An Evening at the Carnival with Mister Christian

He watched as the boat landed again on the south shore and his heart leapt when he saw Jennifer step aboard. He could hear her laughter on the wind as boat skimmed across the river once again, and Claus renewed his pace. He had wanted to get to the carnival ahead of her and find her as soon as possible; that would be impossible now and he was vexed! Now, as he slogged along the muddy path his mind worked out the possibilities...

Who would she be with? Her brothers, no doubt, but what of the others who saw her as a prize to be won? He would have to separate her from these potential suitors as soon as possible. Would her brothers object? Would he seem too obvious?

"Guten abend, Herr Esterhaus," he heard a spectral voice say, and he turned toward the source half expecting to see...? What? Mr Christian?

But no, it was the Right Reverend Roger Foster -- and what a sight he made!

His normally pallid features were suffused in deepest crimson, but it was the man's lips that stood out most vividly. They were puffed up and blue, and Esterhaus wondered if the reverend had perhaps been having a rather unholy dalliance recently...?

He smiled at the man, doffed his cap: "Grus Got, Father. I had not expected to see you this evening."

"Ahem, well, I must forever be the shepherd to my flock."

"Ah, yes. Just so. There seems to be some, well, some mystery about this carnival, father, don't you think?"

"Aye. And many tales of disrepute already. Or so I've heard."

They continued walking along the river and, mercifully, as the air grew cooler the flies and other insects settled down. They skirted the large boggy area and made their way through barren oaks and maples until at last they came upon the meadow; they looked across the field at the same time and the two men stopped dead in their tracks.

Neither man knew what to say. In fact, most of the hundred or so people who had so far gained the meadow were gaping open-mouthed at the spectacle before them.

A golden sun hung above the violet horizon, the blistering orb now barely visible through the tree-lined hills that defined the ends of their world, but the barren meadow was alive now, dancing in amber torchlight. In the evening's dying breeze, hundreds of torches cast flickering, oblong shadows in the deepening gloom, and a sudden fog was settling on the banks of the river.

"Dear God in Heaven," Foster said as he made the sign of the cross over his chest.

"Ja, Father, but what could this mean?"

"What?"

"How could such a creation spring up -- overnight?"

The Rector shook his head and now, for the first time since he'd seen those stirring images in the broadsheet, he grew fearful. Then he heard more people emerge from the trees behind them, heard the sharp intakes of breath and astonished cries of each new arrival, and he understood their astonishment. He turned and looked at these new arrivals, looked at faces frozen in place, and he noticed few dared to venture into the meadow. As if shadows could protect them...

But what could this mean, indeed?

Esterhaus too stood still, for he had some knowledge of great buildings. He had, after all, been to Aachen and Brugge and Canterbury. He had seen the vast spire of the cathedral rising above the Salisbury plain, as well as the brooding mass of the cathedral in Exeter. He wasn't a stonemason but nevertheless understood wood, and above all else knew what could be fashioned from it -- and he knew that what his eye beheld now was simply an impossibility.

Across the meadow a vast wall of billowing orange tapestry stretched hundreds of feet on either side of a massive stone entryway; torches behind the tapestry revealed shadowy figures already nearing the entrance. But what struck Esterhaus was the sheer scale of the massive stone buildings within the carnival, and that they had seemingly been wrought overnight!

Esterhaus could see a castle's stone ramparts and a vast colosseum just visible above the silken wall; indeed, there seemed to have sprung-up overnight a small city as ancient as any in Europe!

Impossible!

He stood fast beside Foster in stunned awe -- until his eyes found Jennifer Clemens; when he saw the girl with her three brothers he made his way decisively past the somnambulant horde until he stood beside her in front of the gated entrance. The gate, solid oak and at least thirty feet tall, was still closed tight, but as the last light from the amber orb fell behind the western horizon a deep gong was heard -- and the gate parted just enough to allow one man through.

Jennifer Clemens looked at the magician -- for she was sure now that this was what he was -- as he walked clear of the entry. He looked exactly what she had imagined Merlin the Magician looked like when her father recounted the tales of Arthur and Lancelot. And she recognized the man's eyes, the eyes she had seen last Wednesday after she'd come upon the broadsheet on the forest trail. Yes, the eyes were the same, but -- the man? The man was somehow different!

