Minstrel's Story As Told By Ivy As Told By Harley
Here’s the story as I know it:
Harley Quinn and the Joker wanted to go out and see a show one day. It was the Joker’s idea, Harley wanted to stay in that night. But as always, it wasn't her choice. He’d seen a commercial that promised “The best clown in the world” and decided that he needed to see for himself if this clown was funnier than him.
When they arrived at the circus, it quickly turned into a shit storm. They wanted a private showing, so they arrived the night before opening. No one wanted them there, least of all the ringmaster. When he tried asking the couple to leave, the Joker only remarked that he thought the ringmaster frowned too much. He offered to fix that.
To say it was a massacre would be an understatement. Harley spared me all the gory details, but she made it abundantly clear why I’d never heard of the incident before—there was no witness left to describe it as anything other than an accidental fire. You didn’t need to be in Gotham for the police to not care about a bunch of circus freaks dying in a fire.
While they were setting the place ablaze, Harley went into the ringmaster’s trailer. His wife was in there, wearing a costume that included, plastic tiara that Harley thought looked pretty. They fought over it. The woman called Harley some rude names that I’d only ever heard Harley utter when her cereal came without a prize. Harley pulled the tiara out of her hands, and the woman fell back and cracked her skull against a countertop.
Harley looked around the rest of the trailer while the Joker was outside, causing more havoc. She was wearing the tiara and singing a little made-up song while she searched. She managed to find their safe hidden in a cupboard, and inside the safe, she found a very peculiar photo album.
It was rather large, the kind that people would use to store entire generations’ worth of family photos. But there was only ever one person in all the pictures—a little Black boy. Considering that both the ringmaster and his wife were white, Harley was immediately suspicious. She kept thumbing through the album, trying to figure out who the kid was. But even after she’d gotten nearly halfway through the album, she didn’t see a single picture of the boy with the couple, only pictures of him all alone.
And in a lot of the pictures that Harley found, the boy was naked.
That’s when Harley got really scared. She took the pictures out of the plastic sleeves and checked the backs for a name or anything else that she could use to track the kid down. But all she found written on the back were prices. Going rate for a little kid’s innocence? Twenty goddamn dollars.
The Joker called to her, and she bolted from the trailer screaming about how the circus was ‘full of a bunch of sick fucks’. But when she found the Joker, she stopped screaming.
The little boy from the pictures was standing right beside Joker, who was kneeling and whispering in his ear. In the boy’s hand was a gun, and on the other side of the barrel was the ringmaster. He was on his knees crying, begging for his life, and gurgling on the blood that kept sliding down his throat. It was a familiar sight and sound for Harley, one that she’d seen whenever the Joker gave someone a new smile. She’d told me about how, at a certain point in her life, seeing people like that was hilarious to her. But she didn’t mention finding it funny then.
Joker kept whispering to the kid. Harley couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he could guess what it was about. The photo album was still in her hands, and with a morbid curiosity, she was still flipping through pages. The images disgusted her, they even brought tears to her eyes, but she couldn’t look away for long. She’d look at the pages briefly, then look at the boy before her, and her mind raced with questions that she couldn’t even put into words.
And then she found the worst pictures, the ones where the little boy started to look more like the older boy with the Joker in his ear. In those pictures, he wasn’t alone, he was with the ringmaster’s wife.
Harley told me that when the boy pulled the trigger, it was the loudest thing in the world. Not the shot itself, but the friction of metal against metal as the mechanisms activated. Harley heard them all in excruciating detail over the screams of all the circus performers and the roar of the fire.
“Bang!” The Joker screamed. He laughed at his own joke, as he was known to do even back then. Harley laughed too, and so did the boy.
The only one that didn’t laugh was the ringmaster. He only let out a confused grunt when he realized that a bullet hadn’t gone through him. He opened his eyes and saw that a little flag with the word, “Bang!” on it had grown from the barrel of the gun.
