Americarnie Trash

by Jon Jacks

  The car began to quietly purr its way up a slight rise in the mostly barren landscape. It was then that I saw and realised where I was being taken.

  The cemetery.

  The Senator had arranged to meet me in the town’s long abandoned cemetery.

  *

  I’d been full of hope that the Senator was going to reveal to me forbidden books, containing ancient illustrations of angels.

  For that, I’d been prepared to risk agreeing to meet the Senator.

  Yet it seems that even he is limited to seeing only these ancient, crumbling statues.

  I try not to look disappointed as I step from the halted car.

  I smile as I make my way between the tumbled, overgrown gravestones, heading towards the waiting Senator.

  I’m not supposed to know of even these rare renditions of angels.

  They are supposed to be a surprise to me.

  ‘What do you think?’ the Senator asks, elated.

  He points back towards statues peeping out from behind brambles, clumps of grass.

  ‘Did you see them, hiding amongst the rest of the fallen stone? Angels! Lots of them!’

  He’s standing by the sculpture of a particularly elegant, graciously pious angel. As soon as he’s greeted me, he turns to caress its elongated form, his eyes lingering over it adoringly.

  ‘Gorgeous, isn’t she?’

  His eyes are still on her, the angel.

  ‘Have you ever seen anything like her?'

  Once again, I’m wary of answering. He turns to me, observes me with an amused if puzzled frown.

  ‘Do you seriously expect me to believe you’ve never been curious enough to visit a place like this?’

  ‘If you seriously thought I’d already seen statues like this before, why did you invite me here? As if you were introducing me to something new?’

  He grins, more amused than ever.

  ‘You’re careful with your answers, aren’t you?’ He nods, as if he understands, maybe even a little impressed. ‘Of course, you have to be – but not with me, you understand?’

  He stares hard at me, glowers directly into my own eyes.

  He’s asking me to trust him.

  Can I?

  Why should I?

  He continues with, it seems, his attempt to probe deeply into me, to ascertain my thoughts – or at least to elicit a confession – purely with his eyes, his hard stare.

  ‘I know,’ he declares, ‘the Americarnie believe they’re descended from angels.’

  ‘A myth,’ I reply. ‘If angels are a myth, naturally any supposed descent from them is also a myth.’

  ‘Yet we know, don’t we, that some people think there are hidden truths in myths?’

  I glance nervously about me.

  I’m looking for others, who might overhear. Who might be here as part of his plan to entrap me.

  ‘It’s dangerous to be in a place like this…’ I mumble uncertainly.

  He laughs scornfully.

  ‘And so you’ve never visited the only place left where these forbidden images lie forgotten and ignored? Come, come, Miss Selmerey: you must be curious!’

  Suddenly, he reaches out, grabs my hand. He pulls me closer towards him with a violent jerk.

  I glance back towards the car. The driver’s still in his seat, ignoring or uncaring of what’s happening here.

  ‘You’re safe with me!’ the Senator gasps, wrestling me closer towards the silently preaching angel, his words at odds with his actions. ‘This is your opportunity to safely study these angels, to touch them, to feel how–’

  He wrenches my arm, drags my hand towards the body of the motionless angel.

  But now that I’ve touched it, the angel, of course, is no longer stilled.

  It opens its eyes.

  It smiles.

  *

  Chapter 18

  Eight years old. Jane green.

  An illness ‘cruelly took her too soon’, as her parents’ heartfelt inscription tells us.

  Good at math, for her age. Read frequently too.

  ‘Bookish’; that’s how her parents proudly described her.

  There’s more of her, much more, of course.

  All flooding into the angel. Here to look once more over the earth. To learn more about it.

  As she would have done the first time she was here. If she’d been given the time.

  With a whispered ‘Thank you’, she first shrugs then flaps her wings. With a skip, she leaps off her plinth. With a surging flutter of soft feathers, she springs into the air.

  Swooping past both the Senator and me, as if to display her ease with flying, she next rises swiftly, ascending smoothly and effortlessly into the sky. Soon, she is little more than a glittering speck that could be an airborne bird.

  ‘What…what happened?’ I gasp, as if taken by surprise.

  Surprisingly, the Senator doesn’t appear at all surprised.

  ‘What happened – was a miracle!’ he declares blissfully. ‘That’s what happened!’

  ‘But…but how?’

  I have to try and keep up my pretence at bewilderment.

  Not, of course, that I’m completely at ease with what I’ve just seen. But at least I had been half expecting it.

  I had seen it happen before.

  I was simply hoping it wouldn’t happen again.

  ‘How?’

  He grins knowingly. Like he’s fully aware that I was the one who brought the stone angel to life. Like he knew this would happen.

  But how? That’s not possible, is it?

  Even if he’d heard about my experience in the other cemetery: even if – with his admitted interest in all things Americarnie – he’d arranged to ensure he was informed of anything unusual happening within the carnivals; even then, there was nothing to connect our present carnival and position with anything that had happened back in that town, back in that time.

  ‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me how you did it.’

  He stares at me expectantly.

  He does know I’ve done it before.