This man was much taller than she remembered, and very thin. Willowy. Yes. Like a weeping willow in a freshening breeze -- his orange robes drifted on the evening air in concert with the billowing tapestries that surrounded the entire carnival, yet even so she could make out the bony structure of the man beneath. This man's skin was as white as snow, too, yet almost translucent blue, as was his long, flowing hair. Still, her eyes went back to his: they were huge, silver-gray orbs that spoke a language she was sure she had never heard before...if only she could remember why! And why had the music suddenly grown loud again, that familiar, haunting music? Music so soft she thought of moonlight, and while this music surrounded the colonists, she saw no musicians. Despite this new serenade, she kept hearing strawberry fields in her mind's eye, and images of the man with the strange instrument played in her mind again and again...

Then the magician stepped away from the gate, lifting his arms high in greeting as he approached:

"Welcome," his wizened voice proclaimed. "Welcome, all of you. Welcome back!"

-- Welcome back? -- and she thought that an odd greeting...

Then he called to those transfixed, lost in the darkness, those who remained in fields beyond the shadows:

"Come, all of you! Step forward, step into the light. You are welcome here, and no harm will come for you."

Jennifer turned, watched a handful of people come forward. Still, many seemed fearful and remained in the shadows, but now she found Claus Esterhaus standing just behind her, and the Reverend Foster a few steps away, but that was all. Of the hundreds she had seen on the sail across the river -- had only a few stepped forward? So, would only a handful of people venture inside the carnival?

How could this be? There was magic in the air, and great mystery, so why should that cause people to grow fearful? Weren't these the experiences people went to carnivals to revel in?

Then she saw the Guild Master trudging through the meadow, a knowing smile on his face, but the magician steepled his fingers before his gaunt frame as he looked at Jennifer -- and those standing near her. The old man looked at each in their turn -- as if he was taking stock of the seven people who had gathered by the gate. He paused when he came to the reverend and his eyes were suddenly possessed by a fierceness that took Jennifer's breath away. She watched the man, this wizard, as he paused, then stepped forward, closer to the Rector, and she felt a chill run down her spine when he spoke next, in a gentle, almost mocking voice:

"Oh, True Believer, Man of God! Why have you come to me this night?"

Unable to restrain himself, the quivering man looked away before he spoke: "I have seen a vision, and I must find the truth of it. Can you help me?"

"Ah," the magician said quietly. "But you are Lust, and of course I can help you. You are welcome among us, and no harm will come to you."

Foster took a tentative step forward, then hesitated. "Lust?" Foster asked. "Did you call me by that name?"

"Come now, True Believer," Mr Christian said. "We know you well. Step inside, step inside with me. Vast pleasure awaits -- and more."

Still, Foster hesitated.

Then the Magician held out his hand: "Take my hand, Man of God. You must have Faith in yourself too, if you entertain to understand this need of yours."

Jennifer could not quite tell if the wizard's last words were a statement or a question, but they seemed to penetrate the Reverend's fog.

Foster reached for the Magician's hand and took it, then followed meekly as the old man turned and led him to the doorway -- and into the carnival beyond.

Once inside, the rector stumbled before the vast city within, then they walked for some time, until they came to a black door set in a blood red wall. They stopped under a flickering lantern, and the magician watched the rector, waiting for Lust's choice.

"Everything you've ever dreamed of, waited for all your life, stands behind this door, Man of God. All you need do now is take the door in hand. No harm will come to you, and tomorrow you will only know thyself better."

Foster reached for the door, hesitated, but now the magician remained quiet -- though he appeared to be waiting, patiently, for the inevitable.

Foster reached for the door, touched the grimy metal knob and was in an instant inside a small room. There was but a single chair in the space, and a small opening in the wall opposite.

He walked to the opening and looked through...

...and very nearly fell back onto the floor...

For he looked on an ocean of men and women, all naked, or very nearly so, a single writhing mass on a sea suffused in deep purple light, then the forms shifted, the light changed to a deep amber, and Foster saw a man being whipped by a woman who had a monstrous phallus attached to her waist. He stared at the scene, his blood pounding in his temples, then the scene shifted again, to a room with honey colored light, and he saw an old man standing in a room very much like this one, with a young boy on his knees doing something to the old man. Time stopped and the rector looked at the old man, saw the contours of his own need in the other man's face, and in his own tortured soul knew within this heart of darkness he was looking at himself. He cried out in anguish, shame coursing through his veins -- before lust overcame inhibition.

