Omby Amby looked into the mirror again. He still couldn't believe what he saw there. Sticking out from among the impressive bush of green whiskers which had become Omby's trademark during his service in the Emerald City, there stood one, incredibly white, renegade hair. It curled its way out of the lower left portion of Omby's mustache, emerging impudently but defiantly from amidst its green comrades. No manner of squinting, hair-brushing, or shouting had made it disappear. There it stood, inconceivable, yet undeniable.

Omby searched for a tweezer, ready at first to pluck the offending follicle out by its roots. His apartments were richly provided with all manner of equipment, but most of it was related to his position of Captain General in the Royal Army of Oz. No provision had been made for this sort of unprecedented emergency. Failing to find the necessary tool, he was forced to grab the hair between his thumb and forefinger so as to remove it manually.

On the verge of dispensing with the problem, Omby hesitated. Next to the first hair, he could see its twin budding. One white hair he was able to view as an oddity, but two came close to being an epidemic. He let go of the first hair, thinking better of disturbing the enchantment that had seemingly been cast upon him. Instead, he grabbed a large fan, and, holding it in front of his face so that the blemish would pass unnoticed, he headed towards the Throne Room.

Ozma was holding court, as was her practice at this time of day. Lately, there hadn't been many citizens of Oz who had needed Ozma's intercession, so she had been using the time to catch up with her many friends, who would visit and hold court with her. Today, however, the court was so full that Omby Amby was unable to enter. A line extended from the main room and snaked its way through the corridors for as far as Omby could see. Omby considered trying to make his way through the crowd to discover the cause of the commotion, but then he realized that nobody would recognize his face behind the fan. So he walked to the back of the line and waited. He ended up standing behind a hunched-over Munchkin, who was moaning and holding his back. Omby politely asked the Munchkin what his trouble was and if he knew what all the commotion was about.

"I don't know about anyone else," said the Munchkin, "but I'm here because yesterday, while tending my crops, my back went out."

"Surely, that's no reason to come to Ozma for help," said Omby from behind his fan.

"You don't understand," said the Munchkin. "My back has never gone out. I've been tending the same fields for years upon years, doing the same labor, lifting and carrying in the same way, and in all that time, never once has my back bothered me. Why now?"

Omby Amby shrugged. The Munchkin's problem seemed trivial compared to his own, but then again, the Munchkin probably had never had a face full of gloriously green whiskers as Omby himself had once possessed. He turned to the next man in line, this one a Winkie, and asked him why he was coming to Ozma for help.

"A wrinkle," said the Winkie mournfully. "I've developed a wrinkle straight across my forehead."

Indeed he had. It was almost imperceptible to Omby at first, but, as he looked closer, he saw there was undeniably a wrinkle on the Winkie's forehead.

"You must have had it before and not noticed," said Omby.

"Never," said the Winkie. "I know. I've been looking at this same face of mine in the mirror for years and years now, and I've never ever seen a wrinkle. I was so proud of my forehead. It was so broad, so smooth, so majestic. And now it's ruined. Ruined!"

Omby assured the Winkie that he still had a very impressive forehead, but the Winkie was inconsolable. And so it went, up the line. The next man had combed his hair that morning, only to have a few hairs come out in the comb. A woman was suddenly experiencing pain in her joints. A Gillikin boy was waiting to tell Ozma how his voice had cracked. Everyone in line seemed to have his or her own particular malady, and each of them had come to Ozma in hope of a cure. Omby began to fear that a terrible enchantment had been placed over the whole Land of Oz to cause such hardship.

Finally, it became Omby's turn to speak with Ozma. Dorothy, Uncle Henry, the Scarecrow, and the Wizard stood with her, all four wearing worried expressions. Even Ozma's lovely smile was tinged with distress. Omby crept up to the throne.

"Your Highness," he whispered.

"Omby Amby?" asked Dorothy. "What are you doing behind that ridiculous fan?"

