FFM 2014, July 10 - Barnum's Weed

The old clown let out a clowd of smoke from his cigarette. His face was blotched white, big red lips, like it was all peeling off him. He was a part of the freak-show: the story was he'd used the wrong chemical once to clean his face, and it had seared the clown make-up permanently to his skin. It looked grotesque.

"Year musta been 1851. It was the middle of Lind mania, the sweet, shy girl from Sweden with her angel's voice making all that money for charities holding concert after concert. P.T. Barnum was her manager. I worked for him."

"As a clown?" The circues of Mr. Barnum were no better than his so-called museums. Dens of superstition and magic, swindling the gullible.

"Sweet lawd no. As his assistant. Mr. Barnum didn't have no clowns back then." The clown let out another cloud of distasteful smoke. He must have picked up the habit from some frenchman or Mexican. No proper American smoked cigarettes.

"Go on." I scribbled a few notes in my notebook.

"He called me into 'is office one day, said 'e had another business opportunity, but he was too busy with Ms. Lind to deal with it. Then he took out this satchel. Inside was a weed o' some s--"

"Describe it."

"Uh. It was spiky? Thin stalks, kind of weird..."

I sighed. "Go on."

The old carny leaned towards me, lowering his voice. "He said that plant could turn a black man white. Imagine!"

I felt a thrill of excitement. "And?"

"And that's how I really got m' face. Through that damned plant!"

I looked at him more closely. I was no phrenologist, but even I could tell he didn't have the skull form of a black man. He was as European as the next one. "Explain."

"Well, when you ground it up see, the paste...it kind o' bleaches the skin? So I did that, to demonstrate it, but it never went away! Fuckin' thing made me whiter than a ginger Irish whore!"

I had no idea if I should believe him or not. He was with the circus. A professional liar.

"Did Barnum ever tell you where he found it? I should like to study it."

"Well mister botanist, that's the rub innit." The carny looked at me with his beady little eyes. "Mr. Barnum did tell me. An' I went there to harvest more. Damned remote place too, infested by injuns who think it's holy land. But I know where it is."

"Well then?" My pen was poised.

"Well then, Mister Carver" The ancient clown's wrinkled face morphed into the very grin of Satan. "I ain't gonna tell you, not for all the gold in China. Next thing, you university-educated blacks are gonna start smearing it all over yerself, and then...well, then what?"

I hesitated. "We could save lives. Suffering. Things ain't easy for blacks, and they won't get easier. It could help. Show people the colour's just cosmetics, like your clown mask. Make people see it's different things that're keeping Gods people apart."

The old clown threw down his cigarette and stepped on it. "Fuck off, nigger."