The Fortune Teller's Daughter

by Jordan Bell

  “Girl,” the man with the vice grip boomed above me, vibrating through me. “You’re going to get hurt.”

  I twisted around and stared into the midsection of the tallest man I had ever seen. His size was monstrous, both tall and very wide. I stood dumb until my eyes finally made their way into the clouds from where his face peered down at me. First the smallest man I’d ever spoken to, and now the biggest. I rocked onto my heels.

  “Wow. You’re a giant.”

  “A colossus,” he corrected, a single eyebrow raised. Then he released me.

  When he turned and started back into the crowd, I caught a tattoo of stars peeking out at his wrist.

  Breadcrumbs.

  Unfortunately his stride length made it impossible for my little legs to keep up. Naturally everyone got out of his way as he clomped towards the el, but crashed back into an impossible swarm behind him. By the time I made it onto the platform, he was gone and so was his train.

  At least I knew what line he was on, which meant I only had to search the south half of the city. No problem.

  It was only when I was crammed on a bench waiting for the next train did I stop to consider how ridiculous I was behaving. It was unreasonable to believe that the dwarf had left me a trail to follow. He hadn’t spray painted those ravens or arranged for that taxi to be there right when I needed it.

  Weird things like that didn’t happen. Usually.

  I remembered being young, standing in front of a shop window staring at a mannequin wearing a pink scarf and mittens I wanted very badly, but my mother had ignored my begging. And as I stared at them, willing them to be mine, a girl passed behind us wearing the very same pink scarf and mittens. I’d placed my hand on top of her reflection and said, “Oh, déjà vu.” I have no idea where I learned the word, but I remembered my mother dropped her grocery bag, knelt in front of me and started shaking me, over and over, yelling, “There’s no such thing! What did you see? Tell me what you saw!”

  Reason suggested I was looking for signs and therefore finding them. Rationally I understood that. As much as I wanted to believe someone had sent me star chalk drawings, ravens, and giants, it was madness to go wandering around in strange neighborhoods in hopes of finding a piece of my mother.

  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.

  5

  __________________

  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.

  “Keep your eyes on me,” she said. “Ready? Here goes nothing.”

  The juggler added a third ball and I almost dropped the whole mess, but somehow let go in the nick of time. At my save the crowd cheered and I could feel the warmth of pleasure spread up into my cheeks.

  “Bravissimo!” she laughed. “Ever thought of running away to join the circus?”

  “Hasn’t every little girl?”

  “Only the very naughty ones!”

  Two other acrobats dressed like the girl took position on either side of us and before I could stop them, they had their own balls passing over and under ours.

  “You’ve got to b
e kidding me.”

  “Don’t let them scare you, you’re doing wonderfully. You’re a born performer.”

  Around us the crowd ooohed and aaahed at our dexterity, and when I thought I finally had it down, one of her tosses slipped past and popped me right between the eyes. Like dominos, the perfect rhythm collided in mid-air in a wonderful explosion of color.

  All six balls tumbled around our feet and went dark.

  The girl gasped and covered her face to hide her giggles, but they were too infections and soon the crowd was laughing and clapping with her.

  “Take a bow!” she urged and even as I could feel embarrassment coloring my cheeks, I let her take my hand, lift it into the air and pull me into a big, theatrical bow.

  With the show over, the crowd dispersed and she retrieved her balls before sweeping her arm through mine. “Which show would you like to see first?”

  “I’m actually looking for Alistair Rook. I was told his wagon was behind the carnival.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” She nodded and pulled me to where the path into the tents began, the entryway flanked by two trees with smooth, snow white bark, their foliage backlit with ethereal blue lights. “But you have to go all the way through the carnival. Might as well see something pretty along the way.”

  “I suppose I could see a couple of shows before I get to him. What do you suggest?”

  “The dancers are always worth a peek if you’re not easily embarrassed, and the Strange, too, our version of the 10 in 1. You must not miss the magician.”

  “The magician?”

  “Trust me.” Her lips pressed in a barely contained smile. “This is where I must leave you. You’ll find your way. No matter what tent you go into, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  “Thank you. For the game. It was fun.” I let go, reluctantly. As soon as my hand fell from hers, she sprang backwards onto her hands and again to land on her feet in a pretty pirouette. Someone watching us gasped.