"How did you know it was me?" Omby asked in surprise.

"Who else in Oz is seven feet tall and has a beard that reaches down to his feet?" the Scarecrow asked, his painted mouth turned upwards in amusement.

"Nobody else recognized me," Omby protested.

"That's because it is clear that you did not wish to be recognized. I'm afraid it's hard to remain anonymous, however, with whiskers like yours," the Scarecrow sagely explained. Despite being stuffed with straw, the Scarecrow was considered one of the wisest creatures in Oz, for he was filled with brains that had been given to him by the Wizard.

"But why should you wish to hide?" asked Ozma. "Everybody loves you so."

"It's my whiskers," said Omby, blushing with embarrassment. "One of them's turned white."

The Wizard nodded gravely. "It's as I thought, Your Highness," he said. "Omby's aging as well."

"I've never seen anything like this since I began my reign," said Ozma.

"That's because soon after you began your reign, people stopped aging. Now they've started again."

"But how can that be?" asked Ozma. "You're not getting older."

"I probably am," said the Wizard. "It's just imperceptible. Age usually creeps up on you when you're not looking. You don't notice it at first. You haven't had much experience with it, Your Highness, but, judging from my own, I would guess that the people of Oz are beginning to get older."

"That's true enough, what you say," said Uncle Henry. "That's the way it was back in Kansas. Folks would be strong as an ox one day, and before they knew what hit them, they'd find themselves with a room full of grandchildren, telling tales about their far gone youth. But I thought nobody ever got older in the Land of Oz."

"They used to," said the Wizard. "When I first came to Oz, I was a young man. People in those days aged, just like they did in Kansas. But when I returned to Oz, I soon noticed that nobody was aging anymore. My guess is that while I was away, an enchantment was cast to stop aging."

"I think you're right," Ozma agreed. "I remember that when I lived with Mombi, it seemed that people aged a great deal."

Ozma, herself, had never aged beyond childhood. Ozma was a fairy, and fairies are forever young wherever they are, enchantment or no.

"Then what happened?" asked Dorothy. "If there was an enchantment, when was it cast?"

"It happened soon after Ozma took the throne," the Scarecrow remembered. "I was unaffected by it, of course, since I am not made of flesh, but many of my friends were. I assumed it was because we finally had our rightful ruler."

"I had nothing to do with it," protested Ozma.

"Then what could possibly have been the cause of the enchantment?" asked Dorothy.

"I don't know," said Ozma.

"We must go to Glinda and find out," declared Dorothy, "if we are to have any hope of restoring it."

"You're absolutely right," said Ozma, smiling at her friend. "I'm sure she will be able to look up the information in her Great Book of Records."

"But what am I supposed to do about my whiskers until then?" asked Omby Amby, "I can't hide behind this fan forever."

"In Omaha, we discovered ways to turn white hairs back to their original color," offered the Wizard. "Perhaps the technique would work with you."

"I thought there was no magic in Omaha," said Omby Amby.

"This is a different sort of wizardry," said the Wizard, "akin to the type I practiced when I first came to Oz. If you like, I can instruct the Royal Hairdresser as to how to accomplish it."

"Please do," said Omby Amby eagerly.

"Well then," said Ozma, pleased to see the problem so easily solved, "we should set off as soon as I have finished helping my remaining visitors."

"I fear that may be a while, Your Highness," said Uncle Henry, eyeing the line warily. Its end was nowhere in sight.

"Nonetheless, I am their ruler, and I should listen to any complaints that are addressed to me," said Ozma firmly. "That is my obligation to my people."

"Well, I have an obligation to take Omby Amby to the Royal Hairdresser," said the Wizard, "and so that is what I shall do.

"And I'm glad that's all my obligation is anymore," the Wizard whispered to Omby Amby as they left.

Continued in Paradox in Oz
Copyright © 1999 Edward Einhorn. All rights reserved.