Tale 63- The Hidden Fair

 Continuing through the forest, the Traveler came to an unfamiliar town through a thicket of trees, spotting a man winding a barrel organ and singing. Curious, she stepped closer and listened to the music, feeling herself sway slightly. Curtains on the little machine opened, revealing a puppet show of dancers and figurines, marionettes spinning and paper backgrounds moving in a display of colour. At the front of the scene was a couple, dancing together in a beautiful waltz. Staring down at them, the Traveler couldn’t help but let her mind wander as the music played, the girl finding herself envisioning a future where she and Sara would dance under the trees, butterflies and flowers surrounding them and fireflies lighting up the night. Still gently swaying, the Traveler gazed at the miniature scene and felt a smile creep onto her lips. It was something out of the storybooks she used to read with her brothers, like a watercolour illustration which moved. A part of her wished to touch the figurines, to feel them with her own cold hands, but she couldn’t. Such conduct was disallowed in public, and she didn’t wish to break anything, either. As the music slowed, the curtains closed and the man gave an apologetic smile. “That’s all for today, folks! But please, if you can, spare a penny for your old man?” He asked, taking a hat off his head and several spectators flinging coins at him, which he gracefully caught. Though he did give the Traveler a slight stare, he deduced she was even poorer than himself and didn’t let his gaze linger, though she felt the familiar sensation. As the crowd dispersed, she approached him, and taking a breath, asked him to tell her a story. Raising an eyebrow, the man chuckled. “How did you know I had one on my mind?” he laughed, the Traveler giving a slightly cheeky shrug and the man smiling down at her. “Well then little one, let me tell you the tale of ‘the Hidden Fair”

‘Each night, as the moon gleamed down through the window of a tiny home, a man tucked his only child into bed, telling a story and kissing him goodnight. He then would follow his routine and set about dusting his barrel organ, cleaning each figure and then counting the money he had left after feeding the two of them. A widower, he was the sole provider for his son, and thus had to do his job as best as he could. Each night, he would go and check on his son when his duties were done, curious about his dreams. But his curiosity would be easily satiated by the display of beauty that appeared each night under his son’s bed, an entire world appearing. Most nights it would be an incredible fairground, with ferris wheels, slides and playgrounds galore, childish pleasures abundant and joy abound. Though the man couldn’t enter, as no adults were permitted according to the rules, he would watch his son from afar as the little boy dreamed of all the fun he was too poor to afford. Each night, therefore, the man put a little bit of his money toward a fairground trip for his little boy, though he was deeply worried that his son would be too old by the time he had enough. The man knew too well just how quickly the imagination festers and dies during adulthood, so he vowed to try and cultivate his child’s dreams before it was too late.’

The man sighed and continued to pack up his barrel organ, watching as the Traveler wrote the tale and giving a slight chuckle. “Thanks for listening to me ramble, kiddo.” he smiled, the Traveler turning and responding with a tiny smile. “The display was beautiful…” she whispered, pointing to the closed curtains, and the man gave a sweet smile. “My wife drew it all before she died. She had a vision that I try to uphold even now…” he replied, a wistful look appearing on his face. He stared down at the Traveler, she looked as if she too had suffered loss, and found himself taking comfort in the warm aura she pervaded. As she began to walk away, the man tipped his hat, winding up the organ one final time for her and playing an epilogue to his grand performance, music echoing in the Traveler’s head long after she departed the town on a new path.