Augie's Story

Angus McQuill awoke with a nasty hangover. He didn't need his eyes open to know where he was, or at least what sort of place he might be in and the raw soreness on his left hand's bony knuckles was a good clue as to why he was where he was, although he couldn't remember last night or perhaps even the last several days. He knew he had landed in one more jail.

The painful noises across the room of someone settling onto the hard plank irritated Angus. He kept his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to talk. Probably the clank of keys had awakened him. He could smell burnt coffee and spam. The other inmate began to slurp and chew noisily. Angus was cramped on his own plank. He was a full seven feet and four inches tall. That was one of the reasons he seemed always to have to fight. This particular moment's contest between solitude and coffee made acute also by the need to relieve himself was won by the physical rather than the mental needs of the tall prisoner. He opened his eyes and reached out to defend his coffee at the same time. The other man, a fat but muscular red-faced joe with a battle-scarred face, dropped his mouth open in awe and drew himself away from Angus' tray.

Angus slowly and stiffly unfolded himself, stood up and stretched. He knew he was impressing respect on the other prisoner. If he didn't get respect, Angus knew he would get a brawl. "My, my," the fat man mumbled, "but you re a long drink of water, Buddy!" He stuffed the bulk of his sandwich into his mouth and his eyes bulged as he tried to chew.

Angus cracked his knuckles. They made too much noise. It sounded like the machine-guns he had repaired until his discharge in November last year, 1949. He circled his shoulders and neck to loosen up the crick he had from the jail bench. Angus had been a mechanic, machinist, engineer, radio repairman, an expert good at his work and happy. He could repair or make almost anything for the army or navy. But the wars were over. They had even pulled out of Korea. They kicked him out before he could make twenty years, on the excuse he fought too much. What irony. Angus was sour on them. He grimaced and sat down carefully on the plank. It creaked.

The fat man swallowed with difficulty then choked as he poured water from the enameled pitcher into his mouth. The man coughed and spit in pain. Angus clapped him on the back and relieved the red-faced man of the pitcher. While the fellow recovered Angus sipped his coffee and called up memories of fiddling on the green, pretty lassies dancing and red-faced men tossing the caber. Was it wanderlust that had taken him all over half the world? He had left his village so that he wouldn't be the local exhibit. He became a mechanic in the service because he was too big to be in the regular troops or to ride in the cavalry. They never could find a uniform to fit him and he stood out in the ranks. That first war, he had still been eager but uncoordinated. But he had a knack with engines and lathes and guns and the little flying machines.

"Thanks, Bud. What s your name? I'm Billy," the fat man had recovered. He still gasped slightly when he breathed, but was a less purple shade of red in the face and neck.

"Angus. Ye looked as if'n ye would be exploding." Angus squinted at Billy. The hangover was clouding the vision of memories.

"Figured you for a foreigner. Where you from, Angus?" Billy looked inquiringly at the spam sandwich still on Angus' tray.

"Ye figure wrong. I ha' been a citizen of the U.S. of A. for about twenty year, most of that in the army." Angus' brogue thickened and his 'r's rolled more as his temper ignited.

"That so? No offense, Angus. Where'd you serve?"

"We'el, these eyes ha seen near every front there was. I do believe I ha' worked on every machine used in both wars, and the ones I worked on don't fail, lad, ye can take book." Angus was proud of his abilities. That was another reason he tended to attract belligerent hooligans.

"You don't say?" Billy s face twisted thoughtfully, and he pointed at Angus' breakfast. "Uh, you gonna eat that?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Angus' stomach was turned by the smell of the food. It reminded him too much of canned rations and sweltering nights working on tanks, jeeps and airplanes.

"Take it and welcome, Billy. It smells like dog's meat to me." Angus stretched his legs out to the opposite wall of the cell. It was plaster over sandstone blocks. If they kept him here long, they would have to drug him or tie him and gag him. The wall was too simple of a problem to solve.

But he couldn't remember doing anything more than getting drunk, and laying about with his fists. Even drunk, he knew how to down his opponents without doing serious damage. He didn't think he could have done too much injury. Billy ate somewhat more cautiously this time. Then he licked his fingers and belched. He settled back and studied Angus. Billy had no tact whatsoever.

"Say, Angus?" Billy couldn't be quiet, it seemed.

"Yep?" Angus replied, hoping he would be called out to see a judge soon, just to get away from Billy.

"You ain't in for nothin' serious, are you?" Billy had a look of comically polite concern. One eyebrow was up, the other was down. He scratched himself.

"Nope." Angus didn't know, but it didn't matter a whit.

"Well if you ain't got a job we might use you." Billy grinned. "If you can do what you say you can do."

"Augh. An' ye doubt me, lad, best defend yourself." Angus was accustomed to challenges, but he had no feeling of apprehension from Billy, so he held off from knocking the sandwiches out of the fat slob.

"Didn't mean nothin'. You want a job?" Billy knitted his fingers protectively over his belly, and he leaned into the corner where the bars and the wall met.

