Kneeknock Rise (5 page)

“I had a funny dream,” said Egan, “and then Annabelle snored and woke me up.”

“Nobody in Instep sleeps well,” sighed Aunt Gertrude. “We’re all nervous. You’re getting that way, too. It’s living so near to the Rise that does it.”

“Why doesn’t everyone move away?” asked Egan.

Aunt Gertrude looked shocked. “What an idea!” she said. “Never mind. You’ll stop feeling nervous when you go home.”

“Home is going to seem kind of dull after Instep,” sighed Egan.

Aunt Gertrude beamed and gave him another plate of eggs. “That’s it exactly,” she said.

The Instep Fair! For months they planned and worked toward this one day and for months the people in the surrounding countryside looked forward to it eagerly. It was the crown of the calendar, the jewel of the year, and now, from miles around, the people were arriving. They came in carts, in caravans, on foot, all dressed in their holiday clothes and carrying baskets, boxes, and bundles packed with picnics so special and exotic that even the most finicky of the children were frantic for suppertime.

The village square was ringed by a crowd of little booths hung in rainbows of fluttering cloth, and by ten o’clock it was jammed with happy, milling people. At one corner a platform had been raised and a troupe of dancers whirled there to the thin, gay music of flutes and pipes. Everywhere tradesmen were inviting: “Hot sausage while it lasts!” “Beads here—bracelets! Buy for your sweetheart!” “This way! This way! Try your luck! Three hoops and you can’t miss!” And all the shops in the village were brave with flags, bright new merchandise spilling out of their doors into the street on trays and tables and mats. Uncle Anson had set his clocks so that one or another was striking every minute and cuckoos of every description were popping in and out of their little doors like nosy neighbors. The color! The noise! And the smells—cider, and apples, and the perfume of great ropes of taffy folding and stretching in the buttery, knowing fingers of the candy-makers; the crisp, dry smell of stacks of woven wicker baskets; the sterile, fussy smell of just-completed quilts and rugs; and the best smell of all, the take-me-home smell, the smell of brand-new painted wooden toys. Happy confusion was everywhere. Dogs barked and children ran shouting after them and mothers ran after the children and the men stood about rumbling and smoking, grave with pleasure.

It was dazzling. Thrilling. And exactly like all fairs everywhere, large or small, except for one thing: everyone here was hoping for bad weather. When townspeople met on the street, they shook their heads and murmured to each other: “It looks bad! Not a cloud in sight.” And the visitors interrupted their rounds continually to stare up at the dark silence of Kneeknock Rise. “What do you think? Will there be a storm?” “There’d better be.” “But look at that sky! Blue as a lake.” “They say it always sleeps in good weather. Takes rain to wake it up.” “Well, I walked twenty miles to get here. I’m going to stay until I hear it and that’s that.”

But shortly after twelve a single cloud, no more than a wisp, appeared on the horizon. When they spotted it, everybody cheered and pointed and the townspeople, rosy with relief, went round again more importantly than ever, telling their tales of the Megrimum with freshened pride. The modest little cloud, all unaware of the role it was playing, drifted slowly forward, and behind it, like a troop of watchful nurses, a great piled hump of clouds rose up, and another and another, till a whole regiment came marching into the sky. In the square the merrymaking grew noisier than ever. It was going to be a splendid day.

Into the center of it all, that afternoon, came Egan, dazzled and breathless with the glories of his first fair. He clutched in his pocket a handful of coins saved for months toward this very moment and he beamed without knowing he was beaming. At his side, Ada, veteran of many fairs, did her best to appear bored and critical, pointing out this feature and that and comparing each to its predecessors of other years. But she was flushed with excitement and the pleasure of having a friend to whom she could show off the Fair, and very proud of her new blue dress and the blue ribbon on the end of her pigtail. Behind them strolled Annabelle, pointedly ignoring the coarse carouse of other dogs. She threaded primly through forests of legs, her nose quivering. The scents were delicious; she sniffed them expertly, sorted out that of a nearby sausage booth, and turned toward it hopefully. Years of experience had taught her that children were careless. They dropped things, often things to eat. The smell of the sausage glazed her eyes with greed. Yes, it was going to be a splendid day.

Egan walked with Ada once around the ring of booths, inspecting everything carefully. He was going to buy, but he refused to be hurried. He barely nodded to his father’s friend, the chandler who had driven him to Instep, for he had no interest in anything so dull as candles. At last he stopped before a booth where beaded necklaces and bracelets spilled in gaudy heaps over a tangle of bright silk scarves and ribbons. He was charmed, caught. He stepped forward, clinking the coins in his pocket.

