Ceremonies

by T E. D Klein

  The finger twitches, as if recoiling from the heat.

  He pulls the metal away and examines it, turning it over and over before him. The shapes scratched on its surface gleam evilly in the lamplight.

  He whispers the Fifth Name. The blade is ready.

  July Ninth

  He arrived at seven that evening, exactly when he'd said he would. More than an hour of daylight still remained, but the sun was hidden behind a row of buildings and the avenue was dark beneath their shadows. 'I'll wait for you down here,' he shouted into the intercom. 'I've got the car tonight.'

  The car? Then perhaps they'd be driving somewhere outside the city – what a relief that would be, on a night as hot as this. Crossing her fingers, she hurried down the hall toward the elevator.

  Behind her she was leaving an apartment full of work. She had meant to spend all day on Rosie's project; she'd been absolutely determined to complete the task today, for earlier this week he'd provided her with a formidable array of new journal articles and reports with a host of arcane-sounding titles – Seventeen Years among the Sea Dyaks of Borneo (London, 1882), Holiday Customs in Malta, with Sports, Usages, Ceremonies, Omens and Superstitions of the Maltese People (Valletta, 1894) – but it had been so enervatingly hot in the apartment, even with the windows open, that she'd lain in bed as if drugged until afternoon and had put off starting work till just a few hours before. Hours of reading still awaited her tomorrow; she'd have to spend all day catching up.

  Somehow, despite the pay, her initial enthusiasm for the project had waned. The papers had proven to be less interesting than she'd hoped, and Rosie, too, had continued to show surprisingly little interest in her summaries, barely glancing at them except to praise them mechanically and make out her paychecks, never once quizzing her on the material. The entire project had begun to seem more and more like busywork.

  It felt good to escape the stuffy apartment, just as it was going to feel good to get out of the city. The thought of escape was so welcome, in fact, that it almost made her forget how unwell she'd been feeling all day. But as she pressed the button on the wall and waited for the elevator to ascend, the throbbing weakness in her legs reminded her that she would have to make this an early night. She'd been having stomach cramps since morning, and now it seemed as if a metal band were tightening round her head. Her period was due, and as she stepped into the elevator she felt the familiar heaviness, a fullness in her stomach, breasts, and thighs. A good thing the dress Rosie'd given her was so loose. It was too loose, in fact, obviously fit for someone with a bigger frame than hers; though whoever'd altered it had made the hem awfully high. Still, she told herself, I have to wear it, I simply couldn't say no; after all, it was a gift.. .

  Rosie wasn't waiting for her in the hall, nor was he on the front steps when she emerged. She looked in vain for him until a horn sounded farther up the block. She recognized the car and, dimly, the little pink smiling face inside. He was waving.

  As she neared he car he jumped out and ran around to the other side to open the door for her, just as if the old Chevy were a coach and four and she the princess he'd been waiting for all his long life. He himself appeared rather dapper in a blue-and-white seersucker suit, though she believed she noticed an odd little streak of red just below his ear. It looked like lipstick; perhaps the old scamp had a woman somewhere.

  'You look absolutely ravishing, my dear,' he said, eyeing her up and down. 'That dress suits you perfectly. I only wish I were forty years younger!' His eyes twinkled. 'And I'm glad to see you wore your nice white shoes, that's very sensible of you. I knew you were a sensible girl.'

  He's being silly, she thought, but she felt a rush of pleasure at the attention. 'Actually, the shoes belong to Rochelle,' she said. 'I'm surprised she didn't take them with her. They're a little too big for me. I had to put tissue paper in the toes.'

  'That's my girl!' He beamed. 'I'm sure Rochelle won't mind. And just look at you, you're a vision – a vision all in white.' With a mock-courtly bow he took her arm, about to help her into the car, but suddenly he paused, just as she was bending to get in. 'Uh-oh,' she heard him say, 'this will never do.'

  She straightened up and saw that he was frowning. Though he quickly averted his eyes, she realized he'd been staring at her hips. He was obviously embarrassed. She studied herself nervously, already worried about her period. Clearing his throat, he leaned toward her and spoke in a near whisper. I think, Carol, that with a dress as thin as that one, you might be better advised to wear, shall we say, undergarments of the same color.'

