Julia Pastrana

By Sandy Olson and Julian Fenech

Inspired by real life events, Julia Pastrana is the shocking story of a young woman who, because of her physical appearance, is hurled into the circus sideshows of the 1850's. She soon finds herself rescued from this miserable existence by the handsome and charismatic Theodor Lent. Is this her dream come true or the beginning of her worst nightmare?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy Olson
• Release date: Sep 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301613373

Sandy Olson

Sandy Olson is a writer and award winning photographer from Alberta, Canada. 'Julia Pastrana' is her first novel. Her second novel, 'Adeline's Wilt' was published in September 2012.

Book preview

Chapter 1 - New York 1855

Is it diseased?

No, no, said the doctor. She’s as healthy as they come.

Mmm hmm, said the man, studying the beast from head to toe. Lice?

No, she is very clean, I assure you.

The man took his time, his steps were precise, walking the length of the cage and back again. I’ll give you forty dollars.

The doctor pursed his lips and thought for a moment before shaking his head. I’m sorry, Salmande, I was hoping for at least fifty five.

Well, hope all you want. I’m offering forty. Take it or leave it.

With a frown on his face, the doctor said, No, I cannot take forty. Just look at that face! He gestured toward the ape in the cage. That is not human nor is it animal. It is something never seen before by anyone. I cannot let it go for less than fifty.

Salmande spat tobacco juice onto the floor and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. I can go as high as forty five but that’s my final offer.

Sold. She’s yours for forty five.

They shook hands on the deal and made their way down the corridor. The familiar click of the latch door echoed through the hallway as the men left the building.

The beast stood behind the iron bars as still as ice. Its eyes were wide open, glistening, unblinking, maintaining their focus on the corner around which the men had disappeared. A minute passed. Then two.

Click

It jumped at the sound of the latch lifting and released a whimper. Footsteps that began as faint taps grew louder by the moment and filled the vast corridor with their relentless booms. The creature scampered to the back of the cage, gripping the bars as if holding on to life itself.

Around the corner and into sight its new master arrived with a ring of skeleton keys in hand, followed by two burly men with rope and sack cloth in theirs. They stood at attention, awaiting instruction while their boss attempted to unlock the cage.

Damn it!

The beast flinched.

What the… His impatience was wearing thin with the ornery padlock.

Aha, he blurted when he finally succeeded. Throwing the lock, as well as the keys, to the ground, he swung the door open. Go ahead, he commanded his men.

Its knees buckled. It had difficulty holding itself up as its sweaty hands slid down the bars. One man rushed in and captured the creature easily, clutching the back of its neck. It hunched its shoulders and winced before being thrown to the ground. The man wasted no time in immobilizing the beast by resting his knee on its temple, crushing its head under the weight.

Aaaaah! it cried out and began slapping and scratching the man’s leg. Its arms were forced behind its back by the other man who kept the creature still by kneeling on its legs. A rope was wound tightly around its wrists and knotted before both men dismounted. Using a handful of hair, they pulled its head back into position and covered it with the burlap, securing it with yet another rope strung twice around its neck. With this task accomplished, the men stood at attention and awaited the next order.

The beast lay naked on the concrete slab, trembling, trying to catch its breath. Salmande then gave the nod. The men lifted the creature into the air by the noose. Sputtering and gasping for breath, it thrashed about and kicked one of the men in the belly.

Bloody ape! he yelled and let go of the rope. A loud crack sounded when the back of its head hit the cement, rendering it unconscious.

Snap!

The whip cut across its chest and the beast immediately revived.

Stand! its master ordered. He held the weapon in position, ready to discipline at any second.

Without hesitation, it obeyed. As its hands were bound behind its back, it had difficulty and fell over several times before rising shakily to its feet.

Walk!

Taking a step, it teetered and fought to regain its balance.

Snap!

It gasped and arched its back then fell to the side where fortunately, the iron bars held it upright.

You disobey me once, growled Salmande, I’ll whip you senseless. You disobey me again, I’ll whip you ‘til you’re dead. Snuff juice sprayed everywhere as he spoke. Now walk!

It stood using its shoulder to push itself away from the bars and began to walk in the direction it was being pulled. Several yanks of the rope on its neck, intended to hurry it along, caused it to fall to the ground instead.

