The Museum – by Gemma Parker
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The ferris wheel is closed. Two little faces peer up at her – they have traipsed all this way. People around them are strolling into a nearby museum, which is painted black and has no windows. She holds their hands tightly and walks up to an attendant. Do you speak English? A nod. Would this be appropriate … okay … for the young children? Would they like it?
The young woman, dressed in a smart navy uniform, glances at her in genuine surprise. Oh yes, she murmurs. She looks reverently down at the children. Yes, okay for children. The look of real joy in the attendant’s eyes makes the decision for her. She grips their hands and drags them towards the ticket machines at the wall. They are used to this now, know to be silent as she tries to work things out.
The tickets are far too expensive, but first the swimming pool, then the ferris wheel – they have to do something. The day is already too hot and they do not know anybody in the city. The museum is indoors, at least, and in front of them. She pays quickly and they join the small group in front of the entrance, two black curtains. The attendant is speaking with the same joyfulness as the woman who greeted them. She waits for the translation, which is, as usual, inexplicably brief.
She crouches down and draws her children closer. I don’t know what this is going to be, she whispers. The man is saying that the floor is uneven in places, that it is dark, and that it is easy to get lost. We have to stay together and you must hold my hand. Do you understand? She can see that they sense her unease and confusion and they are ready to be good. Her daughter grips the little digital camera she got for her birthday. Can she take photos? she asks the attendant as people move past them and disappear behind the black curtains. His eyes show surprise and delight – yes, he almost laughs, yes, of course, and he holds the curtains open for them as they step into the darkness.
She is not used to being on her own with the children. So many elements of this weekend are unfamiliar. They are staying at a luxury hotel with a buffet breakfast that costs more than they usually spend on groceries in a week. The children had stood wide-eyed and jittery with glee before the stacks of pastries, pancakes, waffles and cereals, fruits, jams and toasts and, at the omelette station, the expressionless chef in a tall white hat. There were no other children at the buffet except the baby of a couple who looked so glamorous she guessed they were celebrities, although she had no way of knowing for sure.
The trip was necessary. I have to go, she had told her husband. I have to get away. She had booked a hotel in Odaiba because it had a swimming pool, but on arrival was told that the swimming pool was only for guests over sixteen. After breakfast they stood on the steps of the grand hotel and her daughter pointed at a rainbow-coloured ferris wheel in the distance. Let’s go there! She had shrugged. Okay. The walk felt interminable because her daughter kept stopping to take photos. A bush. A bird. Some rocks. A statue of a robot. Posters. Her daughter snapping photos of pictures of aquariums and museums and exhibitions as they traipsed along made her feel particularly depressed. They spent a long time standing in the sun as her daughter gazed at a poster of a young girl cradled by a large leaf, golden flowers blossoming in her hair. Where is that? her daughter had asked in awe, and she had shrugged again. I don’t know. She pointed at the script. I can’t read Hiragana, remember? Her daughter took careful pictures of the words, saying, I’m going to ask Misaki when we get home.
She can feel her daughter’s camera bumping against her wrist as they walk along in the dark. They follow the corridor until they reach signs pointing in different directions. Again the translations give her nothing – the Athletic Universe, the Adventure of Discovery … She pulls her daughter to follow her son in the direction that most people seem to be going. She can’t see any other young children, although it is difficult to see anything in the dark.
And suddenly they are inside what feels like ... a beehive? The light shifts quickly and the colours change. They are no longer inside a beehive, but something darker and richer, like a jewelled beetle. Then the light switches again and they seem to be in a spring meadow – the floor is a kaleidoscope of flowers blooming and swelling around their feet. The light dances and colours fracture and shatter.
A man nearby is looking at his reflection – he has the face of a cat – and as she turns to see if she also has the face of a cat, she is swept off her feet. She pulls her son quickly into her arms but loses her grip on her daughter’s hand. They have been caught in one of the vines snaking out of the walls – she hadn’t noticed them before. A large leaf is curling around them and hoisting them upwards. She turns to look for her daughter and sees her seated in a nearby leaf, laughing in delight. She is holding up her camera as flowers blossom in her hair. Maman! she calls out. We’re in the poster Maman! Look! We’re inside the poster! ▼
Image: Dustin Humes
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