The Burning Man

5

High up on the playa of the Black Rock Desert in Nevada, ninety miles north-north-east of Reno, a blasting wind flayed the skin and brought furious dust storms out of nowhere, and the sun seared the bleak landscape to a hundred degrees. Yet in this inhospitable location, a ramshackle city had grown: tents and makeshift shacks, geodesic domes, soaring statues and art installations that doubled as living quarters, arranged into streets and esplanades with all the order of a fixed city’s town planning.

The citizens wandered around in bizarre costumes — a Statue of Liberty, Wonder Woman, a tinfoil clown — or naked, body-painted, pierced, tattooed, dreadlocked, shaven-headed, surfer shorts, army fatigues, top hats, motorcycle jackets. They wore goggles and scarves across their mouths to protect against the seventy-mile-per-hour sand. Some drove vehicles that had been transformed into works of art, too, metal blossoming into staggering new mechanical creations. It was the day after the apocalypse, the end of the world, a nomadic tribe in the hinterland, and the party was only just beginning.

This was what Veitch saw when he tumbled from nowhere onto the prehistoric salt-pan. ‘This isn’t bleedin’ New York,’ he said as a man in a gimp suit wandered past.

Ruth dusted herself down as Miller, Etain and the others crashed out of the Blue behind them. ‘I can’t see Church,’ she said. ‘Why did we get spat out here?’

Beyond the tent city, a massive wicker man rose up against the silver sky.

A bare-chested, sandalled man with dyed blonde hair, carrying a surfboard, wandered up. His rolling gait suggested the influence of some narcotic. He went straight to Miller who was chewing on a fingernail, disoriented and frightened.

‘Dude, you’ve got a blue dragon inside you!’ the surfer said. His skittering fascination turned to the otherworldly mounts of the Brothers and Sisters of Spiders. ‘Cool ponies!’ He took a step back and began to sing ‘My Little Pony’ before breaking into a cackling laugh.

Etain took a step forward. Veitch made a subtle sign for her to stop.

‘Where are we?’ Ruth asked the surfer.

‘Chica! So, what, you’re a yahoo or a virgin?’ He looked from her to Veitch. ‘Nice sword, dude. And that silver hand … cool! If this is your first time, you fit right in.’

‘Tell you what, mate,’ Veitch said. ‘How about you start speaking some sense or I give you a look at my sword close up?’

The surfer was oblivious to Veitch’s threat. His attention was drawn to the horizon where the wind had whipped up a dust storm. ‘Uh-oh, there’s a white-out blowin’ in. Gotta take shelter. Later.’ Clutching his board, he ran awkwardly towards the nearest tents.

Ruth shielded her eyes from the sun; the moisture was rapidly being sucked from her body. ‘He’s right. Without the right clothes or provisions, we’re in danger.’

With mounting annoyance, Veitch drew Etain to one side. ‘You take the others out of sight till I can work out what we’re doing. Don’t want to freak anyone out.’ He paused, read her face. ‘Stop looking at me like that. I know you’re feeling bad …’ He glanced back at Ruth. ‘We’ll talk about it, all right? Soon.’

Etain took the reins of her mount and walked away into the desert. Branwen, Tannis and Owein followed.

‘Do you really think she understands you?’ Miller asked. ‘Or do you just pretend you know what she’s thinking?’

‘I’m not mad, all right?’ he replied angrily before marching towards the tents.

The dust storm swept in quickly. The surfer’s name for it was fitting, for within seconds it was impossible to see more than a few feet. Veitch, Ruth and Miller were offered shelter in a large communal tent that resembled a Bedouin hall. Twenty or so others sat around on cushions talking quietly amongst themselves, or listening to trance music on an MP3 player fitted with speakers.

They all showed deference to a man in his sixties with snow-white hair tied in a ponytail and a long droopy moustache. He had brilliant blue eyes and an open, genial nature. He took the three of them over to where he’d been lounging on cushions and offered them home-made honey-cakes.

‘I’m guessing you’re virgins,’ he said with a Southern drawl. ‘Your clothes … not suitable, man, nah. My name’s Rick.’ He gestured expansively. ‘Welcome to my domain. Enjoy yourselves. Everything is given freely and without obligation.’ He chuckled throatily.