"Depends, lad. Who do ye work for?" Angus smelled the fresh spring air drifting down from the high window and he breathed deeply. Honeysuckle he smelled. It relaxed some of the lines of tension on his forehead.

"I'm with a Circus. Bump's Circus. I'm one of the roughs." Billy spoke with pride, and he cocked one side of his grin high enough to show where some teeth used to b.

"A Circus, now." Angus smiled. His stomach rumbled. "I ha' seen a mite of circuses, Billy lad. Which one, tell?" Wherever he had been stationed, he had always searched out any Circus or carnival he could find. He knew how to laugh at oddities, and he appreciated a bit of daring in any well-done feat.

"Bump's Circus. Have you seen it?" Billy let his grin spread wide across his face, and he wiggled his ears.

"Nope. Never heard tell of that one. Is it a wee one, then?" Angus searched his memories. He loved to recall his experiences at the glittering rings. Clowns, acrobats, animals doing human things or parading their natural abilities in precise timing imposed by a trainer. But he could not recall any Circus named Bump.

"It may not be Ringling, but it's a marvel. I've worked with lots of shows, but this one is unique to the nines. It's a marvel."

"A marvel, you say? How so, lad?" Angus sat up and stretched again. He needed exercise. Jail cells were like tiny match boxes for his gangly tree-like frame.

"Can't explain. You have to see it. But if you like circuses, take my word, this one takes the cake. When you get out, go see Mr. Bump. They got lots of machines and weird things to fix." Billy wagged his head around in a circle, to loosen it.

Just then a deputy unlocked the bars and swung open the creaking door.

"Angus McQuill? The judge wants to see you. Up." The deputy tried to look non-plussed as Angus stood up.

Billy chuckled. "Bump's Circus, remember!" he said in a stage whisper.

"Good luck, lad," Angus replied, as he stooped to clear the iron header of the cell door. At least, the ceilings were tall in this old jail. The deputy motioned Angus toward the heavy wooden door at the end of the short corridor. There were only four cells, two on each side. Angus opened the door and stooped again, to pass through into the bright sunlight of April, beaming into the front room of the jailhouse.

The judge sat at a desk, which looked even older than the judge. Angus thought that this little stone jail looked like the oldest thing he had seen in America. Even the dust in the corners and on the relics all over the walls looked a hundred years old. The place looked more like a museum than a jail. The judge looked up over his bifocals at Angus.

"Mr. McQuill, you are charged with public intoxication and disorderly conduct. If I didn't know the Warren boys as well as I do, I'd charge you with assault and battery. How do you plead?" The judge stared with sharp blue eyes.

"Nolo contendere, if it please your honor." Augie could not remember anything to argue about, but his knuckles hurt like he had hit something, and he could guess what it might have been.

"Mr. McQuill, it s thirty days or thirty dollars."

"As you say, sir." Angus still had some of his severance pay. Not much was left, but he could pay. "If you'll return my wallet, I'll be pleased to pay." He longed for fresh air and more of that wonderful sunlight.

"Are you employed, sir?" The judge continued to stare with his gimlet eyes.

Angus stared back. He could match stares with any man. "Not at present, sir. I might be lookin' to be a master machinist, if such work is available."

The judge fetched a cigar, half-burnt, from an ornate cut-glass ashtray on the desk. Angus noticed a nice brass turn-work lamp. The judge lit his cigar with a wick-flint lighter. The deputy emptied an envelope of Angus' pocket gear onto the desk and stepped back. Angus put his knife, bandanna, and change in his pockets and opened his wallet to withdraw the money for the fine. He put six five-dollar bills on the desk and folded up the large wallet in order to put it in his pocket.

The judge blew smoke rings. "One more thing. We don't have room in Buffalo Gap for any more drunken brawlers. We have plenty of our own. Get sober and get a job or get out."

"Aye, sir, I'll be doin' just that." Angus had heard that speech too many times.

"Dismissed." The judge picked up a pretentious gavel and used it to crack a pecan. "You did quite a job on those randy Warren boys, Mr. McQuill. They probably had it coming."

"I'm usually quite proud of my workmanship, beggin' your honor's pardon. And I be thankin' ye to tell me the whereabouts of a certain Bump Circus, if it please you." Angus could think of no better direction.

"Up toward Abilene town, I reckon. Not enough folks here for a circus. Where did you hear tell of that?" The judge cracked and picked at another pecan. His cigar was back in the glass ashtray.

"Yon mannie in the wee cell, said there might be a job there for me, sir." Angus hinted broadly.

"Might be his own. Good luck, Mr. McQuill." The judge waved 'bye, as he munched on the pecans.

Angus didn't have to stoop when he walked out the front door as it was built tall for show with a stone arch at the top. When he was outside, Angus looked appraisingly at the little jail.

