by Zoe Chant
There were also a few teenage couples who’d come by themselves, a scattering of old people, and plenty of leashed dogs. Ransom could only cross his fingers that Wally and Heidi wouldn’t get excited enough to teleport, but they seemed contented to sniff around.
In his entire adult life, Ransom had never set foot anywhere that was less the sort of place he’d ever expected to be. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed his childhood, and had never wanted to recreate it. But like the idea of riding the tomato knife, it felt different when he had Natalie at his side. She spun around, her rainbow hair flying around her face, as she tried to take in all the sights at once. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes were sparkling, and her happiness was contagious.
“I don’t know where to start,” she said. “The climbing wall is cute, with the tomato vine holds, but way too easy. Should we get our picture taken with The World’s Largest Tomato? Check out the craft booths?”
“I could throw tomatoes to win you a prize,” Ransom suggested.
She glanced at the stall, then gave a scornful sniff. “Way, way too easy. They didn’t even bother to rig it.”
“How about—”
A hideous monster stepped out from behind a booth. It was a giant scarlet head with bulging eyes and huge green lips puckered up in a kiss, topped with a fuzzy mass of what looked like mold. It had no body, only a pair of human legs in a mini-skirt and high heels, both the exact same green as the mold ball.
Ransom recoiled. Natalie let out a strangled shriek. Heidi and Wally erupted into ferocious barking and lunged at the eldritch horror. Wally smacked into the head and bounced off, but Heidi managed to nip it. There was a pop like a bursting balloon, and the scarlet head deflated.
Natalie grabbed Wally and Ransom grabbed Heidi as the creature pulled off the mold blob, revealing the head of a young woman.
“I’m so sorry,” gasped Natalie.
“I’ll reimburse you for the costume,” said Ransom.
“No need,” said the young woman cheerfully. “We’ll slap another patch on and reinflate it. For some reason, dogs don’t seem to take to the Tomato Land mascot costume. It must be the smell of rubber.”
She poked at the green kissy lips, which were now drooping over her waist. They wobbled in an unpleasantly realistic manner, as if they were going to lunge in for a kiss. Wally tried to flee through Ransom’s chest, scrabbling frantically, while Heidi made an equally determined effort to attack.
“Right,” said Natalie. “The smell of rubber. That must be it. Sorry again!”
She and Ransom hurried away, then ducked behind a stall. There they put down the puppies and burst out laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like that. Every time he started winding down, he’d remember Wally’s desperate attempt to escape the lips and start up again.
“The thing over her head!” Natalie gasped. “Were those supposed to be leaves? It looked like fungus!”
“The high heels were what got me. The perfect shade of mildew!”
Natalie wiped her eyes. “Well, I call that an excellent start to the day. What next?”
“How about there?” Ransom pointed at a tomato-shaped tent.
She read its sign aloud. “‘The History of the Tomato?’ Really? Won’t that be boring?”
For the first time in his life, Ransom was grateful to his parents and his schools for dragging him to produce festivals. Without that prior knowledge, Natalie would have been deprived forever of The History of the Tomato.
“Let’s try it. I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it.”
“You’re just hoping to nerd it over me if they explain that it’s a fruit,” she said, but followed him inside.
The interior of the tent contained several attendants in tomato-shaped beanies guiding a line to an ominous-looking staircase leading underground.
“What is that, a converted storm cellar?” Natalie asked.
“I think it’s actually a converted bomb shelter,” Ransom said.
“In case of flying tomatoes,” she said with a snicker.
An attendant said, “He’s right. It was built during the Cold War. The History of the Tomato will tell you all about the impact of the tomato on that terrifying time.”
“Impact of the tomato,” Ransom whispered when the attendant turned away. “Interesting choice of phrase.”
“Does it need an entire exhibit to say ‘splat?’” Natalie whispered.
Downstairs, the bomb shelter was cool and cavernous, made of reinforced concrete and steel. Ransom had been wondering why the History of the Tomato required the bomb shelter rather than the tent above, but he understood once his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He’d expected dioramas or a short film. He had not expected a circular track with tomato-shaped carriages, or that when he and Natalie took their seats on the soft red cushions, they’d be squeezed quite so close together.
