The Story of the Blue Planet

by Andri Snaer Magnason

  “Are the children on the other side now angry with us?”

  “They’ve found out who stole the sun and the butterflies from them and sent them darkness and clouds instead.”

  “So are the children in the darkness going to kill us?”

  “That’s how it goes when there’s a war,” said Jolly-Goodday, shrugging his shoulders.

  The waves carried the crates with the invading force closer and closer to Black Beach. The children dashed to and fro in confusion.

  “We must drive the invaders back!”

  “Quick, Jolly-Goodday, make some bombs from the smell of volcanoes and the iron in the mountains.”

  “Yes, quickly!” shouted the children. “We must blow them up before it’s too late!”

  Jolly-Goodday thought it over. The first crates had almost reached the shoreline.

  “It’s a little bit expensive,” said Jolly-Goodday calmly.

  “How much does a bomb cost?” shouted the children.

  “It will cost one heart per person to throw a bomb,” said Jolly-Goodday.

  “One heart?”

  “It’s impossible to throw bombs if you have a normal child’s heart in your breast. As soon as you throw a bomb it becomes either a stone heart or a steel heart.”

  “And how would that change us?”

  “You won’t grow any bigger and you won’t get any smaller, but if you get a stone heart your life will be much easier, you won’t even need to have friends.”

  “What about a steel heart?”

  “Then you’ll never be bored and never be happy and won’t need to have feelings anymore. Men with steel hearts never cry.”

  “Quick, Jolly-Goodday, save us. Make the bombs!”

  Jolly-Goodday transformed the smell of volcanoes and the iron in the mountains into bombs, which he handed out to the children. He then took cover behind a rock and hunched down with the loudspeaker. The children took their places on the shoreline and aimed at the invading army on the sea.

  Ready, aim, and BOMBS AWAY!” bellowed Jolly-Goodday.

  But there was no explosion. The children held onto their bombs as no one wanted to be the first to throw one. No one liked the idea of getting a stone heart or a steel heart. Jolly-Goodday picked up his loudspeaker and shouted at the children:

  “Are you complete wimps? You’ll be utterly defeated in this war if you don’t throw the bombs! Hurry up before it’s too late!”

  The invading rafts had come right up to the land and at last a wave caught hold of one of them and smashed it to pieces, spilling its contents all over the beach. The children looked on in amazement.

  “It isn’t an invincible invading army! It’s a pile of blankets!”

  “They’ve clearly planned the attack very carefully,” said Jolly-Goodday. “They’ve sent supplies ahead of them. You should blow up the next crate. Ready, aim, BOMBS AWAY!”

  But no one threw a bomb. The waves caught hold of more and more crates and broke them open along the shoreline. Out of them tumbled shoes, clothes, blankets, and potatoes or dried fish.

  The children stood speechless on the beach as the waves threw the last crate ashore. It landed without breaking open and the children crept all round it.

  “What is it?”

  “Be careful,” said Jolly-Goodday. “It could be a nuclear bomb.”

  The Bomb in the Crate

  Magni crept up to the crate and carefully broke open the lid.

  “What is it?” asked the children.

  Magni remained silent.

  “Magni, what is it?”

  “Just papers.”

  “What’s written on them?”

  “Death threats?”

  “Declarations of war?”

  “Ultimatums?”

  Magni flipped through the pile of papers.

  “They’re stories.”

  “Stories?”

  “Yes, they’re fairy tales and sagas, and poems too.”

  “Poems?”

  “And there’s a letter.”

  “Read it.”

  “Are the children in the darkness sending us food?” asked the children, and they looked at the bombs in their hands.

  Jolly-Goodday burst out laughing.

  “Ha ha ha ha!!! They are so stupid!” he shouted and rolled about laughing. “They believed what Brimir and Hulda told them! They think that you’re so hungry you eat nothing but soil!”

  No one laughed except for a few who giggled self-consciously.

  “They’re sending us blankets and poems?” asked the children.

  Jolly-Goodday laughed even more, bringing tears to his eyes.

  “Ha ha! I’ve never heard anything like it! They are in the darkness and cold and send blankets and food over to the sun and warmth, because they think there’s darkness here too.”

  “Why are they so kind to us?” asked the children.

  “I don’t know,” said Jolly-Goodday. “Some people just are so stupid and gullible.”

  The children stood on the shoreline and stared at the barrel they were planning to float over to the pale children. Flies buzzed all around it as food, blankets, and old shoes were all mixed together.

  “Okay now, carry on flying, kids, and let’s forget all this. Ready, steady, off you go.”

  No one moved.

  “What’s the matter with you all?”

  No one answered.

  “Kids who live in the cold and darkness and give away blankets and rainbow trout must be so stupid that they don’t deserve to have the sun where they live,” said Jolly-Goodday. “They wouldn’t know what to do with it. Get on flying now.”

  The children stood on the beach with drooping heads. Elva was going to embrace Magni, but he was too slippery.

  “Come with me,” said Elva, nudging Magni.

  Magni nudged Woody, who nudged Arnar, who nudged the next child, and they all glided up to Fairmost Falls. They landed by the waterfall, which trickled like saliva down into the canyon. The children peeled off the Teflon® magic coating and threw it into the waterfall.

