Aaron Connor (17 page)

Everyone has a dark side.
That’s a known fact. Most of us try to keep the darker parts of our
personality to ourselves. Joe was one of those people who couldn’t
keep that side to himself. Usually that isn’t too much of a
problem. The issue was that he was looking after children. I won’t
be surprised if Joe’s Jekyll and Hyde personality has had some
scaring effects on his young actors. It’s strange isn’t it? That
most of the people in the world today who work with children, are
almost always the complete nutcases.

After having his daft little
joke, Joe went back to his room, got changed and came back out to
lead us all to breakfast. He led us all out into the courtyard,
down some steps into a tunnel that went under the main road, up
into another courtyard and over a field towards another castle like
building. It was freezing cold. I could feel the wind going against
my face and making my nose turn red. When I thought that the
oldness in England was bad, I was introduced to the coldness of
Scotland.

We arrived at the building
where Joe led us through some double doors. Inside was a canteen
lined with massive oil paintings of landscapes and past head
masters. We had a Full English Breakfast with a choice of hot tea
or orange juice. I sat with Lizzie and David on a table all by
ourselves right at the back of the hall. While we ate we could see
the young actors chatting among themselves and occasionally give us
dirty looks.

Once we’d finished our
breakfast, all of us headed back across the fields, through the
underground tunnel and back into the first courtyard. The others
went off out of the archway and down the street to catch the bus
into the city. The three of us went straight to the Moped. Since
Lizzie drove the night before I volunteered to drive that morning.
David sat behind me and hugged my middle, while Lizzie sat in the
sidecar with a look of fear spread across her face.

I put on my helmet. Since
Lizzie was less likely to fall off as she was strapped in, she gave
her helmet to David to wear. I felt a little bit bad then as I
hadn’t offered to do that myself the night before. I popped the key
in the hole, turned it, kicked the engine into life and we were
soon zooming down the many roads which led to the City of
Edinburgh. We caught up with Joe who was still leading his actors
like a General leading his soldiers to war. I slowed down the bike
to a walking pace and rode alongside him.

“
Where’s our
destination?” I asked,

“
The Royal
Mile” he replied, “I printed off the map for you last night off the
school computer, I found it in the room next to my mine. We’re
going to do some publicity there and then head off to the venue
afterwards. The venue is The Edinburgh Arts College, I’ve also
printed you the map which tells you how to get there from the Royal
Mile”

He gave Lizzie the two sheets
of paper with the printouts. She took the papers and looked them
over with much concentration. After confirming to herself that the
places were going to be easy to find, she turned her head to Joe
and nodded in the affirmative. Joe was happy with that and smiled
at us with that horrifically creepy grin.

“
Very good” he
said, “Carry on, we’ll see you there”

“
See yah!” I
replied.

I twisted the bike’s handle and
very soon Joe was nothing more than a small dot in the distance. We
passed all of the same sights as the night before. We recognised
some of the same shops and landmarks. When we turned a corner to
head towards the Royal Mile, we passed some new places. We passed
the legendary Edinburgh Dungeon and came upon something that made
me look upwards in awe.

We stopped before a huge, tall
and wide staircase. It was unbelievably high. There was a sign on
the wall just to the side of the staircase which said: “The Royal
Mile”. An idea for a bit of fun sprouted in my mind. I think you
can probably guess exactly what the idea was. The idea was a race.
One man on foot, verses a woman and a boy on a Moped. When I got
off the bike and stood at the foot of the staircase, without
needing to say anything Lizzie knew what I was up to.

She unbuckled herself from the
sidecar, to her relief, and climbed up onto the Moped. I steadied
myself at the foot of the stairs and looked upward at the daunting
height. I knew I was mad to think that I was going to be able to
run this monster of a staircase, but I same time I knew it was
going to be a right laugh.

I crouched down with one leg in
front of the other, imitating the way that professional runners
start races at the Olympics. Lizzie was leaning forward on the bike
in readiment for the challenge ahead. David even got in on the act
by doing a countdown for us:

“
5, 4, 3, 2,
1!” called David.

Once he uttered the number
“one”, the game was on. I began to run up the steps as the Moped
zoomed off in a screeching ball of exhaust fumes. At first I
thought I was doing quite. I was speeding past slow climbing
pedestrians with a silly grin on my face.

Then the tiredness settled in.
I was only a quarter of the way there and I felt my legs begin to
buckle. I didn’t stop though, oh no, I kept on trying to run up
those stairs in a stubborn manner. Half way up I was wheezing and
panting as I climbed up while holding onto the handrail, which
stood in the centre of the staircase. Sweat was pouring down my
face. I could no longer breathe and my legs felt like jelly.

It was at this point that an
old man dressed entirely in tartan and tweed came by me. He was
walking up the staircase with much power and force. There was no
strain on the man’s bearded face. He was breathing at the same
rhythm as you normally would when you’re walking. He took one look
at me and grunted.

“
Bloody
tourists!” bellowed the man, he spoke with strong Scottish accent
and a slight growl, “it seems that everyday we get more weedy
little Englishman trying to get up these here stairs. When will
they learn? Bloody English, they always have to put on a bloody
show and be the big I’m. “Look at me” they’d say, “I’m from England
and watch me make a complete twat of myself on those stairs”.
Twerps the lot of them, why if I could get my hands on one it’d . .
.”

His voice trailed away, as he
kept on moaning to himself as he climbed further up the stairs.

When I finally reached the top
I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. I was so tired from the climb
that, at first, I hadn’t noticed that Lizzie and David were
standing right in front of me. I looked up from where I was
crouched, to see Lizzie face smiling down at me.

“
You took your
time” she said, “How do you feel?”

