Toy Water

The Spanish policeman goes back inside.

It can't hurt to do what's expected.

Hello Victor, says Terence, who has noticed him first.

I am not Victor, says the Spanish policeman.

That's what you say, says Terence.

I do say, says the policeman. 

I thought you came back to tell us you were Victor, says Terence.

Why would I do that? asks the policeman.

So you wouldn't be lying, says Terence.

Enough of this, says the policeman. I've come back because further information has come to light. Where is the saint box?

Here, says Sweezus. 

Open it, says the policeman. And then open the handbag.

Okay, says Sweezus. 

He opens the box and takes out the tiny handbag.

He opens the handbag.

The policeman looks in.

He lifts out the tiny drink bottle, and hands it to Sweezus.

Take the top off, says the policeman.

Sweezus tries to take the top off.

But it is a tiny toy drink bottle and the top won't screw off.

It's only a toy one, says Sweezus.

Give it to me, says the policeman. 

He tries to twist the top, but it soon becomes obvious that the top is just part of  the bottle.

And will never screw off.

Can you explain why a toy handbag is inside a saint box? asks the policeman.

I can, says Terence.

Go on, says the policeman.

Because the Fuzzballs were in it, says Terence. And it's their handbag.

Fuzzballs? asks the policeman.

Terence points at the Fuzzballs who are half hidden behind a large plate of broccoli and cheese tapas which no one has eaten.

The policeman reaches over to pick up the two Fuzzballs.

Which one of these bears owns the handbag? asks the policeman.

He is surprised when they answer.

Me, says Toyshop.

Yes, him, says Bowl.

Why do you own a drink bottle that can never have anything in it? asks the policeman.

It does have something in it, says Toyshop. But the something can never come out.

It's probably toy water, says Terence.

Toy water could come out, says the policeman.

How? asks Terence.

Make a hole in it with something sharp, says the policeman.

Like my sword finger, says Terence. 

That's not sharp, says Sweezus. 

But too late!

The policeman turns his attention to Terence's finger.

What Would She Put In It?

The Spanish policeman has gone back outside.

A few people are still filming the bicycle.

Move along there, says the policeman.

Did you find the stolen box? asks someone.

Was it you who reported it stolen? asks the policeman. 

No, but I was here when it happened, says the person.

It wasn't stolen, says the policeman. They had a receipt.

What about the Messenger? asks another person.

No one is expected to keep a receipt for a parrot, says the policeman.

Maybe what was INSIDE the box was stolen, suggests another person.

Yes, did you look inside? asks the person who asked about the parrot.

Of course, says the policeman. The icon was no longer inside, just a tiny handbag.

I thought it was a saint box! says someone. Which saint has a tiny handbag?

The questioners all look at one another. Then at the policeman.

The policeman realises this could be an anomaly.

Was it a female saint? asks someone. Maybe Saint Teresa of Calcutta?

SHE wouldn't have a handbag! scoffs someone.

Why not? asks another.

What would she put in it? asks the scoffer.

Money, says the person who believes Saint Teresa might have had a handbag.

Yes, money she raised for the poor, says someone else.

Even if the real Saint Teresa had a handbag full of money, her statue wouldn't have had one, insists the scoffer.

Calm down, everyone, says the policeman. The saint I glimpsed momentarily was male.

Ahh! says almost everyone. 

They know a male saint would not carry a handbag.

Unless he had found it, and was looking for the owner.

It had a pointing finger, says the policeman.

This cuts out some male saints, but not all.

You should go back inside and see if they have a receipt for the handbag, says the scoffer.

Did you look inside it? asks another.

I did, says the policeman. The contents were not valuable.

What were they? asks someone.

A note book, a pencil and a drink bottle, all  of them tiny, says the policeman.

What was in the drink bottle? asks the same person.

I did not pursue that line of investigation, says the policeman. 

So will you now? asks the scoffer.

The policeman knows that he should. 

But these people are being extremely annoying.

He is in two minds, regarding further pursuance.

Thinking Wrong

Federico has returned with Prong, and the box.

Prong hops down from his shoulder, to land beside Terence.

Did the thieves come? asks Terence.

Not thieves, says Prong. But lots of people taking photos.

Of you? asks Terence.

Yes, of me, says Prong. It was embarrassing.

They thought she was a Messenger, says Federico. 

On a bike, says Terence.

I don't think they thought it was my bike, says Prong.

Did anyone open the box? asks Bowl.

No, says Prong. I was guarding it, so they couldn't.

See if the handbag's still in it, says Federico.

Simone takes the lid off the box.

Yes the handbag is in it.

Cool, says Sweezus. Who's for more tapas?

Me, says Arthur. Get more of those garlic prawn ones.

Sweezus goes up to the counter to order....

When in comes a policeman.

He stops right beside Sweezus, and asks loudly (in Spanish):

Has vista un loro?

Si, says the barman. El loro esta ahi.

He points to Sweezus's table, in the corner.

Sweezus sees where the barman is pointing.

Guys, what's a loro? asks Sweezus.

A parrot, say the policeman and the barman together.

Sorry about that, says Sweezus. We had to bring it inside because a crowd was gathering.

There has been a report that someone has stolen a box from under the parrot, says the policeman.

It's our box, says Sweezus.