Snap!

Get up!

Snap!

Even the piercing cut of the whip could not induce it to move.

I said get up!

Snap!

Nothing.

It’s no use. Get it outta here and into the wagon.

The men did as they were told, dragging the beast by the noose down the corridor and out the door. They flung it into the cart like a rag doll and climbed in themselves, resting their feet on its skull, back, and legs for the journey north. Salmande sat in the driver’s seat and ordered some ale to be opened in celebration of his most recent acquisition.

Cheers boys! he said, raising his mug high into the air. Here’s to another successful day!

* * * *

Chapter 2 - Two Years Later

Gentlemen! Before you walks a man…a man not of pride and integrity, but of cunning and deceit. A man of no scruples, but many evils. I give you Lent! The scoundrel supreme!

Foster stood with his nose in the air on the steps of City Hall, still pointing towards the man he had so rudely introduced. He was short and frail, not the kind of man expected to hold a seat in office. His flaming red hair more than anything set him apart from the group of men that surrounded him. They cheered their leader’s insatiable wit and awaited a clever rebuttal.

Good day, Foster, said Lent who barely batted an eyelid toward the men as he passed by. He continued to saunter confidently down the cobblestone street having no time to exchange verbal blows. Today he was on a mission.

Blood made its way from Foster’s chin, up through his cheeks, and flushed outward, encompassing his entire face. His followers watched in fascination as his ears grew a deeper shade of crimson with each passing moment

How dare he? he whispered, then bellowed, The brothel is that way Lent or are you spending your evening with freaks now? His voice echoed off the tall buildings of downtown, grabbing the attention of many bystanders. Laughter broke out at this insult giving Foster’s ears time to cool. He bowed again and again to his supporters. Come on Lent. Try to beat that.

Lent stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t let Foster get away that easily. I don’t know, he called, turning back. Is your sister in town?

Laughter filled the air and Foster’s face flushed again. Realizing that a few chuckles came from his own men, he shot them a glare, wiping the smiles clean off their faces.

Come on! Let’s get out of here! he ordered, shoving his way through the group he had intended to impress. Like a flock of sheep with their shepherd, the men followed him down the stairs and up the street with their tails tucked between their legs.

Lent laughed out loud and shook his head at his so-called rival, watching him and his cronies disappear around a corner. Making a mockery of Foster is so simple yet so rewarding. Hands patted him on the back accompanied by words of congratulations from those impressed by his comeback. His quick wit and cool demeanor impressed most people. He resumed his evening stroll with a satisfied smirk on his face.

As he neared the festivities, he was engrossed by the sounds. Shrieks, cries, and laughter filled his ears, illustrating the broad spectrum of emotion he knew sideshows could evoke. He reveled in hearing the screams of heart wrenching terror and horrified gasps that escaped from unsuspecting mouths.

Fools.

He could hear, above all else, the constant bellowing of the front men. Enter if you dare but I warn you, it’s not for the faint of heart! Their desperate calls were used to excite and coerce the crowds and it was certainly working on Lent.

The smell of fresh popcorn reached his nostrils and made his mouth water, for he had not eaten all day. As he pushed his way thoughtlessly through the jumble of people loitering at the entrance, the nauseating stench of unclean bodies countered the sweet aroma and his hunger dissipated.

Once through the gates and into the crowded street of the carnival, he wiped his suit down from top to bottom, ensuring every bit of dust, lint, and grime of the common folk was off him.

He then adjusted his hat, twirled his moustache, and looked down at his feet.

God damn low lifes!

A scuff. A scuff on his boot. He glared at the people around him before slipping between wagons for a quick spit shine.

When he returned to the street, his eyes darted everywhere. There was so much to take in. To his left, a young woman was crying as she stepped from a caravan that held The Two Headed Boy. Her inexperienced lover was trying to console her but the sight had horrified the poor girl to no end. Further up, three boys were in hysterics as they raced from a tent housing The Dim-Witt, a favorite of carnival customers whose unusual antics and ridiculous features made for a most enjoyable show. To Lent’s right, two elderly gentlemen were shaking their heads, both equally disgusted, after leaving the tent of the Fat Lady. The more intense the emotion, the more Lent’s eyes gleamed. He knew that these reactions didn’t discourage, but rather encouraged people to push and shove their way from tent to tent, paying a fine fee to be witness to these oddities.

