Elephant Song

THIRTY

No One stood upon the crest of the Upland Mountain Range. Far below to the north was the Great Muck and Waco's Lake. In the far distance, a pure white cloud covered the peak of White Top Mountain. The thread of the White Top Mountain Road writhed down from the frozen lakes until it was almost lost in the jungle below. There, at the town of Arcadia, it joined the great road that stretched from Miira southwest through the Great Muck until it reached Arcadia, then turned south and went over the Upland Range, and down to the Great Desert where it ended in the Town of Kuumic.

Twin columns of white smoke rose from the iron furnace in Arcadia. Where the columns became one, the river of smoke bent and pointed northeast in a straight line toward Miira. No One turned his back on the Great Muck and walked the crest until the Great Desert spread before him. Tears filled his eyes and he raised his open hands toward the sky.

"Momus! Momus, you great fat laughing fool! Momus, look at me! Look at me..."

He whirled about, and the direction of the smoke changed. His palms faced White Top Mountain, and seconds later its cover of clouds was gone. He looked at a boulder upon the ground and watched with unblinking eyes as it exploded into a thousand pieces.

He looked back at the sky, his arms still raised. "But I cannot alter the past, you great joker. The past is set for all time, and I damn the laws of your universe!"

He lowered his arms to his sides, then hung his head as a breeze, heated and dusted by the desert sands, washed his clown-whited face. "Momus, how does the one called No One live with himself?" He nodded, his tears falling to the ground.

He had seen them in Miira gathered around the kraal. Little Will, torn and broken in her carrying litter; Tokyoso, crippled; the families of the eight bullhands Reg had killed since the one called Johnjay had his trunk put on the lot. All of them watching Bigfoot. All of them finding their meaning, vicariously filling their existence, through the actions of the new Master of the Miira Bullhands as Bigfoot put Reg through her paces. He had visited their minds and had gone away ashamed.

But it was more than the bullhands. The others. The hostlers, riders, harness men, barkers, priests, newstellers, roustabouts—he had visited their minds as well. Reg was their tie to the stars, to the old show. Even for those who were not bullhands, the bull was their special animal. The bull was the show; and the show still lived in the hearts of those who had been watching Bigfoot and Reg. The old troupers, and those who had been born on Momus, as well.

But it had been the vision of reverence—ecstasy—that he saw when he visited Bigfoot's mind that had driven his power from Miira. It was the same vision he remembered when he had once read his sister's mind as May sat on the grass with her brushes and paints. It was a private, savage joy mixed from pride and belonging.

It was the joy he once witnessed as a child in Tarzak during The Season the twenty-first when he was but thirteen years old. The peculiar-looking Master of the Tarzak Priests, Warts, read from the old route book of the great clem on the planet Wallabee. O'Hara's Greater Shows and the Arnheim & Boon Circus did battle there, and as Warts told the tale, the young Johnjay crept into the old priest's head to see what the priest saw as he spoke.

No One looked again at the sky. "Arnheim. Did you see them, too? Neither you nor I, no matter what we do, can kill the show. The immortal cannot be killed, and the show is immortal."

For a moment he entertained thoughts of sending his thoughts to Miira, to his mother's house, to seek her comfort, to ask her forgiveness. He shook his head as the heat of shame filled his chest and face.

He looked again at the Great Desert. "What shall I do?"

The years of Ssura's, the painful lessons from the eggs bought at the price of enslaving a helpless infant—for nothing. All for nothing.

"If I want, I could be the greatest magician or fortune teller this world would ever see. If I want, I could rule this entire planet with the fear of my powers." He issued a bitter laugh, then spat upon the ground.

Dark thoughts crossed his mind; thoughts of flinging himself over the edge of a convenient cliff, as he had caused the five bulls to do. A calm crept into his soul. He nodded.

"Yes. There is that."

He searched his own mind for an opposing argument, but could find nothing save a slight curiosity. The eggs had seen something in his mind. Two great puzzles resided in his head; two visions the eggs had called them. All that was needed for the puzzles to come together—for him to see the visions— were a few pieces. He shrugged. It was something to do; a mission; a thread of purpose; a scrap of meaning.

"Two great visions." He nodded, wiped the tears from his cheeks, and began his trek down the mountain toward the road to Kuumic. "The cliffs will be there if and when I need them."

It was two years later at the Miira Ring, The Thirty-seventh Year Since The Crash. As always, when newly arrived newstellers or priests played the Ring, the one called Little Will sat in the blues, hoping for some news of Johnjay. That night there was the new Master of the Arcadia Newstellers, Tamborine by name, playing the Ring. Tamborine had unusual events to relate.

