My Dearest Jonah (23 page)

Barbara continued on her rant as she spread sour cream on tortillas and flicked cindering squares of onion from the gas rungs. She was a woman who could fill even the deadliest silence and make
it seem like a pleasure. It’s not my fault. I try, really I do. I just find myself unable to flow when it comes to conversation; the moment I could articulate the point that has weaved slowly
from brain to mouth always seems to pass by without me. To some people it comes so easily, and for their gift I’m always grateful. For me it has never been anything but unpleasant. I’ve
gotten this far on the kindness of strangers and those that mistakenly interpret shyness as depth or mystique. It’s one of the few things that have actually taken a nosedive since I met you.
My conversation has become even more stuttered and sporadic as our exchanges have developed. I suppose I just save the best of myself for the page, these days at least.

Harlow passed me an unopened beer beneath the counter with the gentlest shake of his head.

“So I’ve heard. You think you’ll stretch it to last the night?”

“No,” replied Barbara as the crowds began to ease off. “Sooner run out early than trick on the portions. It’s just the way I am.”

“Quite right too.”

“You been on the rides yet, kiddo?” asked Harlow, opening a beer and taking a welcome sip.

“Just getting the lay of the land for now.”

“First timer, eh?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh we been here every year since the year dot. Know the place like the back of our hands. Nothing ever changes. Even recognise some of the hot dogs.”

“You just ignore him,” said Barbara, now entirely free of her customers. “It’s a good night had by all. You enjoying it so far?”

“I’m just finding my party spirit.”

“Oh it’ll come, sugar, don’t you worry. Say, I’m sorry to hear about your news... ”

“Barb... ” Harlow warned her but she slapped his hand as to silence him. It seemed to do the trick and she edged past him towards me.

“She was part of my knitting circle for a while.”

“I never really knew her.”

“No-one did if you ask me. She seemed lonely, truth be told. I think she only came for the conversation to start with. Didn’t bother me, I was always one for the gossip too –
”

“You don’t say,” interrupted Harlow, though Barbara ignored him.

“Gave up soon enough, Lord knows the poor thing could barely cast on without breaking a sweat. Some of the girls though, they take their yarn real serious. I think that put her off. But I
used to stop by, sometimes, to the diner, and we’d chat and say we’d arrange lunch dates. Of course, between this one and that, I never had time. But I’d like to think we might
have, one day.”

“I’m sure she’d have enjoyed it.”

“A real tragedy. And those men are still out walking free. I tell you if there is a God he’s got one fine sense of humour.”

“This really where Jonah’s party spirit is?” asked Harlow.

Barbara considered his interjection for a moment, and visibly gave thought to challenging his appeal. Though eventually her face fell and she shook her head. “You’re right, I’m
sorry. You don’t want me raking up all that old dirt. Here,” she handed me a bowl, “get something in your stomach before you fall down drunk as a preacher.”

I walked around the fair having promised that I would return to help disassemble Harlow’s food stall and aid him in the removal of any remaining refreshments. Rainbow
lights spun and shone like luminous organs as machines rose and fell for the shrieking pleasure of the masses. A wave of yells came and went as a circular seat shot a crowd up into the air then
stopped, momentarily, before plunging back down to earth. A juggler tried in vain to secure an uninterested group of schoolchildren who sat glued to a puppet show as socks dressed as princesses and
crocodiles played out muffled fantasies behind a wooden stage.

“Come sir, prove your worth at the Hercules challenge!” yelled a muscled man by a shining tower, brandishing a sledgehammer in my direction. I dipped my head and continued on my
way.

I cocked the long neck and rested the heavy wood on my shoulder as I took aim. I never thought I’d hold a gun again in my life, let alone pay for the privilege. But after
some cajoling by the tattooed salesman and five dollars of my own money I found myself staring with one eye down that slim metal pole, silently calculating the likelihood of a tin duck’s head
against the paltry firearm I had been granted. Around me, pellets blasted off the dartboard, pinging the failure of a thousand red-eyed fathers, already into double figures for stuffed toys which
would have cost no more than a dollar a piece in the first place.