“
I want to
die!” I shouted,

Lizzie helped me up. We sat on
a bench for a few moments just to catch my breath. While we sat
there, Lizzie told me that she parked the bike just at the bottom
of the Royal Mile. Feeling a lot better and well rested, I got up
and went with the others through an alleyway onto the Royal
Mile.

The Royal Mile is a very long
street, which goes from the bottom of a hill all the way up to
Edinburgh Castle at the top. I’ve always thought about how fun it
would be to ride down that hill on a bike without pedalling, as it
gets steep towards the bottom.

This street has become a famous
location for the festival, as this is where all of the performers
come to play. Some were doing their full shows on the street, while
others were advertising their shows by doing different publicity
stunts.

There was one boy who was
starring in a production of Lord of the Flies. He lay in the street
on his belly and stayed completely still. His torn up school
uniform was covered in fake blood and gore. All around his
motionless body were leaflets for the play. People would come
along, look at the boy, take a leaflet from under him and then walk
off reading it.

There was a troupe of actors
who were promoting a production of Oh What a Lovely War! These guys
were in full World War One uniforms and were marching up and down
the street. Many of them had instruments. One had a trumpet, one
had a guitar, one had a trombone and another had a marching drum
hung around his neck. All day long they were walking up and down
the street. They were playing songs from the show with a man,
dressed as General Haig with a bushy moustache, leading the
procession.

My favourite performer was a
man who was trying to promote his company’s stage adaptation of
Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. The man was
dressed as Hunter, with the Hawaiian shirt and orange aviator
glasses, and was going up to people and telling them about the
show. He would tell them about the show in character and acting
like he was on a very bad acid trip. I just wished that those young
actors from our show could have seen him, maybe then they’ve have
understood what “real acting” actually meant.

We were stood there waiting for
a long time. We’d wondered where the bloody hell Joe had gone to.
All the while we just stood there and watched more madcap
performers come by, doing clever stunts and funny tricks. In fact,
we were actually having a good time. We saw magicians, musicians,
street dancers, puppeteers and, at one point, we even saw some
Bollywood dancers. Of course the fun couldn’t last for long, as we
began to hear complaints among the crowd, about a certain
performance.

“
Sick” said an
old woman who was walking past, “sick and disgusting!”

“
Don’t take it
to heart” said her husband, “they were probably trying to make a
point”

“
What point?”
barked the old woman, “it was just offensive, that was what it was!
You fought against those nutters back in the war, now we’ve got the
modern generation glorifying them? It’s mental! It’s
deranged!”

“
I’m sorry to
interrupt” I said, taking a couple of steps towards them, “but what
are two talking about?”

“
You’ll see!”
yelled the woman, “you’ll bloody well see! They’re marching up the
street as I speak!”

It was then that I began to
hear a wave of boos and shouting coming from the crowd behind the
old couple. It was increasing the volume as more people took up the
cry of rage. I looked up to see hands punching the air in anger.
More hands rose into the air, when they saw what everyone was
getting angry about, like a Mexican wave. I could see people
getting whatever they had at hand and throwing it towards something
that was in the centre of the street. I peered out from the crowd,
knowing very well who I was going to see. I knew who it was I was
going to see, but I had no idea what it was I was going to see.

The children were dressed in
striped uniforms. Their hair was completely shaven, the hair they
had before must have been wigs of some sort. They were marching in
a lined procession up the street, led by several boys dressed as
Nazis. The boys dressed as Nazis were goose-stepping and had their
hands rose in a Hitler salute. At the back of the procession were
two people, who were holding up large banners brandishing the
swastika. Joe was at the back as well, holding an amplifier which
was plugged into his MP3 player. From the MP3 player, Joe was
playing Adolf Hitler’s Rally Speeches at full blast. The man with
the monk haircut was whipping the young actors with a fake rubber
whip, while singing the German national anthem.

The one thing that Joe hadn’t
counted on, was a large group of German students and tourists being
on the Royal Mile that day. If they had done this on a day in which
the street was occupied by British people alone, all they would
have got was a fair amount of tutting. Instead they got a massive
backlash of hatred from the crowd.

One German man with a grey
beard came out of the crowd, grabbed the amplifier from Joe’s hands
and smashed it over his head. Joe went tumbling to the ground, as
bits of broken plastic fell all over the cobblestone street. There
was a massive cheer from the crowd.

Even though I shouldn’t have
done, I smiled at the sight of it. Serves you right I thought, you
insensitive bastard!

The young actors began to look
around then at the furious faces in the crowd. Soon people began to
gang up on the ones dressed as Nazis. Their faces were inches away
from the complete strangers who they’ve seriously irritated. The
young actors dressed as prisoners snuck away through the crowd.
Then they headed towards a festival tent where all of they’re
clothes were, to get changed out of their offensive costumes as
quickly as possible.

The ones dressed as Nazis were
left on the street, getting themselves trapped in a tightening
circle of angry faces. I have no idea how the fight eventually
started. All I saw was one man viscously head butt the man with the
monk haircut, which then caused the entire crowd to go absolutely
mental. The crowd became nothing more then a sea of violent rage,
where many noses were broken and many faces smashed in.

I could see the young actors in
the distance running away, escorted by members of the police. The
young actors were full dressed with their wigs back on their heads,
some in awkward angles. After a little research, I discovered that
the parents approved the shaving of their children’s heads. Some
were even present at the hairdressers when it was being done! Pushy
drama parents will do anything to get their kids in the spotlight,
its repulsive init?

As casually as possible, the
three of us made our way towards the bottom of the street, where
Lizzie said she parked the Moped. Police vans, stuffed with
policemen with riot helmets and shields, then came onto the scene
to sort out the situation. We kept on moving down the street, as if
we had no connection whatsoever with the Mock Nazi Rally, as the
newspapers soon called it.