31

As the parade made the turn around the point in front of the parking lot, band members ducked out of line and grabbed cans of soda from friends among the onlookers; Elks took hits from proffered paper bags; Holy Ghosters accepted linguisas from their awestruck offspring.  Even the youngsters in the bishop's entourage were not immune to cajolery:  one accepted a lighted cigarette from a compatriot in the crowd — like a relay runner taking a baton — and took a deep drag on it before tucking it under his robe.

Max photographed it all, until, just when he had the pirate smoker in his frame and pushed the shutter release, he heard from within the body of his camera the whirr of rewinding film.  He watched the counter click swiftly back to zero, then said, "Damn."

Elizabeth nudged him and raised her eyebrows:  what is it?

"Out of film," Max said, pointing at the counter.  "D’you know where I can buy some more?"

Elizabeth nodded.  She pointed at Max, then at the parade, and said, "Follow."  Then she pointed at herself and used two fingers of one hand to portray a running figure.  She said something else, something that sounded to Max like ‘ketchup.’

"But how'll I find you?" he said.  "How—"

She put her hand on her chest, then took his hand and put it on top of hers, and she winked at him.

"Okay," he said, laughing.

She turned away and darted through the crowd.

It took only a couple of minutes for the final stragglers in the parade — two boys leading a gargantuan Saint Bernard caparisoned like a clown — to round the point and head down Beach Street toward the commercial docks.

The concessionaries were already shutting up shop, extinguishing fires and bagging trash, hurrying to move to another parking lot on the other side of the borough, where they would reopen for the post-blessing feast.

Max bought a candied apple from the last open stand, then ambled behind the Saint Bernard.

As he passed the fence surrounding the public beach, he saw a little child with its face pressed against the wire mesh.  Its mouth and hands were filthy, s if it had been eating dirt, and its soiled diaper sagged on one hip.  Behind the child, a teenaged girl lay on her back on the sand, a magazine held above her face.

The child's stubby fingers clutched the wire, and its big eyes followed Max.

Max looked at the child, then, impulsively, stepped to the fence, leaned over it and offered the candied apple.  "Here y’go, buddy," he said with a smile.

The child beamed, reached up with both hands, grabbed the candied apple by the stick, tried to jam the entire apple into its mouth... and fell backward.  The apple tumbled into the sand.  The child rolled over, clutched the apple and licked at it, gurgling gleefully.

Max turned away and started down the street.

*          *          *          *          *

As soon as the last food truck had departed, two volunteers from the Holy Ghost Society appeared on foot and began to clean up the parking lot.  The gravel was littered with cigarette butts, paper cups, sparerib bones, half-eaten hotdogs and sandwiches, and sausages that had burst in the cooking and been shoved off the fire.  There were eggshells and vegetables, squid rings and octopus tentacles, chicken wings and scattered bits of random entrails.  A sickly sweet odor of olive oil and salad dressing and grease hung like a gas over the parking lot.

The volunteers wore gloves and carried camp shovels, and the scooped the offal into plastic bins.

"People’re worse’n pigs," muttered one.  "Fuckin’ place looks like a slaughterhouse."

"And stinks like a morgue," agreed the other.

Fifty-gallon barrels had been placed around the parking lot to collect trash, and the volunteers lugged a loaded bin to the nearest barrel.  It was full, as was the second, and the third.

"Well, shit... now what’re we s’posed to do?"

"What about that one?"  The volunteer pointed at a barrel on the beach.

His partner shrugged.  "Let's try it.  I'm not takin’ this crap home with me, for sure."

Carrying the plastic bin, they opened the gate to the beach and crossed the soft sand.

The barrel was empty.  As they dumped the bin, they noticed a small child sitting nearby, happily gnawing on something, and even over the rank stench of garbage they could smell the child.

Ten yards away, a woman lay on her back with a magazine covering her face.

"Hey!" one of the volunteers called.  "You this kid's mother?"

The woman lifted the magazine, and they saw that she was in her teens.

"That'll be the day," she said.

"Well, you know how to change a diaper?"

"What're you," the girl said, "the poop patrol?"

Offended, the volunteer said, "Listen, you..." and he took a step toward the girl.

His partner stopped him with a hand on his sleeve.  "Leave it, Lenny.  The kid's carrying a load, so what?  You mess with that girl, the next thing you know you're in court for sexual harassment."

"I'd sooner harass a sheep," he said, loud enough for the girl to hear.

"I bet you do, too," the girl said, and she let the magazine fall over her face again.

"Leave it, Lenny.  Just leave it."

The volunteers filled the plastic bin twice more and dumped it into the barrel on the beach, shouldered their shovels and walked home to wash their hands and have a drink.