Nobody knows our little secret-
-that sometimes in the dark, my little doll cries. Sometimes in the dark when I wind her up to dance, she doesn't. She just, cries.
"What is it?" I always ask her.
But she is inconsolable. She performs so beautifully when she has an audience, she dances smooth like clockwork. Then after the show, when the performance ends, I hear a tiny, tiny clink and then I know something isn't right. It's the missing piece.
I realise, it could be anything- a passing piercing word, a roll of the disdainful eye, a flutter of a roach's wing... that jams the tiny, tiny cogs and wheels inside, and she falls right apart.
Nobody knows there's a faulty part inside, a missing piece. Nobody knows our little secret. That my little doll never dances when she's alone, never dances in the dark, no matter how much you wind her up. She only cries, inconsolably.
Many times, I sent her away to get her fixed. No one could fix her up right- I almost lost hope. Finally, I found someone who had a reputation for fixing things, little dolls expecially. It was an old Italian man at a run-down toy shop far away.
I only have but one little doll. I would never give her up for anything in the world. But the old man returned her to me and said, he didn't have the part. He's searched everywhere and he can't find the equivalent of her missing piece.
"I'm sorry," he said. " I can't fix her... ... But she's fine most of the time, isn't she? Isn't that good enough for you, that she's fine most of the time, and always when she has an audience?"
He wound her up right before me, and she danced beautifully again, her cogs and wheels within her running smooth like clockwork because she had an audience. My little doll dances beautifully, smooth like clockwork when she has an audience.
But being "fine most of the time" isn't enough. The old Italian man never saw how my little doll cried when she was alone with me. How inconsolable she was, and she wouldn't tell me why. I'm not sure if she knew why herself. How her large pearls of tears would roll off her porcelain cheeks. If only he saw her once, undone, I know he would run to the edge of the earth to find my little doll's missing piece.
"Where can I find her missing piece?" I asked the old Italian man.
"You've got to send her back to whoever made her. Only he'll have a spare missing piece. "
It was my only chance.
My little doll started to cry. "That's such a long way away! My maker's such a long way away!" she said petulantly, "And... oh, how it's going to hurt! It's going to hurt when he opens me up!"
"It's our only chance," I said. " You'll be fixed, and you'll dance beautifully again, with or without an audience."
It was a long way to the factory, but the signposts made it easy to find. When we got there, her maker winded her up, and this time though she had an audience, she did not dance. My little doll's audience was her maker, and she did not dance. She knew he knew- there was no point pretending it was all okay, that she was running smooth like clockwork, when she wasn't.
"This missing piece has been missing so long it's going to take a long while to find it. It's going to take some time," her maker said, "And it's such a tiny, tiny part in such a very important place... Its not going to be easy to fix her."
"It's all right- take as long as you want..." This time, it was my turn to cry. How long would he take my little doll for?
My little doll was wound up, and in her maker's hands, she neither danced or cried.
It was our only hope.
" Take however long you need- Would you just fix her for me, Mister God- please?"
Would you just fix her for me, Mister God- please?
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