The Magic of The Festival

“LOOK, LOOK!” I say, for the millionth time tonight.

“Yes, I see it, Esmeline,” Miss Berraultier says for the millionth time as well.

There was a shadow puppet show being performed from a makeshift theater stage. Paper cut-outs in the shapes of animals and objects were used to create a story, candles within a lantern lighting them up to produce their shadows that the performers controlled and created stories with. I stopped to watch in awe as they narrated a story with just movement, changing the backgrounds accordingly from a raging ocean to serene forest.

Miss Berraultier had to pull me away, but I still had images of a fawn prancing through the meadows and a ship braving the dangerous tides playing behind my eyes as we walked away.

Miss Berraultier spends most of her time examining exotic fabrics from merchants, heckling over prices. Over time, she accumulates fabrics with intricate designs that look like they're telling a story, embroidered with colors and patterns I’ve never seen before, and some pearls and feathers for accessorizing.

“Festival shopping is the best time of year, my dear!” She tells me merrily, swinging her arm with her basket full of cheap but high-quality goods. I mimic her movements, and the action itself puts me in a merry mood as well.

A woman was handing out flower crowns, and she offered me one as we passed her by. She handed me a woven flower crown with small roses, baby’s breath, dandelions, and lavender wildflowers. Miss Berraultier helped me use the golden ribbon to tie it to the back of my head. I gingerly touched the crown on my head with a bright smile, smelling the sweet perfume she had sprayed over them.

After a time of shopping, we both were getting a little hungry. So, Miss Berraultier took me to the food vendors, which had to be the best part of the festival.

The town square was the busiest part of the city. I saw meat being fried on the fly, multiple stands with cookies and slices of pies with lines winding all around the fountain. The people waiting could watch a street performance, with actors dressed as what looked to be an elaborate jester-prince in colorful clothing and a maiden with long golden hair and flowers between her strands. She declared some kind of final promise, before dramatically collapsing in front of the fountain, which made me gasp in fright.

Children played around a maypole, winding the ribbons around and nursery rhymes with their mothers nearby. A pair of children race by me, their kites soaring high in the air. I watched them, mesmerized, as the fish designs looked as though they were swimming in a black abyss.

Miss Berraultier bought me a large candy apple, and I watched with sparkling eyes as the vendor dipped it in hot caramel before allowing it to cool and harden, handing it to me on a wooden stick.

I immediately took a long lick, tasting the sweet honeyness of the caramel coating the apple.

“Take a bite, my dear!” Miss Berraultier laughs. I open my mouth as wide as I can, chomping into the apple. The caramel breaks around my teeth before it sinks into the flesh of the apple, overwhelming my senses with a mixture of sweetness and tartness.

I chew at a loss for words.

“What do you think?” Miss Berraultier asks me. I only glance at her before taking another bite, stuffing my cheeks.

She laughed hard before guiding me through the town square.

“Oh, well, will you look at that?” The seamstress muses. I turned my head to see a couple of adults in the crowd, lined up to watch the host declaring open for volunteers to come and compete in his drinking game.

Miss Berraultier watches, amused, as men twice her size are quickly subdued by the alcohol, the beer barrels stacking up as the toxicity takes them out one by one, until there is only one poor soul barely standing.

The host declares him the winner, presenting him with a pouch of coins that had been sitting on the table. He clumsily takes it, smiles, and stumbles right off the stage.

I could tell she wanted to go see the commotion.

“Do you want to go see?” I asked her.

“Oh, I was just watching.” She said, squeezing my hand tightly. I remembered how she mentioned she had played a drinking game yesterday too.

Maybe that’s what adults think is fun?

I didn’t want to hold her back from enjoying herself either, especially since it’s the last night of the festival.

“It’s alright, Miss Berraultier, you can go! I won’t leave the square!” I assure her.

Miss Berraultier eyes the elevated stage, where a new round has begun. One man passes out, and another vomits into a bucket next to him. She digs into her skirt pocket and hands me a couple of copper coins so I can play games.

“Stay in the square, Esmeline.” She commanded me before going over to the host to enter the contest. Miss Berraultier then goes over to the food stands, probably to fill up her stomach.

I leave the area to go find what else I can do by myself. I’ve finished my treat, so I end up wandering over to the game stands, where people had set them up in their front yards or farm pens.

Children throw balls at milk glasses or go bobbing for apples by dunking their heads under the water. I decided to take my chances at the milk glass game.

“Hello!” I say loudly, so that the man at the stand could hear me, “Can I play?”

“Of course!” He says, “It’s just two copper coins.”

I dig into my apron and pull out the coins Miss Berraultier had given me. I count them carefully in my palms before handing him two.

“Here you go! You get three tries.” He tells me, handing me three balls.

I stand at the designated line, preparing my throw. I take a deep breath, aiming for the one closest to me first as a warm-up.

Even if you knock down just one, you’d still get a prize! I assure myself.

I feel my arm back, and throw it as hard as I could. It sails right next to it before bouncing lazily in the middle.

“Aw…!” I groan.

I have two more chances. I have to aim more to the left! I tell myself, undeterred.

I make the same motion, this time trying to throw my arm more towards the left. But it seems that my throw was too weak, as it just bounces off the milk glasses and lands in front of them, not shifting them an inch.

This is hard! I think to myself, exasperated. I only have one try left, and if I don’t make it I won’t get a prize.

I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my throwing ability, as I’ve never really played throwing games before. Or games at all, if it wasn’t orchestrated by Seralind.

It’s okay if you don’t get it, I try to comfort myself, you don’t need a toy.

I steel myself before raising my arm again and focusing hard. With all my might, I chuck the last ball at the glasses.

Clink!

It hits the one at the very top, knocking it down.

“Ah!” I audibly gasp in surprise. I look over at the owner, who’s grinning as he’s been watching me.

“Do I get a prize?” I ask him.

“Technically, you have to knock all of them down.” The owner admits. I feel my spirit deflate.

“Oh…”

“But it’s the last night, and my wife wants to get rid of as many of these as possible anyway. So, congratulations! You won!” He chirps. He pulls out a small, handmade stuffed rabbit and hands it to me.

The sheep wool they used was soft and curly to the touch, and whoever made it added a pink ribbon to the front and sewed button eyes, stitching the nose and mouth with embroidery floss

I hold it up to my cheeks, just to feel the material against them.

“Thank you!!” I say with a grin.

I can’t believe it… I have a toy! I giggle to myself. I skip away from the game, examining it.

What should I name you? Curlington? Madame Baa? Or…

I liked all the names, and I couldn’t decide on one. I hold it up in front of my face to get a good look at her.

“How about…”

Snatch!

My bunny suddenly disappears from my hands. I stare at the space between my palms in shock.

“Thanks!” A voice chuckles. I turn to see an older boy and his friends, who have just stolen my rabbit right out of my hands and are now fleeing from the scene.