The Carousel

By Larry Porter

The carousel will remind one of "Animal Farm" or "Gulliver's Travels" as it take the reader for a ride round and round. Mr. Big dictates who and when his customers may ride. For those who cannot afford the carousel, he offers train rides on a lower level. Mr. Shepherd and his small group decide they're not very happy with Mr. Big continually raising prices while the ride deteriorates. They go out and find a place to build their own carousel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Porter
• Release date: Mar 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370386116

Larry Porter

Larry Porter has been writing since 1976, when he had his second project, a children’s play, Treehouse, produced in Atlanta, Ga. He has written fourteen full-length plays. Another, The Gospel According to Jesus, was produced in Asheville, NC. He has written numerous short stories, eight novels including Chance Mountain, Ivan the Backward Man, True Globalization, The Carousel, The Blue Barrel, The Visitor, and After America: Rebuilding. He has a memoir, Self-Storage Business and a collection of short stories titled Heaven? dealing with the afterlife. He has written four screenplays. His latest project is writing history in verse. A compilation of four epic poems titled History in Verse includes The Experiment, a history of the US, The Reconstruction of a Nation, a history of the Civil War, The Quest for the West, a history of the settling of the US west, and The Sixties, a history of the decade of the 1960s in the US. Look for a new series of totalitarians of the twentieth century coning soon. He lives in the North Carolina Mountains where he continues to write.

Book preview

The Carousel

by Larry Porter

Copyright 20118 Larry Porter

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Prologue

The horses, shining in the light, rise gently then drop toward the ground, thrilling the young, screaming riders as they go round and round. They yell out, Look, Mommy, no hands or Daddy, watch me! The parents yell back, Danny, or Melinda, look here while Daddy/Mommy gets a picture. Cameras flashing continuously add even more excitement making the whole evening an important event.

The horses’ built-in saddles could be made of real leather. They are not, of course, though they do have leather stirrups for the children to place their feet in to make them feel like they are on real horses. The manes and tails are made of real horsehair. The rest of each animal's makeup is an acrylic compound. But they look very much like the old wooden hand carved originals that graced past carousels. Their glass eyes look at each rider saying, Welcome. Climb aboard. The idea is to keep the customers believing they are experiencing what used to be, although that memory is fast becoming nothing but rumor.

The lights attract visitors from afar. They span the spectrum, sparkling and in some cases, chasing each other in circles. They are meant to draw every curiosity to be cajoled into buying a ticket. Once the lights were incandescent bulbs, lighting the way as Christmas trees used to do. But the owner, Mr. Big, decided first, to use fluorescent bulbs, then switched to LEDs as the fluorescents just were never bright enough. On the

outside fascia, above the horses, are large oval mirrors surrounded by lights chasing themselves around the mirrors. Above this fascia are a multitude of colored flags flapping their greeting to the bystanders.

As one stands outside the fixture, the first two rows are the only horses one can discern with real clarity. They reflect the light from the thousands of bulbs glowing in the center on the walls that cover the working mechanism, reflected back by mirrors attached to these walls. The only horses that go up and down reside on the outer most ring. The remainder of animals, in rows accumulating toward the center, are all fastened firmly to their brass poles and to the floor. They become less and less distinguishable. Those who ride the horses buried further in know what they look like though. The less fortunate riders know those horses lose their shine, progressively getting more banged up, some with glass eyes missing, having fallen out years ago. Real horsehair? Huh, fat chance any of that is left if, in fact they ever had any. Instead, the manes and tails are simply holes in ruddy plastic. And, of course, they are planted in one place for eternity, never again to rise to the heavens. As they go round, hidden by their shiny brothers, the riders often feel neglected, fighting to be recognized by their parents trying to get pictures of them. They are nearly impossible to find from their far inward positions.

If the riders look up, they will see themselves in mirrors, the inside riders stuck in the same position as the ride round and round. In the case of the outside ring riders, they will be thrilled at seeing themselves coming toward the ceiling then dropping away. It makes them smile and giggle. An old-fashioned calliope sits in the center, the keyboard moving as it spills music into the air. Its pipes are a glistening gold color (paint, not real gold) and they spew out a light smoke to give the impression the music rides through the very air the people breathe. The whole contraption is imposing, drawing crowds from all over night after night.

Inside the circle the horses make, sits Mr. Big, in an iron reinforced double sized black chair with several worn cushions under his big butt. He’s a huge, bulbous man, weighing nearly four hundred pounds. His oversized chair was built specially for him at great cost. His fingers are large, fat extensions of his fat hands, so large he can hardly spread them when he grabs things. He wears slacks held up by wide, red suspenders resting on a white shirt, no tie. He expresses the very definitions of slovenliness and gluttony. Inside this monstrosity resides the hidden shadow of what used to be; a young, svelte, strapping man. He was tall, an imposing figure but without an ounce of fat. Though he didn't lift weights, anyone who saw him would have sworn he did. His appearance made other men envious. They admired how well he kept himself. He owned the ride since he was a very young man, a boy, really. His management style was copied by many other carousel owners as they watched how successful he was becoming.

