Fairground

 

1

 

The stars rotated overhead and the sounds of people chattering and laughing hung in the crisp air, almost musical, but faint.  The lights flickered and faded and the silent mechanisms urged the rides faster and faster until the honeyed, dawn light broke behind the empty warehouses casting long shadows over the sparkling grass, black and crunchy underfoot.  Slowly the sun rose into a blue sky and exposed the rusting corpses, lopsided on their corroded stands, silent save for the occasional echoing, metallic creak.

It always brought tears to sting Lucia’s lids.  Her small, round face, with enormous brown eyes, was framed by long, dark hair, in two thick plaits.  She often looked sad – no - wistful, dreamy, but when she smiled, the illusion was broken by blackened teeth, and her hands were twisted like they were wracked with pain.  She shifted position, staying in the shadows until eventually she was forced to go home.

The warehouses were crowded these days.  Lucia had complained to the Curator about it time and time again, but he had simply shrugged his shoulders and said he could do nothing about it.  Her corner with its damp, lumpy mattress and filthy rag coverings was being squashed so badly, she could only sleep curled up.  There was a break in the wooden slats high up, which allowed a spot of light to hover on the dirt floor, which everyone avoided and Lucia knew she was in danger of losing her nest.

The others settled quickly, but Lucia sat, hunched in the corner gazing out over the humped bodies.  It looked like the deserted battlefields of the Great War – dead bodies strewn far and wide.  She remembered them and shuddered.  This wouldn’t do.  “Sleep,” she thought, and turning, turning, she curled up like a cat.

 

2

 

There was a quota.  It was unspoken, somehow unseemly to discuss, but the quota was there – heavy and dark.  Weighted by age, coloured by gender.  Very old fashioned, caught in its own frozen era, immovable, solid, inevitable.  The quota loomed, haunting every night, causing sleepless days.  Six in the evening, day in, day out, the quota was reviewed.  Young flesh, young blood, that’s what nourished them all, kept them here in the warehouses.  Old flesh, old blood caught in the web became a burden, adding to their numbers.  Lately numbers had swelled, the quota had increased.  The alternative lurked in the shadows, waiting to welcome them, to remove the burden of identity, history, memory.

There had been times when the quota had not been met.  The collective memory threatening to explode Lucia’s mind informed her of the horror.  No-one ever saw exactly what happened but they heard the wails and part of the memory disappeared, forgotten for ever.

As darkness fell, the lights sparkled invitingly, the music played, mechanisms roused into silent activity.  The horde from the warehouses laughed and chattered, the quota driving them to enjoy the pressure and torture of their gaiety.  Lucia watched the moon rising.  Snow floated aimlessly, then settled unblemished on the ground.

 

3

 

Norris looked with patient affection at his friends.  They were a good crowd to hang with, but, if he was honest with himself, he knew he was a bit too old for some of their antics.  He was mid-twenties, an engineering graduate, the only one of his gang to have what his friends derisively called ‘a proper job’.  None the less, he had grown up with most of them, and he enjoyed their company – well, mostly.  Right now they were planning an outing to a gastro-pub, with live music, in a little village twenty miles away and, as usual, he was the nominated driver.  He didn’t mind really.  He had work the next day, so he didn’t want a heavy night of it.

They piled into the car and Aiden programmed the SatNav while everyone else made the obligatory jokes about Norris’s appalling sense of direction.  Owen squashed into the back seat, delightedly sandwiched between Bethany and Ruth, and, much to Norris’s consternation, Doug sat in the space behind the seat, head ducked to avoid the slope of the hatchback door.

“Right,” Owen crowed, patting the knees of both girls, “let’s get this show on the road.”

Norris edged the car along country lanes whilst his passengers clowned around.  It seemed to him the SatNav was leading him further and further from civilization, and to compound his confusion, snow darted around his headlights in a mesmerizing way, whilst settling heavily on the windscreen wipers forming a small mountain range, which threatened to impair his view of the road.  He had tried to switch the wipers on once or twice, but for some reason they would not co-operate and he had been forced to clear the snow manually several times.  Now he stopped once more and climbed wearily out, squeedgee in hand.

Despite the ever-deepening snow, the sky was hard and clear, a dizzying array of stars sparkling and shifting to echo the falling flakes.  Norris gazed up, feeling tension slip away and a comforting peace envelope him.

