Carnival Souls

Penny a Ride, Penny a Thought

For the next few days, Owen followed Lira and Jacks' advice to keep his head down and his nose out of trouble. He woke up, went to breakfast, and then walked across the carnival to Genzel's. Occasionally, Jacks would accompany him and ask him how his work was going.

As he fell into a routine, Owen found that he didn't mind his work. He even enjoyed it as Genzel demonstrated new techniques in both wood and paint that Owen had never seen before. He thought of the wooden animals he had carved for Lucinda's son mobile and realized they paled in comparison to the things that Genzel created.

The great chasm between their skill levels only made Owen want to work harder to prove that he could do it, as he had once tried to prove himself to his father. Genzel must have noticed Owen's new determination for he was marginally less gruff and even paid him a compliment occasionally.

"Where did you learn to carve?" asked Owen one day, after Genzel had come over to correct his form.

"My father," he grunted. "Not horses," he added, waving his large battered hand. "He carved practical things. Tables, chairs, cabinets."

"What made you want to try carousel carving?"

The old man squinted at him as if wondering where this sudden curiosity was coming from, but he answered nonetheless. "I wanted more of a challenge. My daughters loved horses and their rocking horse was always breaking. So I came up with the idea of the carousel."

Owen swiveled on his stool to look at Genzel. "You came up with it?" he asked incredulously.

Genzel's lower jaw jutted out like an old bull dog. "That so hard to believe?"

"No," said Owen. He grinned. "You must be even older than I thought."

"Hrmph," said Genzel as he shuffled away.

###

After a week of observing and practicing, Genzel finally deemed Owen ready to carve his own horse. As they worked day after day and his horse slowly took shape, Owen was amazed, as he always was, that it was possible to make something that looked so alive out of something that was dead.

Genzel had made him start from the very beginning, selecting basswood and cutting it to length, running it through the planer and the jointer, before allowing him to block out the various parts of the horse from the milled basswood.

It was more than a week of cutting, laminating, and gluing before he could even begin rough carving the different body parts, starting with the legs. Each day, Owen left the shop sweaty and sore, but with the deep sense of accomplishment that came with creating something from scratch. With Genzel's help, his carving became almost four-dimensional, as though he could feel the horse's breath even without a kelpie inhabiting it.

Mindful of Jacks' words about working with the old man, Owen attempted to start conversation whenever the thundercloud that perpetually darkened Genzel's face seemed to lighten up.

One day, as he was working on getting the lines and the divots of the tail just right. Owen looked up in surprise when he heard Genzel start whistling. It was crisp and clear, the kind of sound one made as they lost themselves in the enjoyment of whatever it was they were doing.

During a pause in the tune, Owen spoke up. "You said you had a daughter?" he asked.

Genzel glanced up, his eyes narrowing under his bushy eyebrows. "Two," he grunted, attention returning to his work. "Brought them with me from Germany when their mother died."

"You're from Germany?"

"You have a problem with that?"

Owen shook his head.There was so much about the carver that he didn't know, that even after everything he had seen at the carnival was still surprising. "You don't have an accent."

"Well, I'm older than dirt according to you. Must've lost it over time."

Owen cracked a grin. "That explains a lot."

Genzel looked up again, his rickety chair groaning with the shift in weight. "What's that got to mean?"

"Nothing," said Owen quickly, stifling a laugh. Silence fell and Owen made a few more cuts into the horse's blocked tail. He tilted it to the right and then the left to make sure it looked good from all angles. Genzel almost always found a flaw he had failed to noticed and he was determined to get at least one part right on the first try.

"It must have been hard for your family without your wife," Owen said after several minutes. He looked up, giving his eyes a break from scrutinizing the wood.

A brief flash of pain crossed Genzel's face, but it was gone so quickly Owen wasn't sure if he imagined it.

"The girls were too young to remember her," he said. "They woulda been better off with her than me."

Was that regret Owen heard in the old man's voice?

"They must have loved your carousel though," said Owen, trying to steer the conversation into more comfortable territory.

Genzel made a noise that might have been a laugh. "They loved that old thing. Could barely get them off it at night. They were beside themselves when I decided to take it on the road. See if I could make a bit of money."

"On the road?" questioned Owen.

"Dragged that thing all up and down the East Coast. Kids loved it. Penny a ride. And some would go two, three times 'fore their parents carted them off."

Owen tried imagining this grouchy old man with two little girls, packing and unpacking a little carousel along the eastern seaboard. With the way he talked about it, with something of gleam in his eye, he almost could. He could see Genzel in old fashioned trousers held up with suspenders, even a bowtie beneath his pouchy chin. The brim of his hat wouldn't have been pulled as low as it usually was, so he could look on, maybe with a real smile, as his girls coaxed other kids onto the ride.

"That must've been nice," said Owen.

The thundercloud returned to Genzel's face. "It was while it lasted."

Owen blanched, sensing something was wrong. "Did something..."

"Don't you have work to finish?" asked Genzel.

Abashed, Owen returned to his work. Several hours passed in brooding silence, the heat from the wood stove even more stifling than usual. Owen wiped the sweat from the back of his neck, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin, and cursed himself for closing the old man up when he had finally gotten him to bark something other than instructions. He was about to start cleaning up when Genzel spoke again.

"You have a girl at home?"

Owen sat back down. "Um, not really."

Genzel harrumphed again, wiping at a drop of sweat on his nose. "Well, which is it? Yes or no? You can't have part of a girl."

Owen rubbed his neck, his eyes straying everywhere but the old man's dogged stare. He was glad he was already flushed from the heat. "We sort of talk sometimes, but I-I haven't had the guts to ask her out."

"She pretty?"

"Beautiful. And smart." He found himself trapped by Genzel's dark gaze.

"Then what's your problem? You wanna watch some other no good hoodlum swoop in while you dither? Didn't take you for being soft."

Owen bristled before he realized Genzel might actually be paying him a compliment. "I plan on it if I ever get out of this place," he replied. He made sure to keep his tone light and non-accusatory.

"If I know you, boy, you just might. No go on, get out of here. Get something to eat. I'll see ya in the mornin'."

Genzel was whistling again as Owen walked out the door, his mind whirling with the implications of what the old man had said.

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So what do you think of Owen and Genzel's chat? Any more predictions about Genzel? Let me know!

Thanks for reading! :)