Mr Oliphant is delighted to be the newest of the new on the outer ring of the carousel, the theme park’s star attraction and he the star within the star. All the children of the world want to ride on Mr Oliphant; his back is broad and his heart is oak and he can carry all the children of the world. Even the little wild pony with the chocolate eyes and dancing toes that loves to gallop over the sugar mountain above the sunlit sea, beyond the field with the red windmill, sees the excitement created by the proud new creature on the carousel.
Mr Oliphant loves all the children of the world and Mr Oliphant loves all the animals on the carousel. But of all the animals on the carousel Mr Oliphant most loves the painted horses, and of all the painted horses Mr Oliphant loves Jenny the best, the lovely Jenny who rides on the inside ring of the carousel. Jenny is the last of her kind for the God of Big Things laid off the horse maker after Jenny was crafted and tore up the design, for the God of Big Things is a jealous god, jealous of wooden horse idols, jealous that the horse maker could make anything so beautiful, inside and out, as the beautiful Jenny.
Soon Mr Oliphant is always next to Jenny on the carousel. And as Mr Oliphant and Jenny swing round joyously side-by-side on the carousel, Mr Oliphant feels a wisp from the long hair of Jenny’s golden mane brush his cheek. And Mr Oliphant’s heart leaps and he is happy. And Mr Oliphant waves his trunk rapturously at the little wild pony with the chocolate eyes and dancing toes galloping by on the lavender sugar mountain beyond the fresh green field with the red windmill turning briskly in the sea breeze.
But the God of Big Things, who holds the master franchise for all the carousels in the whole wide world, sends a wicked weevil to worm its way into Jenny’s wooden flesh. And the wicked weevil enters Jenny through one of her hooves for the God of Big Things, in his infinite wisdom, has left an unpainted unlacquered unvarnished spot on the hooves of all the animals of the carousel, a spot through which he can test their mettle to destruction if his fancy takes him. For the God of Big Things is the Almighty God among the animals of the carousel, and the God of Big Things is a Mysterious God and the ways of the God of Big Things are not to be understood or questioned by the animals of the carousel, not even big animals with broad backs and hearts of oak like Mr Oliphant.
Gradually the sheen fades from Jenny’s golden mane, the sparkle from her topaz blue eyes, and the bounce goes out of Jenny’s stride. Her varnish begins to lose its lustre and gilt flakes from her beautiful hair. And Jenny’s happy smile takes on a tinge of sadness as the pain eats away at the marrow of her wooden legs.
“Hold on to me,” says Mr Oliphant. “I am strong. I can carry all the children of the world. Hold on and ride with me. I am the sunshine of your life. Hang tight by me.”
And Mr Oliphant waves his trunk gaily at the little wild pony with the chocolate eyes and dancing toes galloping by on the golden sugar mountain beyond the yellow field with the red windmill turning languorously in the hot air.
And Jenny feels calmer and relaxed, secure in Mr Oliphant’s love, and waits fearlessly for the weevil’s next onslaught on her wooden flesh.
But now sickness in the stomach grips Jenny and the rolling of the carousel, the constant rise and fall of all the animals of the carousel, the blur of the passing faces, makes her vomit and she loses her breath and finds it harder and harder to keep up with the pace of all the animals of the carousel.
“You can ride on me,” says Mr Oliphant. “I am strong. I can carry you. I can carry all the children of the world. Ride on me.”
And Mr Oliphant leans over with his big forklift truck tusks and lifts the tiring frail Jenny onto his broad back, and Jenny smiles at him as she rides there, happy now that she doesn’t have to run all day to keep up with all the other animals on the carousel. And Mr Oliphant waves his trunk at the little wild pony with the chocolate eyes and dancing toes galloping by on the orange sugar mountain beyond the crimson field with the red windmill turning rapidly in the strong southerly gale.
But now the wicked weevil finds other weevils to help him in his wicked task and the wicked weevils spread rapidly through Jenny’s ailing wooden flesh, weakening her fibres and rotting her guts and playing havoc in the delicate working organs so lovingly crafted by the redundant horse maker. And Jenny finds it harder and harder to hold up her head and, every time the carousel swings into the wind, the biting cold wind begins to tear out more and more of her beautiful golden mane.
“I’ll provide you a shelter,” says Mr Oliphant. “I am strong. I can carry you. I can carry all the children of the world. And I can carry a shelter for you on my back.”
And he leans from the carousel and grabs the ticket kiosk in his tusks and he puts the ticket kiosk on his back and Jenny stands in the ticket kiosk out of the wind and feels a little better. And Mr Oliphant looks longingly at the little wild pony with the chocolate eyes and the dancing toes galloping by on the brown sugar mountain beyond the purple field with the red windmill turning stiffly in the icy wind.
