The Museum of Extraordinary Things
Page 79
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“What do you want me to call you?” he asked, feeling more good-natured in this rural landscape. The air itself was intoxicating. “You said you’ve been known as Joe?”
“Go right ahead. I’ll answer to anything.”
By habit Eddie had grabbed his camera before leaving the stable, and he was now moved to capture the scene before him. The carriage man, called Joe for lack of anything better, held the water bucket so that the gelding could drink. His free arm was draped tenderly over the horse’s neck.
“All my other portraits were taken at the police precinct,” the fellow Joe said with a grin, showing off his gold-capped smile. “Make sure my beautiful teeth show.”
“Don’t think so highly of yourself. It’s the horse’s portrait I’m interested in.”
“I told you we were alike,” the liveryman insisted. When he finished his chore, he climbed back into the seat and lifted the reins. “We both trust beasts more than we do men.”
“If you mean would I rather stare at the horse’s ass than look at you,” Eddie remarked as he took his place beside his companion, “I can’t disagree.”
They both had a chuckle over that remark. Their defenses were down due to the utter beauty of the day. Terns wheeled across the sky and swirls of bees rumbled through clumps of tall grass.
“You thought I was about to murder you back there.” Joe looked pleased with himself. “Admit it.”
“It crossed my mind. Then I thought of your allegiance to God, and found relief.” Eddie’s edge of cynicism caused a smile to play at his lips. “You’d have to pay when you came before him.”
“I’m before him now,” the liveryman said solemnly. “I’ve come to understand I’m before him each and every minute.”
The marshland sprawled to the south in patches of gold and green. There was a slight haze as they crossed the wooden bridge that forded a watery fen and a rivulet known as Coney Island Creek. The original bridges over the creek had been constructed of wood, but the first roads were made of shells. Shells were still tossed down as seabirds dropped clams so they might smash open on the bridges and the roads. Several migrating ospreys nested in the branches of tall trees. Sun dashed onto Eddie’s face and made his eyes tear. The salt in the air stung their faces and refreshed their spirits. The light was paler here than in Manhattan, tempered by soft clouds. It was the sort of light Moses Levy would have delighted in, for while it obscured the larger horizon, it allowed the camera’s lens to pinpoint the smallest detail even as they entered the streets of Coney Island with their crowds of shoppers. All of Brooklyn seemed bathed in a glow. The gleam of the trolley tracks on Neptune Avenue, the carousels with their painted wooden lions and horses, all glinted with intense color. Even the market awnings shone with bright stripes of crimson and yellow and blue.
The liveryman stopped the carriage on Surf Avenue. The renovation at Dreamland was in its final stages. Huge piles of sandy earth had been dug up, then dumped in the street. Each time the breeze arose, sand whipped into little dirt devils that burst into the air.
“This is as far as I can take you. Otherwise he’ll know it’s me that brought you here.” Down the avenue the roof and gables of the Museum of Extraordinary Things could be spied. “I’d like to kill him, and don’t think I haven’t had the chance. But he’s got access to what I need, God forgive me, so I’ll go no farther.”
Eddie leapt down from the carriage, camera in hand. “Wait for me then. I’ll need a ride back.”
“What do you mean? I’ve done my part, haven’t I? Do you think I’m your lackey meant to do your bidding?”
“I thought you were my brother,” Eddie mocked.
“Half brother.”
“Stay put. And hope that I come back.”
The liveryman turned the carriage despite Eddie’s order, and let out a whistle that caused his horse to break into a trot. “Hope that for yourself,” he called over his shoulder. “Good luck making your own way back.”
THERE WAS so much noise and commotion at Dreamland that it was a relief to turn onto the slate path that led to the museum. A wash of quiet settled over Eddie, and the air was cooler than it had been on the crowded avenue. The institution Eddie approached appeared to be more of a house than museum; it was still off-season, if only for a few days more, and the place was surprisingly run-down. At the end of the path, Eddie found the entryway door locked. The wooden signs that announced the spectacular marvels to be seen within had not yet been hung but were instead tossed upon the grass, the paint dewy and fading. Two lilac trees were lavishly in bloom, surrounded by a cloud of bees. By now Eddie had begun to hear voices. He followed the sound of conversation around the perimeter of the exhibition hall, finding himself on the outskirts of a large yard. There were new leaves on a towering pear tree. Eddie had to peer through the branches so that he might view the gathering on the porch. Another man might have been stunned by what he saw, but Eddie was delighted by the wonders he observed. For a moment he forgot why he had come and was content to simply gaze upon the miraculous forms that had appeared before him.
