As I Was Going to Strawberry Fair

Chapter 25

Cai

"I hear music," said Marshal, just as I said "I see a campfire."

He laughed, swung my hand. "We make a good team by night."

My melancholy mood lifted as we came to the edge of the woods. We peered from the trees. There beside a paved two-lane road, waited a large wooden trailer, with FIREWORKS writ large across the front. Nearby was a tent, before which a bright fire burned. Several people sat about it, talking and laughing. I studied them, searching for traps of the enemy, tricks of the night. A boy played a guitar, soft but fast. A young woman fed a baby at her breast. I stared awhile at that. What a strange thing. The fireworks booth was open and lit, awaiting customers.

I described to Marshal what I saw. "Does it seem suspicious that they are here? I asked "Past midnight on a farm road?"

Marshal shook his head. "Not too much. All the roads hereabouts have fireworks stands just outside the town limits. Can't sell fireworks or liquor inside towns, 'cause of ordinances. We'll see more as we get closer to the Fair. Means we must be near the edge of Hell or Theory."

The owl swooped onto a branch above our heads, perching to see what we would do next. I bit my fingernails, uncertain. We made slow time going across ditches and woods and pastures. I felt sure: to delay meant to be caught. But if we took to the road here, we must pass these people. The mother stood up, began to walk about the fire, patting the baby on the back. Fascinating.

"Let's risk it," I decided. And stepped out of the trees. Marshal remained behind.

"Don't I get a vote?" he asked, arms crossed.

"Can you see in the dark?" I asked exasperated.

"Can you two-box a bard and a tank?" he replied. I hesitated. I had no idea. Doubted I could. Was it something I needed to know? Perhaps my knowledge upon the road was not complete, because Marshal carried some missing part, and success depended upon combining our wisdom. Who could say if two-boxing a bard and a tank would not be key to our survival tonight?

"Fine," I sighed, pushing back my hair. After all, the night was his to journey, too. Even if he walked it blind-folded beside a cliff. "What do you propose?"

"Let's risk it," he said, and stepped beside me.

"You are very annoying sometimes," I observed.

"I refuse to be a sack of flour that hero-girl drags from the rats," he said firmly.

"Fine," I growled, but took his hand. The night would begin to fade soon. We walked down the road towards the fireworks stand.

"On the other hand," he observed, "you are a mad child I am getting home before the wolves catch."

He meant to make me laugh, but I only shook my head. "Dawn will catch me first." Then, "Wait here, my sack of flour. Outside the light."

"Don't think so."

I stamped a foot. Boys. But I saw what words to say, clear as the flaw in the moves of a foe, the telltale hint of what strike can win the bout. "If your enemies watch this place as they watched the store, you will be seen in the light. And so bring trouble down upon these people. Boom."

"Oh," he said. "Okay. Fair enough. The sack of flour waits here."

I approached the fire-works stand. It was small; little more than a rectangular wooden box upon two trailer wheels; the window propped open with a board. Behind were poorly lit shelves of candy-like explosives. The man was putting things into bags, clearing out the store. He started when I appeared within the yellow light.

"Didn't hear a car," he growled. "You gonna rob us?"

I frowned at this unwelcome. "I walked. Why should I be a robber?"

He had an unlit wooden match in the corner of his mouth. I thought it a dramatic prop for someone in a box of fireworks. He switched the match from one corner of his mouth to the other, in sign of consideration.

"Mask. Hood."

Oh. Well, that made sense. I lifted the mask back. We considered one another. He was young, dark-skinned. Worry-lines at his eyes. I decided he was the father of the baby by the tent. Not because of a wedding ring on his finger; but the worry lines. He toggled the match stick. "Closing sale. Half off everything."

I considered the bright-colored rockets and crackers and bombs, the packets and cones and spheres and tubes of fire. I found I knew fireworks, as easily as I knew chocolate. How on earth was that anything of value upon the road? But must knowledge be useful? Fireworks had no use. They were just sound and fire and beauty. That made use enough, just to know. I studied the shelves. I wanted to buy it all. I would stand on a hill and shoot them in defiance of the clock-face moon. Marshal and I would lay on the grass and watch them burn bright and high, and forget the dark road.

Stop, I chided my mind. Not what I came for. "Have you seen anyone else in the last hour on this road?" I asked. "There were some bikers following me."

He took the match out of his mouth, held it for a cigarrete. He shook his head. "Fair brings the bikers from all around," he growled. "Most of 'em easy folk, if you leave 'em alone. Not all of 'em though." He put back the match, returned to taking things off shelves. "We're clearing out tonight. Truth be told, we're leaving now. Wife says storm's coming. Feels it in her bones, and those danged bones of hers never lie. You come with us, and if any bikers show up we'll fire some roman candles in their faces."

I made no reply to that. He emptied a cigar box with cash full of ones, recalled my question. "Hasn't been a soul on the road twixt Hell and Theory in hours, ma'am."

"Thank you for your offer," I said. "But if they aren't between us and town I think I'll be safe enough on foot." I remained at the window of the booth, feeling an urge to ask about his wife and the baby, and how they met and how they slept and what was it like to awake next to each other. A rush of questions hit me, twirled me about like a boat in a storm. He waited impatiently for me to speak or leave. "How much for the roman candles?" I asked.

"How much yah got?" he laughed. I took out my handful of strange coins, placed them on the counter. He poked them about unimpressed; then stared astonished. His eyes grew round and bright as Catherine wheels. I followed his gaze to the brass Chinese coin with the hole in the center.

"Stop right there," I declared, pushing my hair back. "What is unusual about that coin?"

He looked embarrassed, then picked it up and held it in the palm of a hand worn rough with hard work. "See them dolphins circling about? The writing? This is a Chinese luck coin. My wife's family are gypsies. Showed me one once. They're the real thing."

I considered. Luck had served us well so far. Perhaps I should keep it. Then, I considered again. We were close to the edge of town, the edge of dawn. It wasn't luck that would get us over the edge. A plan came into my head. So clear I might have been born with it laid out. Perhaps I had.

A simple plan. I would draw off the bandits and their attention, while Marshal made the last sprint. "Yours for the roman candles," I decided.

"Sure?" he asked. His voice husked. I wondered if it husked so for his wife. Why was I obsessing over such things? I stared at his wedding ring. Not yet much scratched, for all the wear and tear on his hands. What a thing it must be, to be young and married, a father. Luck wasn't meant to be horded in a pocket. It was spent, and shared, or it was useless brass.

"Yep," I replied. "Yours."

"Deal," he replied, and pocketed the coin. He reached to a shelf and took down four long cylinders, wrapped in paper of hot pink and bright red. I stared astonished.

"That much?" I asked.

'Little lady," he replied. "You just bought yourself a firework stand."