Dark Rides

For as long as he could remember Benjamin Sawyer wanted to be an entertainer.

When other boys were playing baseball and fishing and chasing each other while pretending to be cops and robbers, Ben busied himself in his room writing scripts for performances in which he was the star of the show. He learned to be quite adept at applying clown makeup, and on more than one occasion his father had chastised him for “making such a racket” as he practiced somersaults and cartwheels in his large bedroom. “For crying out loud,” his father would complain, “go outside and make some real friends!”

Ben seemed not to mind an absence of childhood friends, preferring instead the company of stuffed animals and dolls that he arranged into audiences for his various shows. As an only child until the birth of his sister when he was eleven, he had learned to entertain himself, and yet his greatest desire was to hear the applause of a crowd. On more than one occasion his mother was disturbed to see him sitting for hours at a time gazing into the mirror in his bedroom. Whenever she asked him what he was doing, he seemed not to hear at first, but only smiled faintly until her repeated questioning of his name would snap him out of his reverie.

At these times, when Ben stared long enough, his reflection would begin to fade until he could see a multitude of blurred, laughing faces in a darkened theater before him as though he were on stage. The deafening applause filled his head much to his delight, although the sound of one loud, male, braying laugh always rose above the crowd. If Ben were left undisturbed, his vision narrowed to one shadowed laughing face below spiked tufts of hair, the head thrown back and shaking with each violent guffawing burst. When he stared long enough, he found himself drawn toward that face, the mouth growing larger and larger and the laugh louder and louder until he plunged inside it past rows of gleaming teeth and disappearing completely into a cavernous void. At that point, his vision turned abruptly to silent blackness, and Ben would then find himself still sitting before the mirror as if he had just awakened abruptly from a dream, his heart pounding wildly. While terrifying, the exhilaration was also paradoxically what he imagined it must be like to have just closed a successful performance!

On the day he turned sixteen Ben had the chance to experience firsthand a traveling show that featured singers, dancers, acrobats, and clowns. His father would have whipped him had he found out Ben had attended such a “sinful” event, but as soon as Ben saw the colorful poster in the window of Walker’s Pharmacy he knew he had to go. He loved the entire experience, but above all, Ben was enthralled with the ventriloquist act of Lionel and Louie. The jokes really weren’t that funny, but Ben loved the banter that took place between the master comedian and his dummy and the laughs they both earned from the rowdy audience.

Ben noted with amusement that Louie’s wild, orange hair reminded him of the red-headed trait displayed by most of the male members of the Sawyer family, including his father and himself, although that was perhaps the only thing Ben had in common with his father. The dummy’s wide, toothy grin and his large, rolling eyes that sat beneath two exaggerated eyebrows that could move up and down for tremendous comic effect delighted Ben to no end. And the way that Lionel singled Ben out throughout the act as though recognizing Ben as a kindred soul, even winking at him at one point, assured the youthful fan that the life of an entertainer was indeed his true calling.

From the time that he saw that act on his sixteenth birthday, Benjamin knew precisely what he wanted to be when he grew up. He would be a ventriloquist like Lionel! He practiced for hours at a time in front of his bedroom mirror as he taught himself to speak without moving his lips. The only thing missing was a partner, and as Benjamin had no skills in carpentry, he was not able to make his own dummy.

Ben had attempted to improvise. His little sister Susie had a collection of dolls that included a bride and groom, and Ben had tried sitting with that large male doll on his knee, turning its head this way and that with his left hand as he talked for it, but the doll’s inability to move its eyes and mouth was sadly unsatisfactory. He needed an actual ventriloquist’s dummy with a complete set of mechanical workings with which to practice.

He would have to buy one, and that would require help from his father. He knew his father, a very stern man, was not likely to be receptive to his plan, so the timing had to be perfect. Months passed as Ben worked on his act, and on finding the nerve to approach his father.

When Mr. Sawyer came home one summer evening singing, Ben’s heart raced! It was not often that his father came home in a jovial mood, or for that matter, that he expressed joy at all, and on the rare occasions that he did, it generally meant that a stop at the tavern to celebrate a business victory had been included in the afternoon agenda. The strong baritone voice singing the final lines from the third verse of “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” could be heard in the house long before Benjamin, Sr. reached the front door,

“The Prince of Darkness grim,

We tremble not for him;

His rage we can endure,

For lo, his doom is sure...”

With one more line to complete the hymn, the door opened wide and Mr. Sawyer stepped through dramatically for his big finish with his arms spread wide.

“...One little word shall fe-e-ell him!”

Mr. Sawyer always expected his wife to greet him when he arrived home after work, and as he had announced his arrival through song well in advance on this special occasion, she stood ready in the entrance hall to receive him. Although she smiled, one raised eyebrow marked her awareness, if not silent disapproval, of the cause of his unusually pleasant state.

