Love and Other Consolation Prizes(84)

He tied his handkerchief, covering his nose and mouth, feeling the warmth of his breath as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then he found his way to the coal bin and the boiler, which radiated so much heat his forehead began to perspire.

In a fog of frustration, Ernest reached to open the furnace door, forgetting to put on his gloves first. He felt the searing metal handle burn his palm. He cursed and snatched his hand back, gritting his teeth. His fingers felt icy and hot all at once, and his eyes watered with the pain. He sniffled and examined his swelling hand in the dimly lit room, touching his swollen skin where a blister or two would surely appear. Eventually the pain began to subside and with it, a measure of his sadness.

Ernest shook his head at his foolishness and settled onto an old crate. He looked at the marks on his hand and remembered once catching a glimpse of mysterious cuts along Miss Amber’s upper arm, the old scars that she kept hidden by wearing long sleeves. When Ernest had mentioned what he’d seen to Mrs. Blackwell, she’d called those marks the wrinkles of past suffering, but she’d also said that the men at Western Washington Hospital called Amber’s pernicious habit of cutting herself in her youth a partial suicide. The term seemed absurd, but now, with Fahn’s departure and return, he understood how a part of you could perish. As he stared into the radiant heat, watching the flaring embers, he felt how easy it could be to slip from a place of warmth to a place of engulfing fire.





WHISPERS OF CALLIOPE


(1910)



The following Sunday, Ernest stood next to Fahn on the breezy upper passenger deck of the ferry City of Seattle, staring across the murky blue-green waters of Elliott Bay as the vessel steered toward the tidal flats of Duwamish Head and Alki Beach.

In months past, their days off had been spent in the Garment District, strictly below the line, since so many businesses, theaters, and penny arcades were closed on Sunday. But since Mayor Gill’s election a week ago, Luna Park, the Coney Island of the West, was open every day, just like the many bars and taverns across the city. In fact, Ernest had heard the saloon at Luna Park boasted the largest and best-stocked bar in all of Seattle—a fact that probably didn’t sit well with the amusement park’s sleepy West Seattle neighbors.

As the ferry swayed, he strained to hear the faint sound of a roller coaster and the calliope music of a carousel.

“So, young Ernest, what would you like to do first?” Fahn asked as the ferry slowed on its approach. She leaned on his shoulder as the wooden deck gently rocked, the engine idled, and seabirds circled overhead, squawking, swooping, and diving.

Ernest inhaled the salty air.

This.

He imagined wrapping his arms around her.

And this.

As he’d lean down and kiss each cheek, rosy and cool from the breeze.

And finally this.

He pictured himself whispering.

Something to undo the past.

Then the ferry blared its horn and interrupted his daydreaming.

“The Canals of Venice sound nice,” he said as she took his arm and they joined the crowds and the horses that disembarked from the ferry. They took their time and strolled the mossy boardwalk toward Seattle’s own Midway Plaisance, past freshly painted sandwich boards advertising LaSousa’s Minstrel Band, a Water Carnival, and Madame Schelle the Lion Tamer. They both smirked at the word madame.

Ernest enjoyed the comforting echoes of their visit to the fair. Even some of the attractions were the same, including the hot-air balloon. And he’d also heard that Luna Park was in the process of relocating the Fairy Gorge Tickler, which they had purchased to bolster their own special assortment of thrill rides: the Chute-the-Chutes, the Joy Wheel, the Cave of Mystery, and the enormous Figure Eight Roller Coaster, which was advertised as being a half mile high.

As Ernest squinted up at the wooden framework from across the amusement park, he could tell that the rumored height was an exaggeration, though the loud screams of the riders told everyone within earshot that the ride was high enough.

Ernest pulled Fahn aside to let a clown with a tremendous purple wig walk by; the clown pulled a pig in a tiny Studebaker. Then they boarded a long black gondola and floated through the park’s Venetian canals, past string musicians in black tuxedos and a woman in a lofted wig who sang in Italian. Ernest sat back in the red leather seat, warm from the afternoon sun, and wrapped his arm around Fahn’s shoulder the way the couples in the other boats did. As they drifted, Fahn talked about how much she missed Maisie. Ernest felt the same emptiness. He didn’t really believe it—nor did he think Fahn did—but they both agreed that their friend was probably better off. They told themselves that no one could make the Mayflower do anything she didn’t want to do. And as the gondola finally drifted to a stop, they were helped out of the boat.

Fahn brightened as she pointed to a ride off in the distance. “Look, a carousel.”

Ernest heard the pipe organ and chased after her as she ran toward the menagerie of painted horses. They slowed, and she climbed aboard, where she wended her way through a forest of animals—mares mostly, but also bears, buffalo, and even a striped tiger covered in glass jewels. Ernest caught up to her as the previous riders were stepping off and men and women, some still in their Sunday finery, boarded the carousel. He climbed atop a black stallion with a tail made from real horsehair as Fahn sat facing him, sidesaddle, legs crossed, on a matching steed, the lace fringe of her simple yellow dress cresting just below her knees. Ernest paid the operator a dime for the both of them and held on to the striped pole as the music played and the roundabout began to move. As they spun in merry circles, their mounts rising and falling, Fahn’s figure was dappled and reflected a thousand times in the mirrored mosaic at the center of the ride. To Ernest she looked like a girl again, a happy teenager, cheeks flushed with joy, hair pulled back in a bow. And in that moment—that perfect, breathtaking minute, he felt so lucky. He opened his mouth to speak when she looked down at her feet and he saw that her childlike smile had vanished.