– Ladies and gentlemen, unfortunately the Dinosaur Man will not be able to perform tonight due to a rejection after his latest ‘body modification’ surgery, but we will have the pleasure of presenting to you… THE BOMB MAN!!! A few minutes from now.
I was sitting in the second-to-last row of the bleachers. I had been invited again and again to see the Incredible Dinosaur Man by a friend from work, Rat, who was now climbing the steps towards me with a gigantic bag of popcorn that had cost him almost the price of ten sacks of corn. To go with the popcorn he had added a bucket of soda. Rat had told me it would be an alternative show, in which the practice of ‘body alteration’ was the highlight. Truth be told, the venue was nothing more than a small tent, a mini-circus. He had bought the tickets well in advance because – according to him – they sold out fast, which seemed to be true, since there were very few empty seats and people were still coming in. I hadn’t quite grasped the substitution until Rat sat down next to me.
– Did you hear that? I can’t believe it! They were talking about it in the popcorn line. I simply can’t believe it! The Dinosaur Man is one of the most classic figures here. He’s the only one who’s been here since the project started. He’s had a hundred and three surgeries. Can you believe it? The guy’s whole body has been altered. Man, it’s wonderful! His skin went through a scaling process so it’s all rough. His face… Man, I can’t describe it. Seriously! It’s incredible! Every part of the guy’s body is tattooed a shade of green that’s totally ‘top’. It’s like you’re really looking at a lizard. You can even pay a bit extra to run your hand over his skin after the show. It’s expensive, but it’s so worth it. It’s a work of art. Man, his head has so many implants it’s indescribable. Just so you know, last time I came he had normal nostrils, but you know what I heard? That his nostrils have been stretched so much you could fit a closed fist in each one now. That I wanted to see. One day I came, I heard a woman saying she’d heard his hearing had been a bit impaired because he cut off his ears to improve his aerodynamics. Some guy thought that was weird, but she shut down the argument by bringing up Van Gogh. Man, he had nothing to say back. Art is art, period. The artist is the guy who gives himself over. Last time, he still had ears. I can’t believe he’s not showing up tonight. The guy is devoted to his art. He did chemotherapy just to lose all his hair. I read that the other day. And when he turns around? There are these spikes coming out of his spine that are awesome. They said in the popcorn line he went to get one more put in, only it was rejected and now he’s paraplegic. Unbelievable. Must have been medical error. Has to be, but according to the people in line they’re already saying he’s going to turn the misfortune around, and that he’s announced he’s going to amputate his legs and fit his body onto a support shaped like dinosaur legs. Since he’s not going to walk anymore anyway, it’s a hell of an idea, isn’t it?
Rat then gave his own legs a few little pats and asked me to be quiet, though I hadn’t even opened my mouth. That was him: a guy open to monologue.
– I don’t know this new guy. This Bomb Man. Must be an improvised ‘pocket show’ – he whispered.
Given Rat’s description of the Dinosaur Man, the name of the substitute act seemed rather obvious to me. A Bomb Man. What was coming seemed rather obvious, but Rat’s anxiety about what would happen began to season the cocktail of the moment. My eyes ran, speechless, over Rat’s expression of childlike wonder. I saw the same expression replicated on many people in the audience – except for the many who had their faces buried in their phones – and the stage was still in half-light.
The lights changed: the audience in darkness and spotlights dancing across the stage until, at last, they settled on the figure of a moderately handsome man who made a circus-style entrance, wearing a white leotard with silver boots and belt. Beside him, a box was placed, with thick glass on the front and sides and a white back. The man flashed a broad smile at the two stagehands. I looked at Rat. He seemed not to be breathing, opening his mouth pathetically or letting his jaw drift, I’m not sure which.
The music got louder and the man, in a rather ridiculous scene, pulled off his tight top, left in nothing but big briefs, in an idiotic performance that, in spite of everything, seemed to be taken seriously by those present, including Rat, who shook convulsively. The man stepped into that sort of aquarium. His body was neither fat nor thin. He had a few little fat deposits here and there; otherwise it was a middle-class body. He looked more like the Insignificant Man than the Bomb Man. The aquarium was sealed by the assistants and the Bomb Man slowly opened his mouth, something bulky and dark coming out of it. He raised his hand to his mouth and displayed a small ring. Before the audience could react – if they were going to – the walls of the aquarium were covered in red after a dry explosion. One or two seconds of silence, and the audience rose to its feet applauding, in a mixture of admiration, jubilation and consumerist orgasm. Then the uniformity came apart: some screamed, others cried and smiled at the same time, still others hugged the person next to them, or themselves, as if the experience had peeled them away from the whole. The scene was one of hysterical reverence and religious ecstasy.
Rat jumped and roared the word “Awesome” as if in a moment of narrow victory in his favourite team’s championship final, maybe more. Brief interruptions to give me painful elbow jabs, repeating the question: “what was that, man? what was that?”.
– Ladies and gentlemen, you have just witnessed the spectacular one-time-only performance of the BOMB MAN! His briefs will be taken for express drying and auctioned at the end of tonight’s shows. Forty percent of the money raised will go to the cause chosen by the spectacular Bomb Man, and the winning bid can be deducted from your income tax as support for the arts and culture. AND MORE: pieces of his body can also be purchased as soon as they have been dehydrated and sanitized. Purchases can also be made online on our portal. Download our app and discover our upcoming acts, plus get incredible discounts and access to priority entry and seats.
Suddenly, something strange happened to me. A feeling that my stomach was floating somewhere between my hips and my neck. I asked Rat if he’d leave with me.
– What, already? This is the first act. – Rat still wanted to see the others and bid on the briefs, or swimsuit, whatever. – Man, the money goes to charity. It’s for a humanitarian cause, aren’t you going to bid?
I said goodbye and left. That night, I dreamed of a crowd of middle-class people with amputated legs being auctioned in a tattoo parlour. The auctioneer was a mouth that looked a lot like the Cheshire Cat’s grin. Just before waking, I was buying a large aquarium, a goldfish and a katana, with the seller’s promise that the fish would commit harakiri. I woke up to the surprise of a wet dream and echoes of an orgasm.
In the morning, I drank a glass of tomato juice and the colour against the glass seemed less intense than usual. I checked my e-mails. I looked at the weather forecast for the day. I watched the traffic news while getting dressed. I went to work. When I arrived, I learned that a colleague had resigned, and I went to Rat’s office, since he had several times expressed interest in leaving the company. He wasn’t there, but his things were – as far as possible, given the policy of depersonalizing the workplace, which discouraged leaving personal objects of any kind on desks and counters.
Someone in the room said Rat had gone to the bathroom. True enough. Later, we had lunch together. I usually like salads, to avoid gaining weight, but I had woken up wanting to go to a churrascaria.
– What was that yesterday, huh? – said Rat.
– The Bomb Man?
– Nooooooo, that giant bucket of popcorn. I spent the whole night burping popcorn, man. Hey, what Bomb Man?
– The one from the show last night.
– Oh, right! Awesome. I didn’t manage to win the briefs. I wanted to send them to my nephew as a present. He’d have loved it.
– Too bad.
– Yeah, but I managed to sneak a photo and put it on Facebook.
– Lots of likes?
– Not many, people thought it was photoshopped. Next time, I’ll film it. And how about that hottie Lídia, huh?
[“The Incredible Dinosaur Man!”, Glaucio Aranha, 2016]
Translated from the Brazilian Portuguese; reviewed by the author.
Translator’s notes
- “Rat”: the character’s nickname in the original is Rato, translated here.
- Churrascaria: a Brazilian steakhouse, usually all-you-can-eat.
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