“So you’ve vanquished the very devil today, my dear?” she said taking his coat. “A good day at the office, I assume.”

“A marvelous day!” he exclaimed. “We, or should I say, ‘I’ finally closed the Morrison account, which just might cover all of young Benjamin’s expenses for medical school all by itself,” he said, beaming.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” Mrs. Sawyer said, ushering him on through the parlor. “If you’d like to put your feet up for just a while, Mrs. Courtney will have dinner ready shortly. Susie’s helping her, by the way. She seems to be developing quite an interest in cooking.” She took her husband’s coat and carried it down the hallway to his bedroom to hang it up. Some people thought the practice of a married couple having separate bedrooms was a bit antiquated, but Mr. Sawyer was a stickler for adhering to “the old ways.”

“A capital idea, my love,” he said calling after her, and took a seat in his favorite leather chair and hummed the strains of the hymn he had been singing as he reached for the newspaper on the side table where Mrs. Sawyer made sure it was always available.

Hearing the conversation thus far while standing on the steps, Ben thought the time was right to seize the opportunity that had presented itself. Taking a deep breath, he entered the parlor and sat on the couch next to his father.

“Hello, Father,” he said.

“Hello, Ben. Have you been keeping yourself productively occupied in these summer months? You’ll be leaving us in another year or two to go to the university and you need to keep your mind sharp. ‘Idle hands...’ and all that, you know.”

“Well, um, yes, I have…that is, well...” stammered Ben.

“Come on boy, spit it out,” thundered Mr. Sawyer, although good-naturedly enough, at least in his own opinion. “No son of mine is going to be a milk-toast, mealy-mouthed popinjay!”

Mrs. Sawyer entered the room, frowning at her husband’s tone but saying nothing, having learned long ago the perils of correcting her husband. She crossed the parlor and sat in her customary cushioned chair across from Mr. Sawyer, then looked at Ben and gave him an encouraging nod to continue his speech, curious about what her son might have to say.

He sat up straight, cleared his throat, and spoke, his voice cracking slightly only once. “Actually, Father, I have been busy, and quite productive. You see, for some time now I’ve been interested in perfecting a craft. A craft that takes quite bit of practice and training. I have been practicing and I think I’ve gotten quite good at it. However, I lack the equipment I need to perfect my skills, and I was hoping that you might help me to purchase what I need.”

This was the longest speech that Ben had ever delivered to his father, and thus it quite caught him by surprise. He waited a moment to digest what Ben had said, and then asked, “You’ve been practicing a....what did you say, a craft?”

Ben nodded and noticing how his mother gave him a piercing look and dropped her chin, an indication that he should speak and not just nod his head, he added, “Yes, that’s right, a craft.”

“What craft, exactly?” his father asked.

Here comes the hard part, Ben thought. “Ventriloquism,” he said blinking as he tried his best to look his father in the eye without wavering.

’Ventril...” Mr. Sawyer broke off as if he hadn’t heard his son correctly. “Ventriloquism!” Ben’s father’s jovial mood had clearly vanished. “You mean like a sideshow act? A comedian...” he said the last word as if it tasted of spoiled meat, “...with a little doll, who acts in those traveling burlesque shows with strippers, pitching tonics and ointments and snake-oil to foolish rubes?” As Mr. Sawyer got further into his diatribe, spit flew from his lips.

Ben didn’t know what to say. Saying “yes’ meant affirming his father’s assessment of his training as being something loathsome rather than an admirable trade, and saying “no” would seem like lying. He decided that a straightforward manner would be best, and that if he didn’t express his desire now, he never would.

“They aren’t all like that, Father. It takes great skill to be a ventriloquist. If I am good enough, I can perform with respectable performers in the best theaters. Not just here, but in the largest cities--all over the world!”

Mr. Sawyer narrowed his eyes and tilted his head as if he hadn’t heard his son correctly. “You...want to be...a ventriloquist.” he said quietly, not asking a question but making a statement.

“Yes, I do. And I’ve practiced for a long time in perfecting how to speak without moving my lips. But just as important is the movement of the ventriloquist’s dummy. There’s quite a bit to learn in the manipulation of....”

“Enough!” his father shouted. “I’ve heard all of this nonsense that I can stand!” Mr. Sawyer stood up and began to pace back and forth across the room breathing heavily through his nose. He stopped momentarily to ask his wife, “Had you any idea he was wasting his time on such foolishness?” he asked suspiciously.

“No, not at all,” she said defensively. “But children often go through phases like this,” she offered, trying to calm him. “It’s really nothing.”

Resuming his pacing for two trips back and forth across the parlor, he stopped again to continue his tirade at his son. Shaking a finger in his son’s reddening face, he said, “You will abandon this ridiculous notion and return to your preparation for medical school as I’ve planned for you all along.”