  The spray increased as more and more of the children threw the stuff into the waterfall, and its roar became louder and louder until the thunder was almost deafening. In fact, it was so deafening that all the jokes Jolly-Goodday had ever told the children were totally forgotten. And then a large and beautiful rainbow formed over the canyon.

  The children closed their eyes and felt the spray caress their bodies. They then flapped up to Mount Bright and dusted the butterfly powder carefully over the butterflies. The children embraced and kissed each other and then walked back. Many of them soon became very tired, as they hadn’t used their legs since the sun had been nailed to the sky. Their bones were weak, their joints stiff, and some of them walked with a stick.

  When they at last reached the beach Jolly-Goodday stood all alone on the shoreline folding up his deck chair.

  “Ignorant, ungrateful children,” he muttered. “I’m leaving!”

  “Why have we become so old and weak?” asked the children.

  “You sold me your youth for more fun.”

  “But now the fun’s over, can’t we have our youth back?”

  “It’s mine now. You sold me your youth and I’ll decide what I’m going to do with it.”

  “What are you going to do with our youth? We don’t want to be gray-haired and weary.”

  “Youth is the most precious stuff in the world. It’s more valuable than gold or diamonds and it fuels my spaceship. With your youth I should be able to reach the next solar system, and if I have any youth left I can buy myself lots of friends.”

  “Don’t you have any friends?” asked the children. Jolly-Goodday didn’t answer, and they looked sadly at him. The spaceship’s fuel tank was almost full.

  “Are you going to use our youth as fuel and money?”

  “Are you going to leave us so old and gray-haired?”

  “But you think it’s cool to be gray-haired, it’s in fashion,�
� said Jolly-Goodday and he picked up his loudspeaker:

  “Once upon a time there was a woman who had a dog called Latest Fashion but it got lost while she was in the shower and the woman ran out onto her balcony stark naked and cried out: ‘Latest Fashion! Latest Fashion!’ And after that everyone walked around stark naked because they thought it was the latest fashion.”

  No one laughed at the joke.

  “Will you please give us our youth back?” asked Elva gently.

  “But my spaceship runs on youth. Perhaps you’d rather I stayed here?”

  No one answered.

  “Are you going to remove the nail from the sun first?”

  “I don’t do anything for ungrateful children.”

  “But only you can remove the nail from the sun,” said the children. “It must be removed otherwise the children on the other side will die.”

  “It’ll cost you to have the nail removed from the sun, kids.”

  “How much?”

  “Only a single drop of youth from one child’s heart.”

  “Pooh, that’s not much, how much youth do we have left?”

  “There’s exactly a single drop in each heart.”

  “You’re mad! The last drop is irremovable from the heart!”

  “You can easily get a heart of stone to replace it,” said Jolly-Goodday.

  “But one little drop can’t make any difference, you’ve already got a full tank.”

  “The last drop is the most valuable of all. A dying king on another planet would give his kingdom for the last drop from a child’s heart.”

  “We can’t let you have the last drop!” shouted the children. “We’d rather die than get a stone heart.”

  “It’s up to you,” said Jolly-Goodday. “Either one of you receives a stone heart or all the stupid children on the other side of the planet will die in the darkness.” “You are a space monster,” said the children.

  “Aren’t you the ones who wanted to have fun at night and nail the sun in the sky?”

  “Yes.”

  “And aren’t you the ones who voted not to remove the nail from the sun?”

  “Yes.”

  “The majority is always right and I only did what the majority wanted. I’m no monster, you’re the monsters. You voted to let the children in the darkness remain in the darkness. It seems to me you already have stone hearts in your breasts.”

  No one answered.

  “If someone will volunteer to give me their last drop of youth I’ll remove the nail from the sun and everything will be as it was before. Otherwise I’m out of here.”

  Jolly-Goodday stepped into his spaceship and was about to zoom away and burn up all their youth while jetting far away into space where other planets awaited him.

  But then a voice was heard from the crowd of children.

  “You may have my last drop if you remove the nail from the sun.”

  The children gasped in amazement. It was Brimir who had spoken.

  Steel-hearted or Stone-hearted

  The children stood silently and stared at Brimir.

  Jolly-Goodday stepped down from his spaceship and smiled.

  “That was a wise decision.”

  No one said anything as Brimir stepped to the front of the group.

  “You promise to remove the nail from the sun when you have taken the last drop of my youth?”

  “I promise. Haven’t I always stood by my word?” said Jolly-Goodday smiling broadly.

  No one else smiled.

  “Which do you prefer, a steel heart or a stone heart?”

  Brimir regarded the children and thought it over. If he received a stone heart he wouldn’t need any friends. If he received a steel heart he would be indifferent to everything.

  “I don’t want any heart in exchange,” he said. “I’d rather die than have a stone heart or a steel heart.”

  “I’m not an evil man, I don’t want to kill you,” said Jolly-Goodday. “I’ll give you a stone heart. They don’t want to be your friends anyway.”