"Isn't this what you wished for, Man of God?"

"Oh, yes! Oh, God forgive me, but yes, it is!"

"Then go, for you have passed Lust's Gate, and this is your choice," the magician said as a doorway into the room appeared. "Go, know thyself truly -- and what waits beyond."

There was no hesitation in the Rector's eyes now, and he hurried into the room.

+++++

And as suddenly as the Rector disappeared behind the door, another old man stepped into the torchlight -- and Jennifer gasped, for this was the very man she had seen that first day! The very one!

Those eyes! She'd never forget those eyes. They held her inside a precious warmth that soothed and calmed her soul, and she felt a contentment that had eluded her for years, ever since her parents passed on the voyage. But now, here in this night was the way to soul's ease. She was not yet sure what form this release would take, but here was the gate and the path -- she had only to step forward and make the journey. She was not surprised when the wizard walked up to her and stopped, or when he looked at her and spoke:

"Ah, Greed. Will you ever be sated? Have you come now for more?"

The words rocked her and she wilted before the malevolence she felt beating the air over her head, beating like a vulture's wings, yet she reached out to the proffered hand, felt almost powerless to resist.

"No! Stop!" It was Timothy's voice she heard, and as if in a daze she turned and looked for this voice in the darkness. "Sister! We promised to go together, do you remember?"

She saw him, recognized him, but found she could not speak. She turned back to the old man and took his hand.

"Sister, please! Stay with us! Do not go!"

But she felt her body move now, of it's own volition, and felt detached from her earthly form and she drifted behind the old man through the gate. Then there was a stone passageway ahead, and the way was lit by a lantern in the old man's trembling hand. As they walked into the darkness she looked at the ancient stones in the flickering light, then --

"How... can this be?" she said to the darkness. "These stones? Wait!"

The old man stopped and turned. "Yes?" His eyes were fixed on hers, all warmth gone from them, and now only a vast, insinuating emptiness remained.

"The carnival, was put up -- when? Yesterday? Last night?"

The old man smiled and turned back to the passageway and began walking again. Jennifer felt herself flowing behind him as questions pressed inward from every direction...

"When, tell me when!"

"Time has no meaning here, Greed. Do not ponder those things from which you will find little gain..."

"Greed? Why do you call me that?"

"That is who you are."

"What? No! My name is Jennifer, Jennifer Clemens!"

"Oh. As you wish."

"And who are you? Do you have a name?"

"I was Diogenes. Diogenes, of Sinope."

"Diogenes? That's a preposterous name!"

"Yes, I suppose it is. But come, we must not wait here. The first gate beckons, Greed, and you have so far to travel."

"Far? What do you mean far? How long will I be gone?"

There was a wall ahead, this time of solid stone, yet another oaken door was set inside this living stone. Diogenes ignored her questions as walked up to the door and stopped, and then he let go of her hand.

"I can not open this door. Only Greed can move forward through this gate."

She looked at the old man, truly wounded. "Greed? I don't understand! Why do you call me by such a hateful name?"

His eyes empty now, the wizard looked for her as a blind man might -- groping about the passageway with searching hands -- until he found her. "No other shall pass this way, for this is Greed's Gate. Go back now, while you may, or enter, enter and see the meaning of your time."

There was no choice to make, not really, so she reached for the iron latch and pulled on it. The door opened, stiffly at first -- like it hadn't been opened in ages. Iron grating on stone, the stones of years, tears without end, yet it was as if the door had been waiting for her -- and she knew it. Hot air blasted her face as the way ahead appeared, but blinding light washed through the opening before she could shield her eyes. She cried as heat enveloped her, as she stepped through the gate and staggered under the weight of all that she saw.

Everywhere around her vast metal machines rumbled and coughed, and a roaring silver bird leapt into the sky across the bay. Wide-eyed, she followed the bird as it banked and turned over a sprawling city, yet against all odds the place seemed familiar to her. Those hills, the river! The bay itself! -- it all seemed so familiar!

