One of us

ABC,
Why have none of my stories been posted? Have I offended thee in some
manner?

ONE OF US Chris Walter
Thrust from the helicopter blades flattened the tall grass causing the
wildlife within to flee. Jerry Doyle leaned from the open cargo door of
the Bell Huey Cobra and anxiously scanned the edge of the jungle.
"Gawdamn! I coulda sworn it ran thataway!" He pointed to a forlorn
stand of old-growth trees. Other than a handful of startled spider
monkeys running for cover, no further activity could be seen from the
air. Hovering threateningly, the hunting party continued to scan the
impenetrable density of the jungle.
At age thirty-six, Jerry was at the top of his chosen profession. With
more than forty captures to his credit, his credentials were
impeccable. He had worked hard, and it had paid off. Now he was one of
the most highly paid clown hunters in the world.
The consummate professional frowned as he continued to search the
heavy growth for movement. This wasn't over yet.
Jerry's assistant, Ted, was relatively new to the clown hunting scene,
and lacked Jerry's intuition. In order to catch a clown, you had to
think like a clown. "Ahh! He must have gotten into the jungle." The
long, hard day had discouraged Ted. If they had to land the helicopter
and continue the hunt on foot in the jungle, things could really become
hellish.
Jerry, however, had no intention of giving up so easily. Patience was
a key ingredient to playing this game, and he had a feeling the clown
hadn't had time to reach the jungle.
"Let's circle that stand of trees," he told the pilot, pointing. His
prey had to be somewhere nearby. He could almost smell those big,
floppy feet. The Huey banked sharply and began a flanking maneuver.
Jerry focused a pair of high-powered binoculars on the trees, watching
and waiting. Suddenly, a polka-dotted figure broke cover and dashed for
the safety of the jungle.
"THERE IT IS!" Jerry shouted over the roar of the chopper, "GET DOWN
THERE, CLOSER!"
The pilot jammed the joystick down and plunged the helicopter towards
the tree line. Ted recovered from his surprise at the reappearance of
the clown and readied the net. Jerry was a demanding taskmaster and to
err was unforgivable. The clown had almost reached the sanctuary of the
jungle when it tripped over one of its grotesquely oversized feet,
tumbling clumsily to the tangled tiger grass. Quickly, Jerry and Ted
dropped the net over the unfortunate creature. Struggling desperately
to free itself, the captive merely succeeded in tightening the
imprisoning web of ropes.
"We got it! We got it!" yelled Ted exuberantly. This was only his
second capture-the thrill of victory surged through his pipes with
youthful adrenaline. Jerry prepared a tranquilizer dart gun and allowed
himself a tight smile.
The chopper pilot set the Huey down near the clump of trees and the
crew jumped out bent on capture. Ted reached the entangled clown first
and knocked it unconscious with a butt stroke of his AR-15. Jerry's
face darkened with rage. Furiously, he snatched Ted's weapon, and
pausing to flick on the safety, tossed it to the ground. Seizing Ted by
the lapels of his bush jacket, he sprayed the strapping youth with
saliva.
"Don't ever harm the merchandise!" he spat words like bullets, "We
have no use for damaged goods."
"Sssorry, boss," stammered Ted. "He was trying to get away!"
"That's why we have the trank darts, you moron!" Disgustedly, Jerry
released his hold on Ted and bent to examine the helpless
captive.
The clown slumped, ensnared in the webbing of ropes and breathing
raggedly through a large, rounded, red nose. Other than a thin trickle
of blood running from his multicoloured hairline, the captive appeared
otherwise unharmed from the trauma of abduction. Jerry noted with
satisfaction that his latest capture was of the Red-nosed, Happy-faced
tribe, only slightly less valuable than the Checkered, Sad-faced
variety, also becoming quite rare.
As usual, Jerry found himself slightly awed by the craftsmanship the
clowns displayed in their wardrobes. The industrious creatures wove
their own fabric, using roots and berries for dyes. Even the extra long
shoes were handmade from natural resources. Given the unintentional
slapstick nature of the clumsy beasts, it was a wonder they were able
to fashion any type of clothing at all - let alone the elaborate
costumes they produced from almost nothing. Checking his captive's
pulse, Jerry satisfied himself that the clown would survive the flight
back to the U.S. without any special medical attention.
"Okay Ted, gimme a hand, let's get this show on the road."
