The chaotic melody of carnival music echoed around us. Flames spurted from the mouths of brooding jesters, warming us from the icy mist that wove through the crowd. Snakes were charmed. Colored balls were juggled through the air. Odd collections of prose and rhyme were heard as poets poured out their hearts. A young man hit operatic notes that could send shivers down the spine of a corpse. We were at the Carnival of Lost Souls, a popular district of the Medieval Quarter.
It was about an hour after our dress rehearsal. Warwick, Pedro, Guy, and I took time to explore the Afterlife in an effort to calm ourselves from the accident earlier that day.
My mouth drooled at the odor of a well-crisped pig, glazed in fresh honey. It rotated on a spit, begging to be tasted. I hadn’t noticed before but the opera singer had an ulterior motive. He was brewing fresh coffee. I think Guy was flirting with him while choosing between a golden custard tart and a glistening crème caramel. He expanded his wings a little, as a courting peacock might spread out its tail, while his face resembled a startled Marilyn Monroe. We drank our coffees as I watched this strange mating ritual. At least I wasn’t the only one who lacked technique in winning hearts.
“Are you still as shaken up as me, Allan?” asked Pedro.
For the first time since we swapped roles, he was being nice to me.
“Yeah. More from a sense of confusion than anything else.”
“In what way?”
“It just adds to the many puzzles of the Afterlife. I mean, we had a near miss, but although we wouldn’t have been, been…”
“Dead?”
“Um, yeah, that’s the word. What you said. We’re like Wile E. Coyote who can get squashed by an anvil a hundred times, but he only gets seriously hurt. That fallen light could have damaged us in some way, yet here, we’re supposed to be free from our bodies. Souls wandering through the hereafter. Why would we feel pain?”
“It’s been a long time since I asked myself those questions.”
“Yeah, that’s what I find weird,” added Warwick.
“Why would you find that weird?” I asked.
Before my friend could answer, Pedro replied.
“Warwick found it weird when I told him I’ve been here for seven years.”
“But you’re from the 1920s. That was almost a century ago.”
“From your point of view, Allan, but not from mine. As far as I’m concerned, you’re both from the future.” Pedro placed his hand to his chin, rubbing gently before continuing his train of thought. “At the moment, I can feel my jawline, just as you can feel and sense this world around you. Why wouldn’t you feel extreme pain?”
Guy had finished his attempt at winning a heart. With only a coffee in hand, he strolled over.
“But it’s more than that, Pedro,” I replied. “Why do we need to eat, to get drunk, to make love, and to feel pain? Can you answer this, Guy?”
“What’s there to answer? Your souls still hunger for what makes them feel alive.”
“But why? Isn’t this the Promised Land? Why do we need to still feel pain, physically and emotionally?”
“Allan, it’s what makes you you. Without those things, you’d just be a robotic soul. No highs. No lows. No passion.”
Warwick met my eyes. He gently bit his bottom lip and nodded. Guy had a point. What kind of soulless creatures would we be in the Afterlife without everything that made us who we were? Although it was kind of eerie that some higher being thought physical pain was still warranted.
A loud clanking bell startled me. Its dull ring thumped in my head like a migraine. A dark-haired man with an oversized moustache called for riders on his Ghost Train while shaking that irritating bell. Warwick was keen, as he often loved anything of a horror genre, but Guy suggested that as we were still drinking coffee, the Ferris wheel was a safer option. Pedro got in first, followed by Guy who sat next to him. I’m sure the angel was coordinating the seating arrangement, leaving Warwick and me to share the other seat.
From our carriage, the pale gray and emerald structures of the Art Deco Sector were highlighted with soft shadows. Almost as if someone had lit the buildings for a romantic comedy about a flapper and an adventurer. She’d ask him for a light of her cigarette, and from there a steamy romance would begin. Their favorite nightclub would feature his daredevil friend, a rugged drummer who had often saved the adventurer’s life on their many trips to the Amazon. Their much-loved café would be owned by Cecil, her uncle who made the best spaghetti outside of Italy. And their nights would begin by sharing a bath, gently lathering each other’s backs and cheekily blowing soapsuds around the room. Sultry nights in the bedroom would follow, where going to sleep was never an option before midnight. How I wished I was that girl.
