When we were finally off the bridge and back on real roads in Asia-12, I felt grateful, but wasn’t sure if my bones were in the same order.
Meanwhile, night had descended and everything had gone black. Outside, I saw not a single spot of light, and except for the road ahead in the beams, we could have been in outer space.
Walter stood and freshened up in the bathroom. When he sat, I could see that he was at least his normal pale.
I wasn’t attacking him, or accusing, but I just wanted to confirm what I suspected. “There is no Ribo-Kool, is there?”
Although he didn’t look up, his fingers began worrying an errant thread on his jacket. “Sorry.”
“What is there?”
“Nothing,” he said, with a sob. “Don’t turn me in, please! It wasn’t my idea! I didn’t want to change my name.”
I asked surprised. “Who are you?”
My grandfather made bricks in that building where I live.”
Changing identity was not just illegal but impossible, especially from slubber to family member. RiverGroup, or one of the other security companies, protected all names and numbers. “How did your uncle do that?
Shaking his head, he said, “Xavid Xarry did.”
I asked, as if he were crazy.
Walter peered at me. “He’s CFO and COO of RiverGroup.”
I had forgotten about his titles. Maybe because when Father announced it, it seemed like a joke. “How do you know Xavid?” I asked. “Or how does he know you?”
“He’s Chesterfield’s brother.” He smiled hopefully, but his grin was short lived. “Xavid is very smart?” he said, the questioning intonation returning to his speech. “I guess he just wants to become part of the families?”
I didn’t care that they were slubbers, but I knew Father had no idea. I knew he hadn’t even gone to their house to take a look. And I knew that once it was discovered, the other families would cry foul that RiverGroup was merging with the enemy. Grabbing the control, I tried to turn on the cracked screen to call Father and tell him what an idiot he was, but of course, it didn’t work. I longed to see his face turn red as he learned that yet another of his magnificent plans had died an ugly death.
“Look it!” said Walter, pointing.
Outside, lights had appeared on the horizon. I thought of the Pure H copy, Miniature city flickers, and that was exactly what it looked like—a tiny metropolis gleaming white, blue, and orange.
I asked, “That the place?”
“No. I think Moscostan. I go there to see creepy things.” Frowning, he added, “I have bad nightmares about it sometimes.”
“Where do we get the ARU?”
Pointing to something approaching on the left, he asked, “What is that?”
Leaning over to get a better view from the windows, we were quickly approaching a tall, lit yellow and red sign. As we neared, I could read the ornate, script letters. It read, Tanoshi No Wah. Behind the sign was a large red-and-yellow-striped tent.On each of the six peaks, a red flag flapped in the breeze. Around the central tent were a dozen smaller ones and what looked like parked trucks and several lit rides with mechanical women, giant ducks, and golden blimps. To one side was a makeshift parking lot with a few rusted but garishly decorated four-wheeled trucks.
I said, “It’s my mother!”
Fifteen
Walter laughed as if I were insane. “Your mother?”
“I mean it’s her carnival… the one she travels with.”
He looked horrified. “Way out here?”
“She left Father years ago. She joined this carnival. I don’t know. It’s like she does it to embarrass me.”
“Why would she leave your dad?” he asked. “He’s so nice!”
I was about to explain, but it did not seem worth it, or maybe it only confirmed his dreadfulness that he had charmed one odd and insignificant boy. Instead, I said, “We’re stopping.”
“Oh no!” he said. “It’s too dangerous around here! Moscostan is not good.”
“Driver,” I said into the intercom. “Stop at this carnival.” As I spoke, we zipped past it, but she began to slow immediately.
“You didn’t tell me about this!” said Walter, panicked. “The places you go aren’t good!”
“You don’t have to get out. I’ll go alone.”
Frowning, he said, “No, I’ll go with you.” Then he sat pouting, as if he regretted our friendship.
Soon Walter’s driver had turned the car around and parked it in the muddy lot.
“Look how big they are,” he said, pointing to a group of slubbers in the same silver and white jackets and loose pants I had seen when I fell off the Loop. As the door slid open and the car was filled with hot smoky air, voices, I began to have second thoughts. I had just been so surprised to see the sign for Tanoshi No Wah, that I felt I had to stop, but really it made no sense. Worse, Mother would probably cry and plead with me to stay and when I refused, she would begin ranting and screaming.
Before I changed my mind, I grasped the side of the door and swung myself down. The ground squished underfoot.
From somewhere—maybe from the big tent—I heard an odd singing. The voice was at once lyrical and beautiful, but also oddly stinging, as though it was the combination of an accomplished opera soprano and a giant mosquito.
“I need a step.” Walter still stood in the car, his toes over the edge, looking down the three-foot drop.
“Come on,” I said, holding up my arms, “I’ll help you.” He jumped right into me and almost knocked me backward. I grasped the shoulders of his jacket, though, held him and kept myself up, too.
Straightening his jacket and hat, he frowned and said, “I don’t want to die.”
“We’ll be fine,” I said, hoping that was true. From here, I could see that the smoke was coming from one of the smaller tents where a vendor was roasting meats.
As Walter and I walked across the muddy field, slubbers who had been milling about stopped to watch. A few pointed at us, some gestured at my Loop car. Most looked unhappy that we were there. Several children laughed at us. They pulled their loose, nonwoven shirts taut as if to mock our tailored jackets. A tall, heavy man in a silver jacket had purple blotches all over his face. From his left nostril a clear viscous drip began to lower itself. I thought of the goo at the MonoBeat Tower, but tried not to show my disgust. Sniffing violently, he sucked the mucus back into his nose, and then turned away.
Walter tugged on my sleeve as if he wanted to run back to the car.
“He was just trying to frighten us,” I said, not sure that’s what he’d really meant.
As we continued, I saw a makeshift fence surrounding the tents, and next to the opening stood a small red booth. On top of the booth was a sign that read tickets. Inside was a man in a shiny gold shirt. He had a small face, a heavy brow, and what seemed like a permanent scowl.
“Good evening handsome and distinguished guests,” he said, louder that I expected. “It seems you have come from afar in a very fancy car! I am so very sorry to say that the Tanoshi No Wah has already performed tonight.” His glowering expression was gone. Now he beamed at me with a manic look. “I can offer you both the very best seats for tomorrow’s performance,” he said. “Only one hundred thousand apiece, gentlemen.”