  She looked down and blushed. He was right. The pink panties she was wearing showed clearly through the thin fabric of the dress.

  Even as a voice inside her said And what if they do? They look sexy, she heard herself stammering apologies to him as if she'd committed some terrible faux pas. 'I'll run up and change right now,' she said. 'It'll only take a minute.'

  She hurried back toward her apartment, hot with embarrassment, aware of his eyes watching her as she climbed the front steps. Upstairs in her bedroom, feeling like a little girl who'd been naughty and didn't know why, she removed the panties and slipped on a pair of white ones from her drawer. There, she thought, standing before the mirror, now I really am a vision in white… She checked once more in the mirror, half afraid that the delta of red hair below her stomach might be showing through the filmy cloth; but no, she was pale as a statue.

  He was still standing by the car when she came back down the steps and seemed so genuinely pleased to see her that her mood brightened again. He hadn't really meant any harm, she told herself, he hadn't meant to embarrass her; it was really her own fault. And he hadn't been looking at her lecherously, not at all, he was just a prissy old grandfather type who wanted her to look her best.

  'Wonderful,' he said, 'that's a considerable improvement. Now I know that I can take my little girl anywhere'.'' He helped her into the car and began to close the door. 'Whoops, watch your fingers now.

  Don't want you to lose any!'

  She tugged her dress down as she sat waiting for him to get in. She hoped there'd be no more remarks about her clothes and was determined to change the subject. I can take my little girl anywhere, he had said; perhaps it would be someplace fancy. She would love a fancy place tonight, with white tablecloths and roses, dark red roses, a vase of them on every table.

  'Are you going to tell me where we're going,' she asked, as he climbed in beside her, 'or will it be a surprise?'

  He turned the key, and the engine sputtered to life. 'As a matter of fact, he said, a little smile playing about his lips, 'we're going someplace special tonight, in honor of our first fortnight together.'

  'Oh?'

  'Yes,' he said, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he pulled out into the street. 'Tonight I'm taking you to Coney Island.'

  He had been joking, of course, at least in part. As soon as he'd seen the uncertainty and disappointment on her face – disappointment she hadn't been able to hide – he'd laughed and explained that, in fact, their destination was a charming little Scandinavian restaurant near Cobble Hill in Brooklyn, where he'd already made reservations.

  But afterward – after a delicious meatless meal with homemade chocolate cake shared between them, and nearly half a bottle of Rosie's nameless wine that he'd produced from a cooler in the back seat and brought into the restaurant with him – he turned to her and said, 'Now it's time to keep my promise. Next stop, Coney Island!'

  It sounded like fun, now that dinner had been such a treat. She had heard of Coney Island ever since she'd been a little girl, but she'd never been there. 'Isn't it sort of- you know, dangerous?' she asked, as they made their way along the quiet sidewalk toward the car. Brooklyn was different from her own neighborhood; now that it was night she heard the faint sound of crickets, and the city seemed far away. She found that it made her think of Jeremy.

  'Dangerous?' he was saying. 'You mean lots of blacks and Puerto Ricans?'

 
; 'Well… yes, I guess so.'

  He smiled reassuringly. 'There's nothing to worry about. There are lots of people there, people of all types, but they're all just interested in having a good time, you'll see. Besides, I keep telling you – tonight's a special night. I'd never put my little girl in any danger!' The smile widened. 'Or myself, either! Just between the two of us, I intend to live forever!'

  He snapped on the headlights and spun the steering wheel, and they set out through the darkened streets. Rosie had insisted that she wear her seat belt and shoulder harness and wore his as well; like, other old people he was an awkward, hesitant driver who tended to go too slow. He was so short he had to crane his neck to see over the wheel, and he kept peering back and forth at every cross street, proceeding with extreme caution as if unsure of the way.

  'Are you looking for signs?' she asked.

  'What? Signs?' He darted her a nervous glance.

  'For Coney Island.'

  'Oh!' He laughed. 'No, no, not really, I just want to get us there safe and sound. You can't be too careful, that's what I always say.' He patted the dashboard. 'Never was fond of these contraptions.'