The Joker ran up to the ringmaster and lifted him to his feet.
“What’s wrong, frown clown? Smile! It’s only a joke!”
The Joker slapped the ringmaster on his back, but he still didn’t laugh. He cried, and cried, shouting that he was sorry and begging all of them, even the child, to just leave them alone.
The Joker shook his head, “Don’t like that joke, huh? I got another one for ya!”
He spun the man around and held him at eye level.
“Everyone loves this one,” The Joker said to no one in particular. “The old, spray-flower trick!”
A stream of glowing, steaming, green liquid shot out from a plastic daisy in the Joker’s lapel. It burned the man’s face down to the bone, and he didn’t—couldn’t go out quietly. He screamed his entire way into the night.
Minstrel went with Harley and Joker that night. No one told him to, and he didn’t ask, it was just an understanding that passed between the three of them that Minstrel was with them, now. The Joker didn’t seem to mind, and Harley was a little glad for that. She knew that life with the Joker was awful, but she also felt bad for Minstrel and wanted to know that he was okay. Had Minstrel just gone away on his own, or wound up in foster care, all she’d have done is spend the rest of her life wondering.
After some time (and Harley wasn’t clear on how long this was), Harley became pregnant. There was a part of her that always wanted to be a mother, and that part screamed at her for being so stupid.
Taking in Minstrel was one thing—he was old enough to take care of himself, and he did so frequently. Their first night together, Harley let him eat whatever he wanted, and she kept doing that night after night for a week or so. But she was struggling in her own way, and there were many days where she didn’t want to move at all. After some time, she stopped asking Minstrel if he was hungry. He got a few weeks of a doting older sister, and after that, he was on his own.
Harley would have to do better for a baby. She’d have to move even on days when she didn’t want to. She’d have to be available to feed it and clean it and play with it and put it to sleep. And it had to be her because she was surrounded by men. Worse than that, she was surrounded by the Joker.
If there was a baby around, the Joker wouldn’t stop being dangerous. Worse than that, he wouldn’t stop being abusive. She imagined a nightmare where the Joker came back from a heist to find that his dinner wasn’t made, and the baby was crying up a storm. She didn’t like thinking of how he’d react to that.
But would she even get that far? Would the Joker have let her keep the pregnancy if he’d known about it? And if she waited to tell him until the baby was born, it would only be a matter of when and how he’d make her get rid of the child.
The choice was going to be made for Harley if she didn’t make it for herself. If she tried to hide the pregnancy until it was too late, the Joker might hurt her. If she left him, he’d find her. If she turned herself over to the law, they’d only take the baby away and she’d wind up like Lawton—trading jobs for Amanda Waller in exchange for a few minutes with her daughter. If she aborted the baby…that wasn’t an option for her, not then. She’d aborted before and felt fine about it, but that was before Joker. Aborting a child that she had with Joker would cause a whole different mess of emotions that she knew she didn’t want to deal with.
Harley was in turmoil for days trying to find an answer. And one day, unexpectedly, her little brother walked up to her and gave her a train ticket out of Gotham. Harley didn’t understand, but he pushed her, told her that he dreamt of fish, and so he knew that she was pregnant. Harley tried to get him to drop the issue, reminding him that the Joker would never let her just leave him. She figured that Minstrel’s heart was in the right place, but that he didn’t really understand, because he was still just a kid. But he was determined to get her out, and after some urging, he managed to convince her.
Harley went away to a place no one would think to look for her. She didn’t even tell me where that place was. When her daughter Lucy was finally born, she dropped her off at her sister’s place, then started her journey back to Gotham. In the nine months of gestation, she had a lot of time to think. And she realized that the best place for Lucy was with her family, but not with her mother.
By the time Harley returned to the Joker, Minstrel was gone and she was happy. Lucy was safe, Minstrel wasn’t with Joker anymore, and the Joker didn’t seem any different than usual. He barely even noticed that she’d been gone. She hadn’t thought of a good enough lie to tell him, and she quickly realized that she didn’t need to—he didn’t care.