But gradually he changed. He let his physical body go as his mind turned more toward watching, interfering really, in every aspect of the ride. His handling of it now is all business. He puts up with no nonsense from his riders or their parents. He doesn't hesitate to remove a rider, tears streaming down the little face, if he even thinks there may be trouble. He does this physically, if necessary, using his henchman, Samson. Seldom is there trouble though, as the young riders behave and, if told to leave they, with their parents, do so without a fight.

Chapter 1

The meeting is held every third Tuesday of the month in the old courthouse. Members of The Group waited at the foot of the wide marble steps leading to the door, as stragglers were still coming from the parking deck. They wanted to all enter the meeting room together to present as large a presence as possible.

Don’t you love the big brass doors on this old girl? Tom Wise said to no one in particular. Ben Frank responded. Yes. They’re made of brass, not like the new courthouse. All glass, no class. I love those Ionic columns as well.

Sally Jean Temple was shy and seldom spoke but could never allow a misrepresentation to go unanswered. I believe they are Corinthian columns, Mr. Frank. Mr. Shepherd, you’re in real estate, you’re familiar with architecture. What do you think?

What? Oh. I’m sorry, Mrs. Temple, what were you saying? Willis A. Shepherd was in deep thought about a property he had a contract on. He had been divorced for some time now and having no children, he wrapped his life around his real estate business. I asked if the columns in front of the courthouse are Ionic or Corinthian. He didn’t even look up. They’re Corinthian, Mrs. Temple. You’ll notice the flowery carving at the top. Ionics are plain at the top. She would never show any expression of satisfaction but knowing she was right made her glow inside as Ben Frank acknowledged the fact.

The last couple members arrived and they all mounted the steps toward the ten-foot doors. The smallest of the women grabbed the big brass handle. The door opened easily as hydraulic pistons helped the user with the task.

This building carried its own character as opposed to the new courthouse. The powers that be decided they had a few extra dollars in the coffer so they proceeded to build a totally unnecessary new courthouse claiming the other was over sixty years old and out of date. It was still functional. No one was being pushed out from overcrowding. But they did have the money (not nearly enough, of course, but the remainder could be made up with new bonds) and they didn't want to give the appearance that their was poor. So on they marched.

The new building has a brick and formed concrete façade. The pillars creating the alcove at the entrance are square concrete covered forms rising twenty feet. The doors into the building remind one of the local department store or hospital. And the face of the entire building is brick intermingled with concrete made to look like marble. Between are windows rising from just off the ground to the top, four stories above, giving the face a look of almost complete glass. As Ben Frank said, All glass, no class. Oh how proud the powers were with their new building. The old courthouse said to its visitors, Come in. We are about justice. This is where it happens. The new courthouse is cold and doesn’t speak.

Unfortunately, the only tasks being done inside the old courthouse these days are issuance of deeds, payment of taxes, a few officials' offices just off the conference room The Group was heading toward, the State Council's meeting room. In its past history it enjoyed embracing the justice system. It was formerly a courtroom. Now, the benches remain for visitors but the judge' bench, the witness stand and all the attending accouterments have been removed. In their place is a simple but expensive, rounded, granite top table that allows the State Council members to look important. They each have a microphone in front of them, available if any have something they feel is special and should be shared. Of course they also may wish to ask a very important question regarding some very important item being discussed. At the front of the room and to the side of the visitors' benches is a podium, set for the use of speakers addressing the State Council.

The Group walked down the wonderfully appointed hallway, hard soles making clicking sounds on the terrazzo floor. The sounds echoed through the vacuous hall, bouncing off the mahogany woodwork adorning the walls. The Group wended its way to the elevator, passing the circular staircase rising to the second floor. Their business resided on the third floor.

They exited the elevator and walked on worn but still beautiful carpeting to the State Council's meeting room. It had a smattering of people, those who came regularly to every meeting, just to keep an eye on things and a two who had business they wished to bring up to the State Council. The nine State Council members were all seated, relaxed, talking with one another out of earshot of the microphones. A couple laughed at something another had said. They all seemed to be in good spirits. The leader of The Group, Mr. Shepherd, went to the podium and, on a sign in sheet, wrote his name. He noticed the other two had already signed up to speak. Since each speaker gets only three minutes and the State Council seldom rules on topics brought up that evening, he wouldn’t have to wait long.

After the Group was settled in, the Chairman of the State Council banged his gavel. The word was circulating that The Group would address the State Council this evening so, even though they were a tad late, the State Council had waited. None of them seemed irritated at the tardiness as they had been in the past, so The Group felt that might be a good sign. This meeting will come to order. Will the clerk kindly bring the list of speakers up? The clerk brought the list to the Chairman. I thank the clerk, he said into the microphone as she handed it to him. Of course a nod or an off mic thank you would do but this Chairman wants every word he speaks within any meeting to be recorded. One never knows how important anything he says may become someday.