In A Dark Wood

‘I meant alone in the sense of lonely,’ she said gently.

He had returned her gaze by staring at her expressionlessly. Then he got up, nodded, smiled, laid the money on the table and said airily, as light as candyfloss: ‘Thank you. Now I’m going to celebrate my long life and enjoy the brief hour of freedom granted me on the eve of my two marriages.’

Towards the edge of the funfair grounds lies the big dodgems tent. It’s there that the youth of the village hang out. A throng of young people swarms around the tent, each waiting for a free car in which he can steer with his left hand as he puts his right arm around her shoulder. Marcus suddenly wonders if this is all a conspiracy, if the little cars are intended for rebellious adolescents to get them used to life as daddy and mummy, and the glass boxes of the crane machines, filled with plastic watches and cheap metal rings, to make them familiar with the idea that eternal fidelity is fixed by the giving of presents. Father bird brings a twig, mother tidies the nest. The haunted house: where she is supposed to be afraid and he, without danger to his own life, can act the hero. The test-your-strength machine … The shooting gallery … He shakes off the thoughts.

They walk, arm in arm again, along the straw path. At the dodgems Anne and Berte plunge into the queue at the counter and Marcus listens to the music.

Don’t bring me down.

No no, no no, no no, no no, no, ooh ooh.

The deep black water of the canal.

Suddenly he thinks of the canal behind the funfair. It’s an image that stands before his eyes like a rock-solid black-and-white photograph. He has no idea why.

No plan to drown myself this evening, he thinks.

Still black water motionless between the banks of the canal. Low-roofed houses.

Down, down, down, down, down.

I’ll tell you once more before I get off the floor,

don’t bring me down.

Anne and Berte have disappeared into the swarming crowd queuing for the ticket desk.

A bell rings, the dodgems come to a standstill, and suddenly the floor of the tent is a mêlée of people storming in and out and others who want to get in. The speakers under the roof roar out a new song.

Hey you, don’t watch that, watch this!

This is the heavy heavy monster sound,

the nuttiest sound around.

So if you’ve come in off the street

and you’re beginning to feel the heat …

Around a bright-red car, somewhere in the left-hand corner, two young men start pulling at each other. Their girlfriends are screaming at each other. Staff come running.

ONE STEP BEYOND!

In the space thus formed a fist flies through the air. Someone falls backwards, into a group of leather-clad boys. Another jumps over a dodgem car.

ONE STEP BEYOND!

Arms wave through the air. A girl shrieks, high and loud. From the circle of people waiting outside the tent someone throws a tin of beer at what is now a fighting tangle. A man goes sprawling and lies on the floor.

ONE STEP BEYOND!

Near the ticket desk, peering around the corner, Anne and Berte stand watching the rolling tangle of people in the tent.

And then, just as unexpectedly as it began, it comes to an end. A few men walk outside with torn eyebrows and bloody noses, clapping each other on the shoulder and grinning as if congratulating each other on the result. A fat guy with a spotty face and a denim jacket with Motörhead on it walks past Marcus, bumps against his shoulder and snarls: ‘Watch where you’re going, arsehole!’ Marcus watches thoughtfully after him.