Warwick turned to look at the view as I placed my arm around his shoulder. The seating wasn’t cramped, but I positioned my body as if it was. My dear friend gently nudged against me. The scenery became secondary. I wanted us to melt into each other. To become one entity that could never feel the fear from an uncaring world, no matter what demons or lovers would grace our path. I was about to press my body harder against his when Pedro pretended to clear his throat. We were like naughty schoolboys caught smoking by the headmaster. I quickly moved my arm from his shoulder as he turned to his lover, breaking the physical bond we had.
“Excuse me,” said Pedro. His voice was monotone.
“Sorry,” said Warwick.
I tried to smile at my friend, but he never met my gaze.
“You know, if you want to be with Allan, you can.”
“Pedro,” I said, “I think you’re overreacting. We’ve known each other for ages. We’re just close. And we’re tactile. We always have been.”
“There’s a difference between being tactile and longing for more.”
“But friendships can be just as close. A relationship is a relationship.”
“Yes, but you don’t go bonking all your friends. You listen to their relationship problems. You don’t become the relationship!”
“But Allan and I are close enough that we can touch, hug, give each other a welcoming kiss,” said Warwick. His palms pressed against his temples.
“And you both really can’t see what’s happening below the surface? Little glances. Little touches. Guys, give me a break!”
“Pedro, like Allan said, we’re just old friends.”
That last sentence made my heart sink. Guy discreetly mouthed “ouch” so that only I’d see it. As we left the ride, Pedro clutched Warwick’s arm and marched ahead of us, tying himself to him as if they were in a three-legged race. I found this act petty.
For a while, we continued to explore, wandering past many eccentric characters with treasures to share. I frivolously commented on the assorted jewelry and clothing, trying to take my mind off my nonexistent romance. It didn’t really work. I kept daydreaming that I was nestling my nose into the back of Warwick’s neck, intentionally peeling off the same trinkets and garments I had remarked on.
Eventually we found a stand that brought childhood memories flooding back. Thick red toffee oozed from a cooking pot, spreading like tentacles of molten lava across the base of a shallow pan. Soon crisp apples were speared by little wooden sticks, before being immersed in the sticky goo.
A plump woman in a headscarf handed Warwick and me two luscious toffee apples. I put my nose close to mine, taking in the blissful scent of caramelized sugar, remembering how Dad used to tempt me with this treat every time I’d agree to get my haircut. I shattered its shell with a loud crunch.
“You look like you’re making love to that apple,” said Guy.
“This is a new kind of bliss,” I replied.
“Is that true, Warwick?”
“Yep. The toffee apple has to be one of life’s undiscovered aphrodisiacs. Share one with your partner instead of foreplay.”
He offered his lover a bite, but he refused, stating that he found them too sweet. So I leaned over to take a mouthful while offering Warwick a taste of mine. His upper lip skillfully slid on the hard flat top of this delicious delicacy, before his teeth cracked its rosy shell. He moaned as he chewed. Pedro bowed his head before shaking it.
“Aren’t you being obvious?” he said.
“Well, you didn’t want a bite,” replied Warwick.
“Yes, but if I did, I’d see no reason to pretend I was having an orgasm as I was eating it. Besides, you both have the same type of toffee apple. What is there to taste that’s different?”
“It’s part of the ritual,” I said. “A substitute for foreplay.”
“Come on, Pedro,” said Guy. “You’re overreacting again.”
“Am I? A while ago they were chummy on the Ferris wheel. Now they’re substituting toffee apples for their dicks. Come on! I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Allan and I are just good friends,” said Warwick. Pedro rolled his eyes. “We can joke about toffee apples as a phallic symbol. Moan to each other. It means nothing!”
