As I drove along Route Sixty-six past various stores, restaurants, and billboards, we were both quiet, lost in our thoughts. I knew Avalon was about forty miles from the Black Mountains and that we'd soon be there. I saw a sign that announced we were entering Death Valley. Carla held my map on her lap while we drove past the sparse vegetation, mostly Joshua Trees, sagebrush and odd shaped cactus. Dusty bronze colored hills rose from the flat land. They created deep valleys and basins that looked like dried up lake beds. The sun was hot and the blue sky was cloudless. Large birds circled high above us and I wondered if they were eagles or hawks. I looked out at the mountains that seemed to be surrounding us. We were still on Route Sixty-six, but the highway was twisting down a steep hill deep into a valley, and then it became flat again with open barren land on both sides that were surrounded by ragged cliffs, high hills and dunes.
Carla studied the map, moving her finger. "Looks like Hesterville is not too far."
I knew that Death Valley was well below sea level. I looked out at the high cliffs and the changing vegetation. Only a few cars and trucks passed us going in the opposite direction. Twenty minutes later, I drove past a hand painted red and white sign that said, "Avalon Theater–five miles."
"Did you see that sign?" I asked.
"Yes. Looks like we're almost there," Carla closed the map.
Five minutes later we passed another brightly colored sign, "Avalon Theater--two miles."
Soon, I saw an old splintered sign that said Entering Hesterville in faded letters, but Hesterville was crossed out with a thick black line and above it Avalon painted in red letters.
I continued driving until I came to a crossroads and saw a small sign with an arrow pointing to the right that said, "To Avalon."
"Why do you think she changed the name of the town to Avalon?" Carla asked when I made the turn.
"Who knows? Maybe we'll find out. I think Avalon is connected to the King Arthur legend and has mystical connotations, but that's all I know. Anyway, it's strange, and probably illegal, to decide to change the name of a town."
Within minutes we drove into a town of dilapidated wooden buildings on both sides of the street. An old gas station with a dangling Esso sign was on the corner and it reminded me of Jim's gas station. I drove slowly down the street and saw it was one block long—not much of a town. Several old cars and rusted pick-up trucks were angled facing the sidewalk, a few with flat tires. Half of the buildings were boarded up, or had broken windows, but the street was not littered with trash, and it seemed like the sidewalks had been swept. I was surprised at how neat and clean the town seemed despite the faded and splintered buildings and broken down cars and trucks. One building was an old hotel with a torn awning and a sign above it with the word Hesterville Hotel crossed out and Avalon written over it. Next to it was Dot's Cafe. A small red sign on the door said closed. Next to the cafe was an old barber shop with one of those old red and white barber poles. On the other side of the street was Al's Hardware with a rusted bench in front and then, next to the store, an old bank, with rusted bars on the front door and windows.
Carla was quiet and looked at everything with wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth. As we drove passed the old, shabby buildings, I saw the town was one long block and wondered where we would find Anna. It didn't look like there were any people in the town, and yet it didn't feel abandoned. I was baffled.
"This is spooky," Carla said, leaning forward. "How could anybody live here."
"I don't know, but it looks pretty clean. Seems like someone is living here."
Then I saw a building at the end of the block that looked like a theater. It was brightly painted and almost glowed in contrast to the other buildings. It had an art deco appearance, a style that was popular in the thirties and forties. It was painted a bright yellow with green trim. It had a small marquee hanging over the sidewalk with the words Avalon Theater painted in bright red. When I parked in front of it, I saw a small ticket booth painted in the same yellow and green with a small sign on the window--Ticket Office opens at seven-thirty. In back of the ticket booth were two doors with shiny brass handles leading to the inside of the theater. On the front of the theater were two large posters of a woman in a graceful ballet pose wearing a short, pink fluffy skirt, white tights and pink toe shoes and the name Anna Polovna printed in bold black letters. There was also a large poster leaning on an easel --Swan Lake--Tonight at Eight."
I looked at Carla and could see her startled eyes as she read the signs and stared at the theater.
"I don't believe my eyes. I never expected to see this theater," I said.
"This is unreal.It's freaking me out." Carla's eyes were wide open.
"I wonder if Anna is inside." I was unable to take my eyes off of the posters.
"There's one way to find out," Carla said. "Lets go inside."
Just as I opened the truck door, an old dark skinned man with a bushy white mustache covering his upper lip came out of the theater. He was carrying a broom and started sweeping. A wide brimmed straw cowboy hat shaded his eyes. I was sure he was Mexican. He looked startled at first to see me walking towards him with Carla slightly behind me. He stopped sweeping when he saw us, then immediately started sweeping again, ignoring us and seemed strangely unconcerned that we were there.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for a woman named Anna." I spoke softly.
"She's resting for her performance tonight." He glanced at me then continued sweeping.
"A friend of hers sent us to see her. It's important that we meet." Carla said.
He looked at Carla then at me and nodded. "I will tell her you are here and see if she wants to see anyone. She just finished rehearsing and is resting, but you can come inside and get away from the heat." He leaned the broom against the box office and walked into the theater.
I glanced up and saw there were many light bulbs lining the edges of the marquee and wondered if they worked. I imagined them lighting up the area around the theater at night.
When he returned, he waved us into the theater.
"What's your name?" I asked. "I'm Josh and this is Carla."
"Miguel," he answered and glanced again at both of us but didn't say anything.
We walked through the narrow lobby covered with a bright red carpet. On both walls were dozens of photos and posters. Many of them were glossy, theatrical photographs of a young ballerina with dark hair in a bun, a narrow face with her arms, hands and fingers extended gracefully. The colorful large posters advertised the names of various ballets performed by Anna Polovna. I was dazzled as I looked at them. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Giselle, Don Quixote, Romeo and Juliet. Each of them had pictures of Anna Polovna either solo or with a male partner in tights. Several said Carnegie Hall, Boston Opera House, Radio City Music Hall, La Scala and many other theaters in foreign countries. I saw a few framed posters of faded newspaper articles. One headline from the New York Times read, "Anna Polovna Thrills at Sold Out Performance."
What was a famous ballet dancer doing in a ghost town? How did this brightly painted theater appear in Death Valley? I was mystified and remembered Jim warning us she was a character.
"I don't believe my eyes," I said and turned to Carla after reading the article and then looked around at all of the posters that lined the lobby.
"This is amazing," Carla said, looking at everything. "I don't get it."
Just then Miguel came back from inside the dark theater and waved to us. "Come, Senor with me. Anna will meet you." He held the large door open and stood aside as we passed him.
When we entered the dimly lighted theater and stood at the rear, we saw a wide center aisle that descended to a stage. On both sides of the aisle were fifteen rows of seats that were upholstered in a dark maroon material. There must have been a hundred and fifty seats that looked in excellent condition. A red carpet leading to the stage was immaculate and above the auditorium was a large chandelier.
"Look." Carla stopped and pointed.
Painted on all of the walls above us was a balcony that circled the theater with a wide variety of men and women painted on the wall. The men wore tuxedos or suits and the women had gowns with sparkling necklaces. Some wore glasses or had small binoculars in their hands. Some of the women wore large fancy hats with feathers. The balcony had a painted brass railing and the front was colorful and intricately detailed.
I was stunned.It was beautiful and bizarre mural that went all around the theater. Someone had spent a great deal of time painting it. Carla's eyes and mouth were wide open as if in awe.