The two hunters half dragged, half carried the clown to the chopper,
and with no small effort, tumbled their captive into the cargo bay. The
pilot finished his smoke and got back into the bird. He was a taciturn
type who secretly disapproved of clown hunting. However, the pay was
good, so he kept his morality to himself.
The helicopter lifted into the air and slowly picked up speed as it
gained altitude. They were heading back to base camp where hunters and
hunted would transfer to a small airplane for the long journey home.
Jerry yawned tiredly and settled in for the trip.
Clowns were in high demand now that the politically correct attitude
of the nineties had waned. Circuses complete with sideshow freaks and
geeks had made a big comeback and attendance was higher than ever.
Indeed, circus-going had evolved into an almost religious ceremony that
began at birth. The average citizen had no idea that virtually all the
clowns were slaves; kidnapped from their native home in the dwindling
jungles of South America. Circus owners had found that there was no
comparison between real clowns and mere performers. After the initial
purchase, slaves did not require payment. Not only that, the more
miserable a clown became, the funnier people seemed to find it.
Suffering was great when it was happening to somebody else.
Clown ownership presented one major problem, however. The stubborn
creatures refused to breed in captivity. They were so clumsy and
calamitous, nobody could figure out how they were able to reproduce in
any setting. It would be almost accidental if any sexual intercourse
ever took place. To make matters worse, population dwindled as the rain
forest fell beneath the onslaught of civilization. As a result, prices
had skyrocketed. Fortunately, they lived relatively long lives and were
good for many years of money-making indenture.
Clowns were a cash crop.

The latest acquisition of Gigantic Circus Ltd. moaned softly and began
to stir. Jerry watched as the clown struggled for consciousness. With
terror and bewilderment, the eyes of the prisoner took in his
surroundings as he became aware of his plight. His floppy shoes started
to quiver and fat tears leaked from his eyes. Clowns communicated only
in sign language, and the captive attempted to express his displeasure
at being kidnapped with a series of confusing hand signals. People
often erred in thinking of clowns as mentally inferior. This was a
mistake. Clowns were just different.
Jerry reached over and jabbed a hypo into a polka-dotted arm. "Just
relax, Sparky. We'll be home soon." He didn't want the prisoner to
injure himself by thrashing around too much. Leaning back, he took a
flask from his pocket. With the mission successfully completed, he
would permit himself a drink or two. If they hadn't managed to catch
this specimen out in the open, it would have been necessary for them to
enter the jungle. Such expeditions were risky, and several hunters had
disappeared without a trace. The whiskey burned comfortingly on the way
down. Jerry closed his eyes and dreamed the ignorant, blissful dreams
of the morally bankrupt.

When Doggo finally recovered from the heavy sedative, he found himself
alone in a sour-smelling, steel cage. It was starting to get dark.
Dozens of ugly-looking specimens that clowns referred to with a hand
signal that basically meant 'Evil ones', were scurrying about in a
state of frenzied activity. Doggo had never seen a human being before.
He found their short little feet and pointy noses repulsive. And their
fashion sense...
The humans were in the process of erecting a large, central tent.
Various animals -some familiar to Doggo, some not - trundled about in
wheeled cages pushed by humans. A horrific din of snapping whips and
shouting voices added to the confusion of the scene. Around the tent, a
series of large, metal structures were undergoing hasty assembly. To
Doggo, the structures appeared designed to seat many humans and spin
them around and 'round. For what purpose, he had absolutely no idea. It
was total chaos. Scared and miserable, Doggo wished he was back at home
in the jungle.
A red-faced human with a large protruding stomach came over and thrust
a bowl of food through a slot in the cage. Doggo sniffed the food
suspiciously - it was yellow and strange looking. Experimentally, he
tasted this new cuisine. Surprisingly, it was palatable, and oddly
appealing. He quickly devoured the snack and looked around expectantly
for more. The red-faced human was laughing and pointing at him.
"Look at 'im lickin' his lips! Ha! Ha! He likes Kraft Dinner!"
Red-face was talking to the bad man from the strange, flying machine.
Jerry grinned and poked Doggo with a metallic stick. Sparks flew and
Doggo recoiled in pain and shock.
"That's it, Jerry. Give 'im a little taste of the stick. Let 'im know
what to expect if he gets outta line." Red-face chuckled
sadistically.
