The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend (32 page)

‘Since they're expecting so many people.'

When she still didn't reply, he continued, more hesitantly: ‘I sought them out myself. To … meet others.'

‘That's nice,' she said. It was the only thing she could think of. He seemed so grateful for her response that she wished she had thought up something more meaningful. Then she thought of the boy in the book and wondered whether it perhaps wasn't
what
she said that was important.

She adjusted her scarf and her coat against the cold, but decided to sit for a while longer. She glanced at him. He wasn't the kind to gossip.

‘Are you going?' he asked.

Caroline hesitated. She straightened up, but he misinterpreted the movement and got to his feet.

‘It was nice to meet you,' he said hurriedly. He started walking away while she stayed where she was on the bench. Before he disappeared onto Main Street he turned back towards her but with the sun behind him, she could no longer see his face.

‘I hope you come on Saturday,' he said. ‘If you do, I promise to make you a good drink.'

She stared at him as he left, completely stripped of her ability to speak.

Would she go? The thought hadn't even occurred to her before, though it really should have done. That was when they were due to propose to Sara. Some of the responsibility for the whole wretched state of affairs was hers, it would be wrong to shy away from the consequences of their rash idea.

It would also be completely wrong to take part in what would, in all certainty, be an orgy of drunkenness and immorality. ‘Immoral,' she said tentatively. She didn't seem to be able to muster her usual severity.

One thing was absolutely clear. She
wouldn't
be having anything to drink.

 

 

 

 

Broken Wheel, Iowa

April 14, 2011

Sara Lindqvist

Kornvägen 7, 1 tr

136 38 Haninge

Sweden

You know, Sara, sometimes I see you here in Broken Wheel, as though in a series of small, clearly illuminated snapshots. It might sound strange, but that's how it is when you get old people to talk about the past. It's so easy to become a part of it. Maybe it's because so much of it, the past that is, exists purely inside me. It's something of a relief that it's part of you now as well, but I wouldn't pay too much mind to it if I were you. It's dangerous, getting caught up in other people's memories. I hope you realize that I've never cared about growing old, but right now, I do slightly. It's not just that you have so much less future, but you also lose so much of your past, one death at a time. I can see it in the old people here, how their lives revolve around deaths and anniversaries. Spouses, friends, even children. ‘My husband died nine years ago', ‘it's seven years since my son died'.

I guess I'm lucky, all my youngsters are still here. But sometimes it feels as though everyone, the entire town, is stuck in a similar cycle, where everything that's ever going to be has already been. That's why it's a comfort for me to imagine you here. In my mind you're strangely linked to my entire life. You might be selling Bibles with Caroline, handing out books with Miss Annie, or just chit-chatting a bit with my John.

Best,

Amy

HOW,
HOW
COULD
she have let herself be talked into this?

Sara was standing in front of the mirror in her room, glumly looking at her reflection. The expression on her face was a mixture of sulky child and utterly depressed teenager.

She was sure that others before her had felt exactly the same way when they found themselves at a market or in a shopping centre, dressed as whatever ridiculous product they were selling. Wasn't that how actors supported themselves, at least judging by those films and TV programmes about people who wanted to act? Didn't they dress up as tomatoes and chickens – in TV commercials if they were lucky, in malls if they weren't?

The difference being, of course, that she didn't want to be an actress. And that they had been paid. And been dressed as something harmless. She was dressed as a book. And not just any old book. The Book of Books.

How had she ended up here?

Books really shouldn't be humiliated like this, like some kind of C-list celebrity. They should be dignified, magical portals to mystery, entertainment, love.

Jen had been enthusiastic. Since the market would be taking place on the street right outside it, the bookstore would be open as usual rather than having its own stand. Still, she had said, something needed to be done to make it extra festive.

‘The Book of Books' was what she had called her idea, with well-earned pride. ‘People can come up to you and ask about your books!'

They could do that even if she was dressed normally, Sara had pointed out. She had even been prepared to go as far as wearing a special T-shirt, but Jen hadn't been impressed.

‘A T-shirt?! When I can make a completely brilliant costume for you? It doesn't even involve any extra work for you because I'll do everything – not because I have so much spare time what with two kids and all the marketing that has to be done, but because I
care
about this town.'

‘I care about the town,' Sara protested feebly.

Surely there had to be other ways of showing your affection than dressing up as a book?

Apparently there weren't, so now she was standing there, ready to make a fool of herself for love, like so many others before her.

The costume wasn't flattering.

Jen's vision had been one of thin, glossy fabric, with a special metal frame resting on her shoulders like the spine of a book, and pretty golden lettering like on an antique book. But October was well under way and it was cold, and so she had been forced to compromise with flannel, and even agreed to let Sara wear her jeans underneath.

She thought about how she had been looking forward to seeing Tom again, the first time since that evening on his sofa, and about how she had been planning to be completely relaxed and natural, but still looking better than normal somehow.

It was eleven now, and the market was starting at twelve. George would be coming to pick her up at any moment, and she looked like an oddly bookish scarecrow. There was no other way of describing it.

It was a beautiful day too, just to irritate her, with light, mild winds and a bit of sun. She could just imagine all the people seeing the sunshine and looking forward to a day out, while she herself glanced in the mirror and foresaw nothing but a day of public humiliation.

She rested her head against the mirror and closed her eyes. She would be meeting Tom dressed as a book.

Broken Wheel had never looked better. Banners and streamers had been strung across the street, together making up the colours of the American flag. Unfortunately, the street was so wide that they drooped slightly in the middle, but everyone agreed that they looked nice nevertheless. The market stalls were spread all along the street, and firmly fastened down against the Iowa wind, just to be on the safe side. They made the street feel just the right size for the day. Even the asphalt looked cosier.