But now the wicked weevils, their work nearly done, are laying waste to Jenny’s spine and Jenny finds the noise of the Wurlitzer sends pains through her head and she closes the doors and windows of the kiosk to keep out the wind and the noise, and she lies down in her straw and she sleeps and cannot eat.
“I don’t know what else to do,’ says Mr Oliphant. “This is a heavy burden that I carry. You, your shelter and all the children of the world. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Just love me. That is enough,” says Jenny. “That is more than enough.”
And Mr Oliphant looks desperately at the little wild pony with the chocolate eyes and the dancing toes galloping by on the frosted sugar mountain beyond the grey field with the red windmill scarcely turning in the dead air.
And Jenny lies and sleeps and calls to the God of Big Things to let her down from the carousel. And the God of Big Things, in his infinite wisdom, is bored with the endless whining of all the animals of the carousel, many of them, like the redundant horse maker, obsolescent beasts past their use-by dates and no longer worth the cost of maintenance. And the God of Big Things, who is all-seeing and all-knowing, has been diversifying his investment portfolio and changing his product mix; he wants to dump his childish theme park dog and concentrate on cornering the market with his new cash cows, his branded religious wars. So the God of Big Things decides to offload his carousels and invest the proceeds in computer games with boring X-box names, decides to destroy all the carousels of the world with a big bang and flog the debris off to the God of Small Things for her wicked weevils to pick through and devour at their leisure.
And the wicked weevils bore into the soft tissue of Jenny’s wooden brain.
And Jenny looks at Mr Oliphant with her topaz blue eyes and says, “I am dying, Mr Oliphant, I am dying. Hold my head, hold my heart, hold me tight.”
And Mr Oliphant holds Jenny tight and strokes her golden mane.
And Jenny’s spirit is weary and her heart grows heavy.
And Jenny looks at Mr Oliphant with her topaz blue eyes and says, “I love you Mr Oliphant.”
And Jenny dies.
Mr Oliphant’s broken heart is heavy and his tears are heavy. The hearts of all the children of the world are heavy and their tears are heavy. And Jenny’s dead heart, heavier than Mr Oliphant’s broken heart, heavier even than all the hearts of all the children of the world, is the straw that breaks Mr Oliphant’s broad back.
And the little wild pony with the chocolate eyes and dancing toes stops galloping by on the sugarless mountain beyond the black fields with the red windmill that stands motionless in the dark.
And the little wild pony watches in dismay as the carousel, all its weight on Mr Oliphant’s breaking broad back, becomes unstable and starts pitching and rolling, giving all the animals a terrifying roller-coaster ride while the hurdy gurdy screeches out tuneless songs and the whole sad caboodle, in a state of collapse, spins frantically faster and faster out of control and disintegrates with a gigantic boom and the centrifugal forces of the careening mad merry-go-round fling all the animals into the sky and out over the field, the mountain, the sea, into the void.
Except for the exhausted Mr Oliphant who is so heavy with all the weight of all the hearts of all the children of the world, and of Jenny’s dead heart and his broken one, and of all the tears shed by all the children of the world and his tears, that he is not flung far. And Mr Oliphant lies stranded on his back across the broken fence at the edge of the field with the red windmill.
And the little wild pony with the chocolate eyes and dancing toes comes down from the mountain and kneels by Mr Oliphant and licks the tears running down Mr Oliphant’s face.
And all the children of the world come to comfort Mr Oliphant and all the children of the world say, “Don’t cry Mr Oliphant, don’t cry. We love you Mr Oliphant, please don’t cry.”
But the little wild pony jumps up excitedly and laughs and laughs in delight and says, “You are crying, Mr Oliphant, you are crying. Where did you learn to cry? Only real animals cry.”
“I learned how to love,” says Mr Oliphant through his tears. “To learn how to cry, first I had to learn how to love.”
“Ride with me, Mr Oliphant. I’m a real pony with a heart of gold and I can carry you on my back for a while. Just until you’re better, Mr Oliphant, ride with me,” says the little wild pony.
And Mr Oliphant leans on the little wild pony with the chocolate eyes and dancing toes and the heart of gold and slowly, painfully, with the help of all the children of the world, Mr Oliphant eases himself gently onto the back of the little wild pony.
And the little wild pony carries Mr Oliphant away from the wreck of the carousel and Mr Oliphant carries Jenny with him in his broken heart. Together they cross the field where the snowdrops push up through the frozen earth, past the red windmill turning gently in the freshening breeze, and climb to the top of the mountain as the sugar crystals fall from the deep blue sky above the moonlit sea.
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