TCOTNK 6 Speak What You Want
TCOTNK 6 Speak What You Want
The more she learned about what was happening on the planet, the greater her bewilderment. Nothing was what it seemed.
Speak what you want
Sunday started with strong winds from the west. The sleeping van creaked and was shaking. The ventilation grille was whistling. Scarlotte climbed out of the high bed. Michelangelo was gone. He had slept on the narrow couch next to the table. All his traces tidied away. On a bit of drawing paper, she deciphered he was on a secret mission with James. The note ended with a five pointed star that had belonged to the now torn sketch.
She had spent a nice evening in the circus tent working through an incredible wardrobe. Rose sold historical dresses and time travelers’ gear. “Second Skins” was the name of her one woman company. Most of the pieces she had sewn herself. The mix of tough and feminine weakened Scarlotte’s knees. The deeper she entered the collection the more bizarre the outfits became. At the start the men had followed the show tentatively. Dark hair, light dress for Scarlotte. Light hair and a dark opposite for Rose. Thereafter the lace bustiers were mutually tightened. Scaled fake leather battle dress. And sparkling silk clouds. But the atmosphere among the men soon deflated. They watched, but their thoughts were sad.
Scarlotte knew why. She walked the field drenched in early morning light and last night’s showers. There was nobody in the tent. Even the fire had gone out. She sighed. The festival was on its butt. Without an army of free workers nothing would rise from the mud. She didn’t get why. Her impression was it had been a well-visited five-day event for years. And with what she knew about the plans, it could be amazing. But five outcast loaves and two sleepy fishes were not enough by a long way.
She scooped some cold soup with a coffee mug and saw the festival boss with a severe case of bedhead and bared teeth make his entrance in the chattering tent. His smile froze.
“Hey Joe. You good?”
He came over to her and grabbed her. Kind of a rough embrace. Burying his head in her neck. She held her soup, and two bread rolls, at a safe distance. It took at least two minutes before he released her and sucked at least half the air present in the circus tent into his lungs. As if surfacing after a deep dive.
“Today,” he announced with a hoarse voice to the smoke hole in the top, “...is the turning! The old has passed away. This is point zero. The numberless card. The new is rising. It’s germing everywhere.”
Scarlotte considered pointing at his mistake. Was germing even a verb? I germ, you germ? Have you done any germing lately, darling? It sounded weird.
Joe walked outside and she heard him urinate.
“This source is deeper,” he went on, even louder now, calling against the wind, while fertilizing the earth, “It just takes a goddamn bit longer before it surfaces.” Moaning with relief, he uttered the last sentence at the top of his faltering voice.
“My arms are open!”
Scarlotte was peeking through the seam. His fly was open too. Wide legged, his face turned towards the sun. The wind lashing his shirt round his spread arms. Cloud shadows sliding over the empty field and the forest behind.
“I am ready,” he added softly.
She felt the golf ball inside her modulate up a quarter tone. She closed her eyes and let the energy surge, pour out. After that she ate the soup in the flapping tent. Alone.
Scarlotte was constantly wearing Michelangelo’s shirts. She drowned in them but they smelled good and were warm. Wool and linen. Her body felt grubby. She didn’t swim. Her hands were dirty, her teeth felt fuzzy. For the first time she missed her phone. Just to go online for a minute. This feeling of being cut off was strong. As if she lacked one of her senses. Her restlessness grew. Why break all contact with home? There was no clear reason. Only vague unnameable drives. Sometimes there was this inner screaming. Resistance against almost everything. The more she learned about what was happening on the planet, the greater her bewilderment. Nothing was what it seemed. And nobody cared. About anything. While she could clearly see what was wrong. Were people really that stupid? That indifferent? Especially her sisters, and mom too, who were the perfect example of what was wrong with the whole circus. Voluntary collective blindness. But she didn’t want to go there. Not concern herself with the lies, the violence. Not contributing to the big engine driving all of that forward. She wanted living, helping, loving, making beautiful things and getting as many people as possible along. Away from the sucking and the wallowing. Away from this crooked veneration of the so-called chosen. That’s why she was here. To be frugal with the beautiful and all that lies waiting misunderstood. Her mind’s eye produced an image. How all the sparks she presumed were everywhere slowly pulled together. Recognising each other. That’s what resonance is. She had experienced it just now. The susurrating tangle in her chest had expanded a bit as it absorbed another equally dreaded spark in Joe. In this place. In Michelangelo. But five against a world empire wasn’t enough, she decided. Yes, the decision was still solid. No doubt.
She spent the day in an almost trance-like state, making sketches, fiddling about. She hummed along with the music in her head.
At the end of the afternoon she went looking for Rose. Found her behind a foot powered sewing machine on the patch of grass behind her caravan. Together they sought out Joe. He was working on the big field next to the river, laying water pipes in a shallow trench. Surprised, he looked up at the two and opened his mouth to utter some silly phrase but immediately noticed something was afoot.
“Speak what you want,” said Scarlotte addressing Joe. She took his hand and pulled him out of the dug hole and the three of them formed a little circle. They stood there for a long time. The wind rolling through the treetops, sweeping the sandy meadow and messing with their hair. Now and then they looked at each other. Sometimes a smile came. The connected hands were steady and calm. Joe was thinking. Scarlotte was thinking. Trying to fit words in silence. It seemed Rose was doing the same.
She was startled. Someone had broken the circle, only to make it bigger. Michelangelo and James were back. Now they were five. Scarlotte started. She spoke clearly and firmly above the wind.
“I speak to grow this circle. From now every day at dusk it will increase in size as we stand here. It shall grow. Speak your will in this round.”
The smile on Joe’s face threatened to go past his ears. He took the floor and spoke, hoarse and slow. All five of them did. And as they did so the wind died down. Pure coincidence of course, but they strolled back under a clear blue sky. Cherishing the last rays of sunshine ending that particular Sunday.
Out of the forest, two guys came walking. Ionathan and Pedr still looked sleepy.