Love and Other Consolation Prizes(19)
He noticed the women appraising him. They smiled politely and whispered, “Is that him? Is that the boy?” and “My, he’s so tall, what is he?” or “Quite handsome, actually, like George Primrose without the makeup.”
“Where are you from?” one of the women asked.
Ernest looked at Mrs. Irvine, whose expression seemed to say go on.
“Um…I grew up near Green Lake,” Ernest said, though he wasn’t sure if that was the correct answer. “The Holy Word Academy, I guess.”
“No, dear,” the woman said. “Where are you really from?”
Mrs. Irvine jumped in. “He came over on a boat from the Far East, but he’s only half Oriental. His father was European, and young Ernest speaks English marvelously. And although he’s not a Mongoloid, he’s not a Caucasoid either. He’s…unique.”
Embarrassed, Ernest fussed with a loose button and turned toward the marble columns of the massive Government Building across the parkway. He distracted himself with the gentle splashing of the Geyser Basin. He could see the pristine rows of cascading waterfalls and the mirrored reflection of Mount Rainier in the stillness of the outer reflecting pool. He marveled at the crowd—a bonanza of derby hats and bow ties, and a parade of women, who tilted forward in their corsets as though running a race, but were slowed by their hobble skirts, doting endlessly on their mantles and tea jackets. The men strolled at the gentle pace set by the ladies at their arms, and everyone seemed to move in slow motion.
That’s when Ernest noticed one nearby face, then two, then a dozen more. All of them were staring in his direction—not just in his direction, directly at him. Bewildered, Ernest looked over his shoulder and saw the ladies continuing their conversation, showing each other their tickets. The tickets weren’t just for admission into the fair but were for something else. Ernest looked up at the yellow and purple flag atop the building, then down to his trousers. He wondered if his buttons might have come undone.
He turned around and found himself facing Mrs. Irvine. She put her hands on his shoulders and whispered in his ear, “They’re all here for you, young man—such a marvelous thing! They’ve all come out today, rain or shine, to see you—to find out who has the special ticket. To find out who the lucky winner is. Isn’t this exciting?”
Special ticket? Ernest furrowed his brow and blinked, once, twice. Ever since the AYP had opened, on the first of June, there had been a raffle each day. Today was no exception, and the raffle winner would be selected after President Taft’s speech. In fact, Taft himself would draw the winning ticket. Ernest remembered that on Anaconda Day the delegation from Butte, Montana, had given away five thousand copper ingots. On Yakima Day, visitors had won barrels of apples and cruets of cider vinegar. And on Agriculture Day, someone had won a milking shorthorn.
But today is President’s Day, Ernest thought. What could they possibly give away on…? Ernest felt his unalloyed joy, his excitement, plummet into the pit of his stomach.
He remembered. This is also Washington Children’s Home Day.
“Someone is taking you home with them,” Mrs. Irvine said with glee. “I bet you never thought you’d find a real home, but wishes sometimes do come true.”
He turned toward the crowd and realized that everyone was staring at him—thirty thousand people, smiling, laughing, pointing—all of them waiting as Mrs. Irvine’s words echoed in his mind, They’re all here for you. Then he noticed the ticket holders. They stood out among the masses, hundreds of them, checking and double-checking their numbers, waving their tickets in the air, fanning themselves with the small slabs of printed cardboard.
“I’m…the prize,” Ernest whispered. Those three words hung in the air like that lost helium balloon. I’m to be given away. I belong to one of the ticket holders. Everyone’s here for the spectacle, for me, and the president, of course.
As a drum major struck up the band in front of the Government Building, Ernest glanced back at Mrs. Irvine, who was smiling, adjusting her President’s Day ribbon. Soldiers and policemen marched by, creating a brief reverential mood, until a collective cheer, a full-hearted roar, swept through the crowd.
Ernest watched, too numb from shock to feel awestruck, as ladies curtsied at the sight of President Taft’s unmistakably large frame and wide handlebar mustache. Ernest stared into the crowd and wondered what stranger would be taking him away, and to what end, for what purpose? He heard the audience cheer as the president descended the steps of the Government Building in a black tuxedo with long flowing tails and a top hat. One peculiar woman, with a shimmering peacock feather in her gold-colored boater hat, merely smiled and placed a cigarette in her mouth as he approached. Ernest watched in silence, somewhat shocked as the Big Lub himself paused, fished out a silver lighter, and lit the rolled tobacco at the end of her dangling holder. He offered a hearty grin and then continued shaking hands and kissing babies on his way to the bandstand, where he gave a rousing speech in his high-pitched, South Midland voice, about something Ernest barely understood and quickly forgot.
When President Taft was done speaking, the band played “Hail to the Chief,” but the crowd stayed put, cheering and shouting. Ernest watched the man whom Teddy Roosevelt had called Ol’ Puzzlehead bask in his hard-fought presidential glory, but Ernest knew full well that the patrons of the fair were merely waiting for yet another prize to be raffled off.