The Anatomy of Edouard Beaupré by Sarah Kathryn York

Author:Sarah Kathryn York
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Louis Cyr, Fiction, Short Fiction, Edouard Beapre, Willowbunch Giant, Medical, Giantism, Strongman, World's Fair, Montreal, St Louis, Metis, Morbid Anatomy, Biography
ISBN: 9781550507058
Publisher: Coteau Books

1903

Edouard Beaupré and Patenaude (left) on tour in Winnipeg.

(Saskatchewan Archives Board)

PALM

Edouard stood in the shadow of an oak grove watching the tent flaps blink in the dusk. Men came and went, spilling opalescent light on the grey grass. Outside the small New York pavilion, a hand-painted sign advertised “Freya’s Futures.” He had observed the painted lady for two nights running. Now and again she came out and doused her neck with a ladle of cool water. From a distance, Edouard could make out the full shape beneath her dress, the head scarf fringed with pale hair. At last he went to have his fortune told.

“Come in,” she said without looking up. “And learn what sort of man you are.”

Edouard hesitated, caught his breath. He hunched through the split canvas and removed his hat. The room was draped with exotic silks and festooned with ankhs and stars. The woman sat at a table turning the rings on her fingers. The heat had softened the kohl around her eyes, and the air was thick with musk and rotten grass. The stale odour of the tent reminded Edouard of the dime shows back home. He had attended those that advertised a real living giant, always taller than the counterfeits he came to see. Inevitably, he scandalized the crowds.

Now Edouard was uncertain what lay ahead. He examined the small chair that faced him but preferred to stand bent. The woman looked up where his face should be and instead saw the crotch of his pants. It embarrassed her. She raised her head and smiled to see the Willow Bunch Giant. He was strangely handsome and proportional, with a head of inky curls.

“I offer a discount for performers,” she said, “but this one’s on the house.”

Edouard could see up close that she had one green eye and one blue. He thought that she might be Irish. He wondered if she thought him a freak.

“Man,” she said firmly. “Is that how you say it? Man?” She pointed to his massive hands.

“Oh yes,” Edouard answered, aware of his slight accent. “Mains.” He fumbled with his hat, concerned about the sweat on his palms.

“Please,” Freya said, “sit down.”

Edouard seemed to fill the whole space. He made the tent look like a dollhouse crammed with gaudies. She asked Edouard to move the table. He did so with no effort, exposing a plush Oriental rug.

“That’s better,” the giant said as he sat down on the rug in half-repose. “Thank you.”

The palmist kneeled on the rug close to him and drew a deep breath. An air of professional mystery crossed her features. “I was trained by the great Chiero,” she began. “He told me I had a gift. I trust my own intuition and the hand before me. Of course, it’s a way to make a living.” She took his hands. They were startlingly large, more than twelve inches from the heel of the palm to the middle fingertip, and when she held them her own hands felt like tulips in bloom.

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