I’m looking for somebody. Can you help me find him?

The carnival breathes, it spins, it sparks flames like a firecracker; it is alive. You try to stand firm on the ground, but it’s hard when bodies are sweeping past you like a crescendo wave crashing at all the wrong times. They veer off in every which way to breathe in the magic of the circus: dancing bears, elephants wearing funny little hats, tattooed men juggling five, six, ten flashing knives at once. A clown spinning dishes on a knobby stick. Children grabbing greedily at powdered funnel cakes, fairy floss. Everywhere you turn there is something to see, and there is something for everyone who enters this strange, fantastical land.

Please, he’s very important to me.

Having been deemed unsafe and improper by the orphanage, it introduces itself as a peculiar space from the get-go. Since childhood you’ve gathered and become one with tales of the carnival, yet standing in the very place of those stories now, you find yourself taken aback. The activity is simply overwhelming. Attraction-seekers surround you from all the unpleasant angles, pushing you backwards, forwards, this way and that, like seaweed struggling against the surge of ocean water.

“Move, you’re in our way!”

A hand pushes you aside and you stumble over the flattened grass. A group of schoolboys runs towards the pirouetting bear, yelling dares of bravado at each other over the din of the crowd. They hardly spare a backwards glance, not bothering to apologize for their haste. That’s fine, that’s okay. Apologies are not what you came looking for. In the grand scheme of things, those boys hardly present themselves as an issue or even a speck of dust in your mind.

He said he would be here, you see-

An elbow jabs into your back. This time, however, you manage to stand your ground. The pain comes in quick, hard pulses, and in response you plunge a hand into your pocket. A soundless breath leaves your lips when your fingers wrap around a little glass sphere. The weight in your hand is small, but it is comforting. It is comforting and reminds you of a place once called home.

I’ve come a long way to meet him-

The elbow pokes you again, accompanied by a voice that reeks equally of jest and rotted beer. “You, girlie- you lost?”

The marble falls into your pocket. You avert your eyes and step back, but the beer-festered man simply presses himself closer. “No, thank you, sir- If you would excuse me, I’m to meet somebody-”

“No thank you and a sir!” Yellow stained teeth flash in an ugly laugh. “Well well, ain’t you the pretty polite missy! Tell you what, you an’ me can go over there and you can tell me all about your no thank yous and a sirs-”

He makes a clumsy swipe for your arm. Alarmed, you try to evade his advances but the crowd presses against you, leaving no room for escape. The intoxicated man leers at you, this time making a grab for your waist. Instinctively your hands fly up, but as they do a flash of red steps in front of you, blocking the lecherous motions of the impolitic man.

“Aye, not so fast,” the red speaks. You blink and find yourself staring at the backside of a fearsomely tall woman. Her hair flows over her shoulders like a scarlet river; in the bright heat of the day, the colour only enhances the austerity of her stance.

She looks down at the man. “Let’s not get carried away here, shall we? We wouldn’t want to have to you out, now.” Her voice is mild but carries with it the promise of following through with whatever  method she has in mind.

The man, on the other hand, is too far gone to tell a sparrow apart from a seagull. “You want to throw me out? I’m a paying customer, I’m what keeps your business runnin’, you don’t do that to a good customer like me-”

“We’ll survive,” the woman says smoothly. “Now, are you going to leave, or do I have to ask again?”

He opens and closes his mouth like a gaping fish, too slow to answer in a witting manner. Beside him the crowd mills about in all different directions, pushing carelessly past you and the red-haired lady, creating a momentum that causes the man to sway gracelessly on his feet.

“Aye, not worth it.” He spits in a last-ditch attempt to recover his dignity, but the effect is ruined when the nicotine-stained spittle lands on his shoe. “Wouldn’t want to dirty my hands anyways… Buncha hoors…”

He swaggers off into the crowd, leaving behind the stench of partially-digested beer and abhorrent body odour.

The woman shakes her head. "Drunks," she says dismissively. "Always at every show. Like fleas you can't shake off a dog." She sweeps her eyes over your hunched form.

“Look after yourself, girl. It’s not always this easy getting rid of the bastards.”

“Wait!” you blurt out when she turns to leave. At this close of a distance you’re able to recognize her military jacket and training boots. “You were in the show earlier, weren’t you? With the lions?”

“Aye, that was me. I train the animals here.”

“Then…” Hesitation catches your voice but you shake it off. You’ve come too far a ways to act shy now. “Could I ask you to take me to the ringmaster?”

She an eyebrow. “The ringmaster isn’t partial to visitors,” she informs. “He prefers to remain undisturbed when he’s working.”

“Please, I must ask him something.”

“And what might that be?”

