Apeirogon

by Colum McCann

His father had operated an olive press in a barn on the edge of the village of Sa’ir, near the cave where Bassam grew up. Inside, a white horse circled around and around by the light of an oil lamp. The horse—blindfolded so as not to grow dizzy—turned the wooden beam, causing a circular stone to grind against another stone, crushing the olives, releasing the oil. What Bassam couldn’t understand, as a child, was how the horse could keep circling all day without falling down, exhausted. It wasn’t until he was six years old that he realized that there were three identical white horses rotating through. Two years later, an electric press was introduced and the horses were put out into the stony field where they spent the rest of their days moving, still, in endless circles.