Beyond Carousel

by Ritchie, Brendan

  ‘Actually, if you could just drop me back at the casino, that would be great,’ I replied.

  Ed glanced at me carefully.

  ‘I have a friend there that I need to see before I go anywhere else,’ I added.

  Ed nodded and we set off through the remainder of Vic Park and down into Burswood. Being in a proper car again was nauseating. We were moving way too fast for my brain to process things. Ed seemed to notice my discomfort. He put on some old Springsteen and slowed down a little. When I glanced across he had his arm on the window and the breeze on his face as if we were on our way to the beach.

  In no time at all we were idling in the taxi rank of the casino. I pulled my bag out of the tray and returned to the window.

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ I said.

  ‘Anytime,’ replied Ed.

  ‘Where will you go after the south?’ I asked.

  ‘Think I’ll track back north along the coast. People tend to stay close to the ocean,’ he replied.

  I nodded and lingered for a moment. There was something I had been putting off asking him and this was my last chance.

  ‘What do you say to the Patrons?’ I asked.

  ‘Who?’ asked Ed.

  ‘Patrons. The people that aren’t Artists,’ I replied. ‘Ah,’ said Ed.

  He took a breath and thought it over for a moment.

  ‘I don’t know what to say to them, Nox,’ he said.

  We locked eyes for a moment.

  ‘Luckily I haven’t met any yet,’ he said.

  He flashed a smile. The showman’s sparkle in full flight.

  ‘Godspeed, Nox,’ said Ed and pulled onto the dusty, abandoned highway. A spark of movement in a sprawling city still life.

  ‘You too,’ I replied.

  I stood there for a few seconds, then set off upstairs.

  For once I felt vital. Not scared or sheltered or insecure. For once I had things I needed to do.

  Rachel was mad about the golf cart. Fortunately the cold had almost taken her voice, so she couldn’t really yell at me. For a while she tried, despite my explanations, but stopped when I told her I was leaving. I didn’t know what to make of her reaction to my meeting with Ed. I explained his theory the best that I could but Rachel scoffed at the idea of leaving her penthouse to trudge back to Carousel. Mostly she just seemed pissed that the Curator was right outside and she didn’t get to go down and knock his lights out or something.

  It was sad, but not unexpected. I unpacked her shopping and left her be for a while. There were things I needed to sort out before I could take off anyway. Hopefully she would chill by the time I was ready to go.

  Back in my suite I spread my things out across the carpet and started packing. Skeleton plans drifted in and out of my subconscious. I had hauled our bikes up from the highway and into the foyer a while back, but they would be rusty now and need greasing. I figured that I might be able to find something I could use in the kitchen. I had to pack light, but it was also winter, so I would need to stay warm at night. Perth could drop to zero on a clear night. What I really needed were some thermals and waterproofing. There were stores for this in the city, but who knows what state they would be in.

  Then there was the issue of food. I had been living pretty well in the casino, mainly thanks to Rachel’s secret stash. Being on the road again would be a reality check. There were still some cans in the kitchen. Random stuff like beetroot slices and chestnuts. I could also take a stack of chocolate and nuts from the mini-bars. Water was the toughest thing. It would weigh me down like crazy, but it might take some time to find more in the city – especially if it had been populated for a while now.

  My feelings towards the city were ambivalent. Tommy had made it sound unstable and dangerous. A rambling place full of Loots, falling buildings and broken gas lines. But Georgia’s descriptions of the Collective were all warm and golden. She spoke of vegetable gardens, outdoor cinema and concerts by the fire. A futuristic Artist utopia. For some reason I had trouble buying this. Even more so when she sidestepped my questions about why she left. Ed hadn’t been to the Collective for a while now but I didn’t think he would have sent me there if he knew it was bad idea. Plus he knew people there – like the photographer that had mentioned Taylor and Lizzy.

  Taylor and Lizzy were alive.

