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a pagan goddess. Her hair is blond
and with long curls, covering half of
her back. Her eyes are like two per-
fect emeralds, both in color and shine
and, when she smiles, her sensual
lips reveal a hidden treasure, show-
ing a set of incredibly straight, white
teeth. Occasionally, when she wants
to make a joke, she smiles, barely
showing the tip of her pink tongue
between her teeth. There is no mortal
man who could stand before her at
that moment without feeling the deep
desire to taste that fruit in his own
mouth. Jennifer, at 5 feet 5 inches,
eclipses any professional model, even
the taller and younger ones. She is
pure sensuality and beauty, and she
is also the girlfriend of the Hungarian,
who is twenty years her senior and
who, among knives and other punc-
turing sharp objects, does nothing
to hide his explosive, violent nature
due to the jealousy he feels when the
looks of some men towards his girl-
friend and assistant become evident.
About twenty more artists complete
the staff of this traveling entertainment
company. Obviously, there is also an
orchestra, composed by twelve musi-
cians and a director, who add great
suspense to the riskiest scenes and ac-
company the show with typical circus
music. In addition, there are about
ten workers who, lacking any artistic
abilities, keep the circus running: an
electrician, a sound specialist, ticket
vendors, security guards, and the man
that takes care of animals, a sort of
self-trained veterinarian who is also
a supplier of food and a sweeper of
manure.
That is me.
And I say veterinarian to feed my ego
after subjecting it to the fetid smells of
animal feces.
My life appears to be the stereotypi-
cal story of a boy who, at the age of
eighteen and coming from a home
that does not feel like one, decides
to ask for work at a circus passing by
his town, hoping to escape from a
world that causes him anxiety in order
to enter a world full of fantasies and
illusion.
That is my stereotype. My mother
died when I was seven years old, my
father crumbled in his loneliness and I
had to be a father to my own father.
As best I could, I finished my basic
schooling at the age of fourteen,
started working at fifteen, and left
for the circus at eighteen. I am now
twenty-two and that is the summary.
Anything else I could say about myself
would be nothing but an embellish-
ment to that summary. There is not
much more to tell.
Regarding the dream of finding the
circus to be a world full of fantasies
and illusion, the dream ended in
a sudden awakening when, hand-
in-shovel, the mist coming from the
refuse of the hairy lion flooded my
nose and went through my nostrils,
permanently taking residence in my
olfactory memory. From then on, my
life has passed within a small trailer
with basic comforts, first-aid veterinary
assistance, and tons of filth, shoveled
with great efforts so that, when ambi-
ent temperature allows, the cages can
be carefully cleaned using water and
a broom.
The city where we have established
is not very big, even though its main
street and some of the side streets
contain a decent amount of shops,
restaurants, and cafes, making it a
nice place to visit. The owner of the
circus had to invest almost two months
of calls and letters to the city in order
to obtain the permit to install the tent
in a public place. The resistance to
issuing the permit had something to
do with the Deliberating Council of
the Commune refusing to accept a
new circus show in the town again.
From what I could gather, a little over
a year ago, a different circus visited
the town and, after the shows had al-
ready begun, an elephant left to take
a nice stroll through the town in the
middle of the night, causing general
panic in a historically peaceful place.
According to the people, the biggest
and most dangerous thing that hap-
pened through its streets (many years
ago) was the milkman’s horse. This
horse, victim of a hormonal imbal-
ance, had fallen in love with a mare
that a farmer kept for his work and the
horse could not find a better way to
consummate his love than to escape
from his quarters and wander through
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MAGAZINE - FEBRUARY 2012