  Jolly-Goodday pressed a button on the side of the spaceship and an operating table descended with a loud crash. He pressed another button and a little mechanical drill appeared along with a vacuum cleaner. He pulled a lever on the operating table and an umbrella and a sewing machine popped up.

  “It’s a simple operation,” explained Jolly-Goodday. “I open and close the umbrella very rapidly and this in turn drives the drill, which saws a small hole in your chest. The vacuum cleaner then sucks the old heart out of you and squirts a stone heart into the wound, after which the sewing machine takes over and you’ll be as good as new!”

  Brimir looked over his shoulder to his friends. After the operation he would be cold and emotionless and without need of them. He looked for Hulda but could not find her. Oh, he so wanted to embrace her for the last time. He lay down on the operating table and closed his eyes. Jolly-Goodday took up his position and vigorously started to open and close the umbrella. The drill began to whine and descended closer and closer …

  Jolly-Goodday’s Dream

  But suddenly there was a shout.

  “Wait a minute, Jolly-Goodday! Wait a minute!”

  Everyone looked around. It was Hulda.

  “What now?” asked Jolly-Goodday, closing the umbrella. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “What do you dream of, Jolly-Goodday?” asked Hulda.

  “Wh- wh- what do you mean? What do I dream?”

  “What do you dream of?” asked Hulda again, and she looked him straight in the eyes.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Answer me.”

  Jolly-Goodday looked embarassed.

  “I don’t know. I make other people’s dreams come true and have no interest in my own.”

  “Don’t you ever dream?”

  Jolly-Goodday muttered, “Yes, sometimes I dream.”

  “About what?” asked Hulda.

  Jolly-Goodday shuffled his feet, running his toe in the sand.

  “About being a king,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “I want to be a king,” said Jolly-Goodday a little louder.

  The children looked at him and started whispering to each other. A king? Was that all? Was that his dearest wish? Some of them couldn’t resist laughing. How extraordinary.

  Jolly-Goodday looked with distant eyes into space and seemed to have lost himself in his dream.

  “I dream of being a king in a castle with a moat full of crocodiles and a large throne and a drawbridge and a high tower from which I can see over my kingdom and shout orders to my subjects.”

  The children were completely amazed.

  “Were you taking our youth and making us gray-haired just because you wanted to be a king in a faraway kingdom?”

  “I was hoping to sell the last drop of youth on a planet where the king is very old in exchange for my being king in his place.”

  “Tell us some more about your dream,” said Hulda, hoping they would gain time to save Brimir’s heart.

  Jolly-Goodday closed his eyes and talked and talked about crowns and jewels and beautiful horses and how he could ride in a coach around his kingdom and wave to his subjects with his mace.

  The children listened gobsmacked.

  “Guys, we have to find a way to save Brimir,” whispered Hulda.

  The children gathered together while Jolly-Goodday still had his eyes closed and rambled on and on …

  “The castle would be covered in seashells and diamonds …”

  “I’ve got an idea that always works in fairy tales,” said Magni. “We have to kill Jolly-Goodday. Just like trolls and dragons and witches are killed in fairy tales.”

  “Exactly,” said Elva. “A troll woman is turned to stone in sunlight, witches are roasted in ovens, dragons are slain with swords.”

  “We must kill him and save Brimir,” all the children agreed. “We should attack him all at once.”

  The children got themselves ready to
attack Jolly-Goodday.

  “No, no! He mustn’t be killed,” said Hulda decisively.

  “Why not? He’s evil.”

  “Yes, he’s a space monster.”

  “But he only did what we asked him to do. He granted our wishes and if he dies we’ll never get the nail out of the sun and the children in the darkness will die too.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I’ve a much better idea,” said Hulda. “Now listen carefully.”

  Hulda took a deep breath and looked seriously at her friends.

  ‘We shall make Jolly-Goodday a king and make his dream come true, just like he made our dreams come true.”

  The children looked at her in amazement.

  “ARE YOU CRAZY?” whispered Elva. “This man is very dangerous. We should put him in prison instead.”

  The children looked at Jolly-Goodday where he stood by the operating table, his eyes closed, and a joyful look on his face: “And everybody would bow to me …”

  “Hulda, you’ve gone mad. We can’t let just anybody be a king,” whispered the children.

  “Don’t you get it?” whispered Hulda in reply. “A king is like a monkey in a cage. You just have to feed him and have fun watching him, but otherwise you won’t have to worry about him.”

  Jolly-Goodday continued to talk about his dream. “And I could look over the land and say: this is my kingdom.”

  “We must lock him up in prison,” said the children to Hulda.

  “No,” said Hulda. “It’s easier to lock him up in a castle.”

  Jolly-Goodday had still not finished. “And I’d have a gold crown on my head.”

  Hulda continued, “It’s also much more fun to build a castle than a prison.”

  “But a king rules over everything! We can’t let him rule over us!”

  “A king rules over grown-ups. We are wild children and can do what we like.”

  “But how do we get our youth back?”

  “I know how,” said Hulda.

  The children looked at each other and then at Brimir where he lay on the operating table between the umbrella and the sewing machine, waiting for whatever would happen.