The Great Exhibition

Ethan scowled while listening to others in the diner gossip. An odd airplane had crashed upon the beach. An odd creature seems to be terrorizing the city, but one noted that the creature did not seem to be willing to kill others for now. Brit seemed calm and oblivious to the gossip as she picked at her meal which fit all of the requirements of a strict fast.

Tonight, Annika had served Brit a large bowl of lentils and rice. Ethan found the scent of the food pleasing since the diner’s cook had left out the garlic. Brit ate small rounded bites of the brown lentils mixed with vegetable broth, rice, grated carrot, a bit of onion, and unseasoned tomato paste. He also caught the unmistaken smells of oregano, rosemary, and a bit of black pepper with sea salt. “I thought this dish had olive oil,” said Ethan to Annika. She shook her head and explained that she had left it out along with the garlic in order to meet his requirements. Nodding, he said to Brit, “Better than baked French fries?”

Brit nodded with a giggle, “But not better than fried ones.”

Chuckling, he said, “Fair enough.” As she nibbled more at the dish, she noticed his thoughts again turned to the conversations around them. Before she could ask, he said, “It seems there is yet more turmoil, Brit.” Seeing that she understood, he added, “Yes…do not stray far from our home or library.” Brit nodded and ate more of the dish silently watching him through the veil or her lashes as she finished enough of the meal to satisfy his wishes that she continue to consume regular foods.

Pushing the bowl away, Brit watched the street. People were huddled on street corners talking quietly amongst themselves while giving cautious glances to their surroundings. “Turmoil,” whispered Brit. Puffing her cheeks slightly, she nuzzled against the crook of Ethan’s arm as they both watched.

Ethan could feel her discomfort and, while he wished to learn more, he did not wish her to worry. “Maybe we should dress up tonight,” he mused while running fingers over her cheek.

Pressing her cheek against his fingers, Brit lisped, “Dress up?” She giggled liking the idea, but went quiet for a moment. “Why should we dress up?” He could see she wanted to dress up and play, but was more concerned about him. “You are worried about what is going on in the city.”

Ethan grinned. “You have grown more in tune with my thoughts, darling.” His fingers continued to trace her face as he whispered, “I enjoy the closeness that our sharing has brought.” Patting her cheek, he added, “Cosmetics have provided a lovely diversion in times of turmoil. I remember several war times when the cities were filled with gaiety and elegance to provide mental diversions from general unhappiness. Besides, coloring is fun, as you have said.”

Giggling, Brit said, “Yah, but you never color on paper. Just on me.”

“Paper is an inferior coloring book. Let’s see if we can find Rosalie,” Ethan said as he stood motioning for her to follow. Seeing her questioning look, he reminded, “The immortal beautician who is never where she should be when we need her.”

Rosalie was, in fact, exactly where one would expect: In the beauty shop. It was the last place they looked. She had cut her long locks into a spiky style and reveled in the fact they would grow again come the following day. “It’s tedious, Ethan, to have to cut my hair each night.” Settling Brit in her chair, she looked to Ethan. “What style is tonight?”

“I think mayhaps something Victorian,” Ethan replied moving Brit’s hair on top of her head as he watched in the mirror. Rosalie arched an eyebrow. Ethan shook his head, “No, I will do her make-up. But Victorian suits my mood.”

“I think sometimes you relive your memories through dress, friend,” said Rosalie as she moved Ethan aside and started to comb out Brit’s hair into sections.

Ethan nodded with a slight shrug, “And so what if I do? It is a way to share with Brit times gone by as well, so I can relive memories with my wife.” The beautician grinned as she pinned the sections out of the way.

Ethan sat back enjoying watching Brit’s transformation as Rosalie chattered, “Get the make up to look more doll-like. Not that ghoulish look of dark circles beneath the eye. That looked dreadful.” The two exchanged a glance as Rosalie went momentarily quiet. “Yes, I know the difference, Ethan. I’m simply pointing out that yesterday was not always better. But the porcelain doll-look was by far the better look. And it has been sought throughout history when your wife has it naturally. Do not ruin that in your trip through time.”