‘Where are we?’ Ruth asked.

Rick laughed, realised she wasn’t joking. ‘You don’t know?’

‘Just answer the bleedin’ question,’ Veitch said.

‘You’ve got a lot of anger in you, I can see that. You don’t need to let it eat you up here, man. You’re with friends.’

‘You’re not my friends.’

‘Yeah, we are. You just don’t know it yet. We’re a community, one of the last real ones left in this grasping, mean old world. We look after our own. You don’t need to watch your back here. We’ll do it for you. You can check all your anger and guilt and hatred at the door. We’ve all been there. We all know that pain. Here we can live the life we’ve always wanted to live and know we’re safe.’

Veitch opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, shrugged, shifted uneasily.

Rick smiled. ‘Good. We’ve got us an understanding. Okay, I’ll take your question at face value. This is Burning Man Festival.’ He looked from Veitch to Ruth to Miller, saw only blankness, sighed. ‘You fell out of the sky?’

‘Something like that.’ Ruth said.

‘Okay, Burning Man one-oh-one. An eight-day festival held up here in Black Rock every year ending on Labor Day. We come from all over, thousands of us, more every year, and set up this temporary city. You must know this if you’re here, right?’

‘We’re pretty sure we’re here for a reason. We just don’t know why yet,’ Ruth replied.

‘Yeah, a lot of us Burners are like that. We’re all searching for something here. Some even find it.’

‘So what’s the point?’ Veitch asked.

Rick laughed. ‘The point is the world has no point! Art, spirituality, friendship, community, love — all the things that matter are forgotten out there. Sacrificed on the altar of commercialism.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘This whole deal is an experiment. In community. In self-expression — you see the art out there? It’s everywhere, a part of everyday life as it should be. And it’s an experiment in self-reliance. This place is the antithesis of the real world. There are no cash transactions. No stores. You can’t buy what you haven’t brought with you. If you don’t come well prepared you’re in real danger out here. Or you can rely on the support of your neighbours. Offer to do something for them, they’ll look after you. That’s how a community binds together. What’s your community?’ He directed the question at Veitch.

Veitch shifted uneasily. ‘I’m on my own.’

‘How’s that working out for you?’

Veitch didn’t respond.

‘We have ten principles here at Burning Man. Radical inclusion, gifting, decommodification, radical self-reliance, radical self-expression, communal effort, civic responsibility, leaving no trace, participation and immediacy. Now, to me that’s a pretty good constitution for this new age we’re moving into.’

Miller nodded. ‘I like that. I like that a lot.’

Ruth struggled to see anything relevant in Rick’s words. ‘Maybe it was just an accident we dropped out here. Totally random.’

‘There aren’t any coincidences,’ Veitch muttered. ‘All right, I’m going to have a look around once that dust-storm’s dropped.’

‘Black Rock City is built in an arc with concentric streets. You’ll find the Burning Man at the centre,’ Rick said. ‘Good luck with your quest. You look like you need to find some answers pretty quick.’

As they made their way out of the tent, a shaven-headed man offered them a comic book he had been reading. ‘You want to take a look at this,’ he said with a lazy smile.

Veitch examined it. ‘Seven Soldiers?’

‘Grant Morrison. Celtic mythology. Seven heroes saving the world. Has all the best antecedents, if you know what I mean.’

Veitch handed the comic back. ‘Seven is good. Five is better.’

‘Rick’s a nice guy,’ Ruth said as they stood at the door waiting for the wind to drop.

‘Reminded me of Tom. Only without the misery injection.’ Veitch stared into the whipping dust, lost to his thoughts.

‘I think we should split up, meet in the centre.’

Veitch eyed her suspiciously.

‘I’ll be there. You can trust me.’

‘I’ve heard that before.’ He turned to Miller. ‘You come with me.’

‘You can trust me, too!’ Miller protested.

‘’ Cept I can’t trust you not to do something stupid, like getting run over or accidentally wandering into the desert. I need you where I can give you a clip round the ear when your brain packs in.’

Miller looked affronted.

Ruth surprised Veitch with a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you for trusting me.’

‘Don’t let me down.’ Veitch grabbed Miller by the collar and dragged him into the baking heat.