The Fortune Teller's Daughter (4 page)

But…it could
be real, couldn’t it?

Enough time
passed between one train and the next to convince myself the wild goose chase
I’d set out on was a figment of my imagination, so when the el arrived I stood
and headed back for the stairs.

The train
pulled in to a stop. The noise of hydraulics and squealing gears muffled the
crowd and their cell phones.

And yet,
over the din, the lilting notes of a harpsichord and violin played out a music
box melody that stopped me in my tracks.

A circle of
onlookers stood before two street musicians banging out their song with no
particular finesse. The bow crashed across strings, boots stomping in time. All
they were missing was a monkey in a fez and they could have been straight from
a cartoon. Instead they had a mangled dog on a shoelace leash and a cardboard
box for tips.

Despite the
song sounding strangely like a twisted carnival jig, a gnawing doubt told me I
was grasping at shadows.

I suddenly
disgusted by Maurie and his slum lord apartments. I did not want to go back to
the market conning people into handing over $10 here, $5 there for little more
than fortune cookie hoodoo, just to make rent and eat. I was tired of Chicago.

I was tired
of waiting.

As the
subway doors began to close I squeezed inside, preferring to chase shadows than
go back. 

*  *  *

The subway
made its way along each stop without incident, or clue, or breadcrumb, but
somehow I knew I’d have to go all the way to the end, to the edge of
everything, in order to find Alistair Rook and his
Carnival Imaginaire
.

Commuters
filed out. No one
hey babied
me this time. Afternoon crept towards
evening. The sun doused the rooftops in a golden glow that made the old
neighborhoods look dream-like. I slunk down in my seat and clutched my coat
tight around me even though the car was overwarm. My lime green peacoat was as
much armor tonight as it was anything else.

The subway
pulled into its stop and sat delayed on the tracks while we waited for…who
knows what had stopped us this time.

I lifted my
gaze from my feet and caught a reflection of a massive Ferris Wheel in the
distorted windows across from me.

I twisted in
my seat to look outside, out over the trees and rooftops to the train yards,
dilapidated and long out of use.

Just beyond
I could see the Ferris wheel arc over the houses, as big as the sun and almost
as bright. I leapt out of my seat and out onto the platform before the
mechanical voice came across the speakers announcing they’d be pulling out. I
took off down the stairs to the nearly empty parking lot below and did not
bother stopping to check my el stop or what street I was on before bursting into
an all-out run.

For being a
little round and thick in all the spots girls weren’t supposed to be round and
thick, I cleared three blocks before I had to slow, adrenaline carrying me most
of the way. As I jogged to a walk to catch my breath, I noticed people staring
from their windows and back porches. It wasn’t every day people got to ogle a
pale white pudgy girl with copper red hair running like she’d stolen something.

The old
neighborhood ended abruptly, the sidewalk and street lopped off by scraggly
burnt colored grass that extended to the train tracks. Trash littered my path,
and it wasn’t until I was walking along the elevated tracks that I really felt
for the first time that being out here alone was a bad idea. Late afternoon
crept along the edge of the train yard and I knew that I did not want to be
here alone after dark, but I’d come so far now that I also couldn’t convince
myself to go back. Not with the Ferris Wheel looming past the abandoned train
cars, finally within reach.

When I
stepped between abandoned box cars I lost track of the wheel as my guide. I
searched for a way through, all too aware of my alone-ness. Excitement warred
with fear, made me sweat despite the chilled evening air, made me want to pee
my pants like I was six again playing an elaborate game of hide and seek when
the anxiety of hiding became too much.

And when I
thought I’d had enough, that every bad thing hiding in the dark had surrounded
me, I came to the last car and there it was. The carnival, its soft lights
bright and fuzzy, standing as a beacon at the edge of the world.

__________________

Carnival
Imaginaire
.

