatelle grande?” Colette asked.
“Tagliatelle is a type of Italian noodle,” the hook-handed man explained, uncoiling the long and damp object, “and grande means ‘big’ in Italian. This is a big noodle that a carnival worker cooked up for me this morning.” Olaf’s comrade waved the big noodle over his head, and the Baudelaires and their coworkers heard a limp swishing sound as it moved slowly through the air, as if a large earthworm were crawling nearby. “If you don’t do what I say,” the hook-handed man continued, “I get to hit you with the tagliatelle grande, which I’ve heard is an unpleasant and somewhat sticky experience.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” Hugo said. “We’re professionals.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” the hook-handed man sneered, and followed them all into the House of Freaks. Inside, the tent looked even bigger, particularly because there wasn’t very much to see in such a large space. There was a wooden stage with a few folding chairs placed on it, and a banner overhead, which read HOUSE OF FREAKS in large, sloppy letters. There was a small stand where one of the white-faced women was selling cold beverages. And there were seven or eight people milling around, waiting for the show to begin. Madame Lulu had mentioned that business had been slow at Caligari Carnival, but the siblings had still expected a few more people to show up to see the carnival freaks. As the children and their coworkers approached the stage, the hook-handed man began speaking to the small group of people as if they were a vast crowd.