  I had never truly thought otherwise. But Ed’s confirmation sent a jolt deep down to the numbness that had started enveloping my core. I still had no idea what had happened during the fire. Where Lizzy and Chess had got to. And why Taylor had never returned once she found them. I felt angry and needed answers to these things, but was also afraid of what they might reveal. In Carousel I had created deep-seated anxieties that channelled right into this stuff. A life in the penthouses alongside Rachel offered a buffer to these insecurities. But meeting Ed had confirmed that this could never be permanent. Irrespective of whether his theory on the Prix de Rome was true, there was no sheltering from this new world. It was changing too fast. Pivoting dramatically and spitting off into new directions. The survivors had to manoeuvre and adapt. And I was one of them.

  Yet something about Ed’s theory rang true. A city full of Artists held captive to create works in the ultimate Residency. Perth seemed the perfect place for this. Already one of the most isolated cities on the planet. Severed from the world by ocean upon ocean, desert upon desert. This took the isolation to a disturbing new level. And, if Taylor and Lizzy’s album was any indication, the idea had worked. It was fantastical and ridiculous, but also the perfect explanation to the chaos that surrounded us. The problem was that Artists had finished ahead of time. They were out in the world now. A world that didn’t yet know what it was.

  22

  I headed to bed early that night but couldn’t sleep. My gear lay packed and ready on the floor beside me and an ominous southerly was blowing in against the balcony. I had spent a while in the bathroom earlier. Washing and shaving and trying to assess how I looked. My hair was long and messy. It had faded in colour during the summer, while my skin had done the opposite. I was still lean, but had put on some muscle in the chest and arms during my stay. Dressed another way I could have been mistaken for a surfer.

  I sat up and hit the light on the barman’s watch. It had been dark for a while now, but was only just after eight. The broken chatter of TV drifted across from Rachel’s room. Probably Supernatural or True Blood. Rachel was big into fantasy.

  I felt a growing guilt about leaving her alone at the casino. It was unfounded and irrational, but I couldn’t shake it. Rachel didn’t need me, or anyone else. But she had saved my arse in the gaming room, and let me mooch away her diesel in the penthouses, when she didn’t have to do either. Now I was taking off to find the Finns and get the hell out of this bizarro reality before it was too late. I felt like I had to try and sell her on Ed’s theory at least one more time.

  The hallway was dark and draughty. I slipped out into it and traced my way to Rachel’s door. Rachel ran the TV loud. I got every line of dialogue as I stood outside and knocked. After my third attempt the door shifted inward.

  I stepped inside to find Rachel shuffling back to the couch, eyes still fixed on the TV. I followed her over and took a seat on another sofa. She was engulfed in a sea of snack food, throat lozenges and tissues. A strip heater beamed up at her from the floor, bathing the couch in heat and tanning-salon-orange. She was watching Supernatural. It seemed pretty dramatic so I didn’t attempt a conversation, instead watching quietly until the credits rolled and she got up to pour herself a drink in the kitchen.

  ‘I’m heading to the city in the morning,’ I said. ‘I was wondering … The Finns and I could stop back here on our way through to Carousel.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘You could come with us to Carousel. I know it all sounds like bullshit, but it would only take a day or two to check it out,’ I replied.

  Rachel swallowed some pills and started fishing through her drawers.

  �
�You can cut my hair before you go,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry?’ I replied.

  ‘My hair, Nox. It needs cutting,’ she replied.

  She found some scissors and made her way to the bathroom.

  ‘Do you really want me doing that?’ I asked.

  ‘What else am I going to do? Book into Salon Express?’ she replied.

  I trudged through to the bathroom feeling like an idiot for not staying in bed. Rachel was sitting on a chair with her back to the basins.

  ‘You’ll need to wash it first,’ she said. ‘Use a bucket and that yuppy organic stuff.’

  I sighed and followed her instructions. Rachel lent back in the chair but the basins were too far back to catch all of the water. I splashed a fair bit of it on the floor. Thankfully the casino’s clean towel supply still seemed never-ending. When I was eventually done Rachel turned the chair in a one-eighty to look at the mirror and handed me the scissors.

  ‘Short back and sides?’ I joked.

  ‘If you want your balls cut off in your sleep,’ she replied.

  ‘Holy shit, Rachel,’ I said.

  ‘Take two inches off everything, but don’t touch the fringe. I’ll do that myself,’ said Rachel.