Lent recalled seeing a small carnival of this nature when he was a boy and was overwhelmed, much like these people around him. Creatures that haunted his worst nightmares became a frightening reality. It wasn’t until last year that he had revisited one and as an adult, intrigue had replaced the fear.

He began strolling down the street, taking his time to observe every aspect of the festivities. The customers, he noticed, came from all walks of life, from the elite in their Sunday best to those who, in Lent’s opinion, could qualify as freaks themselves. A small boy, dirty and underfed, skimmed past him.

Give it back, Lent said as he caught the boy by the scruff of the collar.

Let go of me! He squirmed and kicked but Lent’s size and strength were no match for such a tiny lad. Lent dragged the boy off the street and behind a tent.

Give it back, he demanded.

The boy reached around and tried to bite Lent’s forearm before finding himself whisked into a painful headlock.

With one twist of my arm I can break your neck and it wouldn’t bother me in the least. I can’t stand children, let alone little bastards like you who think they can steal from me and live to tell about it.

Slowly, the boy reached into his pants and recovered the money. Lent snatched it quickly from the tiny hand.

What else have you got?

Nothin’.

You’re a terrible liar. He searched the child’s clothes and found an inner pocket. Thank you very much, he said, releasing the boy and fanning through the newly acquired bank notes.

Those are mine!

They’re mine now and if you have a problem with that, come over here and try to get them.

The boy looked to the money, then to Lent’s face, then back to the money.

I wouldn’t advise you to try it unless you want your pathetic life to come to an abrupt halt. The boy bolted in the opposite direction as Lent knew he would. I shall be dining well tonight! he said, counting the notes. He stuffed them into his breast pocket and readjusted his suit before returning to the street.

As he walked along, he noticed the caravans were colored every shade of a faded rainbow, the paint peeling away on some more than others. He was amazed that this wagon train had covered several states. Horse droppings clung to worn wheels that were often in a state of disrepair and many of the caravans looked as though they’d fall apart crossing the street. Worn and yellowed tents were also set up for shows with patched holes and frayed edges. To an unsuspecting eye, this sideshow appeared to make very little money. To those more observant, such as Lent, carnivals like these were very prosperous outfits. He knew that the amount made during a month’s stint would be more than enough to buy all new tents, wagons, and horses, yet everything to do with the show was ratty, dirty, and old. The reason, he discovered, was in a man named Barton, the brains behind this traveling circus whom he had met last fall. Barton, though fairly plain, looked the part of a wealthy man. He was a fine dresser, adorning custom tailored suits of the latest fashion, complete with a silk top hat. Accessories were bold, whether it be gold cufflinks or a shiny cravat pin and he smoked only the finest cigars. To speak to him, though, would expose the truth, revealing the tact and mannerisms of a crab fisherman. Despite this, Lent admired his strong business sense. It was quite clever, after all, to profit enormously from an entire circus of people who work so hard for so little.

The paintings and banners that donned the front of the tents and caravans fascinated Lent. Huge exaggerations and even blatant lies were illustrated to keep the crowds coming. He knew the Wild Amazon Jungle Woman was from Chicago, but the people who paid their entrance fees didn’t need to know that. One caravan he passed had a painting portraying a tiny woman standing in the palm of a man’s hand. The crowds forked over good money to enter this wagon, discovering that she was not the size of a doll, but rather the size of a six year old girl. To Lent’s amazement, though, the crowds seemed not to care that the image had fooled them, for they were just as enthralled by this child size person as they would have been by the lady they were expecting to see. Lent was truly taken by the carnival. The noise, the drama, the frenzied atmosphere…it didn’t get better than this.

Lent walked a bit faster, searching for the one he had come to see. Good evening, Mr. Lent. How do you do, Mr. Lent? These salutations were spoken often and Lent acknowledged them with a slight nod and little interest. He kept his eyes on the banners as he continued down the street.

Three ladies were leaning against an old wagon, hoping to advertise their wares. Hi Lent! they sang out in unison, their corsets and stocking leaving little to the imagination. When are you going to come see us again? one cooed and leaned forward, giving Lent and everyone else around an eyeful of overflowing bosom.