Somehow, Ben found a reserve of strength he had never known he possessed, and shouted through tears of rage, “It’s not a phase, and I’m not a child! I know you want me to be a doctor, but that isn’t what I want. I want to perform. I want to make people laugh and be happy. I’m tired of living in a place like this where I worry every second if I might say something or do something of which you don’t approve!”

Mr. Sawyer slapped his son so hard that the sound echoed in the parlor. “You will not raise your voice to me, you ungrateful, sniveling brat!” Mrs. Sawyer gasped and cowered back in her chair with one hand gripping the arm of the chair and the other pressed to her throat. “Now go up to your room and get out of my sight!” his father barked.

Ben quickly wiped the tears from his face, stood, and walked briskly across the room and ran up the stairs to his room. Mrs. Sawyer sat in fearful silence, wide-eyed, watching as her husband paced the floor.

“Imagine the ingratitude...” Mr. Sawyer muttered. He stopped in front of his wife and raising his voice again spouted, “I will not tolerate this from him! And you will not undermine me in this either!” he said pointing at her. He walked a few more steps, and then pulled down on the corners of his vest, straightened his tie, and said in a deliberately calm voice, “For now, we will continue our evening as usual, but without Ben as he needs some time to contemplate his unacceptable behavior. Would you please check and see if our dinner is ready?” Mrs. Sawyer nodded, stood, and left the room for the kitchen, grateful for the chance to leave her husband’s presence.

Up in his room, Ben sat on his bed in silence. He thought about what had just happened. He thought about how his father had yelled at him. He thought about how he had never been encouraged to speak about his own hopes and dreams. He thought about how his mother had looked on in silence and fear when his father had struck him.

And then Ben stood up and walked over to the bench that sat in front of the bureau with the tall mirror where he had practiced for so many hours. He sat down at the mirror and stared at his reflection.

He stared in silence. For hours. And then all at once, he began to smile. The smile grew wider and wider until it filled the mirror. And yet it widened even further, spilling past the frame of the mirror and onto the wall. It widened until Ben could see nothing but a huge, comic grin that resembled nothing so much as the huge, toothy smile of a ventriloquist’s dummy.

The next morning at breakfast, Benjamin was unusually cheerful. It was customary for Ben, Sr. to go into the office before the rest of the family ate, but this morning he had apparently decided to sleep in after his great achievement from the day before, which gave Mrs. Sawyer an opportunity to see how her son had processed the unpleasant events of the previous evening. Ben’s behavior seemed odd given the circumstances--he was just too cheery.

“So how would you two like to see my new act?” he asked his mother and his sister as he spread marmalade on a biscuit and directed a smile especially at Susie.

“You mean that ‘trilokism’ act?” the young girl asked.

“Ventriloquism,” Ben corrected. “Yes, that’s right. Want to see?” Susie bobbed her head up and down excitedly. She rarely interacted with her brother at all since he kept to himself so much. She was both thrilled at his attention to her and intrigued that he might actually share something personal with the family.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Ben,” Mrs. Sawyer said slowly, setting down her teacup.

“Why not?” Ben answered.

“Well, your father would hardly approve, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I think he’s totally on board with the idea now,” Ben said nonchalantly, taking a bite of his biscuit. Mrs. Sawyer narrowed her eyes and looked at Ben closely.

“We came to an understanding this morning,” he continued.

“This morning?” asked his mother. “You saw him…this morning?”

“Yes. So who wants to see my act?”

“I do, I do!” Susie exclaimed bouncing in her seat.

“Certainly, dear,” his mother said. “But, well, wouldn’t you like to wait for your father to join us?”

“Part of our ‘understanding’ is that he doesn’t want to see my act,” Ben replied in a voice that was oddly nonchalant. He then added flatly, “He hates me.”

“Oh, Ben, I’m sure that’s not true. It’s just that...”

“Oh, yes, it’s true,” Ben said interrupting her. “But I don’t care. I don’t need his help. I can put together an act all by myself. Let me show you. I call my act “Big Ben and Little Ben.”

Benjamin left the breakfast table and disappeared into the parlor, only to return within seconds carrying Susie’s old groom doll with which he had practiced before deeming it unsatisfactory. But something seemed wrong, disproportionate. The head, which sprouted a wildly-spiked orange halo of hair, was turned around backwards. That was understandable since Ben had yet to settle himself on a chair with the dummy, but still, it seemed too large for the body.

When Ben sat down and arranged himself with the dummy sitting correctly on his lap, his family saw to their horror that the dummy no longer supported the original groom’s head, but now displayed the horribly grinning head, crudely painted in clown makeup to resemble the exaggerated features of a ventriloquist’s sidekick, of Benjamin’s own father.