As those last words resonated, I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Guy stretched out his wings, grabbing my attention as the lovers argued. He gave me a sympathetic look as I tried to smile back. It was no use. I’d never get to first base touching Warwick’s soft coffee skin or inhaling his body’s unique musky scent. I’d never be comforted by the kind tones in his voice while making love. They would only soothe me as a friend. I was losing something precious I’d never owned, but only borrowed when I needed strength.
“Allan, how do you feel about Warwick?” asked Pedro.
“I love him…as a friend.”
“I don’t believe you. You gaze at him like he was your own personal god or something.”
“I don’t!”
“Pedro, leave Allan alone,” said Warwick. “He’s my best friend.”
“Yes, we’re just friends. That’s it.” I found it hard to convince myself, let alone anyone else.
The writer stormed off. Warwick shrugged his shoulders before following. I took a breath and ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. We weren’t alone in watching this mismatched duo bicker as they swept past various stalls, leaving surprised glances, and idle chatter in their wake.
“Is this really worth it, Allan?” Guy asked. “Chasing after a man who’s not interested?”
“I ask myself that every day.”
“And what’s the answer?”
“I can’t imagine him not being there. An extension of myself would be missing. The camaraderie we’ve developed would simply amount to nothing.”
“But it hasn’t, Allan.”
“I know, and that’s the thing I can’t explain. I have him as a friend, but this fling with Pedro has made me realize that I could lose that friendship. I don’t want the years to roll on and for us to become distant.”
“But you might find someone better.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve felt this way for the past year, and no matter how much I tell myself I’m being silly, my heart tells me something different.”
Guy stepped forward and planted a soft kiss on my cheek.
“What was that for?”
“For being consistent over the past year.”
His gesture made me feel terribly alone yet strangely understood. I wasn’t the first person who’d struggled with unrequited love, and I definitely was not going to be the last.
“A kiss for being mixed up over the past year? It’s a unique reward, Guy.”
I wondered if he’d felt the same about his friend Joshua, when he was a lot younger. That being yourself wasn’t enough.
“Samantha,” he said.
“Samantha? What’s she got to do with all of this?”
“Samantha,” he repeated, pointing. “She’s here.”
Sure enough, there was the bombshell wandering with a man and a woman around the bookstall in the distance. As Guy stepped in her direction, I stopped him to ask about this cosmic universe.
“Samantha has more than a passing interest in 1950s fashion?”
“True.”
“Pedro would have hit adulthood during the First World War. Maudi’s from the late 1800s, and Warwick and I are from the early twenty-first century.”
“Are we taking stock, Allan?”
“No, hear me out. I’ve seen a Roman gladiator from the Ancient Sector and all sorts of people from different periods of time.”
“And your point is?”
“At first I thought we didn’t age. That I would never grow older, but I’m not even sure about that anymore. Pedro believes that he’s only been here for seven years.”
“Correct.”
“How can that be?”
“Just like you, he’s here at a point when he needs to be.”
“But we’re all here at the point we left our mortal coil.”
“I think you’ve just answered your own question, Allan.”
As I gave Guy a puzzled look, Samantha strode toward us. Her cohorts, looking somewhat bored, trailed behind. The woman seemed familiar to me.
“Wilma, Peter. This is Allan, and Guy, my favorite angel.”
“How many angels do you know?” Guy asked.
“Just you, darling. That’s what makes you my favorite.” Samantha’s friends made no attempt to greet us. They just gave us one nod each. “These fabulous actors are on stage with me in Pedro’s new piece. You are both coming to our opening night tomorrow?”
Again they nodded and mumbled something.
“Wilma, what is your role in the Limelight Quarter?” I asked. She was a plump woman, probably early fifties, with no hint of self-consciousness about her weight.
“I’m the resident critic. I live for your performances.”
