At a ticket booth near the castle I bought a "giant size" strip of ride tickets (emerald green tickets, naturally), not wanting to have to come back for more. My guess was we'd use them all.
The first ride we hit, in nearby Gillikin country, was more experience than ride. It was called the Magic Turning Mountains. In The Lost Princess of Oz the only path Dorothy and her friends can take to get across the canyon and continue their quest is blocked by huge mountains that spin. Scraps, the Patchwork Girl, thinks they can cross the canyon by hurling themselves into the first spinning mountain, bouncing from that onto another mountain, and then a third, until they reach the far side. And since she's made of cloth and stuffing, she tries the plan first, before the "meat" people take a risk.
To make the magic turning mountains, the festival planners had modified a fairground Tilt-a-Whirl, building purple molded foam rubber up over the seats in conical shapes, like huge pyramidal Nerf balls. The "mountains" rotated very slowly— insurance liability worries, no doubt— but looked like loads of fun. Smaller soft balls in purple, lavender, mauve, and violet totally filled the floor and intervening spaces so that children wouldn't be hurt if they fell.
"No adults," the ride manager said. He pointed to an arched signboard that read MAXIMUM 48" TALL in lavender letters on dark purple. You had to walk under the arch to enter the ride and if you were too big you couldn't go in.
Well, I could see why. If a large person got knocked into a small person it might do the small person some damage. "Want to go by yourself?" I asked Jeremy.
"Oh, yes!"
He ran in, shouting, throwing himself at a mountain, bouncing from one mountain to the next in total glee, the sort of utter, uncomplicated joy that only children can have. The little monster actually climbed to the peak of one of the mountains and stood there spinning and crowing at the top of his lungs. Another boy who was taller tried the same thing and rolled all the way back down. Jeremy crowed louder. He had triumphed.
You could stay in this device as long as you wanted, so he did. I shifted feet, sighed, shifted some more, but I really liked watching him enjoy himself. Finally he bounded out the far side.
I pretended to pout. "Oh, poop," I said. "That looked great and I didn't get to do it." Jeremy always thought "Oh, poop!" was the funniest remark you could possibly make. I suspected his parents disapproved of the expression.
He giggled. "You're fun, Aunt Cat."
When they say things like that, you want to buy them ice cream and popcorn and chocolate and not even ask them to wash their hands.
"Let's find a ride you can do, Aunt Cat."
We found the Kansas Tornado back in Munchkinland. This was the very tornado that carried Dorothy to Oz, although, luckily for us, it had been plopped down here in the form of a kind of racetrack that zoomed up and down through cloud shapes until it got going so fast that it could spiral upside down through a blue tube.
He loved it. I was the adult, presumably, but I had that mixed scared-thrilled feeling, as well as the don't-make-a-fool-of-yourself-in-front-of-the-child feeling, and when I got off I staggered for the first two or three steps. I was glad we hadn't gotten to the ice cream and popcorn yet.
Then we did the Flying Monkeys back in Gillikin country, where everything was purple. The Flying Monkeys was actually a merry-go-round with monkeys in place of horses, and the music playing was "Over the Rainbow." The merry-go-round was purple, naturally, highlighted with Day-Glo violet and lighted with both ordinary and ultraviolet light. The ultraviolet light on the violet Day-Glo made the highlights look practically radioactive.
We found a booth where you put your head in an opening and could have your picture taken as the Tin Woodman, Scarecrow, Cowardly Lion, Dorothy, or the Wicked Witch. I elected to be the Wicked Witch, which put Jeremy into fits of laughter while he watched me be digitally photographed. I put the photo in my pocket. He made me promise to give him the picture to take home with him at the end of the evening.
"Now I really need ice cream or popcorn," I said.
"Or both."
Laughing, I said, "Watch it, buster. With you it's always gimme, gimme, gimme."
There was an ice cream stand next to the Emerald City roller coaster. Fortunately, it had more flavors than just green pistachio. Personally, I have never understood why anybody orders anything other than chocolate ice cream, although chocolate chip, fudge ripple, and double-double chocolate aren't bad. We stood eating ice cream and watching all the fun things around us.
The festival security and info staff all wore gray-colored shirts with OZ on the back in big white letters. Except for the shirts' color they were reminiscent of the uniforms of the Wash & Brush-up Company in the movie. I had asked my brother Barry why the festival hadn't used green for the Emerald City, but he said that he wanted them to be obviously security, not theme-park characters. There seemed to be a lot of security people out here tonight. Maybe the whole staff was required to attend the opening, since the mayor and the superintendent of police and other Chicago big enchiladas were going to be here. Security would have to be good. Most likely the staff would be subdivided into smaller shifts tomorrow.
Each night of the festival featured a different special event. Tomorrow a performance of The Wizard of Oz would be held on the outdoor stage where the ceremonies were going on tonight. Then, over the week, there would be a Dorothy look-alike contest, a Toto look-alike contest, Scarecrow look-alike, and so on. One night was Munchkin tumblers with a prizewinning high school tumbling group starring as Munchkins.