Jerry stuck the cattle prod in his belt and produced a pint of scotch
whisky. Pouring a small measure into a tin cup, he set it on the floor
of the cage. Jerry and Red-face watched the prisoner expectantly. Doggo
grasped the cup with oversized fingers and took a modest sip, after
all, the food had been good. However, he was unprepared for the strange
fluid that burned his mouth like liquid fire. Ejecting the scotch
forcefully, he sprayed his captors with a fine mist.
"Fuckin' hell! Stupid clown!" exclaimed Jerry yanking the cattle prod
from his belt.
Red-face placed a restraining hand on Jerry's arm. "Not too much of
the stick. Ya don't wanna scare him too bad."
Jerry glowered at the clown, but put the cattle prod away. The humans
gave Doggo a final, dirty look and departed.
The preparations reached a harried conclusion as the circus opened for
business. Large floodlights snapped on as the midway came to life with
amplified music and the urgent shouts of carnival barkers hustling
business. Doggo sniffed the air rich with the smell of many strange
varieties of foods. Inside the main tent, the cracking of whips and the
roar of mighty beasts intensified. Despite his fear, the captive was
beginning to experience feelings of anticipation and excitement. It was
all so alive. Through the wall of canvas, Doggo could see the
silhouettes of humans swinging back and forth on ropes. With growing
curiosity, he wondered at the strange spectacle. What was going
on?
Red-face materialized from out of the dark. "Okay, kiddo, yer about to
make yer circus debut. Knock 'em dead!"
Next thing he knew, Doggo was inside the tent. Hundreds of humans were
all laughing and pointing at him. Terrified, he turned and attempted to
retreat to the safety of the cage, but his nervousness caused him to
trip ass over tea kettle. The crowd roared in delight.
A little girl sitting in one of the front rows burst unexpectedly into
tears. "Look, mommy! The clown is sad! He wants to go home!" Tears
poured from the eyes of the inconsolable youngster.
"Ssshh, dear, he's a highly paid performer!" The mother put her arms
around her daughter in a futile attempt to soothe her agitated
offspring.
"No he's not! HE WANTS TO GO HOME!" bawled the child hysterically. A
nearby security guard eyed the pair nervously.
Doggo tried to tell the crowd of his plight through a series of
pantomimes, but the audience merely redoubled their laughter. Before he
could embarrass himself further, other clowns came to his aid and
prevailed upon him to get into a small, wheeled box with them.
Fortunately, clowns are very flexible, and all fourteen of them were
able to squeeze into the tiny vehicle. The crowd loved this stunt and
roared their approval.
Finally the night was over. In a large holding pen, Doggo and the
other clowns dined on more Kraft Dinner. Doggo reflected back on the
evening and found himself impressed by the humans' high level of
pleasure. To his surprise, he realized that he had enjoyed the
attention he had received. Clowns rarely laughed and took everything
far too seriously. Oddly, and even though he feared and resented his
captors, he found himself slightly envious of the human lifestyle. They
seemed so happy and cheerful.
Over the next several days, Doggo learned more about the humans and
their strange, new world. Other clowns told him of huge camps called
'cities' where tall structures reached to the sky and blotted out the
sun. Doggo became fascinated with the humans and their 'civilization'
and found himself wishing he was part of it.
The circus was constantly on the move, and gradually Doggo became
acclimatized to the hustle and bustle of circus life. He still missed
his friends and family back in the jungle, but little by little, his
fellow captives became his new surrogate family. One fetching little
clown grew particularly close. Locked away for the evening, Doggo and
Libby held animated conversations in sign language long into the night,
sitting so closely that their large, red honkers were practically
touching. Libby was of the Checkered, Sad-faced tribe, but this minor
difference had little bearing on the two clowns who were rapidly
falling in love. Like Doggo, who had developed an unquenchable thirst
for knowledge of all things human, Libby shared an equal fascination.
Together, they would sit and wonder at the contradictions and
perplexities of the human condition. Libby believed that all humans
were inherently evil, with only several, small exceptions, while Doggo
believed that most humans were basically good - Jerry being a prime
example of the few who were not. It wasn't enough of a disagreement to
keep them apart, however, and they spent every possible free moment
together.