"There is a magician I met," she said, "whose magic is more wonder than tricks. His name is Trouble, and I swear he had the power to alter the spots upon his cards. He travels with a fortune teller named Tarzaka, who is no mere peeker of mitts. She can tell fortunes. She knows all that has been and can see that which is to be."

Tamborine remained silent for a moment, then continued. "The strangest thing, however, is a happening I witnessed at the eleventh fire from Kuumic on the Road to Tarzak in the Great Desert. There were fourteen gathered at the fire the night of which I speak, and the performances exceptional, even though there was a preponderance of priests. Three clowns, one each from Tarzak, Sina, and Porse, contested, and then in turn the priests began.

"Badnews, apprentice priest from Tarzak, recited the epic 'The City of Baraboo,' relating the adventures of the old show, and Badnews was in fine voice, indeed. Then Noodlebrain, apprentice from Arcadia, recited his recently completed saga 'The Road,' in which is told the history of the bulls on Momus. Great Teena, Master of the Mbwebwe Priesthood, recited her epic 'Car Number Two' relating the history of the settlement and development of the Continent of Midway.

"Three other priests rose, each one speaking his favorite work. Oilum, one of the fisher-priests of Sina, recited his epic of the old show, 'Edition Twenty-One and Thirty-Five.' Toldus, second apprentice from Ikona, performed his history, 'The Season The First.' Finally Great Muggsy, first priest under Great Warts of the Tarzak Priesthood, stood and spoke to us 'The Saga of Bullhook Willy.'

"The exchange of movills was substantial, and no one paid more than a strange fortune teller named No One. His face was painted in clown white and his robe was ragged and torn. Great Muggsy asked No One for a fortune. At first No One studied the dark priest, then the fortune teller nodded and stood.

"At first he looked down at Great Muggsy and asked, 'Do you know me, Great Muggsy?'

"The dark priest nodded his head. 'Yes. I know you.'

"The fortune teller looked around at our faces, then looked above the fire at the night sky. Then spoke. 'Once, long ago, I was promised two great visions. These visions, I was told, would come upon me once I had seen and learned enough. And for the past two years I have been across the face of this planet, looking and learning.

" 'Four months ago I met Great Mareseadoats and his wife, the singer Ieada, upon the Miira-Arcadia Road. There I purchased a history and Ieada's show songs. The visions almost came upon me. But something was still missing.' He held out his hands. 'The priests at the fire tonight have supplied me with the missing pieces.'

"Great Muggsy looked up at the fortune teller. 'Is this to be a fortune for one of us?'

" 'For all of you,' No One answered. 'My first great vision is of the planet Momus and its people. There will be dark times ahead, as the show has always seen dark times.'

"We whispered among ourselves, for surely the fortune teller was mad. The show had been dead for the past thirty-seven years. Great Muggsy hushed us to silence, then he again faced No One. 'And with the dark times?' he asked.

" 'There will be the good as well.' He held his hands up to the night sky. "The show lives now and will live forever. I see it again flying among the stars, playing once again under canvas to the many races of many worlds, its name once again a thing to thrill the hearts of old and young alike.' He lowered his hands and looked at the faces around the fire. 'And there will, be bulls. More bulls than the old show had. All this I saw in my vision.'

"Great Muggsy's eyes were wet with tears as he smiled and nodded. 'And, fortune teller, does your vision say when this will take place?'

" 'No,' the fortune teller answered. Then the strangest thing happened. Great Muggsy asked another question. 'And your second vision, No One?'

"No One stared steadily at the priest, and then he spoke. 'My second vision is for me alone. It is my own fortune.' He looked around at those seated at the fire. 'In exchange for supplying me with the missing pieces to my puzzles, I give the fortune of Momus to you to play as you will.'"

Tamborine held out her arms. "Then the white-faced fortune teller turned from the fire and walked out into the night. He walked not toward Kuumic nor toward Tarzak. Instead he walked north straight into the desert toward the Upland Mountains." The newsteller lowered her hands and looked at those seated in the blues of the Miira Ring. "Was the fortune teller mad?" She shrugged. "Who knows? The things he said, the paint upon his face, his walk into the waterless desert in the middle of the night, all speak of madness. But his fortune speaks to my heart.

"We all thought the fortune teller to be mad; but we talked among ourselves, and thought long and hard about No One's vision. As I said, I had only weeks before seen a magician do real magic and another fortune teller who used no cards, crystal balls, or mumbo jumbo. Instead that fortune teller told real fortunes. If one such fortune teller exists, another can."

The newsteller held her hands to her breast. "In here I know that the strange fortune teller spoke the truth. In here the show is not dead. It is not dead in the hearts of those who listened that night to No One. And you should not let the show die in your hearts." Tamborine pointed toward the night sky. "One day the show will again fly among the stars; the show will go on.

Little Will cried silently as the cashiers moved into the blues to collect Tamborine's movills.