  I nodded and got on with it. There were a stack of expensive looking combs on the bench. I picked one out and combed her hair straight. Rachel still had the remnants of an overgrown bob. The top half was her natural light brown while the bottom was the patchy blonde of a dye job she had when we first met.

  ‘Have you heard much of Ed Carrington’s music?’ I asked, remembering why I had come over in the first place.

  ‘Concentrate,’ she snapped.

  I exhaled and let it go. Rachel watched me as I gingerly started cutting. After a while she seemed to relax.

  ‘Those twins of yours been waiting for you across the river this whole time?’ she asked.

  I glanced at her and shrugged, defensively.

  ‘I thought they were nobodies when I saw youse in Carousel,’ she said. ‘Was out on the balcony one day reading a magazine and there they were next to fucking Kanye.’

  ‘I told you they were in a band. Right before you sleazed onto me in the toilets,’ I replied.

  ‘Dream on,’ said Rachel.

  ‘You don’t remember that?’ I asked.

  ‘I remember you barging into the ladies’ toilets like you owned the place,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Oh my god. It was the men’s,’ I replied. ‘You must have been so trashed.’

  Rachel snorted and coughed. I continued trimming.

  ‘How come you took off in the morning?’ I asked, having wanted to for ages.

  ‘Used to see another trapped Artist on my way to work. I was getting smokes one day when I heard her singing opera or something,’ replied Rachel.

  ‘Where was she?’ I asked.

  ‘Sizzler,’ she replied.

  ‘Seriously?’ I said.

  ‘When she wasn’t singing she would bang away at those windows like nobody’s business,’ said Rachel.

  It was one of the most tragic stories I had ever heard.

  ‘When I saw youse were stuck too I knew something was going on. Got the hell out while I could,’ said Rachel.

  I nodded.

  ‘So I can’t talk you into going back there? Even for a day?’ I asked.

  ‘A Patron like me? No point,’ she replied.

  This sent a ripple of panic into my chest. I tried not to let on.

  ‘Got a visitor coming in the spring anyways,’ said Rachel.

  There was something like a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  ‘None of your business,’ she replied.

  I sighed. ‘Seriously? Come on, Rachel. You obviously want to tell me.’

  ‘A fisherman. I met him last year,’ she replied. ‘He has his own boat. Takes it up north in the winter. Comes back down in August with crayfish, prawns. You name it.’

  This finally explained her endless stockpile of frozen seafood.

  ‘How did you guys meet?’ I asked.

  ‘In the freezer room last year. I helped him unload his catch, then we had drinks in the lounge bar,’ replied Rachel.

  I smiled at the thought of such a regular event still occurring in this weirdo world. The idea that fate wasn’t just working against people like Rachel, but was still running in all kinds of strange ways. That amid all of the pompous talk of Artists and Residencies, there were simple, defining events like a fisherman and a cleaner having a drink in a fancy bar. I was convinced that these things kept the earth spinning more than anything.

  It made me think of Georgia somewhere down in Fremantle. Travelling all the way across the world to study her craft. Wandering the abandoned city for more than a year before stumbling across my tiny note.

  I realised then that I wasn’t just hoping to find the Finns when I set off tomorrow.

  ‘Nice,’ I replied. ‘Will he stay for a bit?’

  ‘Two months. Said we might head south on the boat for summer,’ she replied.

  She looked at me, then quickly away. It was the only time I had seen any hint of vulnerability in her.

  ‘That sounds pretty awesome, Rachel,’ I replied, genuinely.

  I finished trimming the back of her hair.

  ‘Wish I hadn’t screwed up your hair,’ I joked.

  ‘I will fucken kill you, Nox,’ said Rachel. Again, way too serious.

  ‘Relax. Relax,’ I replied.

  Rachel cackled and coughed.

  ‘You sound way too genuine when you say stuff like that,’ I said.

  Rachel deadeyed me in a way that said she was well aware of this.

  I finished up and waited around while she inspected the job with a series of mirrors. Thankfully it passed and I was allowed to go. Rachel took up her spot on the couch and resumed blasting herself with heat and noise. I stood there watching for a moment.

  ‘Alright. I’m off then,’ I said.

  ‘Seeya,’ replied Rachel, after a moment.