The carnival
was protected by a gate made of black iron bars and metal trees. Their branches
stretched out to meet the ones beside it creating a lace pattern of mysterious
iron foliage that hid all but sparks of color and dizzying lights from within.
Beyond the gate I could hear a banjo riff and dancing music, voices too, shouts
of elation and laughter.

Above the
gates, in an understated iron arch,
Carnival Imaginaire
was spelled out
in cursive, not too showy, almost easy to miss if you weren’t looking.

At the
ticket booth, a small but formal sign blocked passage.

No Children After Dark.

The ticket
master, a man in a shabby blue suit, leaned out and gazed rakishly down at me.

“Just one?”
Leer
. “Poor love.”

His voice,
cotton candy and dark caramel, made me blush.

“I have an
invitation.” I stammered while I dug it out of my pocket. He grinned a slow,
lazy smile, but snatched it from my hand like a greedy child.

His eyes
scanned the message, glanced from my face to the invite and back again.

“Well, so
you do. You best get inside then. No tickets for you, love, not for an
invited
guest. Give me your hand.”

He extended
his long, nimble fingers and I reached up to hand myself to him. The ticket
master twisted a piece of braided thread around my wrist and knotted it with a
decorative charm, a tiny silver lion, inside the loop. The alternating dark and
silver thread sparkled against my skin.

“This will get
you in anywhere, love. If anyone gives you trouble, you come see me alright?”

I took my
hand back. “I don’t suppose you know where I can find Alistair Rook.”

He chuckled
and flashed a charming, canine smile. “You’ll find his wagon once you get where
you aren’t supposed to go. All the way through to the back. I strongly
encourage you to see the sights before you see him.”

“Thanks. For
this.” I twisted the thread between my fingers and stepped out of the way. I
felt his eyes follow me as I walked up to the open front gates where I was
ushered through by a man in a mask who whistled when he saw my charm.

When Corazon
read someone’s cards she reached out and touched magic, brought it into the
room with her and made it tangible. I would watch her fingers flutter across
the smooth patterned cards, worn feather soft along the edges from so many
lives, so many futures, so many guesses at fate. Where the thin wisps of smoke
rose from candles, the room heady with
nag champa
incense, smoke
stinging our eyes, we were all transported somewhere else, somewhere only her
tent existed and all possibilities flowed from her beautiful, dangerous cards.

I remembered
how it felt to me when I discovered that old things, odd things, forgotten
things could be haunting and charming in a way nothing else in the world could
be.

That’s how
it felt when I stepped beyond the gates into the land of
Carnival Imaginaire
.
Entering this place was like stepping through Alice’s looking glass. It
couldn’t possibly exist in a world with broadband internet and vanilla lattes.

Tents in
wild, patchwork colors went on as far as I could see. Their doorways were set
along a winding path lit by old fashioned lanterns with street signs presenting
what wonders hid within. Only one tent towered above the rest at the center of
all things, stripeless and dark as the night sky, painted with small white
stars I could see even from here.

On a small
stage in the entry sat a mechanical band of clockwork players banging out in
their herky-jerky metal movements to a circus tune while two, alarmingly
realistic clockwork dancers spun on a track around them. The automatons looked
like they’d seen better days, all their movements a half second off from the
music, but there was something surprising about their craftsmanship. Something
old and new welded together in cogs and bits that recalled a much older time
period, before laptops and smartphones.

Strung
between the tents was a lace pattern of firefly lights like stars to replace
the real things. I felt dazzled. It was all so…

Impossible.

Along the
ingress were a half dozen performers tossing objects, catching them behind
their backs, with their eyes closed, while balancing upside down on one hand on
the very top of a wobbling pole. One juggler tossed flaming torches, bright in
the twilight, flaring as they climbed high into the air, spinning back to the
juggler’s hands. Even though they showed off typical carnival tricks, it was
how they behaved, how they’d been costumed that glued me in place and kept me
awestruck to watch their every flourish. Their costumes were black, skin tight
explosions of glittering silhouettes cut away, showing more skin than not.