“Go right ahead. I’ll answer to anything.”
By habit Eddie had grabbed his camera before leaving the stable, and he was now moved to capture the scene before him. The carriage man, called Joe for lack of anything better, held the water bucket so that the gelding could drink. His free arm was draped tenderly over the horse’s neck.
“All my other portraits were taken at the police precinct,” the fellow Joe said with a grin, showing off his gold-capped smile. “Make sure my beautiful teeth show.”
“Don’t think so highly of yourself. It’s the horse’s portrait I’m interested in.”
“I told you we were alike,” the liveryman insisted. When he finished his chore, he climbed back into the seat and lifted the reins. “We both trust beasts more than we do men.”
“If you mean would I rather stare at the horse’s ass than look at you,” Eddie remarked as he took his place beside his companion, “I can’t disagree.”
They both had a chuckle over that remark. Their defenses were down due to the utter beauty of the day. Terns wheeled across the sky and swirls of bees rumbled through clumps of tall grass.
“You thought I was about to murder you back there.” Joe looked pleased with himself. “Admit it.”
“It crossed my mind. Then I thought of your allegiance to God, and found relief.” Eddie’s edge of cynicism caused a smile to play at his lips. “You’d have to pay when you came before him.”
“I’m before him now,” the liveryman said solemnly. “I’ve come to understand I’m before him each and every minute.”
The marshland sprawled to the south in patches of gold and green. There was a slight haze as they crossed the wooden bridge that forded a watery fen and a rivulet known as Coney Island Creek. The original bridges over the creek had been constructed of wood, but the first roads were made of shells. Shells were still tossed down as seabirds dropped clams so they might smash open on the bridges and the roads. Several migrating ospreys nested in the branches of tall trees. Sun dashed onto Eddie’s face and made his eyes tear. The salt in the air stung their faces and refreshed their spirits. The light was paler here than in Manhattan, tempered by soft clouds. It was the sort of light Moses Levy would have delighted in, for while it obscured the larger horizon, it allowed the camera’s lens to pinpoint the smallest detail even as they entered the streets of Coney Island with their crowds of shoppers. All of Brooklyn seemed bathed in a glow. The gleam of the trolley tracks on Neptune Avenue, the carousels with their painted wooden lions and horses, all glinted with intense color. Even the market awnings shone with bright stripes of crimson and yellow and blue.
The liveryman stopped the carriage on Surf Avenue. The renovation at Dreamland was in its final stages. Huge piles of sandy earth had been dug up, then dumped in the street. Each time the breeze arose, sand whipped into little dirt devils that burst into the air.
“This is as far as I can take you. Otherwise he’ll know it’s me that brought you here.” Down the avenue the roof and gables of the Museum of Extraordinary Things could be spied. “I’d like to kill him, and don’t think I haven’t had the chance. But he’s got access to what I need, God forgive me, so I’ll go no farther.”
Eddie leapt down from the carriage, camera in hand. “Wait for me then. I’ll need a ride back.”
“What do you mean? I’ve done my part, haven’t I? Do you think I’m your lackey meant to do your bidding?”
“I thought you were my brother,” Eddie mocked.
“Half brother.”
“Stay put. And hope that I come back.”
The liveryman turned the carriage despite Eddie’s order, and let out a whistle that caused his horse to break into a trot. “Hope that for yourself,” he called over his shoulder. “Good luck making your own way back.”
THERE WAS so much noise and commotion at Dreamland that it was a relief to turn onto the slate path that led to the museum. A wash of quiet settled over Eddie, and the air was cooler than it had been on the crowded avenue. The institution Eddie approached appeared to be more of a house than museum; it was still off-season, if only for a few days more, and the place was surprisingly run-down. At the end of the path, Eddie found the entryway door locked. The wooden signs that announced the spectacular marvels to be seen within had not yet been hung but were instead tossed upon the grass, the paint dewy and fading. Two lilac trees were lavishly in bloom, surrounded by a cloud of bees. By now Eddie had begun to hear voices. He followed the sound of conversation around the perimeter of the exhibition hall, finding himself on the outskirts of a large yard. There were new leaves on a towering pear tree. Eddie had to peer through the branches so that he might view the gathering on the porch. Another man might have been stunned by what he saw, but Eddie was delighted by the wonders he observed. For a moment he forgot why he had come and was content to simply gaze upon the miraculous forms that had appeared before him.