He flashed them his smile and stopped for a quick visit. Ladies, you are looking beautiful as always.

The ladies giggled for they adored Lent. He had charm, good looks, charisma…most of which were lacking in the brunt of their gentlemen friends.

I have a free moment right now, Lent, teased the old gal, giving her favorite customer a most provocative look.

He felt a hand squeeze his buttocks and turned his attention to the frisky blonde. She giggled as did he. I’m available anytime you want me, she said. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth as if ready to speak. But before any words came out, he turned to the last lady who was quite ordinary, her mousy brown hair and freckled face a stark contrast to the beauty of the others. It didn’t matter to Lent, though, for she still had a use.

Meet me at eleven o’clock in room six, he instructed, looking up toward the window of the intended room. The girl smiled, surprised that she was chosen above the others. He glanced at the remaining two whose downcast expressions revealed their disappointment. You two can join me at midnight. With their faces alit, Lent tipped his hat. Ladies…until tonight. He playfully winked and carried on his journey as the three women watched him saunter away, imagining what was in store for them later this evening.

His pace quickened in anticipation of the one he had come to see. The walking skeleton…rubber man. Where is it?

Lent, old chap! called an elderly gentleman standing next to an equally elderly lady. Lent stopped and showed a sudden interest in this man. It was Woodville, a fellow of high society who could make or break any man in New York. He had met Woodville several months ago through a mutual acquaintance and knew that this man’s blessing was essential. Lent had wooed him with a few cigars, several glasses of bourbon, and a philosophic discussion on wealth and character which inevitably succeeded in winning him over.

Woodville, greeted Lent with a smile and a shake of the hand. It’s good to see you! Before the old man could speak, Lent took notice of the old woman. And who is this lovely young lady? You never told me you had a daughter! The woman smiled shyly and blushed.

Thank God they didn’t have a daughter, Lent thought to himself, for if it resembled her mother in any way, it would be one damn ugly woman.

Oh Lent! chuckled the old man. No, no, this is my lovely wife Margaret. Margaret, this is Theodor Lent, businessman extraordinaire!

It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Woodville. Taking her wrinkled hand, he kissed it ever so gently. It smelled of Guerlain, a favorite perfume of Lent’s that he knew cost more than an average man’s yearly salary. Gerlain. A delicate aroma for a delicate lady.

Oh, was all the missus could manage.

I told you he was a charmer, didn’t I? Woodville nudged his wife. She simply smiled, unable to take her eyes off this intriguing man. So I hear you’re making quite a name for yourself in this little town.

That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it Woodville? A name and the respect that goes with it?

Indeed! I always say a man is nothing if he doesn’t have respect.

Lent agreed wholeheartedly. Which is why he fought so hard for it his entire life. In his younger years, he used brute force and intimidation to gain respect. As he grew older and wiser, he learned that it was money that brought the respect he so desired.

So what’s in store for you now, Mr. Lent?

Who knows! he returned. There is great potential in this city, Woodville. Everywhere I look, there is great potential.

Even here? asked Woodville in a sarcastic tone, glancing around the carnival.

Especially here!

Woodville raised his eyebrows and laughed. He’s quite humorous, too, he said to his wife who was giggling along. He has his hands in everything, you know. Hotels, retail, farm land. That is very wise, I must admit.

I have to agree with you there, said Lent, for I’m following the example of a wise man.

Ha ha ha! bellowed Woodville, his large belly bouncing with each syllable. Compliments will get you far. He slapped Lent on the back. By the way, I wanted to thank you again for your advice. I could have lost that property if you hadn’t interceded.

Anytime.

Stand assured, you will be rewarded.

I ask no reward for I am more than willing to share my knowledge with a great man such as yourself.

I am an old man now and, I’m afraid, not as sharp as I once was.

That is not true. Your business sense is highly admired by all, especially myself. I just happened upon some information that was highly…useful.

I see, nodded Woodville. You wouldn’t happen to have any other information that I might find useful, would you?

And give away all my secrets?

Don’t give away all your secrets. Two or three will do.

The two men laughed, as did the Missus, but it was cut short by Lent. Perhaps there is one, Woodville, that may prove profitable for the both of us.

