Around nine o'clock, with night well-fallen and some of the younger children already taken home by their parents, people began to slip outside. The cold evening air was almost a welcome relief after the warmth of the basement, and the sense of anticipation among the adults began to grow. I took off my mask and tied it carefully to a belt-loop, joining them in the cemetery.
In twos and threes, bringing their children with them or following them out, the adults began to gather inside the cemetery gates, off to either side of the dirt road that wound around and between the headstones. A group of young teens lounged on the steps of the few mausoleums, some ways off. The children stood at the gates, watchful, either remembering past years or having been told by older siblings what was about to happen. In the distance the edge of a forty-acre forest, marking the far boundary of the cemetery, loomed darkly.
Some of the adults had gone missing in the bustle. Charles, for one, and Leon; Jacob's wife as well. I thought perhaps Leon was the new Sweeper, and about time, since the schoolteacher who had done it for years was laid up with lumbago worse than ever and it was time she passed the broom, so to speak.
It occurred to me that Jacob's wife might be the Fire Man this year. Low Ferry wasn't a paragon of gender equality, but the Fire Man needed to be nimble and light. By and large the men of Low Ferry were built on huge broad lines, good for farming but not for the relative acrobatics the Fire Man needed. The part was usually played by a young man or woman. I'd been asked once, my second year in the village, but I'd had to decline.
My speculations were cut short as the Sweeper appeared, hooting and coughing his way down from the main road. It was certainly Leon, dressed in layers of burlap tied on with bits of yarn and old worn belts. He swept the loose top layer of dirt on the road with his broom, aimlessly, clearing any little remnants of snow to the sides. He shook his head as he came, setting off the little bells tied to the wispy straw wig bound in a topknot and hanging down over his ears. Once inside the gate he moved his broom more vigorously, occasionally shoving a giggling child off the road.
Three or four mounted riders followed him, the horses kicking up mud from the melting snow, ruining the crazy patterns the sweeper left behind him. There was Jacob's wife, along with three young men – one of the Harrison boys and two I couldn't place in the darkness. The riders threw sticks into the crowds for people to catch or scramble after: long poles made of balsa and a few of hollow plastic, not too hard or heavy, hardly dangerous at all. Their horses, decorated with ribbons and more bells, stomped and snorted. A few children playfully sword-fought with the sticks or went haring off into the darkness, already looking for the Straw Bear. Eventually the adults herded them into a group that trailed loosely down the road after the riders.
We walked through the cemetery hollering and whistling, following the riders until they abandoned us at the edge of the trees. They wheeled the horses, well out of range of the children, and broke into a galloping race back to the front gates, the showier ones leaping gravestones as they went.
The rest of us turned to the trees. There was a collective moment of anticipation before a few brave souls walked in first, pushing the low brush aside and starting to look in earnest for the Straw Bear. We were quieter in the forest, and sometimes we could hear the rise of a bird from the brush or the scuttle of a small animal fleeing hastily ahead of us. It was eerie, and a few of the children looked scared, but for the most part people seemed to be enjoying the shadows – venturing into the darkness to beat winter back, to beat back chill and death. This was our ritual, deeper than any church service, all-encompassing. If nothing else, it made us a village, tied us together in an experience that most of Low Ferry had shared since they could walk.
Leon was there, still in-character, brandishing his broom to make the children laugh occasionally. Paula kept poking Nolan in the back with her stick until he swatted at her and wandered off, annoyed. Nora Harrison, well along in her pregnancy, was escorted by several chivalrous junior sons of the extended Harrison clan. Carmen was carrying a tired-looking Clara on her shoulders. It was, in fact, pretty crowded in the trees.
I held back a little, wandering away from the others, content to look up at the stars through the tree branches and listen for the inevitable shout of Straw Bear! Straw Bear! once someone finally found him.
I'd managed to lose sight of everyone, which is no mean feat even in the dark, when I heard a bird-cry off to my left. It was followed by what I thought was the rustle of wings, and instinctively I turned to look for the source of the noise. There was no sudden flight against the sky, however, and no fluttering feathers – instead I came face to face with a wide sheath of plaited straw, behind which a pair of eyes flashed and darted wildly.
I suppose if we were less serious, if it really were a children's game like everyone pretended, Charles would have dropped a wink and lifted his mask. Hello Christopher, where's the rest? Run along and don't tell. I hope I look all right.
I might have winked back and told him he was terribly fearsome and said Good luck scaring the children, but I didn't. Because it wasn't a game, really, not in Low Ferry.
Instead the figure growled and raised his arms, surrounding me in the musty-sweet smell of dry grass and the shifting shadows of his braided costume. Fear rose in my throat, real terror, and I yelled in answer to his low groan.
"Straw Bear! Straw Bear!"
From all around me came the immediate sound of crashing as would-be rescuers ran through the undergrowth. I shied back from the figure and shouted "Straw Bear!" again, even as I fell on my elbows, staring up at him. Two women arrived on the heels of my shouting and batted at the upraised arms of the bear with their sticks, driving him off. He howled and shambled away while they gave chase.
"Straw Bear!" they shouted, terribly serious, more people joining them as they went. I could hear the groans and growls receding in the distance as I was helped to my feet – they sounded like they were moving back towards the cemetery now, as they should be. My heart was beating fast and my breath came short, knocked out of me by the fall.
"You okay, Christopher?" Jacob asked, arriving in a cluster with a few other farmers, and now there were grins all round.
"Fine," I gasped. "Let's go on, we'll miss the Fire Man – which way is it?" I added, rubbing my chest with one hand.