The Horse of a Different Color passed us by. He was pink. I had been in the organization offices when Barry and the horse people had discussed this effect. The anticruelty advisers quite rightly would not permit horses to be painted. So the decision had been made to get three white horses, oil them lightly, and sprinkle them with vegetable-derived food colorings. They used beet powder for pink, turmeric for yellow, and something vegetable in origin that I can't remember for green. As far as I knew, they weren't doing blue or purple. The colors would wash off with a hose. I had wondered aloud what would happen if it rained and the little children saw a pink horse turn white.
"That'll just be the magic of Oz," Barry said.
It was exciting, being involved in the creation of a festival. I've always liked finding out how things work, and up to now festivals and fairs and such things just seemed to happen. Getting in on the mechanics of it had been a revelation. I liked the festival's creative people, too, with the possible exception of the public relations firm of Glitz & Slick. Okay, so that isn't quite their name. It should be.
Jeremy was thrilled with the pink horse, led around by a young woman dressed to look like Scraps, the Patchwork Girl. But he really giggled when the Tin Woodman appeared, wearing a suit of shiny, real metal, making creaky noises, and carrying an oil can.
"Can I oil you?" Jeremy asked.
The Tin Woodman said, "Yes, please oil my knee; it's very stiff today." He bent the knee, making a creaky noise, and handed Jeremy the oil can. Jeremy applied it to the knee and squeezed the handle. A small jet of what I assumed to be water squirted out. Jeremy jumped for joy.
By now it was getting dark. I glanced at my watch, and saw it was just past eight o'clock. Not yet time to meet Barry.
Jeremy was studying me closely. "Aunt Cat, can we play together again soon?"
"Of course, Jeremy."
"Like maybe tomorrow?"
I looked more carefully at him. "Why? Any special reason?"
"Not too much."
"Tell me, honey."
"Well, you know. Mom's been kind of sick. And Dad's been real busy."
His mother had had some clotting problems toward the end of the pregnancy and had been told to stay in bed. And now, of course, with the new baby—
"Jeremy, your dad had a lot to do preparing for this festival. There were last-minute important pieces of equipment that didn't arrive. Like the Flying Monkeys merry-go-round was on a truck in Omaha, and
the truck broke down, and they didn't think it would get here in time. Which would have been awful. And then they had that big rain two days ago and some of the electric cables shorted out from getting soaked. I think he's going to have a lot more free time now."
I looked up from the child and realized that the formal ceremonies were beginning. Though I couldn't see from here, the schedule said the mayor would be over at the bandstand near the Emerald City castle, probably preparing to cut green tape. Festival-goers strolled toward the sound of trumpets. The Royal Army of Oz, which was composed entirely of twenty-eight officers, no privates because they had all been promoted, would parade past the bright green bandstand with its bright green bunting. The mayor would speak; the Park District Commissioner would speak. I think even the superintendent of police was going to speak. An Oz expert from the Harold Washington Library was going to speak. The ceremonies would end with a big parade.
I was planning to stay far away from the bandstand area if possible. No reflection on all the luminaries, but I've heard pretty much all the politicians' speeches I need for the rest of my life.
Apparently I wasn't the only person who felt this way. I saw three of the festival developers plus Tom Plumly hanging out at the side of the Mo popcorn stand in Quadling country as the crowds drained happily toward the bandstand. E. T. Taubman, the lighting designer I'd met during the early planning stages of the festival, who had been responsible for most of the great effects, stood chatting with Plumly, the festival's head of security, Edmond W. Pottle, a banker and a festival backer, and another man I hadn't met "personally" but knew to be Larry Mazzanovich. Larry was a contractor. He had built the Emerald City castle and a lot of the specialty items. I'd seen him around the area. I wanted to wave to Tom Plumly if he looked over our way, or go say hi and ask Jeremy to tell him with what great delight a kid responded to the fair. Plumly would like that. But Plumly's back was toward us and they were halfway hidden behind the popcorn palace and seemed very intent on their conversation.
"Yo, Cat!" Jennifer Denslow came striding up behind us. She's a tall, vibrant woman with red hair and a creamy complexion. When you're short and kind of middling in coloration, you notice these things. I liked her a lot and we'd become friends, hanging out a bit together. You know how occasionally a person seems like an old friend from the first moment of meeting. Jen was the computer systems designer for the festival. She had put together the sequences for the sound system and adapted a lot of theme-park software motherboards for the festival to use. Not only had she done it brilliantly, but she'd kept the costs down. After all, Great Adventure and Disney World and Renaissance Faire and maybe even Dollywood might be in existence for decades, or centuries, but the Chicago Oz Festival was a ten-day wonder. At best, it might become an annual event, but it would still have to pack up, fold its tents, disassemble its castle, send back its specialty items, and get out on July 15.
"Jennifer, this is Barry's son, Jeremy."
"Aha! Another J," she said, holding out her hand. Jeremy shook it in a very grown-up fashion, while I said, "Another Jay?"