  She soon saw that she'd been wrong; he did know the way, even in the darkness through the back streets of Brooklyn. Once she even saw him looking up through the windshield rather than at the road, as if he was navigating by the stars. Within a few minutes they were rolling down Shore Parkway, the water on their right with the lights of tankers reflected in it, a warm wind rushing through the open windows. Faster traffic passed them by. Behind them, across the water, she saw Staten Island and the glowing form of the Statue of Liberty; ahead stretched the Verrazano Bridge, a spiderweb of cables and lights. The highway passed beneath the nearest arch, an immense gateway, and as the little car moved through it, she felt the bridge pass over her like a wave. It was like entering a new country or, on a certain midnight, a new year, feeling the change wash through her every cell; she felt invigorated now, as if breathing cleaner air – as if her cares, her loneliness, her poverty were in that other world behind her.

  In the distance ahead of them, across Gravesend Bay, gleamed the lights of the amusement park. One tall structure, shaped like a palm tree, stood out above the others.

  'The parachute jump,' said Rosie. 'I think we'll pass it up. There's so much else to do.'

  She was looking toward the lights, enjoying the pleasures of expectation, when the car passed a group of running shapes on the stretch of grass to their right – late-night joggers? fleeing fugitives? It was impossible to tell, they'd gone by so fast, but somehow the vision had been unnerving, those heaving brutish shapes. ..

  Moments later she felt a little bump beneath the car. Looking back, straining against the constricting web of her shoulder harness, she could see the dark, humped form of some small animal dead behind them on the highway. Rosie appeared not to notice. They hadn't killed it, she told herself, it had obviously been dead a long time. Still, her mood of expectancy was dimmed.

  It was dimmed even more when, after Rosie had pulled into a commercial parking lot on Neptune Avenue near the boardwalk and they'd gotten out, she heard the roll of distant thunder.

  'Maybe we'd better stay close to the car,' she said, eyeing the sky uncertainly. It looked clear enough now, though, the half moon almost supernaturally bright, and she could see stars up there she never saw in Manhattan's hazy skies.

  Rosie, she saw, was shaking his head and smiling, not even bothering to glance up.

  'Don't worry,' he said, 'I heard the report. The rain'll hold off for a while yet. We'll have time to do one or two things, I promise you." He reflected a moment. 'In fact, we'll have time to do three things, three delights: the ferris wheel, the beach, and' – he cocked his head -'and a surprise.'

  Ahead of them ran the dark length of the boardwalk, dividing the beach from the amusement area. The ferris wheel rose gaudily in the distance, twirling like a great jeweled pinwheel. As they drew closer, the crowds increased – young people mostly, brown and black and white, a few in beards and yarmulkes, couples and groups of boys and, even on a Saturday night, many families with children in strollers or carriages. The air was filled with a cacophony of music and voices: disco piped from a dodgem-car emporium near Nathan's, salsa from an all-night cuchifrito stand, rock songs sounding hard and tinny from hand-held radios, calliope music from a carousel on the next block, screams from the roller coaster rumbling overhead with cyclone outlined in colored lights on its side, the cries of food vendors selling pizza, Italian sausages, clams on the half shell, saltwater taffy, cotton candy, buttered corn on the cob. Young men in colorful booths hawked games of skill and chance, as if this were some electrified Arabian bazaar. Carol heard the whoop of an occasional siren, maniacal laughter from a loudspeaker outside the funhouse, wild animal sounds from the safari ride, the buzz and grate and clank and rattle of a hundred attractions that, all around them now, were flashing with lights, constantly in motion – a whole new world of movement, of strange, gargantuan machine shapes whirling and spinning and bobbing and dipping like a factory gone mad.

  An area devoted entirely to kiddie rides reminded her of the children's section at Voorhis, fond parents grinning at offspring who rode miniature fire engines round and round in endless circles, and racing cars, dune buggies, helicopters, pony carts, old-time autos, boats that churned slowly through a shallow ring of water, spaceships that echoed the huge silver Moon Rocket looming beside the boardwalk, a scale-model kiddie roller coaster (That’s the only kind they'll ever get me on, thought Carol), a half-sized Tilt-a-Whirl, a serpentine caterpillar ride with wide eyes and broad grin, a beleaguered-looking merry-go-round, music issuing from it, with mirrored panels and peeling paint and horses that looked somehow gaunt and starved.