“Close but no cigar my friend,” said the man on the stall, carefully removing the rifle from the hand of a man as his daughter kicked her disappointment into the base of his shin.
“You got a steady hand,” he said to me, moving between the putting guns. His arms were beaten and speckled with dozens of purple hearts from a lifetime of overconfidence in the face of
friendly fire.

“Just getting my money’s worth,” I said, firing my first shot and feeling myself grimace as it swooped past the beak of a duck and embedded itself in a serpent’s tail on
the jungle mural.

“Three to go. Good luck,” he offered before moving past me to take a single bill from an outstretched hand.

“God knows I need it.” A pantomime puff of smoke drifted across my line of view, the faint scent of gunpowder lingering like tyre marks as I moved my aim gently to the right,
steadying my hand as best I could.

“Two rounds, good sir.”

I heard a voice behind me and thought nothing of it. The man on the stall stuffed the dollar bills into the leather pouch dangling across his crotch and passed a gun to my unseen hunting
mate.

“Paying money to shoot, well blow me if that’s not irony, huh buddy?” The voice became familiar, crisp and hot, a whisper straight into the lobe of my ear. I turned to face him
and the gun moved with me. There was the sound of a ping then a deep holler.

“Fuck, damn it!” The man behind the game crouched down, a bloodied ear cupped in his hand.

The crowd inhaled courteously and then returned to their targets as the injured party stood up, unscathed save for a trickle of blood no more elaborate than a requested piercing would produce. I
could feel Michael’s body jig up and down behind me as he almost choked laughing.

“Sorry,” I offered.

The man with the pouch walked towards me and picked a dirty cloth from beneath the counter, wiping the final traces of blood from his ear. “Had worse, let’s try for the ducks this
time, there’s no bonus points for killing the steward,” he chuckled and moved to the farthest edge of the game.

“I don’t know about that,” said Michael, readying his gun. He moved his body so close that our barrels were as good as locked. “Care to take me on? For old time’s
sake?”

“I thought I told you to go,” I said and pressed my finger to the trigger. My shot rang out but caused little indent.

“And I thought I chose to ignore your request.” Michael shot once and missed.

“This isn’t a game anymore. This is my life.”

“Who’s playing?”

“You kill that woman?”

“No,” he turned to look at me and blindly pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the tin duck straight between the eyes and sent it falling rigidly to its side. “You
did.”

“Good shot,” the man said, his minor wound now clotted and black. “Take your pick!”

He held his hand out to an array of toys and tat. “I’ll take the rose,” said Michael, pointing at a plastic flower with red, glittered petals. “For the little
lady.”

“One rose.” He handed Michael the flower and he trailed off, merging with the crowd. I ditched my weapon, still one shot heavy, and attempted to follow his lead.

“Michael... ” I tried. He ducked towards the barn-dance tent, which played the same tune over and over again. “Michael, come back.” I pushed my way through the crowds
until finally all that remained between us were twenty paces and a dozen paper cups jewelling the mud. “Wait,” I grabbed him by the arm and spun him to face me. Just beneath his left
eye four tiny fork prongs had pierced the skin and dragged down towards his cheek. Inside the tent the band paused for applause and then sprang back into action. “You can’t go around
saying things like that.”

“Ah Jonah. Don’t play dumb. The way I see it I’m owed some compensation. Now, being the genial soul I am I was all for the nice way. But you’ve changed my friend,
you’ve changed.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, dipping my voice as an elderly couple in tracksuits and gold sneakers marched past us towards the tent’s entrance.

Michael considered me for a moment before something over my shoulder caught his eye. He craned his neck to see then returned to staring at me once more. “Well would you believe I found me
a little lady?”

I turned to look as Aimee bounded towards us, a stuffed animal dangling from her arm. Michael waved and smiled past me.

“Michael, listen to me. You leave that girl alone. She’s no good for playing with.”

“Here,” he said, his eyes still somewhere in the distance, “take this.” He pressed something into my hand and instinctively my grip tightened. It was the handle of an
unopened switchblade, rusted and worn. I tried to pass it back to him when I felt Aimee’s hand brush the base of my spine. I jammed the knife into my pocket and loosened my shirt so that it
hung over any trace of the weapon.

