Free A Small Free Kiss in the Dark by Glenda Millard

reach the entrance to the fun park. He limped down a steep triangle of grass between the road and the station, crossed the main street and walked along the footpath toward the yawning mouth. We watched him disappear inside and waited, hardly daring to blink in case we missed him. Another five minutes went by and then it was ten and at last Billy was there, waving to us.
    I grabbed Max’s hand and the handle of my case. We ran like crazy down the green hill, looked both ways although there wasn’t a car in sight, darted across the wide black stretch of tar and sprinted along the footpath. When we walked under the big teeth we laughed out loud, we just couldn’t help it. This time Billy didn’t tell us to stop.
    There were plenty of feathers at Dreamland. They were carved on a golden eagle on the carousel. The eagle was on the front of a chariot, with its giant wings spread out. It was bigger than Max.
    ‘It’s a Roman war chariot,’ said Billy, ‘and there’s one on the other side that’s called the peace chariot.’
    Max and me ran around to see. Instead of an eagle on the front, it had a lady with a peaceful look carved on her wooden face. As well as the two chariots, the carousel had sixty-eight horses.
    ‘The theme of the carousel is war and peace,’ Billy said. ‘Look at the cherubs.’ He pointed to a carving of a fat baby angel. ‘Thirty-six cherubs,’ he said, and then he showed us the painted flowers and butterflies. I never heard Billy talk so much before. He knew everything about the Carousel of War and Peace. ‘It’s very old,’ he said. ‘Been here since the year nineteen hundred and twenty-three.’
    Max had already got on one of the horses, but I didn’t. I was waiting to see if Billy would tell us more. I’d got used to not asking questions, and waiting for signs that Billy had something he wanted to say. He was stroking his beard. That was usually a sign. I was right. ‘Wars come and wars go,’ he said. ‘Things change, but the carousel is always here. It reminds people of the good times.’
    ‘Come on, Skip! Get on!’ Max yelled.
    Billy smiled as Max pulled himself up on the platform, so I got on too. I picked a light grey horse with black blotches.
    ‘That’s called a pinto,’ Billy said. It had a red harness and silver horseshoes.
    Max was on a black horse in front of the chariot of war. ‘Let’s be Indians!’ he said and he grabbed the reins and clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘Giddy up, Midnight!’ he yelled.
    That’s when Billy started acting strange. He put his hands up to his mouth like a loudspeaker and started calling out into the empty fun park like it was crammed full of people. ‘Step right up, boys and girls, and ride the merry-go-round. Two nights only. Don’t miss out. Tell all your friends. Come on now, don’t be shy. The merry’s perfectly safe, mothers and fathers, let your little ones enjoy the ride of a lifetime. Step right up. Get your tickets here! You won’t get better value anywhere. Step this way!’ It was like Billy had been doing this job all his life.
    After he’d finished telling Max and me to hang on tight, Billy sat down in the chariot of peace and took his harmonica out of his pocket. It was small and silver and its name was Hohner. I’d seen that written on the top, among all the looping, swirling patterns. Once, Billy played his Hohner outside St Mary’s. It was Anzac Day. He sat down on the steps and shut his eyes and played. Billy didn’t play for money. If he’d wanted money he would have gone to the mall, where buskers go. I don’t know why he played his music at St Mary’s that day but I wondered if he was like me, and never knew what to say to God, so he played his music instead. Some of the people who went to church that day didn’t go inside. They stayed and listened to Billy instead. It was like a magic spell was on them and they couldn’t leave. Sometimes, when I look at Monet’s paintings, it’s like a spell