After that, it becomes a story that I know a lot better. Harley and Joker went back to terrorizing Gotham together, but it didn’t last long. Through some miracle, I managed to get Harley to see that she didn’t have to feel afraid of the Joker and that it wasn’t her job to fix him or control his damage, either. She left the Joker, and we teamed up. Then, we dated. Then, we were married.
And then, one day, we were watching the news.
I rolled my eyes the entire time he was onscreen. I was sick of the Joker copy-cats. I know every friend I have has done some fucked up stuff, but Joker was unquestionably the worst, and I don’t see how anyone could possibly idolize him. The fact that it was usually men only explained a little of it—abusive men support abusive men, but with the Joker, I always wondered if it was something deeper. Sure, everyone that put on his makeup and ran around screaming “Why so serious” was probably already fucked in the head, but that answer didn’t satisfy me. How did the Joker, specifically get his hooks in men like this, specifically? The Joker was an unreachable icon that none of these men had ever been able to truly emulate or impress, so what kept them going? Failing to find clarity, I just sat with my disgust and let that be a kind of answer of its own.
But Harley’s expression when I looked over at her surprised me. She looked at the screen like a giddy little girl watching the Santa Claus tracker. I asked her if she knew the guy on the television.
“Know him? That’s my little brother, Jimmy!”
And that was all she told me. I asked her for more details, of course, but she didn’t give any. Her answers were vague. She talked about how she and the Joker found him one day and decided to adopt him, with the Joker as his uncle and herself as his older sister. I pointed out that wasn’t how adoption worked, but she just rolled her eyes. She refused to answer any other questions I asked and brushed me off whenever I brought the topic up in the following days.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll answer all your questions when he gets here.” She finally said one day.
“And what makes you so certain that he’s coming here?” I asked her.
“Cuz he’s family, Pammy! Who visits their big sister’s hometown and doesn’t even stop by to ogle her hot wife?”
The certainty of her response bothered me. She really believed that he was coming. I felt an uncomfortable feeling bubbling in my stomach. I sat her down on the bed and grabbed her arms.
“Babe,” I said as I pushed a strand of hair from her eyes, “I know you’re excited to see him. But you have to consider…it’s been years since you saw him last, right? He might have changed.”
Harley gasped, “You think he’s gay now! Honestly, I could see that. He always colored in the lines, if ya know what I mean.”
I sighed. The hardest part of living with a clown was that she could never be serious about anything. Harley was an expert at avoiding any topic that she didn’t want to talk about, and I was an expert in enabling her avoidance.
I had a choice to make. I could try to break Harley out of whatever mania seeing her ‘brother’ had her under, or I could go along with it all. I had to accept the fact that meeting Minstrel again meant something to Harley even though I didn’t understand what. I made the decision in a moment, but it wasn’t an easy one to make. Supporting the people you love hardly ever is.
Harley heard that Minstrel was behind an attack at the mall, so we went to the mall and questioned witnesses. Harley listened with glee and laughed at the story that our informants told. My reaction was different. I didn’t see Minstrel as a hero, and I didn’t see him as a textbook villain, either. I simply didn’t understand any of it—I didn’t know how Minstrel knew to be at the mall, why he engaged the kids, or why he laughed at the people supporting him. But I didn’t need to understand that, I just needed to help Harley. So, I sent the informants on their way, and Harley and I went home to regroup.
There were no leads for a long time. And I was beginning to wonder if Minstrel really planned to stay in Gotham. Sure, his messages promised a murder spree, but back then, he hadn’t done nearly anything that destructive. I convinced myself that maybe he wasn’t dangerous. Maybe he was just a practical joker that went a little too far, cuz he was just so angry at the world. I still didn’t trust him, but I was less worried about him and Harley's meeting than I had been before.