Of course...

She was looking at Charles Town from the site of John Harvard's college! She was home! But where was this place, really?" She turned to ask Diogenes but found nothing: no gate, no doorway, and as suddenly she was in a dim canyon, surrounded by hordes of these hideous belching beasts. One of the filthy machines pulled up alongside and she saw a man inside; she leaned over, looked inside, gasped when she saw the old man, for it was -- Diogenes.

"Where ya goin', lady?" the old man asked impatiently, impertinently.

"I beg your pardon?" she replied.

"Oh. You gotta be Beacon Hill. Figures, dressed like that and all. Well, come on. Get in, get in!"

"Get in?" Jennifer asked "In what? That?"

The old man looked at her, shook his head then got out and came around to her side of the machine, then opened a door that led inside the strange yellow beast. "Right, then. I'll play the gentleman this time, if that's what it takes. Now come on, get in!"

She moved inside, recoiled as her hand touched the slimy surface of the bench, and then she pinched off her nose from the vile stench that assailed her every sense.

"Alright, lady," the man said as he returned to the belly of the beast, "where to?"

"What? What language is this you speak?"

"Come on, lady; give me a break, would ya? Where you wanna go?"

"Go?"

"You wanna ride back into town, or what?"

She thought about that for a moment, then said: "Can you take me to the Commons?"

"Sure thing," Diogenes said as he flipped a lever, then the beast leapt like a wild horse and began charging through the narrow canyons of this vast, hellish landscape, the old man dodging other beasts and yelling strange curses at each one he passed. Then sunlight, huge buildings everywhere, more of the beasts but now in every color imaginable, all lined up to cross a bridge of some sort. Another burst of speed, then they were careening down little narrow lanes, and now she noted a strange yellow pall in the air. They turned into more colossal canyons of glass and stone, people -- millions of people -- everywhere walking with grim, determined faces -- past buildings of unimaginable size -- huge, tall palaces standing, soaring to the clouds -- and beyond.

Then, in the midst of all this chaos a rolling green lawn, hundreds of people laying about on blankets, some couples locked in passionate embrace -- and she wanted to turn away from these obscenities and hide her eyes, but she couldn't.

'This has to be a dream. It has to be a dream. I'm sure of it now.'

The beast slid to a halt. "Twenty two fifty, lady," this Diogenes said.

"What?"

"Da fare, lady," he said, pointing a strange, numbered device. "Twenty two bucks and some change. Thirty would be nice."

"Do you mean money?"

"Do I mean money? Watda fuck does ya think I mean?"

She fumbled in her little coin purse and pulled out a gold florint and gave it to the man.

"Wat da fuck is dis?" he asked, outraged now and preparing to get out of the beast.

"That's a gold florint, sir. From Rotterdam."

"Gold? Geez, ya shittin' me, lady?"

"Shittin' you?"

"Geez, Ma'am. I didn't mean no offense. Tanks. I mean it. Tanks -- a lot."

The beast screeched away, leaving her in the shadow of -- what? More vast buildings? Some smaller, made of red brick but in the main huge monoliths of black glass disgorging thousands of people by the minute -- and everywhere she looked she saw more and more of the same.

"So, if this is the commons then the house must be up this road. This looks to lead up my little hill..."

She started up a broad roadway lined with silent beasts -- and promptly lost her way. She turned, looked downhill, saw the commons and adjusted her course, turned right and made her way up the hill into a quiet neighborhood. She walked along this street until she came to a house and stopped, looked at the porch off the right side of a much newer part of the house.

"Langston's porch!" she cried. "My God!"

"Yeah, they don't build 'em like that anymore, that's for sure."

She turned, saw Jeremiah standing just a few feet away and flew into his arms, her anguished tears staining his impossibly white shirt.

+++++

Langston had furled sail and squared-away the boat, then dashed through the grassy meadow towards the the torchlight just in time to see the Rector, the right honorable Roger Foster, being led into the carnival, and when Jennifer was summoned he wanted to object -- until little Timothy made their anxiety known. Now he stood in mute silence, powerless to move as Jennifer disappeared behind another door -- but even then a third man appeared, and when Langston felt the man's eyes on him he feared this was to be his own summons.