It was two stories tall, built of soft limestone, with cast-iron wall-dogs and wrought bars on the window. The outside was pock-marked by bullets. Angus could tell that the jail had been assaulted by someone with a machine gun. He had seen that kind of mark often enough in the past. The building reminded him of stone work in Scotland, except that this was only a hundred, not five hundred years of age. In Scotland, things just began to age properly at about the half-millennium mark. Except the whisky.

He walked gladly up the mud-pan road, with his long strides. His coat he tossed over his shoulder and his bonnet was set at a good angle. The smells of beans and cabbage drifted from a house alongside the road, making his stomach growl.

There was a filling station in the village, with a diner in the building. It was next to a church from which thin strains of familiar hymns floated. Angus reflected that it must be Sunday. The diner was closed, but since tempting smells escaped from the open windows, Angus knocked until someone came to the door.

An overworked-looking, plump woman wiped her hands and unlatched the screen-door. She smiled cheerfully up at Angus. "Well, we're almost ready. I guess you can come in, if you don't mind a little wait." Angus followed her inside. He sat at the counter because the booths were always too small. The lady poured him a cup of coffee, set out a napkin and table-ware - army surplus - and rushed back to the kitchen. Soon she returned with a steaming platter. She beamed as she set it down before him. "You get the first off the stove, sir. I hope you like it. My name is Eulalah, if you need anything." Angus winked at her and smiled. "Like sunshine after rain, Ma'am. It smells delicious." He breathed deeply of the odors of corn-bread, fried chicken, green beans, mustard greens, mashed potatoes with giblet gravy, and pickled beets.

"There's plenty more where that came from, sir." She giggled. "Looks like you might need it." She looked up as the door creaked. The churchgoers were coming in now, and she hurried to serve them.

Angus ate in peace, although he was conscious of the stares and hushed conversations, and the stifled laughter of the youngsters. The food was good and filling. Instead of second helpings he asked for pie.

"Apple, cherry, or pecan?" the lady asked.

"Pecan, if you please." Angus thought about the judge and the absurdly ornate gavel he used to crack the nuts open. "Thank you, Ma'am," he said as she set a generous-sized piece of brown-gooey pie in front of him. She rushed off merrily to serve the others. The pie seemed to consist mostly of molasses, with the rich flavor of pecan a lingering after-taste. Angus was satisfied. He finished his coffee, and since the lady wasn't near, he reached across to the wall behind the counter, got the coffee-pot there, and poured himself a half-cup more.

The room was suddenly quiet, except for an exclamation. "Gracious goodness!" a lady said.

Angus calmly returned the coffee-pot to the burner over by the far wall and ignored the impolite whispers.

"Is everything all right, sir?" the cheerful but overworked Eulalah asked. She made a gesture asking forgiveness and tolerance for the crowd.

"Excellent, Ma'am. I do compliment ye for the bonnie meal. How much do I owe ye?"

"A dollar. It's the Sunday meal. Thank you, sir."

Angus gave her a dollar, and a silver dime for a tip. He wiped his hands and mouth on the napkin and rose to leave, bracing himself for the inevitable reaction from the diners. They gasped and held their breaths and exhaled in unison. Only Eulalah was unaffected. He gave her another wink and his best smile.

"Come back soon, sir. Glad to have you." Her smile was warm and friendly.

Angus tipped his bonnet to her and thanked her again. He ducked out the door, glad to escape the gawking crowd. The full feeling from the food was very pleasant. He strode, merry and determined up the lane, away from the diner toward the road which led to Abilene.

The spring day was warm and fine already. The road ran uphill. Angus defended himself from the heat by exercising his memory. He had never wanted things, as such, but he cherished his experiences, and he frequently reviewed them. The fights were not what he remembered at all; they were only interruptions between encounters with interesting people, and projects which challenged his abilities. The two subjects he recalled most frequently were music, especially fine violin playing, and the circus.

He had a photographic memory for machines, and he loved to work with his hands, but his joys outside himself, were music and the danger, glamour, and style of the circus. He seldom let anyone else know of this passion. He was the practical, skeptical Scot, the very embodiment of mechanics, to most people.

But the poet hidden inside the tall strider in the flowering desert, reveled in the smells of cactus flowers and spring greens. At the same time, Angus was enjoying a replay of the Maitre Marcel, replacing a beautiful lady with a Siberian tiger, in a little Cirque in Toulon.

A horn sounded behind Angus. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. A family in a Studebaker pickup offered him a ride. Thanking them, Angus stepped up over the side, into the bed of the truck. The man raised his hand to his forehead. The woman was wide-eyed, and their little girl giggled innocently. Angus winked at the little blonde girl.

"Where to, Mister?" the man said, past his tobacco wad. He looked at Angus in the rear-view mirror.

"Well, if it happens ye see a circus tent, I would ask ye to stop there, sir, if it pleases ye." Angus replied.

"So happens, that's what we come in for, ourselves. Set down. Here goes." The man eased the truck into motion. Angus pulled his grey bonnet close against the wind and sprawled against a bale of hay in the truck bed.