Now I recognized her. She was the woman taking notes at the Pedestal when we first arrived.
“You’ll get more than you’ve bargained for tomorrow night,” I replied. My poker face was working overtime.
“Yes,” added Samantha. “It’s a shame what happened to Pedro the other day. That nasty role change business.”
Guy and I subtly exchanged glances.
“Why? What happened?” asked Wilma.
“Our director, Maudi, didn’t appreciate his talents. I mean, he wrote the play. He should be in the main role.”
“Maybe the director knows what she’s doing?” said Peter. “I mean, I’d love to get a lead role in a play. It’s any actor’s dream. Who did he swap with?”
“With me,” I said sheepishly.
“Then you’ll have a lot to live up to,” replied Wilma. “I’ll expect nothing short of brilliance.”
So many thoughts came to mind. How could anyone find brilliance in Pedro’s play? They’d have to use a microscope to read between the lines and still be overwhelmed by the mundane. But I kept my mouth shut.
“Wilma, just wait until I become a director,” said Samantha. “I’ll show you brilliance. That nineteenth-century old woman couldn’t direct traffic, let alone a play.”
Again, Guy and I discreetly glanced at each other.
“I’m sure you can do better,” added Wilma.
“What would you direct?” I asked.
“More Pedro-penned masterpieces. Help him shine on stage.”
Her walking companions seemed to agree. I wasn’t sure how to take this remark.
“Is he writing anything at the moment?”
“He’s researching genres. He’ll type away madly when we’ve finished our run.”
“A man of so many talents,” I replied, grinning at Guy.
“Well, we must fly,” announced the bombshell. “I need to soak in this area for inspiration. Toodles!”
After more unassuming nods from Wilma and Peter, our fellow cast member and her friends left us. They strolled back to the bookstand and flicked through some volumes.
“I’m sure there’s crash test dummies with more personality than Samantha’s friends,” I said.
“I know what you mean. Did you feel the barbed wire?”
“What do you mean?”
“Her Maudi comment was directed at you, Allan.”
“I wasn’t sure. But I think I was a little sarcastic in my comment about Pedro.”
“No kidding. That was obvious.” My friend fluttered his wings. “Just a word of warning, keep an eye out for the subtext while you’re here at Limelight.”
“I’m noticing that very fast.”
“There are people here who think they’re god’s gift to the arts, like Wilma.”
“And Samantha.”
“Correct. And Peter has been hanging out for a role larger than a bit part for ages.”
“He’s committed.”
“Maybe? Maybe not?” We watched the three in question as they fussed over one book before putting it down and moving on. “Peter uses the Limelight Quarter like a security blanket. He’s hooked on the glamour, waiting for his big break. Allan, you’ve got yours. After this, move on.”
“I wouldn’t call Pedro’s play my big break.”
“Still, Allan, listen to what I’m saying.”
Samantha and her friends were now out of sight. We headed toward the bookstand where the assorted array sat disorganized on the table. The stale smell of dusty hardcovers overpowered any other scent. To my delight, Warwick was turning the tea-colored pages of an old Bible.
“Where’s Pedro?” I asked.
“He went home, sulking.”
“When did you get back?” asked Guy.
“Just now. I tried to talk sense to Pedro, but he wouldn’t listen. He just wandered off without me.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s not that serious. Or at least I don’t think so. You know what a drama queen he can be.”
I loved hearing his description of Pedro. It gave me hope.
“You know, Warwick,” I said, “you can always come home tonight.”
Before he could reply, we were interrupted.
“Guy!” proclaimed a woman at the bookstand. Her round turquoise glasses overpowered her face.
“Monique!” Guy matched her zeal.
“I need to tell you, my snake and I have calmed down a lot since we first met you.”
Before introductions were made, I realized who this person was.
“This is that fortune-teller I told you about,” said Guy. “The one who freaked out when she first met me.”
“Terribly rude of me, I know, but you weren’t quite what I was expecting.”
