“I don’t know much about history,” Cady said. “Even the World Wars. My education was sort of... unorthodox , I guess you could say. Was your family involved in the war?”
“Of course. Many of my uncles and cousins fought. The son of Yves Clement, Marc-Antoine, went to combat in World War I at the age of sixteen; and his son, Fabrice, was only fifteen in World War II.”
“He fought at the age of fifteen?”
“Not as a soldier. But he was involved. I’ve never been clear in exactly what capacity; as I’ve said, he’s a recluse and doesn’t like to talk about himself. And here we are: the Bayol carousel.”
The carousel was very simple, especially compared to some of the others Cady had been photographing, with their wedding cake frothiness, gold-gilt curlicues, and double-decker platforms.
But what it lacked in extravagance it made up in charm. The sweet faces of the child-sized figures—cats, dogs, rabbits, pigs, and horses—tilted up toward the audience expectantly, not smiling but still inviting. The tails and manes were intricately sculpted from wood, not made of real animal hair as in some carousels. Graceful, curved necks tapered to toy-like heads with bright, open eyes and upright ears.
Studying the precious faces of these genuine Bayol-carved animals, and knowing Gus as well as she did, Cady realized that the appraiser at the antiques show, and then Madame Martin, had been correct: Gus-the-rabbit had not been crafted by the same hand.
Cady fought self-consciousness as she unpacked her cameras and tripods, speaking with the young woman running the merry-go-round, and approaching parents for permission to take photographs of their children. Though these were all the usual things she did when shooting a locale, it felt different under Jean-Paul’s watchful gaze. She walked around the apparatus several times, searching for the best light, the most interesting angles.
Finally, picking up her Leica camera, Cady focused on framing theworld through the lens—and felt herself relax. She lost track of time, then was startled by a loud, delighted squeal.
She looked up to see a little girl hooting in victory after having speared a ring.
“We don’t see that very often in the States,” Cady said to Jean-Paul.
“You mean the rings? Catching the ring is the best part of riding. I was very good at it.”
“It’s probably an insurance issue. Kids leaning out could fall off and get hurt.”
Jean-Paul gave a subtle shrug. “Falling off and getting hurt is part of childhood.”
“Tell that to the insurance companies. Not to mention the parents of the kid with the broken arm. There are a few around, still—there’s a Looff carousel in Santa Cruz with the original ring machine.”
“That’s near you, in California?”
She nodded. “Our local merry-go-rounds inspired me to start photographing carousels in the first place.” She thought back to the carousel at Tilden Park, in Berkeley; Cady had returned to it again and again over the years, trying to capture its elusive magic. “There’s a quote about human nature being revealed in the way children on a carousel wave at their parents as they go past, every time, even though they’re just going round and round—and the parents always wave back.”
“Of course they wave; they are children.”
“Yes, but they do it every time, and then the parents do it back. Every time.”
“What else would the parents do?”
Cady gave a humorless laugh. “I think it’s a comment on faith, or the ridiculousness of the relationship, or... something.”
“I suppose the children need to check in with their family and know that they’ll always be there, even if they seem to disappear momentarily.”
“I’m guessing you had the kind of parents who took you to carousels.”
“Didn’t you?”
Cady tried for that Parisian non-response shrug at which Jean-Paul excelled. She doubted she’d pulled it off, but he didn’t ask again. Instead, his eyes settled on her, searching.
“Do you ever ride?” he asked after a moment.
“Pardon?”
“You photograph the carousels, but do you ever go for a ride yourself?”
She laughed, again feeling self-conscious. She hadn’t actually climbed aboard a carousel since the Tilden Park merry-go-round, when she was a kid, still cute and adoptable.
Still hoping for a family.