Michael held out his hand, which Aimee took and sunk into the embrace of his arms.

“You two have met?” she said, kissing the good side of his face.

“No,” I replied, beads of sweat tickling my upper lip.

“Ah now that’s not true now is it? Me and Jonah been bonding over some target practice. Got me a girl and a friend now. What are the chances?”

“Jonah works with Daddy,” Aimee said to Michael, who handed her the rose.

“Well small world, darling,” said Michael in mock surprise. “Edward’s a businessman,” she told me proudly. “He owns a factory and two movie
theatres.”

“Edward?”

“Edward,” said Aimee, gripping him tighter.

“I thought it was Michael.”

“Must have misheard my friend. No offense taken.”

“How long you known each other?” I asked.

“Nearly twenty-four hours,” said Aimee.

“We value quality over quantity, isn’t that right, precious?” Michael added, squeezing Aimee’s waist.

“Edward’s been helping me through my grief, what with the funeral yesterday and, you know, the other... ”

“How is Levi?” I asked.

Aimee looked down at her feet and shuffled on the spot. “Dead man can’t love you.”

“Damn right, darling,” Michael added. “And he sure as hell won’t be writing you in no book, not in his condition.”

“Seemed alive last time I checked.”

“Only a matter of time though,” Michael shot back. “Say, darling, why don’t you go in there and get us a table? I’ll be there before you can blink.”

Aimee smiled and made her way slowly into the tent.

“Sweeter than candy,” he said, his tongue slithering over the crooked yellow of his teeth.

“I’m not joking Michael, I don’t know what you got planned, but leave the girl out of it,” I went to take the knife from my pocket as another group passed between us.

“Now just you remember what it is you owe me, friend,” he said. “The moral high ground doesn’t suit you Jonah, the sooner you realise what you are the better.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“You’re one of us. It’s not your fault, some people are just born that way.”

“Some people change.”

“No they don’t,” said Michael, moving away from me. “They just act different. Scratch the surface and you’re rotten to the core.”

“You killed that woman, didn’t you?” I said as he pulled back the flayed entrance of the tent, causing a crescendo of sound to cloud our conversation.

“I’m not the one holding the knife, nor am I the one in possession of a morning’s change.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I just want a moment of your time, Jonah, that’s all I’m asking. Atonement if you will. Now if you don’t mind I have a little business to attend to.”

Michael led Aimee to the dance floor. I made my way to follow them but found myself tangled in a mass of bodies, as the crowds closed around me like a wave.

“I want you guys to hold on to your girls real tight now,” said the conductor as the band’s beat increased in pace. “This is going a be a fast one.”

The notes grew denser as the dancers attempted to establish a communal rhythm. Michael spun Aimee around the wooden floor so hard she looked like she was going to twirl up into the air and be
lost forever. She didn’t seem to mind as much. She allowed herself to be led, her head flung back and smiling as his hands wound her further and further into a daze. I became lost in the
milieu, in no way attempting to dance I simply manoeuvred myself in accordance with the increasing frenzy around me, aware that were I to trip I’d no doubt be trampled beneath the hooves of
the masses.

“That poor boy’s dancing all alone,” I heard a lady say as she spun past me on the arm of her suited husband.

“Watch it kid,” said a large man as his wife’s elbow caught me on their way past.

I ducked and swerved the arms and legs as the music became faster and faster, eventually I made it towards where they danced and held out my hand to Aimee who instinctively took it. “Hope
you don’t mind if I cut in,” I said as she left Michael’s arms, which were promptly filled by a plump woman in a cartoon tshirt who had been following me blindly on my voyage,
keen for nothing more than a stranger’s touch.

“Well I never had two boys fighting over me before,” Aimee said, regulating her limbs to my more sombre movement. “You boys won’t be duelling over me I hope.”

“The night is young,” Michael said, as he was spun to the centre of the dance floor by his somewhat forceful new partner.

“I guess it’s true what Daddy says about still waters,” Aimee said, pressing her head into my chest as we spun around the floor, the whole time her eyes remained glued to
Michael.