Today I would like to take part in the contest, held by @bananafish. What a lovely idea to ask others to finish this story, written by @f3nix. I hope, you are going to enjoy it!
Fasnachat
In the eyes of the couple, the slate-paved street of the village revealed a cornucopia of crafts, sweets and jubilant peasants. Along the noisy main street, colourful festoons hung from the balconies of typical mountain houses, made of solid stone and original woodwork. The buildings themselves, due to the abundance of decorations, seemed to curve over the long snake of stalls.
There had been an imperceptible moment of silence when the two had laid their feet on the dark pavement of the village, nothing but a quick counterpoint to underline the next wave of noise of the festival in its full becoming.
It had been enough to turn left on the path between the conifers marked by the navigator and their journey had moulted with grey scales now transformed into coloured harlequin’s diamonds.
"Fasnachat". That bizarre writing on a shaky sign had tickled their imagination.
"If Google had reported this village party we could have left two hours earlier." At her voice’s sound, Ben instinctively thought of two Dolce & Gabbana sneakers on the 100 meters starting blocks.
"A break cannot hurt us, but let's not forget about our timetable," he replied, not without a trail of scepticism in his voice.
Ben's senses captured fragrances, widened eyes and inebriated laughter. That joy was as disruptive as it was contagious.
"We do not need to remind ourselves of what it means being late for Grandma Maude's birthday dinner," he said, turning to his wife, whose hand was already wriggling from his, ready to compulsively stuff the car with the many bits and bobs offered by the fair.
Debated between the growing curiosity and the thought of his father-in-law blaming him for the delay, Ben had not even noticed that he had already lost sight of Joelle.
Like a pebble escaping the river’s current, the flow of the crowd had carried him in the middle of a small square dominated by a soaring wooden stage. An acute, strangely cacophonous, chant of stringed instruments enlivened a typical traditional group dance, where couples slapped each other’s feet and bodies.
Under the ever more pounding rhythm of the dance, among almost hypnotized and swaying villagers, his eyes increasingly focused on the show.
For a moment, he thought he saw Joelle surrounded by villagers who invited her to eat something viscidly black. The substance seemed to smear the white aprons and faces of the women, perhaps even that of Joelle who had joined them in a wild chortle. She seemed so lighthearted and it felt good. There was one thing Ben could not remember and squatted in the back of his head, but maybe it wasn’t that important.
He returned to plunge into the dance: it was simply wonderful. He felt he could not miss a movement, not even a note. He smiled at the villagers as a strange heat flared up inside him. An empty and collective smile painted back on the villagers’ gaunt faces.
In a frayed embryo of thought, Ben recorded the distant verses of Joelle, who, strangely, had fused together in a long animal bleating.
One of the dancing women had grasped Joelle by the hand, looked at her with a bright eye, laughing. „Hell, why not?“, Joelle laughed back.
Earlier, she wanted to turn around to give Ben a hint but didn't get to do it. The hand held her firmly. Even when she was swung in Ben's direction again, she couldn't see him. An excitement had taken possession of her and she felt like a child at her aunt's wedding at which Grandma Maud had performed a strange act with the bride next door.
A feeling of a meaningful exchange seemed to have power here. The women sang in high notes and the message sent Joelle an intention … something of importance ... Breathless and willingly she accepted the substance presented, which was just placed in the mouth of a young woman next to her and which, after the girl had swallowed her part, was passed on to Joelle. It smelled strong and tasted sweet at the same time.
Without having the time to observe herself, the women grabbed Joelle again and gave their singing a new power. Everything gained an intense frightening clarity. The grimaces and the waving clothes, each colour and sound had become matter. The urgent need to prepare for something. An old woman, countless wrinkles, seemed like the ancient bark of a tree, her face crossed by valleys and rivers, knowing her eyes. Someone made a saucy laugh sound, the skirts were lifted and Joelle thought it might have been herself who had sang and then cried like an animal.
Now she was pushed in front of the wooden platform, numerous hands urged her forward and already she stood on top of the stage.
In front of her knelt a man, glassy eyes, surrounded by the females. She saw Ben for a moment. But then it was just another stranger. An almost naked one (when had that happened?) wore only a bodice at the top from which the bright flesh shone had bent over the man from behind.
Was she at the wedding?
The circle of people tightly closed around them. Joelle felt hands tugging at her. She anticipated the touchings with fervor that led her to help uncovering obediently. Then naked she was. They turned her left and right and anointed her breasts and thighs with a moist cold paste. The same thing they did to that man.
From a distance, Joelle heard some voices that did not seem to fit into her zone, a dissonance that began to disturb her. Some bodies moving. Now she was forced to her knees and with a gesture she was told to sit on the man's lap. Joelle was just about to do what she was told to do when she felt a cool breeze and the warmth of her surrounding bodies began to vanish. The singing, the beautiful singing, stopped and after the last voice was fading out an unpleasant nothingness was left. Now she had been exposed to this cold! Then there was some rustling and wrangling and in a rush all the women ran away. Some squeaking "Fasnachat!"
Joelle had closed her eyes to overcome her sudden sadness and feeling of loss.
Someone touched her and a male voice spoke: "Come on. Please, come with me," a policeman. Joelle had to shake her head to get rid of her condition. As she turned towards the man in front of her, she realized that it was him: Ben. In bewilderment they stared at each other: "you?"
photograph: https://pixabay.com/de/porträt-festival-menschen-straße-3161818/