Stradlater Gets His Comeuppance

The red and white stripes of the torn circus tents swirled in the breeze like the ghastly bandages of the bloody barber’s pole. The carnival always stayed for a week after the street parade and fireworks, giving the people of the town the opportunity to add a goldfish to their family pet collection or a coconut to their fruit bowls. And giving the teenage girls enough time to fall in love with a swarthy rogue who had dirty fingernails and a twinkle in his eye. 

Stradlater strolled across the threadbare field, surveying the damage wrought by him and his drunken friends at 3am. The candy floss stand defaced with the blackened scar of a cigarette lighter, now offered ‘Randy Floss’. The Dodgems had become the ‘Dog ‘ems’ thanks to Ackley’s black marker pen and the least said about the Dunking Tank and the Hook A Duck stalls, the better. When the dogs had become so apoplectic that lights had flashed on in the tiny vardo wagons, the Stradlater gang had giggled and shushed their way over the fence, back to their comfortable, middle-class homes where the food was savoury, the language clean and the money forgiving.

Only Stradlater had the chutzpah and constitution to return in the afternoon. The carnival folk had done their best to hide the damage but the gratuitous scribbles and torn canvas, the mud smears and pockmarks of random cigarette burns were still evident. 

Stradlater had come here with a purpose. He had noticed the tent during the early morning shenanigans and deliberately steered the gang away, towards the Ferris Wheel. For the inebriated, puerile mind it was more than hilarious to change the ‘F’ to a ‘P’, join the ‘rr’s together into an ‘n’ and to blank out the ‘h’ and ‘l’.  They all agreed later, as they embraced the lampposts, each other and peed against the wrought iron of the middle-class garden gates, that this was their finest moment yet. 

Stradlater had wanted to keep the Fortune Teller intact. Since Holden Caulfield had moved on, he had started to doubt the power of his honed physique and attractiveness of his face. As his insecurity increased, he’d become anxious for validation that he would truly become the Hollywood heartthrob millionaire that his roommate had intimated. Jeez that guy was weird. And probably queer too, thought Stradlater remembering how Caulfield used to follow him to the bathroom and watch him shave. Still, at least Caulfield told him straight what a hot-shot he was. All he’d had since were silent arguments with his on/off girl Jane and drunken debauchery with his rich kid friends.   The Fortune Teller would be able to set him straight. She would know his providence.

Before heading off to find his destiny, he had to settle the queasy hangover that lurched in waves across his guts. He sought out the food stalls.

“One ho’ dog please, with onions and mus-TURD,” he said, smothering the bubbles of laughter and bile, fizzing up from his belly. 

The wizened, carnival crone gave him a sad smile.

“Apologies for the menu listing, sir,” she said, “It seems our site was broken into last night and quite a bit of damage was done, while we slept. Senseless more than dangerous, but it’ll cost a fair bit to put right and many of us are struggling at the best of times.”

Stradlater stood awkwardly as blackened onions were scooped over the steaming sausage. 

“Keep the change,” he offered. “Put it towards the clean-up costs.”

“Thank you kindly, sir. If only there were more people like you. Much appreciated.” 

He strode off, without even noticing the tears staggering down the furrows of the old woman’s face, as she flung the extra 20 cents into the cashier drawer. 

The desolation of the fairground was heightened by the tinny, wheezing, fake joviality of the carousel organ. The plaintive cries of the stallholders echoed over the field to the gaggle of strays, bickering families and flaneurs who sauntered amongst the haphazard tents, weary with ennui and pressing their wallets deeper into their pockets.  Stradlater was the exception.  He tried to throw a ping pong ball into a jar, knock a grinning mask off a pole and pull a lucky number from a barrel. He took a spin on the merry-go-round and bumped into no-one on the Dodgems. He sat for ten minutes on the Ferris Wheel (now the ‘Penis Wee’) waiting for other customers until eventually whirring around disconsolately by himself to the strains of the belts, cogs, and the gentle kiss of the wind.

Prize-less and still a little nauseous, Stradlater, accompanied by despondency, finally made his way to the Fortune Teller’s tent. He lifted the heavy canvas flap and stepped inside. It was cool and completely dark. 

“Hello?”

Some hasty whispers and a clearing of the throat.

“Hello?”

There was a shuffle and a match was struck, to kiss the wick of a fat, gelatinous candle.

“Come in, come in,” a silken voice beckoned, and the shadowed face of a raven-haired drabardi loomed over the flickering flame. A chain of bonded silver teardrops sang across her brow and families of bangles tinkled around her wrists as she sensuously stroked her hands over the glass sphere of the crystal ball.

Stradlater floundered towards the flame and sat down.

The woman held out her hand. 

‘You must first cross my palm with silver, of course.”

Stradlater removed his walled and pulled out some notes. More than he intended, but it was dark, and his upbringing meant he was unable to do anything other than simply hand them over.

“Tell me my handsome, why are you here? What do you wish to know?”

Stradlater paused. He sensed there might be someone else in the tent. In the shadows. He realised he was in an enclosed space with a sexy chick. It was probably her husband, making sure there was no monkey business. He’d already handed over the money, so decided to press on.

“I want to know my destiny.”

The woman leaned forward, took his hand in hers and held it over the crystal ball. She rocked back and forth in her chair, chanting and panting.

Stradlater wanted to laugh, but he also still felt a little bilious so suppressed both with a large intake of warm, stale, circus tent air.

Suddenly his hand was gripped hard.

“Your future is dark and troubled,” she said. “You have hurt people and you will hurt too.”

“That’s rubbish,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been told I could be a Hollywood actor. What about that?”

"No, no, not for you. Maybe in another life, but certainly not in this one.”

Stradlater puffed out his cheeks and exhaled a breath of stale alcohol. This wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. 

The woman leaned in closer to the crystal ball.

“Your mark is strong here, even in this fairground which shouts your name with anger and hostility, as though you have inflicted pain and destruction on this very site.”

Stradlater felt hot and more nauseous than ever. 

“Just tell me my future,” he whispered.

“You are destined for…”

Stradlater sat forward as the woman’s voice fell to a whisper.

“Oh, my son, you must change your ways.  You are on a pathway to ruin. Make amends with all those you have shamed. Seek out those who showed you kindness and friendship but to whom you were cruel and deceitful. Pay the penance now, or you will suffer later.”

Stradlater stood up and the chair fell backwards. He was angry and wanted to throw up.

“That is total garbage,” he said, storming towards where he thought was the exit.

“One more thing,” said the woman as Stradlater fumbled clutches of canvas, searching for a way out.

He turned and stared.

“Jane is pregnant.”

Stradlater stumbled into the daylight and vomited behind the coconut shy.

*** 

Inside the Fortune Teller’s tent, the woman turned to the figure in the shadows.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Brilliant,” came the reply. “Knowing Stradlater he’ll get his father to send a cheque to fix the carnival within a day or two.”

“And what about Jane?”

“I reckon he won’t even contact her,” said the voice. “He’s such a phoney. But don’t worry, I know her well and I’ve been watching her too. I’ll take care of her.”

The Fortune Teller stood and moved towards the shadows.

“Thanks Holden,” she said.

“My pleasure,” he said. “Glad to’ve met you and glad I could help.”