Each night, Red-face would lead them into the ring where they would
perform an ever-increasing number of stunts to the delight of the
gathered patrons. Doggo looked into the bleachers and took pleasure in
the laughter he provided. Even though he couldn't understand why they
were all laughing, he felt it was important for them to do so, and
thrilled at every guffaw. He was the star of an important ceremony, an
essential life-giving force. He felt almost Human.

One night the unthinkable happened. The clowns were halfway through
their routine, and as usual, Doggo had the crowd in stitches. Suddenly,
dozens of uniformed men rushed into the arena. Panic broke out as the
baton-wielding officers rounded up all the clowns and handcuffed them
into several wildly rollicking groups. The audience booed loudly at
this interruption and began tossing bottles and cans. Ignoring the
unruly crowd, the police led their prisoners from the big top and
ushered them into waiting vehicles. Doggo and Libby tried frantically
to understand what was happening to them, but the officers refused to
respond to their hand signals and were quick with the club or the prod.
Battered and ill-used, Doggo and Libby passed the trip to police
headquarters in the same mind-numbing terror as their first
abduction.
An eternity later, the rear doors of the van swung open and the clowns
found themselves dumped unceremoniously into separate interview rooms.
Using a sign language interpreter, a heavyset, stern looking
middle-aged woman explained to Doggo that an effort to deport him to
his native country was in progress. At first, Doggo felt a great joy at
the prospect of returning home, but as days passed in the farty
confines of the holding cell, he began to realize that he already
missed the circus. He wondered where Libby was and his heart ached with
longing.
His routine each day consisted of being locked down for twenty-three
hours with one hour of exercise in a small courtyard. A wire fence
divided an adjoining courtyard which was always empty. Doggo could
smell the presence of other clowns in the next pen, but was never able
to see any. One day as he shuffled into the courtyard, he discovered to
his surprise, that he was not alone. On the other side of the fence,
Libby peered longingly at him with huge, moist eyes.
Libby! he signaled. How I have missed you! Have you been treated
humanely?
Libby's elastic lips curled with derision. How can you possibly use
such a term? Can't you see how evil they are?
Doggo's face fell. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.
Instantly regretting her choice of signals, Libby quickly changed the
subject. I'm sorry, too. How have you been treated?
Oh, I can't really complain. They feed me lots of Kraft Dinner and
hardly ever poke me with the sparky stick. Mainly, just being without
you causes me the most pain. When will we be together again?
Libby shrugged sadly and pressed her bulbous nose against the wire
fence. Soon, I hope. They won't keep us here forever, will they?
Before Doggo had a chance to reply, the courtyard door swung open and
the guard was there to take him away. He looked back over his shoulder,
but Libby was already gone.

Time stretched endlessly in front of Doggo. Knowing that Libby was so
close yet so far away hurt him more than he dreamed possible.
Just when he thought he could take no more, Doggo was dragged from his
cell and taken for a long ride in a van. The rear doors opened and he
was hauled out onto a wide expanse of tarmac. Wind ripped colourfully
through Doggo's hair as he tried to under-stand what was
happening.
"Get moving, ya gawdamn clown," said a uniformed man waving a cattle
prod.
Doggo tripped as he tried to comply with the man's request. A jolt of
electricity zapped his system as he regained his feet. In pain, he
stumbled forward, almost directly into Libby's path.
Libby! he signalled frantically. What's going on?
Libby raised her manacled hands to reply, but a guard hustled her
along the tarmac and pushed her into an airplane. Before he knew it, he
was strapped in beside Libby. The airplane's engines roared to life.
Tears fell unchecked from Doggo's eyes as the airplane lifted from the
strange land he had unaccountably grown to love. There was no room for
irony in the life of a clown.
Transferred to one of the strange, bladed contraptions, the helpless
pawns chubbed glumly through the sky. Doggo thought he would have a
heart attack when they hit a patch of nasty air. The helicopter bounced
around - a sparrow in a hurricane. The turbulence caused Doggo and
Libby to deposit the contents of their stomachs onto the floor. Heaping
mounds of yellow bile steamed nauseatingly in the close quarters of the
chopper. Nobody laughed.
Hours later, the exhausted and hungry clowns found themselves alone on
a bleak and desolate landscape. Smoke drifted across the blackened
stumps of the decimated jungle and the smell of rotting carrion hung
heavily in the air. Doggo looked up at the vultures circling
expectantly overhead.
Libby fixed him with an accusing look.
What do you think of the Humans, now? she signaled.