So organic
were their costumes that they seemed grown in place, rather than worn. Nothing
hampered their beautiful, elongated movements and everything felt geared
towards touching something darker, more sensual. This was an adult’s only show,
I realized, to both my mild embarrassment and instant curiosity.

Together
they told stories of lovers wronged, discovered, and lost. I watched as they
plucked each other from the crowd, danced on bare toes across the glitter
dusted grass, tossing tiny, spritely girls between rivals as they had when
they’d only been juggling objects. I watched as they touched each other in an
erotic dance that never crossed the line but pressed as close as they could get
away with. The masked girls gasped and twirled from one outstretched arm to the
next, tumbling away only to spring up and run into a new pair of arms. Kisses
were procured, stolen, taken, given.

I watched as
a bared chested, though masked, young man entered the field with a loop of
stiff ribbon. The girl with the torches came to him, kissed him on the mouth
once, then lit the ribbon on fire.

She stood
with him in the circle of flame as he controlled the dance and sweep of the
ribbon around them. She moved with his movements, angled herself just as the
ribbon tore through the air to whoosh dangerously close to her cheek. Together
they danced, stepping and twisting as one, eyes on each other, circled by fire
and light.

When she
laid her hands on his bare chest, I felt it rush right through me. The way the
woman gazed at the fire dancer, the way she kissed him, wrapped in flame, fanned
envy in my belly I couldn’t explain.

Pretend or
not, their performance was breathtaking.

As they ran
off to be replaced by a troupe of tumbling girls, I turned away to consider my options.

And,
practically materializing from thin air, I found the dwarf and the colossus
skulking in the shadows near the clockwork band.

The dwarf
came up to the colossus’s knees, but though they had a mile between them, they
stood conspiratorially in fine tailored suits. The dwarf wore a blue orchid and
a top hat, the colossus held his hands folded in front of him as if he were
paying respects at a funeral. They watched me watching them. Something about
their expressionless stares made my skin crawl.

The dwarf
tipped his hat and, nervously, I waved.

“Surely you
didn’t pay to stand in the doorway all night long.”

I spun
towards a girl’s voice in my ear. She bounded back a step, like an acrobat,
spritely short but stocky, lean muscles standing taught against her body-tight
silver suit. She shimmered beneath the fairy lights, hair white and pixie short
arranged in strange twists and braids. Half her face was hidden behind a
crescent moon mask, one eye bright, the other hidden in shadow.

A glance
over my shoulder told me what I already knew, the dwarf and the colossus were
gone.

The acrobat
smiled, light reflecting off the sparkles in her lipstick. She rose onto her
tiptoes, took another step back, and produced three glowing white balls from
behind her back.

“Play with
me?”

I glanced
around and then without knowing what else to do, I moved to stand in front of
her.

“I’m afraid
I’m going to disappoint you. I’m so uncoordinated I could run into things that
aren’t there.”

She laughed.
“We’ll go slow.”

The girl tossed
me one of the balls and I caught it easily enough before sending it back to
her. She tossed another and I tossed it back. She watched me while I watched
her hands. This went on for a minute or two before she snuck another ball into
the mix. We matched one toss from her left to my right hand and the second from
my left hand to her right. It was simple but also ridiculously difficult to
pull off. I wobbled, sweating under my coat, excited and terrified for no
fathomable reason while she bounced on one foot, bobbing her head to the
strange lilting music piped through the tents.

I got the
impression she could have done this blindfolded. One armed. While on fire. And
she still would have been merely humoring me.

“You’re a
quick study,” she complimented. “Look at that, you’ve caught yourself an
audience!”

I glanced,
surprised, to find a small group of people watching us, ticket holders and
other carnival acts alike, and I promptly dropped my first ball.

Unruffled,
she added another ball to replace the one that rolled away without so much as
glancing at it.