  'I'm dizzy,' said Carol, 'this place is like a dream,' instinctively drawing closer to Rosie as he threaded his way through the crowd. She felt particularly vulnerable in her white dress, which stood out from all the clothes around her and which she feared would be stained by ice cream or mustard or a spilled glass of orangeade. Food and drink were everywhere, carried in every hand, forever underfoot; the smell of fried things and spices and the sugar smell of cotton candy hung in the air. She thought of her period again and wondered if her headache would come back. The wine they'd had at dinner was already making her sleepy.

  'We'll try the ferris wheel first,' said Rosie, turning to her and raising his voice to make himself heard. 'Maybe it'll help us get our bearings.' He nodded toward the immense structure now ahead of them, a hundred fifty feet of steel and light bulbs called the Wonder Wheel. The seats were enclosed within metal cages lined with wire screening; the outer cages had the better view, while an inner ring of cages slipped back and forth, swinging wildly on short metal tracks.

  Carol looked around and lost sight of Rosie, then saw his diminutive form by the ticket booth. He returned to her bearing two yellow tickets. 'Come,' he said, 'we'll take an outside car. You're not scared, are you?'

  Carol hesitated. 'Well, I've been on ferris wheels before, at county fairs… but never anything this big.'

  He chuckled. 'Don't worry,' he said, ushering her into a waiting car, 'it's no more dangerous than going up in an elevator.'

  The car was large. Haifa dozen people were already inside, seated on two small wooden benches. She and Rosie took their seats on the third, Carol making sure the seat was clean before sitting down. An attendant slid the door shut, enclosing them all within the wire cage.

  There was a sudden vibration; the great wheel began to turn. The car gave a lurch and was airborne. On the bench behind them a couple began talking urgently in Spanish; on the farther seat a small, nervous child asked its parents, 'When's it gonna stop?'

  The car did stop, halfway up the side of the circle, while down below two more cars were filled. Just outside the cage glowed a row of bare light bulbs, with thousands more ringing the wheel, illuminating the thick iron cogs, the peeling turquoise paint, the rusting
chicken wire that stretched like a spiderweb between the metal braces, as if warning that, up close, the material world was but an insubstantial thing, with gaps yawning wide.

  Carol turned and looked behind her, at the grotesque illuminated facade of Spook-a-Rama, with its strange twenty-foot-tall monster grinning at the onlookers and the walls polkadotted with signs: See Dracula's screaming head chopped off! See Frankenstein speaking from the grave! special today: see the invisible Man. She smiled and was going to bring the last to Rosie's attention when the car gave another lurch and once more began to rise. Signs advertising Bat Woman, Cat Woman, Screechy Nell, and Coffin Nanny flashed past, come-ons for Meatless Bony Sam and Skully the Ghost Head dropped away beneath them, and, with a chorus of oohs and ahs from the other seats, they found themselves in the air, nearing the top of the wheel, the car rocking gently with the motion.

  Once again it slowed to a halt as more people climbed on, but now the whole amusement park was laid out at their feet, a wilderness of lights, the rides below them twisting along their miniature tracks like children's toys beneath a Christmas tree, others spinning like beach umbrellas. Behind them came terrified, delighted screams from the roller coaster. Across Surf Avenue, before a wall of housing projects, a BMT subway train rumbling along its elevated track looked like just another ride, as if the entire city out there to the west were merely one vast amusement park.

  'It's beautiful!' said Carol.

  Rosie looked up and blinked distractedly at the scene; he had been peering at his watch. 'Yes,' he said, 'I knew you'd like it.' He hummed a little song to himself and sat back in the seat, staring not at the world below but at the sky.

  On the right, in the distance, she could see the outline of the Verrazano Bridge. Nearer, to the left, stretched the expanse of boardwalk and dark sand and, beyond it, the darker ocean, with rows of lights reflected in the water, miles off, where freighters lay mysteriously at anchor. A combination of sounds drifted up to her, music and voices, machines and distant waves, like a flood of all the memories in the world.