MRS. PALOMAR'S VACATION

1.2. MRS. PALOMAR AT THE CARNIVAL

1.2.2. On the Carousel

Mrs. Palomar's mother once told her never to pass up the opportunity to ride a working carousel. Mrs. Palomar has always considered this to be a valuable piece of advice, and has therefore always considered it her duty to ride the carousels she has come upon throughout her life. Her children hate carousels. She has given up repeatedly dragging them with her onto the colorful spinning amusements and has taken to riding by herself, usually sending the children away with Mr. Palomar and enjoying a sense of freedom as the wind whips her hair around the thick brass pole coming out of the horse's head.

Today, Mr. and Mrs. Palomar have decided to take the children to the carnival, and Mrs. Palomar spots the carousel immediately upon their arrival. Each horse is decorated with a harness of varied colors, some are jeweled or gold-braided, others are painted with garlands of raised flowers or leaves. Many of the horses' eyes are wide and blank, as if they have been frightened by something, or as if they long madly to escape the confinements of their heavy decorations. Some of the smaller children are frightened by these crazed stares. Mrs. Palomar watches as they gape in amazement, balls of scared spit and tears gathering at the corners of their lips and eyes. Her own children are too old to be scared by such things, and anyway they've gone with Mr. Palomar to watch the bearded lady fistfight with the mermaid dwarf. Mrs. Palomar is free and alone.

She takes her time choosing her horse. She would like to ride one of the exotic animals that parade along the outer line of the carousel herd, perhaps the giraffe or the seahorse. On the other hand, none of these unusual animals moves vertically, and it is this motion of which Mrs. Palomar is particularly fond, due to the illusion of bounding through some field or savannah and yet, strangely, not going anywhere. Systematically, Mrs. Palomar examines each horse, peering behind its ears and under its hooves to search for imperfections and disease. She eventually chooses a blue one with a ruby red harness, slapping its haunches to test its strength. By the time Mrs. Palomar mounts her horse the carousel is already in motion, picking up speed, making it difficult for her to hoist herself as the horse is indeed moving up and down with abandon. Eventually she comes to a comfortable sitting position, her generous buttocks resting on either side of the child-sized red saddle. She lifts her head just in time to see the reflection of sunlight off of Mr. Palomar's bald crown, a diamond in the sea of hairy pearls that is the crowd of carousel spectators.

It is difficult for Mrs. Palomar to keep an eye on her husband and children, as the carousel is moving rapidly, and as the glare from Mr. Palomar's head is causing a spot of blinding white light to hang over that area of the crowd. Underneath her palms the brass pole is cold and thick. She clutches it and hangs to the side, watching the passing over and over scene at an increasing angle. The crowd blurs together in a mess of pink and ice cream and sticky sneakers. Mrs. Palomar can't tell her children from any of the others and she feels for a moment a distinct reversal of roles, remembers baby girl Palomar's screaming, streaming face one day years ago at just such a carnival, having lost her mother's gaze in the crowd below the ferris wheel.

Mrs. Palomar screams now, but hers is a shout of glee. She is thrilled with the feeling of knowing no one she can immediately see and being unaware of the location and status of those she loves. A nearby mother, who holds her small son's waist as he balances on a white horse, gives Mrs. Palomar a disgusted scowl. Mrs. Palomar waves. Around them the colors of the carnival swirl by, reds and pinks meshing together like a bloodstream.

1.3.3. Of an Anthill

Meet Mrs. Palomar