“There’s somebody I need to find.” Your voice comes out in a whisper, but you know the woman has heard it from the way she crosses her arms and studies your expression. A little girl bumps into you, nearly dropping her ice cream cone on your feet, but you don’t dare look away from the lion tamer.

Perhaps she is convinced by what she sees in your face, because she drops her hands. “Alright, come with me. I’ll take you to see the ringmaster.”

I’ve waited a very long time to see him.

Please.




-------




She leads you to a quiet area behind the grand tent. A caravan is there, so silent and still that it looks tantamount to the giant oak it stands beside. The carnival bustles with life around it, but somehow, somehow, it feels as though not even the sounds of the circus can penetrate the caravan walls.

The lion tamer tells you to wait and slips through the door. You tug at the loose threads of your jacket, trying to calm your restless mind. The jacket is frayed more so than your nerves, but you think that your state of anxiety isn’t too far from catching up.

What seems like an eternity passes before the woman reemerges from the van.

“Go on, then,” she says, shooing you inside. “The ringmaster will see you now. But keep in mind, girl, he’s a busy person. Try to keep your questions nice and quick, alright?”

Inside it is dim, illuminated only by a lamp and the odd candle here and there. It’s not very big but the sparsity of furniture creates an illusion of enhanced space. A dressing mirror, a small bookshelf, a writing desk. The sounds outside are muffled, making you feel disjointed from the peculiar world you had just stepped out of.

A lone man sits at the desk, jotting notes with a slender quill. Black top hat, black mask, black coat. An extension of the shadows residing in the caravan. He dips his quill in ink and scratches at the parchment before speaking.

"Who are you and what business do you have in my carnival?"

"I'm looking for somebody-"

The ringmaster waves his quill impatiently. "So I’ve been told. But that doesn't answer my question: who are you?"

You tell him your name and he repeats it. "No surname?"

You shake your head. “No surname,” you echo, and it sounds hollow even to your own ears.

The feather pauses as a pair of dark eyes observes you from behind the mask. But the silence only lasts for a handful of seconds, and soon the quill resumes the task at hand. Scratch-scratch-scratch. “Who is it you need to find?”

Outside, a group of children shrieks with delight at the troupe of dancing bears. You swallow nervously and continue, “His name is Taehyung. I think he might have joined your carnival seven years ago. He intended to work here as an acrobat. He… I watched the show earlier but didn’t see anybody who could have been him, so I was hoping you could tell me if he was here or not.”

The ringmaster makes no comment but you think that he listens to you with no ill intent. Feeling emboldened by his interest, you add, “It’s very important that I find him. Please, sir, I wouldn’t be wasting your time if it-”

“He’s not here,” the hatted man cuts you off. Scratch-scratch-scratch. “There is no person here who goes by that name.”

The curt nature of his reply takes you aback. “Oh,” you say after a moment. “Are… Are you sure?”

“Quite.” He shuffles his papers, dips his pen into the murky pot, and continues his work. “I am the ringmaster. It’s my duty to know the name and face of everybody who comes to join my carnival.”

“Oh,” you repeat, only this time it’s fainter. The word trembles in the air before vanishing like candle smoke. Why are you here? I am looking for someone. It’s very important.

I must find him.

Can you help me find him?

The ringmaster, it seems, also knows how to interpret certain silences, because he soon answers in kind. “For what reason do you seek him?”

“I owe him something,” you say. Your throat has become dry, and the words come out in a raspy half-whisper. “And I’d like to give it to him as soon as possible.”

He sets down his pen. Hands fold together on the scratched surface of the desk, and for the first time you notice that he’s wearing gloves. Satin cloth, the colour of ivory, melded perfectly with his hands like a second set of skin. “As I’ve said, there’s nobody like that here. Perhaps you’ve come to the wrong carnival.”

You press your arms against your sides. Crushed by the weight, the marble digs into your hipbone from its hideaway in the pocket. The pain is not unbearable but it is sharp and clear, and it fills you with a renewed sense of resolution.

You clear your throat. “May I stay anyway? Please. I’ve come a very long way. I can’t go back until I find him.”

He regards you for the briefest of minutes. The ringmaster, the mastermind behind this whimsical land, the biggest enigma the carnival has to offer. He picks up his quill and resumes his writing. Scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch. “Do as you will. Our doors are open to everybody who wishes to enter.”




-------




“Taehyung?” Twigs snap underneath your footsteps, but not a voice breathes back as you tread deeper into the forest. "Taehyung? Are you here?"

You shriek and stumble backwards when a figure suddenly drops down in front of you. “Taehyung! You idiot, you almost gave me a heart attack!”

"Sorry, sorry," he laughs. He raises his palms in a gesture of apology. “I thought you knew I was up there. Didn’t you see me go up?”

“No, I didn’t. The branches are too thick to see a monkey like you climbing up.” You pee