Ethan growled slightly, “Are you questioning my style?”

Rosalie tsked, “Of course not. I’m saying to be wary of recreating yesterday. Like….lead foundation. Dreadful. It poisoned the woman wearing it. Kings! The poor dear’s eyebrows would fall out and they would be forced to recreate them with mouse fur.” Both Brit and Ethan shuddered as Rosalie wrapped Brit’s hair around a shaped sponge-like structure and secured it in place. The lady continued, “How fortunate for the two of us that we were already white as Venetian paste when it was vogue.”

Ethan moved near the window and watched the people on the street. Rosalie worked quietly knowing that he was trying to make rhyme or reason out of the recent events. As Brit’s hair took form, Rosalie described the style as being very new and first seeing it at the Great Exhibition of 1851. “A lady in the Crystal Palace wore it. It caused quite a stir as it was not all up for evening or down. And none could determine whether she was married or non.” Brit giggled at Rosalie’s explanation of hairstyles of the time and the suitability of styles for women in regards to age, station and marital status.

Realizing that no new information was known on the street, Ethan settled in the chair and watched a Rosalie finished Brit’s hair clucking that she generally preferred to do the finishing parts of the hair after make-up was applied. Rather than apply Brit’s make up right away, Ethan asked Rosalie whether she remembered his hair at The Great Exhibition. With a grin, Rosalie said, “But of course…I remember each one of us who attended that night. What we wore…what we saw. It is a good memory, no?”

“Indeed,” replied Ethan. With a glance to Brit, he said, “Arrange my hair like that night.” Rosalie grinned and said, “I think it might be like the powder in the hair, Ethan. Good for then but not so good today, hmm?” Seeing that he was not swayed, she motioned him to turn his chair so she could work. Brit watched as Rosalie pulled and pinned Ethan’s hair much as she had done to her own in record time. “Voila!” Watching Ethan smile, the lady waved her hand, “And then…I suppose that there is no accounting for timeless looks.”

Ethan gave Rosalie an envelope and then gave her a second one. “An accounting of Brit and my trip to France,” he said. “You might find it interesting.” Rosalie took both envelopes with a nod and said, “Nothing ever changes, eh?” With a wave, Brit and Ethan left to return to their resting place. Getting the cosmetic case, Ethan found applying tint to Brit’s face soothing. “My coloring book,” he whispered as he handed her a mirror.

“Sometimes, I do not look like myself, Ethan,” she whispered.

“Oh, but you do…” His fingers touched her lightly making small adjustments. “Just…I do enjoy seeing how you would have looked had you lived as long as I.” Selecting garments to complete the look, Ethan opened the door and offered her an arm once they had dressed.

Walking through the city, bits and pieces of the rumors could be heard. Brit and Ethan seemed to hear none of it. He walked her along the water past the park with the dead trees. Opening his mind and linking his thoughts with hers, Ethan showed Brit what he had seen when he attended the Great Exhibition of 1851. Brit watched him with huge, unblinking eyes as she felt his awe of the massive Crystal Palace that was very nearly overshadowed by the splendor of Hyde Park. She stared at his eyes as he let her experience his memory of the wonder of the new technology heralding the industrial revolution. Brit felt all that he felt and was as mesmerized by the novelty of new machines, tools, and even kitchen appliances. Steel-making displays and agricultural machines. Pulling her to him, he said in a hushed whisper, “There were over 13,000 exhibits on view from all over the world, Brit.”

Going silent, Ethan’s eyes looked almost like a child’s filled with wonder and life. Brit touched his face curiously and continued to see his thoughts and memories. Slowly, he pulled her to him kissing her most properly. In the kiss, his memory of the event changed as Ethan clearly saw Brit standing near the fountain in the Crystal Palace illuminated by the gas lights. Turning her to fully face him, he could picture her surrounded by like-dressed people. Oblivious to the grim of the street or the dead trees, he kissed his wife by the fountain again in the Crystal Palace, and ignored the surprised looks of those around them who were scandalized by his bold behavior.