“Now I get it,” she said. “This is the Tunnel of Love. I mean the Tomato of Love.”
Ransom could actually feel her heart beating. Every time she took a breath, he felt that too. When he tried to whistle to the pups, he ran out of air halfway through. They jumped up anyway and sat panting on his feet.
The lights went down and a tinny recorded voice announced, “Welcome to the History of the Tomato, Earth’s mightiest crop!”
“Mightiest?” whispered Natalie.
“Note how they’re dodging whether it’s a fruit or a vegetable,” said Ransom.
The carriage lurched forward. A spotlight came up on a diorama of Eve in the Garden of Eden, eyeing a tomato vine. An animatronic serpent poked its head out and hissed as Eve’s arm jerked mechanically toward the tomato.
The recorded voice announced, “The tomato was once known as the Love Apple. Some believe that it was not an apple, but a tomato, which was the forbidden Fruit of Knowledge.”
“Who believes that?” whispered Natalie as their carriage rolled forward.
“I don’t know, but they’re right that it’s a fruit.”
“They are not. You don’t put fruit on a pizza.”
“Ham and pineapple,” whispered Ransom.
“That doesn’t count. It’s not a real pizza.”
“Pizza isn’t defined by its toppings.”
They fell silent when lights rose on a diorama of cavemen staring down at a tomato. As a tinny recorded voice said, “UGG!” the main caveman brought down his club, stopping just short of a real tomato resting on a rock.
“Some believe that the tomato was the first plant cultivated by man,” announced the voice.
“Who’s that some?” whispered Natalie.
“Blaming it all on ‘some’ allows for a whole lot, doesn’t it?” whispered Ransom.
She began to shake with silent laughter at the next exhibit, in which Christopher Columbus waved a map reading HERE LIE TOMATOES, and was in near hysterics by the one which depicted Paul Revere brandishing a tomato and suggested that some believed a tomato tax was a key cause of the American Revolution. Ransom managed to hold out until they got to the diorama in which Betsy Ross dyed an American flag with a tomato, and then he too began to laugh.
Once he started, he couldn’t stop. Neither could Natalie. They clutched at each other, laughing hysterically, as the puppies set up a chorus of yips and other riders shushed them and the tinny voice proclaimed that some believe that non-polluting fuel may be extracted from that humble yet magnificent plant, the titanic—
“Sir? Ma’am? I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” A stern attendant was frowning over them, shining a flashlight that illuminated his tomato beanie.
They scrambled out of the carriage, taking the puppies with them. Still laughing, they staggered up the stairs and out of the tomato dome, and sank down on a bench painted with a cheerful pizza motif.
Ransom’s sides ached. He had actual tear tracks on his face. His voice cracked as he said, “The Apollo astronauts survived on freeze-dried tomatoes!”
“A Russian fad for ketchup ended th
e Cold War,” gasped Natalie.
“The titanic tomato!”
“The tremendous tomato!”
“The tantalizing tomato!” He gulped for air, then wiped tears from his eyes.
Natalie gave a happy sigh as she wiped her own eyes. “That was amazing. Thank you so much for making sure I didn’t miss it. Are they always like that?”
“More or less. I remember one that claimed that without artichokes, there would be no America. But this was the best I’ve ever seen.”
She nodded. “I feel like anything after this will be an anticlimax.”
Ransom spotted people lining up at a sign reading TOMATO THROWING PERFORMANCE. 1 DAY ONLY. 10 THROWERS. 10,000 TOMATOES.
“I don’t,” he said.
The next thing he knew, he was once again wedged in close with Natalie. But this time, he was also wedged in with a huge crowd, all facing a completely white enclosure with three high walls and a floor, but no ceiling. There was stadium seating, but it had been completely filled by the time they arrived, so they hunkered down on the grass, holding the puppies in their arms.
Crouched down, Natalie seemed barely bigger than the two children on her other side.
