Chapter IX: Three Voices, One Song

There is a moment every night when the carnival grows quiet. The games stop calling for customers, the bells fall silent, and even the laughter from the midway seems to soften.

Then I begin to sing.

They call me The Faceless. It's an amusing name considering I have more of a face than most men could ever want.

Three mouths. Three voices. And one mask hiding them all.

I have traveled with the carnival longer than many of its performers can remember. Some entertain with strength. Others rely on tricks, danger, or deception. I require none of those things.

I simply open my mouths.

The first voice is deep and powerful, carrying through the Big Top like distant thunder. The second is warm and beautiful, holding the melody. The third rises above them both, clear enough to make an entire audience hold its breath.

Bass. Melody. Harmony.

When all three come together, I sound less like one man and more like an entire ensemble standing upon the stage. People have accused The Beard Master of hiding additional singers behind the curtains. He's invited them to look.

They never find anyone.

Because there is no trick. There is only me.

Boron has always been particularly fond of my performances. Perhaps it's because the people here still know how to listen. When I begin singing, children stop squirming in their seats. Couples reach for one another's hands. Old men close their eyes and remember places they haven't seen in decades.

For those few minutes beneath the lights, nobody sees a freak.

They hear something beautiful.

I cherish those minutes because eventually the song ends, and the audience always wants more.

Not another song.

Something else.

They want to see what's beneath the mask.

Humans are curious creatures. Give them something beautiful and eventually they'll start searching for something ugly underneath.

My mask is porcelain. Smooth ivory. Perfectly symmetrical. A pleasant expression painted delicately across its surface. One mouth, one nose, two eyes.

The face of an ordinary man.

Perhaps that's why people find it comforting.

There's nothing ordinary underneath.

The first time The Carney saw my true face, he didn't speak for nearly a minute. To his credit, he didn't look away either.

The Beard Master reacted differently. He studied me carefully before asking a single question.

"Can you sing?"

I showed him.

He hired me before the final note faded.

Since then, the mask has remained part of my performance. Most evenings, I never remove it, but occasionally The Beard Master knows exactly what an audience wants.

The final song ends. The lights dim until only one spotlight remains. I stand alone in the center ring and slowly reach behind my head to loosen the leather strap holding the mask against my face.

You can feel the audience leaning forward.

They expect scars. Perhaps burns. Maybe some clever carnival makeup designed to frighten them.

The mask comes away.

And the screaming begins.

Three mouths twist across a face that nature seems to have abandoned halfway through creating it. One sits roughly where they expect. Another stretches unnaturally along one side of my face. The third rests beneath it, surrounded by warped flesh and features that refuse to follow any sensible arrangement.

People cover their children's eyes. Some turn away immediately.

Others cannot.

Those are my favorites.

The ones horrified enough to leave but fascinated enough to stay.

Then I do something they don't expect.

I sing again.

No instruments. No orchestra. No distractions.

Just me.

Three mouths open, and three voices fill the Big Top.

Suddenly, the grotesque thing standing beneath the spotlight produces the most beautiful sound they've heard all evening.

That's when the audience changes.

Fear becomes confusion. Disgust becomes fascination. Some even begin to cry.

Beauty and horror occupying the same body.

Perhaps that's why I've always belonged here.

Tonight, Boron fills every seat beneath the Big Top. Outside, autumn winds move through the carnival while warm lanterns illuminate the midway. Somewhere beyond the canvas, I can smell roasted nuts, caramel, woodsmoke, and fallen maple leaves.

The Beard Master gives me the signal.

The lights disappear, and silence consumes the tent.

I step into the center ring. My porcelain mask catches the final spotlight as hundreds of faces stare back at me from the darkness.

Then I hear someone whisper.

"Take it off."

Another voice joins them.

Then another.

Soon the words move throughout the tent until half the audience is chanting in anticipation.

"Take it off. Take it off. Take it off."

I reach behind my head and find the leather strap.

The crowd falls silent.

I smile beneath the mask.

All three of us do.

They came tonight because they wanted to hear something beautiful.

But this is a carnival.

And sometimes the price of witnessing something beautiful...

is having to look directly at the thing that created it.