"I must be paranoid," thought Joseph Strange.
He had begun to observe that everyone was staring at him. Some
seemed to be shocked; here and there he'd notice a face with narrow,
disapproving eyes and tight, pursed lips. Other people would smile,
as if the sight of Joseph Strange reminded him or her of
a time someone told a joke. That type had a bemused expression,
like the wearer couldn't remember the joke itself but remembered
fondly the laughter they shared with the teller. Still other faces
seemed twisted in confusion, like Joseph Strange didn't
quite register as a coherent visual image in their minds.
He first noticed the feeling about an hour ago, after he had
left the general store. He had an afternoon to waste and a few
dollars in his pocket and he got the idea to spend it at Vinster's
General Store and Variety Emporium. After strolling through the
canned meat aisle, the vegetarian specialties aisle, and the paraffin
and string aisle without purchasing a single item, he entertained
the thought of leaving and spending his time and money at the
arcade instead. As luck would have it, though, the next aisle
was the "seasonal" items: his favorite! Joseph saw several
hats to fit the mood of the day - festival time was here already!
- and picked one out which complimented his garb. He added an
almanac to his purchases, then headed to the register.
His old friend, Vip Vinster, greeted him at the checkout aisle.
Vip's bent fingers dextrously danced over the keys of the register
with such speed and grace that it seemed the craggy, gnarled fingers
were possessed by happy, cavorting demons. The total popped up
with a "ching" and, after a moment's small talk, Joseph handed
over twelve dollars and five cents. Vip's demons handed Joseph
Strange forty-eight cents in change and thanked him with a
toothless smile and a twinkle in his good eye. In the milky pool
of his other eye Joseph could see his frame reflected back
to him; average height, average build, brown hair, horn-rimmed
spectacles, and a conservative blue sweater. Joseph said
goodbye, made a friendly joke about Vip's slim chance of surviving
another year, and walked out the door.
Once outside, Joseph Strange put on his festival hat and
turned for home. He looked forward to an evening of preparing
for the festival parade. He'd start by cooking some rice and carrots,
fattening himself for the coming revelry, then, contented, sit
down and read his new almanac. He prided himself on always being
prepared for the weather of the day; knickers and a sporting cap
on warm days, umbrella and overcoat on dreary days, and a sweater
and thick wool tights in the winter. The almanac was his secret;
its pages were like the crystal ball of an old gypsy fortune teller.
What would it say, he wondered half-aloud. Will it be wool or
cotton? Shirtsleeves or sweaters?
It was then, at 2:15 in the afternoon, that he noticed the first
stare. Mrs. Pembroke, normally an agreeable if somewhat homely
woman, seemed to change her heading, although her eyes stayed
on Strange. He shouted out a "how do you do," but she quickly
turned away and increased the pace of her steps.
From then on it was a series of odd glances!
· Postman Burber, a silly grin on his face, nearly tripped over
a baby while staring at Joseph.
· Race Chimbley, the druggist, clamped his hand over his mouth
as if to stifle words he might regret as he darted his eyes back
and forth, always settling on Joseph before quickly looking
away.
· Schoolmarm Pleen, the matronly old crone, covered the eyes
of young Jenny Umble when she looked at Joseph Strange.
Joseph tipped his new cap at her, but she harrumphed and
turned the other way, dragging the struggling Jenny by the head.
And so it went until Joseph was sure the whole world was
staring at him.
"Don't be silly," he said aloud, turning the key to his front
door with one hand and drawing tight the sweater against the chilly
October wind. He tugged open the door, removing his hat as he
strode in while he thought, 'every year you do this to yourself.
Of course you're imagining it. Your mind is just wandering, spurred
on by the excitement of the coming festival.'
He settled down into his favorite chair before the picture window
and prepared to read his almanac. A tiny frown--ust an inkling
of an expression of malcontent which appeared as a slight wrinkling
of the brow and the deepening of a select group of wrinkles around
his eyes-- appeared on his face. He seemed to draw upon an inner
reserve which smoothed the brow and softened the eyes, and he
spoke to the world outside like a preacher to his flock. "No matter
what treacherous thoughts run through my mind, I'll not let them
ruin my favorite festival!" Joseph Strange declared to
his empty house. "I don't care if I am the only one who celebrates
it - I love the 'Festival of Pantslessness!'"