“What are you going to do?” said Ada. She was impatient to move on to an enchanting little proscenium of red and yellow stripes, where a puppet show was stirring a crowd of children to squeals of laughter.

“I’m going to buy a present,” said Egan. “A present for my mother.”

“That’s right! What a dear, good lad!” cooed the woman who was tending the booth.

“Do you mean you’re going to buy your mother a dumb old bracelet? Or one of those awful scarves?” asked Ada. “That’s a waste of money.”

The woman inside the booth scowled at Ada and turned to Egan persuasively, holding up a necklace of shiny red beads. “Look here, darling,” she said. “Isn’t that just bee-yoo-tiful? Your mother will love it. And here’s a bracelet to match.” She dropped the beads into his hand. They felt cool and made a most agreeable clicking sound.

“I’ll buy them,” he croaked, helpless but pleased, and then, on an impulse, “I’ll buy that, too,” and pointed to a square of blue silk that had a little cat painted carefully on one corner. He took it from the woman and handed it to Ada. “That’s for you,” he said brusquely.

“Well!” said Ada, mollified. “Thank you very much. It’s just bee-yoo-tiful!” She tied the scarf around her neck at once, but as they left the booth she turned and made a face at the woman anyway, just for good measure.

They watched the puppet show twice through, drank brimming cups of cider, bought apples, and went around again, munching. There were games to play—toss the hoop over the peg; throw the beanbag through the hole; guess how many pebbles in the jar. For these games and all the others, there were shiny prizes which nobody ever won, which, in fact, nobody ever expected to win. The prizes were too grand, and the game operators too haughty, and the games themselves, after all, too difficult. How could you possibly be expected to toss the hoop over the peg when the game operator stared at you so, jingling the money in his apron pocket in that superior way? When the others waiting their turn were so impatient? And anyway, the hoop was very small and the peg was very far away. After each game there was a moment when you felt clumsy and resentful, but there was always another booth, another game, another lift of hope, and so it went round and round, all through the afternoon.

But buying presents was the best of all. Egan chose a pipe for Uncle Anson, with
Instep Fair
painted around its bowl in curling letters. He bought a pretty packet of needles for Aunt Gertrude, and for his father, a large, polished wishbone pried, no doubt, from the roasted breast of some hapless goose. Fastened to the wishbone was a small card which advised:
It’s best to be safe
.

“What do you want that for?” asked Ada. “There isn’t any Megrimum where you live.”

“That’s all right,” said Egan. “It’s a souvenir.”

“They shouldn’t sell things like that just for souvenirs,” frowned Ada. “They ought to take it more seriously.”

“I don’t see why,” said Egan. “Come on, let’s go sit down somewhere. My money’s all gone and my legs are tired out.”

And all the time the clouds were coming, those hoped-for guests of honor, crowding against each other till at last the sun was lost and the sky hung low and gray. The square had begun to empty now, for it was nearing suppertime. The visitors were strolling off to their carts and caravans, calling to each other of tents and campfires, and the villagers were closing up their shops. A breeze, bustling across the square, set the flags and banners to flapping and the sky darkened.

“It’s going to be a big one!” cried somebody.

A group of visitors hurried past the patch of grass where Egan and Ada had dropped, and their faces were tense with excitement. It appeared that the feature of the day was about to begin and this, after all, was what they had really come for. A storm was on the way and they would hear the Megrimum. It would wake on its clifftop and they would hear it moan. “There! Listen! Wasn’t that thunder?” “No, not yet. Come on! Let’s find a place to wait out of the weather.”

The sausage man was nailing boards across the open front of his booth on the other side of the square. Egan and Ada, immobilized by cider and fatigue, sat watching him as the rising wind belled his apron and bits of paper twirled across the grass. Then they heard him shout: “Get out of there, blast you! Come away from that meat!” He vanished behind his booth, waving his arms, and Annabelle appeared on the other side, chewing hurriedly.

“Annabelle!” called Egan. “Here, Annabelle!”

The old dog started across the square toward them and then she paused. A low rumble of thunder filled the sky and the clouds seemed to tremble. Annabelle broke into a run, her fat body bouncing over the grass. In a moment she reached them and crouched against Egan’s side, her eyes glassy.

“That dog certainly is a sissy,” said Ada crossly. The Fair was over and her new blue dress was dusty and wrinkled. She frowned at Egan, who sat sorting over the presents he had bought. “Let me see that old wishbone,” she said, and snatched it from him.

“Annabelle is not a sissy,” said Egan, frowning back. “What’s the matter with you? She can’t help it if she doesn’t like storms. Anyway, we’d better go home. It’s going to rain. Give me back that wishbone.”