Of False and True Wonders

From afar, the shrill clatter of fairground organs could already be heard, spilling restlessly across the barren fields.

The cool autumn air mingled with the heavy scent of roasted almonds, sugary syrup, and hot grease.

Lanterns of every color hung between poles and tents, casting flickering shadows across the grounds of the travelling fair.

Max stopped on the road outside the village and let the bright lights wash over him for a moment before hurrying on.

“This must be the place,” he murmured. “At long last.”

For days he had walked from village to village, asking in taverns and inns where the fair had gone.

In Stratweiler, people claimed it had been seen heading toward Neuburg.

In Neuburg, they said it had moved on to Oxenfurt.

And in pious Oxenfurt, folk whispered that the rabble had been driven off with stones and had fled south.

By now, Max’s money was nearly gone, his boots worn thin.

All the greater, then, was his hope that he had finally reached his destination.

“My destination…,” Max whispered as he drew closer to the tents.

Inevitably, he wondered what might be waiting for him at the end of it.

He hoped that the Wolpertinger named Well had not been foolish enough to let herself be caught again.

And if she had, then I would free her, he thought.

It was that simple.

Wasn’t it?

Once more, something wrestled within him.

One part of him hoped to find nothing more than yet another forgery.

The miracle, the impossible thing only he had seen, should remain untouched, far from cages, restraints, and greedy eyes.

And yet…

And yet another part of him longed to look into those emerald-green eyes again, even if they gazed back at him from behind bars.

Perhaps, he thought fleetingly, she might help me out of gratitude if I freed her? The bet is already lost, but if I present her in the village, maybe I could still...

His thoughts were interrupted when a loud cry tore him from his reverie.

A barker stood atop a wooden crate, his top hat askew, arms spread wide.

“Step closer and marvel!” he cried in a ringing voice. “Come and behold wonders you shall carry with you all your days! Marvels from across the wide world, gathered so that even here, at the very edge of the land, honest folk such as yourselves may set eyes upon them!”

Max tried to pass him by, but the man noticed and leaned forward.

“You there, young sir! Ever wondered what fate has in store for you? If you would glimpse tomorrow’s turn, Mother Gretchen stands ready for but three shillings!”

“I seek something else,” Max replied evenly. “Your cabinet of curiosities. I am told you keep a Wolpertinger.”

The showman’s eyes widened, then he lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“Ahh… so word has already reached you.” He grinned broadly. “The marvel of the Alps, half beast, half legend! Aye, my son, you’ll find it back there, in the great tent, our very own bestiary.”

Max merely nodded and moved on.

The closer he came to the tent, the faster his heart began to pound.

Fantastic paintings covered the coarse canvas: dragons, mermaids, winged creatures with claws and antlers.

At the entrance, Max wordlessly pressed the last coins he possessed into the ticket seller’s hand.

When he stepped inside, a sharp, animal stench hit him at once.

Straw covered the ground, and all around stood narrow pens in which all manner of more or less fantastic creatures crouched.

In one lay something resembling a calf, misshapen, with a useless fourth leg dangling limply at its flank.

In another huddled a creature that scarcely lifted its head, apathetic, its gaze dull and vacant.

A sign identified it as an Esquilax, an alleged marvel from distant lands.

Max turned away and quickened his pace along the rows of enclosures.

Until he read the word that, only weeks ago, had meant nothing to him, and now meant everything:

Wolpertinger.

He stopped, his gaze sinking to what sat before him.

Brown fur. Long ears.

White wings. A small rack of antlers.

For a moment, his heart stopped.

Then he looked more closely.

It was no pug, no crude joke.

But it was no Wolpertinger.

And it was certainly not her.

It was an ordinary hare, cruelly and carefully altered, crafted with more effort and malice than any forgery before it.

 Yet still nothing more than a hare.

The straps were cleverly hidden, the cords skillfully disguised, but Max knew what he was seeing.

The image of the original had burned itself too deeply into his memory.

Disappointment coursed through him.

And, at the same time…

Relief.

A quiet, hoarse laugh escaped his throat, and he shook his head.

When he left the tent again, the ticket seller nodded at him with satisfaction.

“Well now, young man,” he said, “you’ve surely never set eyes on wonders such as these before, have you?”

Max snorted softly.

“No,” he murmured. “Not like those.”

He stepped aside, closed his eyes for a moment, and let the cool wind brush over his face.

Then he said quietly, barely audible, as if meant only for himself:

“True wonders cannot be caged anyway…”

The showman turned toward him.

“What did you say?”

Max shook his head.

“Nothing.”

He cleared his throat.

“Tell me… what will you do once winter sets in?”

“Oh, once the first snow lies?” the man laughed. “Then we turn southward, to where the lemons bloom.” He cast a wary glance at the sky. “I doubt it will be long now…”

Max nodded thoughtfully.

“To Italy, then…”

He turned back to the man.

“And… might there be room in your troupe for one willing to muck out stalls, tend beasts, and the like? I would turn my hand to whatever other work is needed too.”

The showman raised an eyebrow, studying him.

“You want to join us?”

Max shrugged, as though 'yes or no' mattered little to him.

“Speak to the master of the troupe then. The small red tent behind the carousel. If you’re of any use, your chances might be decent, we can always use capable hands.”

“My thanks,” Max said simply, then turned away with a slight bow.

The full moon now shone brightly above the fairground.

And as Max disappeared into the red tent, he knew that somewhere beyond cages, ropes, and false sensations, something remained free.

Something never meant to be claimed.

For some of the wonders of this world, he had learned at last, are not meant to be uncovered.

To strip them of their mystery, would be to lose them forever.

The End