Grace was selling her home-made cakes and looked only slightly troubled. She had hung a sign reading ‘Warning: may cause headaches' which Caroline was busy trying to pull down. Grace's protests seemed relatively half-hearted, perhaps because she had never quite believed it would be allowed to stay up.

There was a stall selling various ornaments and incomplete, hand-painted dining sets. Another was selling embroidered cushions and colourful knitted sweaters, gloves and hats, ahead of the winter's biting winds.

The majority of Broken Wheel's inhabitants were already there. Sara tried to sneak into the bookshop and put off the humiliation for slightly longer, but she was stopped by Grace. She wished she had arrived in her normal clothes and then changed in the shop, but she had been worried there wouldn't be time. She had been forced to sit twisted in the car so that the shoulder piece would fit, and now she had to see everyone before she had had time to prepare herself.

‘What are you wearing?' Grace asked, laughing heartily at Sara's explanation. Jen came to her defence and explained the idea, but it was of little comfort since Jen wasn't the one being forced to look like this.

She suspected it would be just as effective as a deterrent against men as it was crows. As luck would have it, Tom hadn't arrived yet. Maybe he had come down with something, she thought hopefully.

Eventually, cars began pulling up, people streaming out of them like an invading army. Families of restless children and expectant adults. Young people who lingered strategically at the edge of it all from the outset and then, as if pre-programmed, made their way straight from there to the broken park benches. Unattached adults in noisy groups; a few grandmothers and grandfathers, the men placing themselves near to things which could be eaten, the women inspecting the incomplete dinner sets in murmuring tones. Everyone from Broken Wheel was there, along with many people from Hope.

Once they had been told what she was meant to be, the majority didn't seem to think that the Book of Books was so strange. Sara came to the conclusion that they must be used to stuffed chickens and things like that. She tried to hide in the safety of the shop, but it didn't take long for the market to succeed in tempting her out.

‘Come and stand with us a while,' said Grace. ‘You'll keep the birds away.'

The street was teeming with people.

‘Where have all these people come from?' Sara asked.

Grace shrugged. ‘This is Iowa. It might be miles to the nearest neighbour but that doesn't mean that news doesn't spread.'

Sara scanned the crowd for Tom but couldn't see him anywhere. She relaxed. It was a nice day. So long as she didn't have to see Tom before she had taken off the costume, it might even be perfect.

Andy was there advertising the dance. No alcohol was being served at the market itself. (‘We don't want to encourage immorality,' Caroline had said to Sara; ‘We don't want people to be drunk before they get to the bar,' Andy had said. Considering the number of hip flasks Sara had seen so far, both were likely to be disappointed.)

‘So,' he said, ‘are you going to be wearing this … get-up to the dance tonight?'

‘Of course she won't be,' said Claire. She was helping Grace on the cake stall.

‘Why wouldn't she be wearing it?' a voice behind Sara asked. ‘It looks so good on her. What're you meant to be, by the way?'

Tom squinted exaggeratedly at her and kissed Claire on the cheek.

‘I'm a book,' Sara said gloomily.

He managed not to laugh.

‘It could've been worse, I guess,' Sara said, though she didn't believe that one bit. She thought for a moment. ‘They could've buried me in a pile of books … dressed me up in a giant plastic book … Queen of the Books maybe, on a throne made of books and with a tiara … stuck real books to me … forced me to go naked with just a couple of books to hide behind.'

She could have kept going with examples of bigger catastrophes, but Tom seemed to have stopped listening. She trailed off when she saw the look in his eyes.

As far as Caroline was concerned, the market was such a complete success that it restored whatever self-righteousness she might have lost with the gay erotica. She regarded the scene in front of her with well-deserved satisfaction. Even Grace, she noticed, was behaving herself.

Then the man from the park bench appeared next to her. She realised she was happy to see him again, which was entirely unexpected and potentially awkward.

‘Fantastic day,' he said, and to her horror she realised she was smiling.
Get it together, Caroline
, she thought. For some reason, she saw a Buick in her mind's eye.

‘We had good luck with the weather,' she said. A safe topic of conversation.

He was in no rush to move away from her. She told herself that it didn't mean anything. With time, he would realise that there were more interesting people in town, and start smiling behind her back instead of to her face. And that, Caroline told herself, standing up straight, couldn't happen soon enough.

‘Have you decided if you're coming tonight?' he asked.

‘
THINGS ARE REALLY
going to kick off now,' Andy said to no one in particular.

There was nothing left to do. Everything had been prepared. The Square was ready. It would be a dance they would all be talking about for a long time to come. Drinks would be served, music would be played, things would happen.

The bar had never looked better, his Carl was as handsome as ever, and their helper Josh seemed to be a fast learner. The dance would be his great triumph, his best project to date. And the proposal was important too, of course.

Jen and her husband were among the first to arrive. The man looked resigned but relaxed, wearing a beige jacket which had clearly been his wife's choice and was a size too small. Jen was dressed for the occasion in a subtle black dress made from thick, stiff material which made her look slightly square.

‘So we're first then?' she asked. It wasn't quite true. A few people from out of town had already arrived and were sitting with their beers and whiskeys at the furthest table away. She leaned over the bar and whispered loudly to Andy: ‘And the banner? Everything's done?'

He nodded. ‘We're ready.'

Then Tom came in, closely followed by Claire. That put an end to all further discussion.

In contrast to the out-of-towners, the inhabitants of Broken Wheel gathered around the bar and remained standing there, slightly rigid and self-conscious, as people who rarely get dressed up together sometimes can be. Grace managed to break some of their self-consciousness by being completely untroubled by it. She had put on a clean, freshly ironed shirt, and was acting as though she was someone who ironed her shirts every day. She sat down on one of the empty stools by the bar and ordered a whiskey before she even bothered to greet the others.