"Jeremy. Jennifer. The finest initial letter in the alphabet," she said to the child. "Very graceful letter to write." She made a truly graceful sweep with her hand, with curlicues as it tailed off. "The only other letter that comes close to such outstanding elegance is S. Have you ever thought about that, Jeremy?"
"Well, no. But I will now." He smiled up at her. He looked as if he was falling in love.
"See," she said, "A is quite clunky. Up, down across. B is blobby, don't you think?" She gestured.
He nodded vigorously.
"C is not bad, but it ends awfully soon. Less than half of a well-made J."
"Hey!" I said. "I'm a C."
"Well, it's not bad. But J is excellent."
Jeremy twirled around three or four times, swinging his arms, just to show her a J in motion.
Then Jeremy said, "Hey! There's Dad!"
Barry was a little distance away, over near the Tornado, but kids can pick their parents out at a distance, just as parents can see their child in a big crowd of children. Barry was striding across the open space where the blue Munchkinland Tornado ride terminated. Jeremy shouted "Dad!" but of course with all the noise and shouting and distant band music, Barry didn't hear us.
Just then Tom Plumly left the group and ran past us. He was heading toward Barry, and frantically calling his name, loud enough that I could hear him over the celebrations. Another Oz Festival emergency, I guessed.
Jennifer, Jeremy, and I followed Plumly. We weren't particularly worried about whatever was happening. It was just puzzling. Instead of halting and talking with Barry, Plumly caromed into him. Plumly clutched at Barry, or Barry grabbed Plumly (I couldn't quite tell which), and they struggled briefly. By then, Jennifer, Jeremy, and I were closer to them. Plumly sagged and fell limp to the ground. Barry stood there, stunned. He bent down over Plumly. Then he yelled, "Somebody get a doctor! Security! Help us out here!"
Nobody responded instantly, of course; people never react that fast. There was no security nearby. They were probably all at the ceremonies. Barry got his cell phone from his pocket and yelled into it.
"I need paramedics at the Tornado. Right away! I have a seriously injured man here!"
Jennifer and I hurried up and leaned over Plumly to try to help him. I didn't stop to think that Jeremy might be seeing something unsuitable for a child, somebody very sick.
But it was worse than a sick man. A huge patch of blood stained the front of Tom Plumly's shirt, and a pool of blood was spreading next to him. As I reached out to pull Jeremy away, I saw a short knife on the ground near the security chief's hand, an ordinary jackknife with a handle of about five inches and a blade the same length.
Jennifer rose from a crouch. She said, "I think he's dead." With a look of horror, she stared straight at my brother Barry.
2
PEOPLE COME AND GO SO QUICKLY AROUND HERE
Barry looked at us and I could almost read his thoughts from the expression on his face. He was appalled that we were here. He started to come toward us, but must have realized that he was the only festival official on hand and he had a responsibility. And, of course, I was available to take care of his son. He waved his hand at me. "Get Jeremy away."
I had already picked Jeremy up in my arms and was backing away. Barry shouted, "I have to get help. But, Cat, don't let Jeremy see this. Go someplace!"
I couldn't agree more.
By then two security guys had arrived near Barry. Jeremy was twisting in my arms. "Is that guy sick?" he asked.
"I'm afraid he is."
"But he looked like he was dead. I mean, he was all bloody. Wasn't he?"
"Well—" I've never been an advocate of lying to children "for their own good," and even if his parents would have handled this differently, they weren't here; I was the person on the scene. "I don't know whether he's dead, Jeremy, but you're right about the blood."
Walking as well as I could carrying a rather large child, I finally staggered us around the Emerald City castle and the bandstand to the purple Flying Monkeys merry-go-round in Gillikin country. "Jeremy, could you get on and ride without me for a couple of minutes while I wait here and see what your dad wants to do?"
"Sure."
It might seem heartless to ride a merry-go-round while somebody dies forty yards away, but this was a child, and he had never met Plumly, and in any case, I had to think. I had to think really hard.
At the moment the merry-go-round started moving again, Jennifer caught up to me.
"We'd better talk," she said.
"Right. I know."
"When Plumly ran past us, I didn't see any blood on him. Did you?"
"No."
"And then he struggled with Barry. Right?"
Sadly, I said, "Right."
"And then after that he fell down and then when we got there he was covered with blood. Right?"
"Right."
"Barry's yo
ur brother. I feel really horrible about this, Cat. But I still can't cover up—"
I was trembling now, I was so scared. I knew what she was going to say, and I knew she had to do what she was going to do.
She said, "I have to tell the police."
"I know." After a couple of seconds, I said, "I will, too. I'm sure there's an explanation. But what am I going to tell Jeremy?"
* * *
Jennifer started slowly back to where Barry and the dead Plumly were. As she left, I called after her, "If you get a chance, tell Barry that I'll stay here for a while. No, wait. You'd better make a chance to tell him, please. Tell him I'll hang around the merry-go-round here for a half hour or so, and if he can't get away, I'll just take Jeremy home. To my place. I need to talk to Barry, but Jeremy shouldn't be around if there's going to be, you know, unpleasantness."
Barbara D'Amato - [Cat Marsala 09] Page 2