  I shrug, indicate with a nervous flourish of wringing then opening hands that I really, really, really don’t know how I did it.

  ‘It…just happens…I’d never done it before – well, not until after the acid–’

  I’m giving away too much. I should remain silent. Or, at least, be more careful with the words I’m using.

  ‘Yes, after your accident?’

  There’s a confident tone to his voice that implies he’s also aware of my fall, my recovery. Does he, then, know of the role of the Diabolus waters?

  Probably. The miracles associated with the bottles Kevarn had sold to the townsfolk would have elicited far more gossip than my fall.

  ‘It was the waters; the ElixiAir. I’m sure.’

  I hope I’ve guessed correctly that he knows all about the cures, the role of the medicine that had been sold.

  I still have to be careful, however; I can’t risk giving away any knowledge or details that could lead him to discover or even suspect the existence of the Carnival Diabolus.

  He nods, tight lipped, as if agreeing that this makes whatever little sense can be attached to these bewildering events.

  I’d gained my own particular powers after I’d drunk the Diabolus waters. Lorn, too, had found that he could indeed foretell the future, but only after he’d also drunk from the bottle Kevarn had offered him.

  ‘Still,’ the Senator says after the briefest of pauses, staring directly and ever so challengingly into my eyes once more, ‘it’s all quite remarkable, isn’t it? I mean, all these miracles? Miraculous waters or not?’

  I give a nod in agreement.

  What else could I do? Deny it?

  ‘Good, good,’ he declares with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘At least you’re being more honest with me now, Miss Selmerey: which is all I wanted. All I deserved, I believe?’

  He phrases it as a question. He wants me to ask, I’m sure, why
he deserves honesty from me.

  ‘I could turn you in: I should turn you in.’

  He answers his own question for me.

  And he’s right. Even if I denied granting the statue life, it would be his word – a Senator’s – against an Americarnie.

  No contest, in a court of law; in the court of daily life.

  ‘I won’t,’ he says, reaching out to me, taking my arm with an unexpected tenderness.

  ‘Because I believe they are miracles, Miss Selmerey! And I believe you really are descended from angels!’

  *

  Chapter 19

  The Senator had not only read our forbidden Testament, but had also used his position to obtain and read older, more original texts.

  Texts that had at one time being included within the Testament, but had gradually been removed. Texts that had been banned for centuries, even thousands of years.

  He had read how my people had created and developed so much of the technology we took for granted in our day and age. How we had landscaped and irrigated the land to grow crops. How we had explored the seas, even – it was bizarrely rumoured – space itself (and this long after we had lost the use and the presence of our wings too!).

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he says as we comfortably make our way back to the carnival in the smoothly running car, ‘it pains me to admit it, but it transpires that it is indeed true that you created this – our – land. And you would probably still run it today if you hadn’t been brought low by your arrogance and sense of superiority.’

  The history and myths of my people had always intrigued him, he admitted, even from when he had been a young boy living in the city. Although the vast majority of the city’s technology no longer operated, he had found himself looking on in awe at the gigantic complexes that had been built so very long ago.

  On becoming a Senator, he had used his influence and contacts to enhance his understanding of the role of my people in the country’s creation; a country that was now undeniably the country of his rather than my people.

  He had asked to be kept informed of any unusual events at the carnivals: and yes, he was well aware that townsfolk vanished after attending some of the carnivals. Many of those in government were well informed when it came to tracking such disappearances. However, as those who vanished tended to be the more unscrupulous and unwanted of the citizens – the thieves, the gamblers, the sexual predators – it had been agreed long ago that their removal was ultimately beneficial to society.

  Yet the miraculous cures engendered by the waters; now that had been a very unusual event.

  And for a surprisingly large number of people, a particular event had been even more memorable: the fall and swift recovery of an ‘angel’ in the ‘Miracle Play’.

  Added to all this, to avoid prosecution for blasphemy, a young man and woman had been very forthcoming when it came to providing a remarkably accurate and detailed description of that very same girl.

  With this description circulated to his many, countrywide informants, the Senator simply had to wait until he’d heard from his contacts of an Americarnie girl exactly matching that description.

  It had been over three years: which had admittedly surprised him.

  He hadn’t expected to have to wait that long, he explained.

  Even so, it had been worth the wait, no matter how long it had taken, he added, without offering any further explanation as to why this should be so.

  ‘You are a fallen people,’ he says as the car crosses town once more. ‘Yet I do not see why our people as a whole shouldn’t benefit from the knowledge and skills you possess. We just have to persuade those people, of course, that you do possess these considerable qualities: and now, I believe, we are close to producing the proof that you can aid us in many previously unimaginable ways!’

  ‘Proof? You think that I could–’

  He interrupts my excited query with a vigorous shaking of his head.

  ‘No, no. Unfortunately, even your remarkable feat would be simply dismissed as a typical Americarnie fraud: a piece of fakery at its most amazing, yet fakery for all that. It’s what your people have become infamous for, after all.’

  “But the miraculous cures? The medicinal waters?’

  ‘Are they repeatable? If not, what happened will simply be dismissed as a set of coincidences, or as a form of group hysteria.’