Inside the car, his friends became impatient, and, one by one they emerged to urge him into action, but Norris held up one hand and said, “listen”.  They all paused.  There was no mistaking it, a light tinkling music, faint but clear, and as they turned trying to identify its source.  Ruth suddenly exclaimed,

“oh, look at the lights.  They’re so pretty.  What is it?”

Bethany stood on tiptoe.  “A fairground I think.  Look, if we walk up that lane we should come to it.”  She pointed at a cart track running off across the field.

The sounds grew jollier and louder as the group approached.  Owen and Doug were in high spirits and dived into the crowds of people in search of hotdogs or burgers.  The girls persuaded Aiden to take them on the ferris wheel, and Norris was left to wander the sideshows and stalls.  As he wandered contentedly around, thinking he might try and find a coffee, he became aware of a young girl watching him.  Her large brown eyes seemed to take up most of her small round face, which was in danger of being engulfed by two long, thick plaits.  He smiled.

“Do you know where I can get coffee?” he asked.  She smiled shyly and nodded.

“The best coffee is over at the Roundabout Shack,” she answered, gesturing across the park.  “I’ll show you,” she offered.

Norris was delighted with his new companion and cheerfully chattered away to her as he drank his coffee.  She had refused his offers of food or drink, but seemed happy to show him around and explain all the rides and stalls.  She worked on the fair and knew a lot about its history, and despite it being her night off, she was an enthusiastic guide.  Now and then they would pass one or two of his friends, all laughing and enjoying the atmosphere of the fair.  They winked and gestured towards the girl (Lucia as Norris had now discovered) and he waved them away with a tolerant smile.

The night wore on.  Norris was not really conscious of the time as he and Lucia found they had a lot to talk about.  She was something of a junior engineer, here at the fair, and her understanding of the mechanisms that drove the various attractions was of great interest to him.  But as the hours passed they grew quiet and when Lucia shivered, Norris put his jacket and arm around her shoulders.  Eventually Lucia had turned and looked up into his face.

“You must go now,” she said firmly.  “It’s late and you said you have work tomorrow.”

“I do,” he looked reluctant, “but I can’t leave yet.  My friends aren’t ready, and you …”  He put his hand up to her face and drew her towards him.

“I’ll arrange a taxi,” she pulled away, smiling and gently shaking her head.  “Now you must go.”  Norris took his jacket, wishing he had kissed her.

“Here,” he fumbled for a pen and an old receipt, “take my mobile number.  I’ll try and come and see you again soon.”  He handed her the piece of paper.  “Tell my friends we’ll catch up next week.”

“Goodnight Norris,” Lucia lowered her eyes, “I will call you soon.”  She walked back towards the lights and Norris headed for his car.  She looked back, her shoulders beginning to hunch, her hands barely able to hold his note.  She wistfully smiled revealing her blackened teeth.  Saddened by the thought Norris would never see his friends again, she stayed in the shadows watching the dawn.

 

4

 

The walls shook.  At first Lucia thought that they had failed the quota again.  She waited anxiously for her memories to be disturbed, to hear wailing, but instead all she felt and heard was an intense stillness as the horde seemed to hold its breath, waiting, unsure what to do.

As the roof gave way and the sunlight poured in, Lucia felt the urge to rush forward, to end it all quickly, but she found herself frozen, watching as the numbers decreased in front of her.  She felt weary, bone weary, and sad, her sorrow particularly focussed on the souls harvested only that night – such a waste.

Outside the engineers poured over their designs, discussing and pointing, redirecting the wrecker ball, and in their midst Norris, in his hard hat, could not shake off the idea that he had been to this site before.  As the warehouses fell they revealed the skeletal form of the fairground and, in that instant, Norris became aware of a sigh, airborne by a cloud of dust, like collective souls breathing their last.  Carried like an unseen messenger was delivering it personally to him, a piece of paper landed at his feet.  He picked it up and shoved it under the clip on his board.  “A quick coffee,” he thought, “it’s going to be a long day.”  But even as he turned he caught sight of the writing, and releasing the paper, he read his own mobile number.  Underneath in shaky letters was scrawled, “I’m sorry – Lucia.”