Minstrel only proved me wrong again. One day, he appeared on the news prepared to cut out a woman's tongue and detach a man's genitals. I felt sick at the thought of it. Even if the charge was false, how could Minstrel or anyone else fail to see how misogynistic it was to cut out a woman's tongue for making a rape claim? Or did he just not care? I didn’t try to think too hard about it, though. I just worried about Harley.
She was determined to go and see him. I didn’t want to let her. He was goading Batman, and while I knew that my wife could handle him any day, I didn’t want her to. Not for some kid that was still associated with her abuser. I reluctantly drove her to his location—a spot she knew from their days with the Joker—but the entire car ride, all she did was rave about all the things they were going to do together.
“We’re gonna get our nails done, and stay up late watching movies, and we’re gonna have playfights! And then we’re going to go to an all-night diner and order giant waffles with all the whipped cream and syrup in Gotham!”
I asked her point-blank, “Just who is Minstrel to you, Harley. Be real with me for once, please.”
And Harley was real with me. She didn’t say a lot, but she said enough. Enough to remind me of the agreement I made to myself; that I was going to support my wife and help her be happy. If it turned out that she was right, and that Minstrel was just as happy to see her as she was to see him, then that would be great. And if he hurt her in any way and proved me right, then I’d deal with him.
I let Harley go inside the theater. And as planned, I let her get taken by Batman and Nightwing. I wanted to spring her out of lock-up that night, but that wasn’t the plan.
“Jimmy’s whole thing is that he wants to fuck with people that fuck with his people, right?” Harley asked me before we even left our hideout.
I shrugged, not knowing if that were true or not. It felt right, but I suspected that there was more to it than that. The feeling that I got from Minstrel was that he was a person with something to prove.
“Well, who’s done more to fuck over the brothas and sistas than the po-po?” Harley asked.
“Don’t talk like that when he’s here, okay? You sound…white.” I told her.
“Noted! But I digress; it’s only a matter of time before Jimmy winds up in a Gotham precinct. And I want to be there to help him out when he does.”
“Pause for a second here, babe,” I told her. “Your plan is to get arrested and hope that Minstrel winds up arrested—”
“He may not get arrested! He might just go on a rampage!”
I rolled my eyes, “Fine. You’re hoping that Minstrel is going to get arrested or go on a rampage at the precinct before they transfer you to Arkham? Or Belle Reve? Or even Iron Heights?”
Harley shook her head and spread her arms in a celebratory fashion, “Yup! Ain’t it brilliant!”
I hate to say that it was brilliant…so I won’t. But it worked. After a week of me worrying about her, I heard the news that Minstrel had been arrested. After killing a cop and taking his wife and daughter hostage. The dead cop didn’t bother me so much, but there were a lot of rumors about what he did to the wife and daughter until he arrived, and that did bother me.
Harley wrote a letter to me and hid it in our place. It was in a cereal box. I didn’t find it until the night she was arrested at the theater, and I think it was intentional. It was nearly fifty pages long, full of non-sequiturs, amateur comics, and a few candid photos that she promised would ‘keep me entertained’ while she was gone. It explained, in a very roundabout way, the story of how Minstrel came to be a member of Joker’s family, and why Harley still felt so loyal to him after all those years.
I read and re-read that letter every day, trying to marry the image of Minstrel that Harley laid out with the image I’d see on the screen. I didn’t like the implications of a young man that suffered as much as he had identifying with the Joker of all people, because it was plain to see how he was using that training to return the cruelty he’d experienced as a child to a world that he blamed for it. I couldn’t judge him for that, it’s what every costume in Gotham did, especially the bats. But then I’d think about that little girl, waiting for her daddy to come home, and I imagined how scared she must have been.
I didn’t trust Minstrel at all. He was escalating with no sign of ever stopping. But I trusted my wife, and I wanted her to be happy. So, after some time, I put the letter down, grabbed a pot of roses I’d been saving for a special occasion, and went out to pick up my wife and brother-in-law from jail.