“In this place, none of us know what to expect,” I replied.
“You’re Allan, aren’t you?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I’m a fortune-teller, remember?” I grinned foolishly. “When you’re done here, come and see me in that tent over there.” She pointed to a small royal-blue marquee opposite the bookstand. “I feel I have something important to tell you.” She turned to Guy. “Now, my beloved angel, can you fly yet?”
“One day I’ll get there,” he replied coyly.
“We should help you,” I suggested.
“What do we know about flying?” Warwick pointed out the obvious.
“We’ve watched birds.”
My friend peered down his nose at me like I was the class clown before we both laughed. Monique and Guy continued catching up on gossip. After a short while, they were caught up in their own little world, so I pretended to study a journal with a jagged leaf etched on the cover. Soon, curiosity started nipping at my heels.
“Does he ever bitch about me when you’re alone with him?”
“He’s too much of a gentleman.”
“I guess you’re staying with him for a while?” I braced myself for the answer.
“I don’t want to drop him in a heap in the middle of this run. He’s been through enough with losing the lead role. On the final night, I’ll break up with him discreetly.”
Inside, I felt like a bottle of champagne with the cork popped off, ready to blow.
“I’m glad. I miss having you around. After the run, I wouldn’t mind leaving Limelight and exploring the rest of this, um, post-normal-life predicament.”
“Post-normal-life? Allan, so much of our normal life has faded that this feels like normal life.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m strangely comfortable with all of this now. Logic tells me I shouldn’t be, but my frame of reference is vanishing, except for memories of you.” I laughed nervously. “This play has given me something to focus on.”
“Okay, Allan,” interrupted Monique. “It’s your turn to make sense of your world.” She gestured once more to her tent. “Your future awaits.”
I kissed my friend, telling him I’d catch up with him at home if he didn’t sort things out with Pedro. Guy kissed me as well, bidding me goodbye before I followed Monique into what seemed a comic cliché of a clairvoyant’s workplace.
All sorts of knickknacks littered the tables inside, including several crystal balls and various tarot decks. I was a little dubious about what she could tell me that I didn’t already know, but I sat on one side of her paint-chipped worktable and shuffled the cards.
“You’re suspicious of what I might say, aren’t you, Allan?”
“A little but I’m keeping an open mind.”
When I felt I’d finished shuffling the deck, I handed it to her. She carefully laid out the cards facedown in the shape of a cross, with four random cards placed to the side.
She turned the first card over, but before I could focus on it, my vision became blurry. The fortune-teller and her belongings were being seen through frosted glass. Her voice was just a low hum, serenading me through this peculiar vision.
Something slimy forced its way from my legs to my chest. Its oily residue stained my clothes like dank perspiration. Its face hissed at me, and its tongue licked my cheek, leaving slushy mucous running down my neck. The snake twisted itself around me and pulled me down where the ground once was.
Monique’s voice appeared somewhere from the ether. “Don’t let the snakes pull you away from your destiny, Allan.”
“Did I need such a literal hint?” I shrieked.
A stainless-steel ladder appeared to the side of the snake. I reached out. The snake slithered away as I grabbed a rung. As it moved upward, I heard the ear-piercing sound of shattering glass. I peered down to see the gold and green squares of a Snakes and Ladders game. But one of the snakes had been crushed by the same stage light that had almost landed on me and Pedro hours earlier. The ladder jolted, forcing me to let go.
I bounced onto my chair, startled like I’d wakened from a bad dream. Monique turned the last card of her tarot deck. It was the Lovers, blissfully clutching each other for eternity.
“That’s a good sign. It’s me and Warwick together at last.”
“No, it isn’t.” Monique brought her eyes closer to the card.
“It isn’t?”
“No. There are snakes in the grass.”
“And who are they?”
“It’s whoever unhinged that stage light to scare you away. Keep you out of the picture.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dear Allan, the lovers don’t want you around.”