  It was casual and dry, as if we were leaving work at the end of the day. I turned and left the room. My time at Burswood was over.

  23

  The city had been all but abandoned.

  Early in the morning I crossed the river on a bridge overrun by birds. They nested between pillars. Lined the handrail looking west at the gathering weather. Sat atop cars and busses, watching on smugly as I pedalled slowly past. At the end, Adelaide Terrace spread before me, linking the causeway with St Georges Terrace like a giant gateway to the west. I swung onto it and made my way up into the teeth of a funnelling breeze.

  The city had the look and feel of a park the day after an epic summer festival. Litter of all kinds fluttered about in the icy breeze. Wrappers, ancient newspapers, pages torn from notebooks and sketchpads. There were the remnants of an electricity in the air. Like a sports arena, heaving one moment, empty the next.

  The streets themselves seemed wider than normal, as if the empty buildings were shrinking back into themselves. They had the faint smell of barbeque and rotting plant matter. There was more of the street art I had seen in Victoria Park. Again on walls and buildings, but also on the streets themselves where the images ran on for block after block. I got the feeling that the city would look pretty amazing from above.

  Gradually I began to see evidence of the party that had swept through. Windows were open and curtains flapping on the upper floors of ritzy hotels like the Hyatt and Duxton. Bottleshops were decimated but for scatterings of cask wines and liqueurs. The rigid, fortress-like frontage of the Perth Concert Hall had been ignored completely. Its stage and stalls too Old World for the new Artists of Perth. Instead I passed a drum kit standing defiantly, almost Tiananmen-like, in the middle of the road. There were amps and leads scattered around from a long-forgotten gig. The giant foyer of a multinational skyscraper had been broken into and transformed into a gallery, lit during openings by a generator and halogen worklights. I cycled up to th
e windows and peered in at some of the artwork. It was dim now without the generator on but I could see some striking portraits on the wall adjacent.

  A makeshift stage had been erected in a corner of the piazza by Stirling Gardens. It held a stool and a solitary microphone stand, both blown onto their side now. There were chairs and beanbags scattered around. A space for spoken word or poetry maybe.

  The Collective was meant to be a few blocks north of where I rode, but I was starting to wonder whether there would be anyone there.

  I left the Terrace and cycled up through a series of smaller streets. There were places there that I remembered. A good Chinese takeaway. Music stores I used to wander through on lunchbreaks. A second-level karaoke bar I had visited with Chloe and her workmates one Friday night. She had been nervous and opted out of a bunch of shouty duets, before stunning everyone with a perfect solo rendition of ‘Somebody That I Used To Know’. It was tragic and beautiful and I remember thinking that there was way more to Chloe than I had seen during our awkward dates and sleepovers. Two months later we broke up without a single fight and she left town to study in Melbourne.

  Subconsciously I was taking a detour that would lead me past the stationery store where I used to work. I turned a familiar corner and slowed to a stop on the sidewalk. There it was across from me. The boring red logo. The early-morning opening hours. Streaks of dirt and silt caked to the windows. I was only two years late for my shift.

  The door had been crowbarred open and was drifting with the wind. I walked my bike over and pushed it inside. The shop hadn’t been ransacked like some of the others. People had cleared out some of the art supplies and taken just about all of the confectionery, but otherwise it looked the same as I remembered. I took a key from a hidden shelf behind the counter and unlocked the staff room at the back of the store. The smell brought a heavy rush of nostalgia. Breakfast pastries. Deodorised carpet. Instant coffee. My boss Julie’s bad perfume. I had never liked working there, but the place was loaded with emotions from my previous life. I sat on the floor and tried my hardest not to choke up at how alone I was now, just like I had been before the Disappearance. There were people all around me at work, at home, out at night. But I had coiled inward dramatically after finishing uni and breaking up with Heather for the second time. The ironic thing was that this whole Residency business had kind of changed that. For the first time in ages I had connected with some people. Then met a girl I could kiss without thinking about somebody else. These things had happened even though I wasn’t meant to be here. But then they had slipped away. I couldn’t help but think that fate had realised my intrusion and was somehow reneging on its gifts. That if I didn’t turn up back at Carousel with something definitive I might be left here forever.