you are so smart! " Jane set off at once and turned back. They were already near the exit from the carnival and Mike had no wish to return to the post with the map.
"All right, all right, let's assume, it isn't. Then all this is just a part of the concept. A mysterious cave of horror..." Mike, however, understood himself that that sounded unconvincing and offered another version: "Or perhaps they still had trouble with vigilant moms. So they really try to keep a low profile, relying on word of mouth to bring in customers."
"Could you reach many customers that way? And how much, you think, all these fantastically realistic dummies cost? If they are indeed dummies..."
"I don't know. It's not our problem," they finally went through the gate and it seemed to Mike that the air became fresher, which was, of course, total nonsense. "Listen, enough of this idiotic 'cave' for me. I don't want either to speak or think about it anymore. Let's not ruin the rest of our evening."
Jane, it seemed, obeyed and didn't return to the subject again, but during the evening Mike noticed more than once that the girl's thoughts wandered away somewhere. As for himself, the damned "cave" left him a nasty emotional aftertaste which was much harder to get rid of than the sourness in his mouth. He was angry both with himself and with Jane–who had dragged him to this devil's attraction and now was falling into thoughtfulness when it was time just to carelessly relax. As a result, he brought her home even before the10 p.m. curfew set by her strict mother.
They sat in his car in front of Jane's house. The girl didn't hurry to say goodbye, but kept silent. The pause lingered.
"Listen," Mike suddenly said, "you didn't answer my question."
"Which one?"
"You aren't going to go back to that damned 'cave?'"
"Why do you think I am? " Jane asked
"You said yourself–we supposedly didn't see everything there. Though as for me, we saw more than enough. And also you were annoyed when I threw out your ticket."
"Well, and if I did want to get a better view of everything there, so what? The first time around, all that was so unexpected... but now, knowing what to look at, where there should be seams or mirrors as you said..."
"Don't even think about it!"
"Why? You said yourself–none of that can be real?"
"Of course it can't."
"So why not go back?"
"And why do it? Why do you need it?"
"Just curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat..." Mike grumbled.
"But I am not Cat, I am Jane," the girl tried to laugh the matter off. "Well, really. Admit, you also suspect something screwy there?"
"I don't suspect anything! And if I did, I would tell the police, instead of trying to investigate it myself."
"So there is something to investigate?"
"No! That is, nothing in the criminal sense. But magicians don't like it when people try to learn their secrets. There's a reason it's forbidden to photograph and so on there... And," Mike smiled, "I don't want to think that my girlfriend is a pervert who likes such nasty things."
"Afffraid? " hissed Jane in an eerie voice; however, though she also tried to joke, she didn't sound careless. "All right, all right, calm down. I won't go there to sniff anything out. It's just a carnival ride with actors and dummies. Are you satisfied?"
Mike muttered something in reply. To tell the truth, he wasn't completely satisfied with her words.
They spent Sunday together, too, and this time everything went much better, including the weather. They went to a lake and, though the water was still too cold to bathe, they could luxuriate in sunshine ashore all day long. The "cave" and the day before, as if by a silent arrangement, were not mentioned again.
During the weekdays of the next week they didn't meet–only exchanged few short evening phone calls. In the cafe where Jane had a summer job, one of the waitresses fell ill and the other girls had to split her shifts among themselves; Jane wasn't against earning some extra money, but came home late and completely exhausted. Mike, in turn, spent days in his father's auto repair shop where a 1967 Thunderbird had been brought; the car was in very poor condition–the last owner got it almost at a junkyard and the young man was busy with restoring it to life, as enthusiastic as when he assembled glue-together models in his childhood. He didn't think about the carnival any more and