The little girl turned adoring eyes to her. “I like your hair.”
“Thank you,” said Natalie. “I like your shoes.”
The girl glanced down at her shoes, tapped one on the ground to make it flash, then indicated the little boy. “I’m six. He’s four. How old... wait... are you a grown-up?"
“Yes,” Natalie said regretfully.
The girl looked disappointed. “Oh.”
“She’s young at heart,” Ransom put in.
The little girl gave him a look of utter scorn, then turned away, bored.
“I guess I deserved that,” said Ransom.
The ten tomato throwers stepped onstage, along with four assistants with buckets of tomatoes. The assistants were in street clothes, the throwers in pure white and safety goggles. The throwers and assistants murmured to each other and walked around, trying to get the assistants, their buckets, and the throwers positioned in exactly the right places. Backstage, more crew members moved more tomato baskets into place.
“I’ve never seen an audience this riveted by twelve people wandering around a stage,” Natalie murmured.
“The great acting teacher, Stanislavsky, created Method Acting when he saw how fascinated audiences were by real things happening onstage, even ordinary things like someone frying an egg,” said Ransom. “The stage focuses attention on human behavior and makes the ordinary seem extraordinary.”
“It helps if you're waiting for tomatoes to start flying.”
A thrower made a sudden and unexpected lunge for a basket, seized a large tomato, and hurled it across the stage, splattering the man across from her. With that, chaos broke loose.
Tomatoes flew back and forth, squashing against the white walls and floor and clothes. Within minutes, everything was dyed red: walls, floor, skin, hair, clothes. Safety goggles were knocked off by high-velocity tomatoes. Teams formed among the throwers, then turned on each other and broke up.
An errant tomato flew into the audience, straight for Natalie. Ransom lunged forward, caught it neatly, and threw it back, scoring a direct hit on the thrower.
“Bravo!” shouted Natalie.
Encouraged by this, some throwers began deliberately throwing tomatoes into the audience. Most of them were caught and thrown back—the onstage throwers were careful to throw gently, as there were children in the audience—but a few splatted into audience members. Another hurtled toward Ransom, but before he could catch it, Heidi vanished from his lap, appeared in mid-air, and batted it aside with her nose.
The little girl tugged at her mother’s hand. “Mommy! The rainbow hair grown-up’s boyfriend’s puppy can fly!”
Between Heidi teleporting in public and being seen doing it, and getting called Natalie’s boyfriend, Ransom was struck absolutely dumb.
The girl’s mother chuckled. “Huskies can jump very high. I had one when I was your age.”
“I saw her,” the girl said obstinately. “She flew up.”
Natalie gave them both a bright smile. “She’s a magic puppy. Don’t tell, it’s a secret.”
Satisfied, the girl said, “I knew it.”
Her mother winked at Natalie, who winked back. Ransom’s heart rate slowly returned to normal.
Onstage, the tomato throwing was still going strong. The floor was covered in an ever-deepening layer of crushed tomatoes, making the throwers slip, slide, and sometimes fall in a spray of salsa. One thrower slid on his knees to catch a tomato as if he was sliding into home.
The scent made Ransom feel as if he was inside a vat of spaghetti sauce. Natalie’s hair glowed all shades of crimson and burgundy and orange and red-gold in the tomato-tinged light.
The backstage crew rushed back and forth, pouring new tomatoes into baskets. One of them was hit right in the face—whether accidentally or on purpose, Ransom couldn’t tell. The backstage crew began vengefully tossing tomatoes at the throwers. The throwers onstage began randomly chucking tomatoes back over the wall. So many tomatoes accumulated on the floor that some throwers lay down on it and began doing the backstroke. The throwers onstage turned on the assistants and attacked them with tomatoes.
At last, visibly exhausted, the throwers collapsed to the floor, still flinging tomatoes from kneeling positions.
Ransom had never experienced such utter, inspired, delightful madness in his life. It was absurd and hilarious, and it made him feel good about a world in which someone got the idea to throw 10,000 tomatoes, and then actually made it happen.