Really? And what would that be? He leaned in to his informant.

Lent glanced at the old lady who was listening to every word. A circus is not the place to discuss such business, now is it? He glanced once again at the Missus.

Woodville straightened, understanding Lent’s message, and made plans. We shall go riding tomorrow afternoon.

Tomorrow afternoon it is. Good evening Woodville. Mrs. Woodville. Enjoy the night’s festivities. He tipped his hat and resumed his journey, nearing the end of the caravan row.

The giant…the learned pig…ah…at last! He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, despite many objections, and inspected the banner that hung on the tent.

The Bear Woman it read in large, bold letters. Underneath was a pathetic drawing of a hairy animal that could be called anything but human or bear. Lent studied this illustration for some time, his mind racing. He had thought about this moment for months. What he was going to say, how he was going to say it. He had it all planned and now the time had come.

Are ya goin’ in or are ya gonna stare at that drawin’ all night? growled a poorly groomed man from the door of the tent.

Oh, said Lent who was deep in thought. He took a step forward to enter but a thick cane shot out in front of him and prevented him from going any further.

To the back o’ the line! shouted the rude man. Lent came close to taking the cane and breaking it in two over the man’s head. His jaw clenched as did his fists and he took a deep breath. I must remain calm. I can’t forfeit this opportunity.

Excuse me, he said, using his most polite voice, but I was hoping to see the show now.

Actually, Mister, I don’t care what ya want. To the back o’ the line!

Never had a commoner spoke to him like that and gotten away with it. But now was not the time to get even. He had to get into that tent.

Lent stepped close to the man and looking into his eyes, set a silver dollar in his dirty hand. I want to see the beast for two minutes. Alone.

The disgruntled man looked down at the coin in his hand, then back to Lent. In a poor attempt to be inconspicuous, he closed his fingers around the money and shoved it into his filthy pocket. Two minutes only, he grumbled. Not a second more.

Lent held back the canvas flap of the door, as well as his temper, and entered the tent. The sudden smell of mildew overpowered him and he coughed several times. It was dark, a stark contrast from the day outside, and his eyes needed time to adjust. Within seconds, he could vaguely make out the rusted bars of a cage. Soon, he spotted a dark figure in the corner, its back toward him. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with unclean air and exhaled slowly, suppressing the need to cough. He was about to take a step forward when for some reason, he stopped. A sense of déjà vu overcame him. He was a boy again. Maybe eight years old. Being pushed into the ratty old tent from those behind him. It was dark. It was smelly. There was a cage. But you couldn’t see through the bars. You had to stand on a box and peek over the top if you wanted to see what was inside. It was his turn. He approached the cage with hesitation, with fear. Did he really want to see what was inside? No. And yes. With his heart racing, he stepped up onto the box. He glanced back at the entrance, knowing he could leave if he wanted. He didn’t have to look at what was inside this cage. He didn’t have to…but he wanted to. With shaky knees, he stood on the tips of his toes and peeked over the edge. There, looking up at him, was a woman, an Asian woman. She was smiling. No. She was smirking. And her body. It wasn’t human. She had the body of a snake! He ran from the tent, close to tears, and was haunted by that image for many years.

Though he was an adult now, he felt, in this moment, as vulnerable as when he was eight years old. Beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip and he swallowed hard. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts but before he could, the figure in the cage began to move. Lent stiffened and held his breath. The creature turned its head. Slowly. Very slowly. And then, for the first time, Lent laid eyes on the beast.

* * * *

Chapter 3

Only one word came to mind at that moment: Unbelievable!

Everything was covered in hair. Its nose, its forehead, its ears, its neck. Thick, black, coarse hair sprouted from every area that wasn’t hidden by the shoddy robe. A protruding jaw and enormous, misshapen head balanced on its small frame. Gigantic lips looked uncomfortably stretched over colossal gums. Its mammoth ears and broad, flat nose reminded Lent of apes he had seen illustrated in books of the African jungle.

What is it?

Then its eyes met his. He swallowed and turned his head slightly but maintained the gaze. He couldn’t look away. Those eyes! Round and black. The whites practically non-existent. Part of him wanted to run. Part of him wanted out of this tent, away from this creature. But there was a part