  ‘Then what is this proof you think we have?’

  ‘The boy, of course! Your friend! Lorn, isn’t it?’

  ‘Lorn? But how could he be proof that we’re descended from angels?’

  ‘Just as my contacts had informed me of you, Miss Selmerey, they also told me of Lorn. And I believe – and, I’ve heard, you also once believed – that his supposed deformity is actually caused by the presence of what should be his angelic wings!’

  *

  Chapter 20

  ‘I don’t know where he is; if I did, I would help, obviously! I want so much to prove – to believe myself – that the Americarnie are the remainder of what used to be the angels!’

  The second part of what I’ve just said, of course, is true.

  The first part, however, is at least half a lie.

  I still don’t know how much the Senator knows of the Carnival Diabolus – still don’t know how much I can trust him with details of its existence.

  According to the Senator, he believes Lorn is what he calls – ‘for want of a better word, I’m afraid’ – a ‘throwback’: that is, a person containing qualities that had long disappeared in the general population.

  ‘You often see it in the runt of a litter – not that I’m implying Lorn is a runt, naturally! Such a pup can actually turn out to be an example of how the breed originally looked before breeders created their own version of the dog.’

  Even if I did tell the Senator where Lorn has run off to, it wouldn’t help as far as proving that the Americarnie are the children of angels. How could we help him return from the darkness of the Carnival Diabolus? Where exactly is he within that darkness?

  That, of course, I really don’t know.

  We’ve arrived back at the carnival. The evening is just setting in, a time when we’re already beginning to ingest the larger crowds: the people who have just left the day’s work behind, who are prepared to spend the money that will ensure they have an enjoyable night.

  Ropewalkers, jugglers, plate-spinners, cavorting gymnasts and tumblers are already entertaining the gathering crowds. Booths offering prizes of large, soft pink bears, of purple monkeys, or exotically shaped lamps, are being eagerly surrounded. A metallic rabbit pings as it’s hit by a pellet from an ancient airgun, a board thuds as a card is speared with a dart. Hot dogs, candyfloss, burgers, fries: all are being hungrily purchased and devoured, lathered with sauces normally unavailable within the towns.

  ‘I’ll have to get dressed; prepare for my act,’ I apologise to the Senator as his driver opens the back door of the car for him, as I slip out on my side.

  ‘Of course, of course!’ the Senator replies surprisingly amiably.

  I had expected more of a protest from him: a demand for further disclosures from me.

  ‘Oh, but first, Miss Selmerey,’ he adds, ‘could you show me, please, to the Future Fates booth?’

  ‘Of course.’

  It’s Lorn’s old booth. No one has taken it over, as yet. No one has quite the talent he had for reading people.

  I can’t see what the Senator hopes to find there, but neither can I see any harm in taking him there.

  The way there is quick, easy. Just past the largest tent, where we put on the main shows. A tent that casts large, angular shadows. The booth lies on the edge of one of the darker areas, a means of giving it a touch of mystery, of – yes – foreboding.

  Ironic, really, considering Lorn’s fate.

  The darkness within the booth is even more complete than I was expecting: whenever I’ve been here before, Lorn had always already lit the small lanterns hanging from the walls
and ceiling. Now the only light comes from the doorway, where I’ve left the tent-like flap of heavy curtain thrown back.

  It makes everything in here seem all the more forlorn. The crystals glow only slightly, only weakly, in the little light entering behind me. In the darkness, the table and its chairs can only just be made out as even more solidly black shapes.

  As the Senator confidently steps towards the table, he’s already drawing out a small silken bag from the inner pocket of his jacket.

  ‘I’ll have to go–’

  ‘No, please; I think you’ll want to see this!’

  Deftly unlacing the bag, the Senator slips out a pack of Tarot cards. Equally deftly, he begins to rapidly lay them out across the table, face down and in a regular, geometrical pattern like a sunburst.

  One by one, but incredibly swiftly, surprisingly expertly, he turns the cards over.

  He works so quickly, I can’t make out which particular cards they are. It strikes me that the Senator doesn’t appear interested in checking which they are either.

  It seems, in fact, as if he’s already aware of what they will be, as if he’d already arranged the cards within the pack before laying them out.

  The light – or, rather the lack of light – within the darkened booth abruptly changes.

  The dim light languidly drifting in from the doorway behind me blinks out of existence, replaced in an instant with sheer darkness.

  The light of the doorway now lies before me, on the other side of the table.

  The Senator chuckles at my gasp of surprise.

  ‘You really didn’t know about this, did you?’

  ‘What is it? What did you do?’

  ‘Why, I simply opened the door to the Carnival Diabolus, of course!’

  *

  Chapter 21

  ‘Please; you don’t understand! You might not be able to return if you go in there!’

  I have to warn him.

  He seems to be incredibly well informed about the carnival and the Americarnie, seems to know more than I do in some cases: but, naturally, he hasn’t seen what I’ve seen over my years with the carnival.

  No one comes back from the Carnival Diabolus unchanged.

  Many, of course, don’t come back at all.

  He’s seems to be ignoring me. Sliding his cards back into a pack, he slips them back into the silk bag.