The throwers staggered to their feet, dripping, and took a bow. The audience cheered and clapped.
Natalie’s clear, mischievous voice rose up above the applause, shouting “Encore! Encore!”
The throwers began scooping up tomato pulp from the floor and hurling it in all directions. The audience fled for their lives.
Ransom and Natalie fetched up near a waterpark where gleeful kids in swimming suits rocketed down a slide shaped like a curling vine and splashed into a pool of red-dyed water.
“Boring,” said Natalie. “Ordinary. A huge disappointment.”
Ransom laughed. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so free and easy. His hellhound hadn’t said a word since he’d set foot in Tomato Land, and his information powers had left him alone as well. It was probably only an exceptionally pleasant turn of chance, but if it turned out that all his powers were deactivated by tomatoes, he’d fill up his apartment with vines.
Chapter 12
Natalie’s expectations of Tomato Land had been high, despite Ransom’s warning, but it had far surpassed them. And so had Ransom himself. She’d hoped to see him happy, but she’d never dreamed that she’d see him literally laugh until he cried. He looked so different now than when she’d first seen him. His eyes were bright, there was color in his cheeks, and the sun lit his hair until the individual strands glittered like sparks.
She took his hand, relishing the delicious shock of contact and its promise that maybe later there’d be more than just hand-holding. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
They stepped through an archway that had real tomato vines twining over it, with green and red cherry tomatoes dangling amidst the lush foliage. It led to a set of food booths which were familiar in one sense—her circus also had food stalls—but these were entirely tomato-themed. Stalls sold tomato soup, tomato salad, tomato pie, eggs poached in tomato sauce, and fried green tomatoes. The pizza stall advertised ABSOLUTELY NO WHITE PIZZA. DON’T LIKE TOMATO SAUCE? WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE?
“Remember my offer to buy you a tomato? By that, I meant ‘buy you lunch,’” said Natalie. “Because that is clearly the same thing around here.”
“I’ll bite. So to speak. I want what he’s having.” Ransom indicated a man with an open-faced sandwich topped with a thick slice of the biggest tomato she had e
ver seen. “Other than that, surprise me.”
That was all the permission she needed. She left the puppies with him and darted from stall to stall, buying everything that looked good, seemed especially American and therefore exotically tempting, and anything she thought Ransom might appreciate. She wanted to see that look on his face, the wide-eyed surprise at how good something was and that he was enjoying it. Though she’d seen it a lot that day, she never got tired of it.
But there was another look she hadn’t seen yet, which she wanted to see even more. She hoped that if she got him enough good things, maybe someday he’d stop being surprised.
She returned to him carefully balancing a tray shaped and painted to look like a tomato.
Ransom was sitting at a wooden table (round and painted to look like a tomato), in a chair (same), under a canopy (same) where families sat around eating entirely red meals. He’d apparently stopped at a stall himself while she was getting lunch, because beneath the table, the puppies gnawed on rawhide discs. They were not dyed red, but she felt certain that the shape was meant to represent a tomato.
“They missed a trick,” Ransom said, examining the paper plates. “The plates aren’t red.”
“Not at all. The plates are white to make the tomatoes show up better.”
She’d gotten herself the same sandwich he had, a giant slice of salted and peppered tomato over mozzarella. And also fried green tomatoes, tomato pie, and a pair of bloody Marys adorned with a forest of celery, a slice of candied bacon, and a skewer of ripe, roasted, and pickled cherry tomatoes.
Natalie lifted her glass. “To that rightfully celebrated vegetable, the tomato.”
“To the mighty tomato, that rightfully celebrated fruit.”
“To the know-it-all sitting across the tomato from me.” She tried to glare, but couldn’t help grinning. “A man with unusual taste in books—unusually good taste—who drives like a dream and BASE jumps without a blink.”
“Oh, you like my driving?” And there was that look she’d been waiting for: surprised by happiness. For some reason, it made her eyes sting as if she was about to cry. As she blinked hard, he raised his own glass. “To the woman with rainbow hair and every-color eyes, who finds the joy in everything and fears nothing.”