I must inspect it, says the policeman. 

No worries, says Sweezus. I'm just ordering more tapas.

You do that, says the policeman. I'll investigate the box.

The policeman walks across to the the corner table.

Policia, says the policeman, showing his badge.

You look like Victor, says Terence.

Who is Victor? asks the policeman.

An Australian policeman, says Arthur. He looks like you.

We police tend to look similar, says the policeman. Not the female policia of course, although they too look similar, to each other, except for their hairstyles.

Your English is good, says Federico. 

Thank you, says the policeman. Now I need to see this box that you have.

Here, says Sartre. It's my box.

And is anything in it? asks the policeman. 

See for youself, says Sartre. Only a tiny handbag,

Please show me the contents of the handbag, says the policeman.

Sartre takes out the handbag, opens it and shows the policeman the tiny notebook, tiny drink bottle and tiny pencil.

The policeman examines the outside of the box.

This is a box for a saint, says the policeman.

And here is the saint that was in it, says Sartre, picking up and waving Saint Elias.

Do you have receipts for these items? asks the policeman.

YES! snaps Sartre.

Twenty seven euros. See!

Gracias, senor, says the policeman. Eso es todo.

He turns to go. and bumps into Sweezus who is carrying a large plate of garlic prawn tapas.

Victor! says Sweezus. I thought I knew you!

You thought wrong, says the policeman. 

The Determined Thief

Sartre tries the duck tapas.

Then the salmon.

Then the Iberian ham.

Do try the broccoli flan, dear, says Simone. 

No room, says Sartre.

Where's Prong? asks Terence.

Outside minding the box, says Sartre.

How will she mind it? asks Federico.

I think she's sitting on it, says Sartre.

She won't stop a determined thief, says Federico.

Why would a determined thief want an empty box? asks Sartre.

How would they know it was empty? asks Arthur.

It isn't empty, says Terence.

How do you know? asks Simone.

Because Toyshop hasn't got his handbag, says Terence.

Toyshop looks alarmed.

A determined thief is stealing his handbag!

I'll go and check, says Federico. And I'll bring the box in.

He goes out of the tapas bar, and looks for a parrot, box and bicycle.

An easy-to-spot combination.

Hola! A small crowd has gathered around Prong.

They are all taking photos.

Prong' russet pink forethroat looks pinker than usual.

What is happening? asks Federico.

It's the Messenger! says someone. It flew down from a window in the Sagrada Familia, and now it's out here.

You are mistaken, says Federico. It's my friend's parrot.

We have photos! says someone.

Federico looks at one of the photos.

The colours are different, says Federico. Yours is blue green.

That's because of the light streaming in though the windows, says the one with the photo.

What about mine? asks another.

Let's see it, says Federico.

He looks at their photo. 

Too orange, says Federico.

Prong looks grateful.

My friend wants their parrot, says Federico. I've come out to get it.

How do we know you're not stealing it? asks someone.

She will come willingly, says Federico, which will prove that she knows me.

Prong hops onto Federico's shoulder, and kisses his ear.

Federico gets that fluttery feeling you get when kissed by a bird.

Bring the box, whispers Prong.

Federico picks up the box, and returns to the tapas bar with Prong on his shoulder.

See that box? says someone. That's the sort they keep saints in.

It is somewhat suspicious. 

Someone suggests calling the police.

Good In General

It's not far to the café.

Prong leads the way.

Sartre cycles, with the box under his arm. 

Saint Elias, Toyshop and Bowl, in his trouser pocket, bounce up and down.

Saint Elias feels he is getting a headache. and is glad when they stop.

Satre locks his bike up outside, and enters the café.

It's a tapas bar and the counter is piled high with tapas.

He looks for the others.

Mon petit! shouts Simone. Here we are!

He goes over to a cramped corner table.

Arthur and Federico are drinking black coffees.

 Sweezus is eating gambas al ajillo with his fingers.

Try a shrimp, says Sweezus. 

Or one of these broccoli flans, with manchego cheese, says Simone.

Wait a moment, says Sartre. I need to empty my pocket before I sit down.

He extracts Bowl and Toyshop, and places them next to Terence.

Finally Saint Elias.

You had him in your pocket upside down! says Simone.

I didn't think it would matter, says Sartre.  

It seems disrepectful, says Simone. 

I brought his box, says Sartre, but I left it outside.

Why? asks Simone.

I didn't want to look like a delivery person, says Sartre.

With a saint box! laughs Simone.

Three garlic shrimps left, says Sweezus. D'you want one? 

Sartre takes one, and eats it. Delicious.

What else would you like? asks Simone.

What else is good? asks Sartre.

Ask Arthur and Federico, says Simone. By now they've tried everything.

Sartre looks at Arthur.

What? asks Arthur.

What's good? asks Sartre.

To eat or in general? asks Arthur.

To eat, says Sartre. 

The duck one and the salmon one, and the chorizo, says Arthur.

And the jamón ibérico ones, says Federico. 

And this broccoli cheese flan, says Simone.

I'll try one of everything, says Sartre.

Simone goes up to the counter to order.

Finished the blog post? asks Sweezus.

No, says Sartre. I was held up by a question on bear diseases.

Yeah? says Sweezus. How come?

The bears asked me, says Sartre.

Are they sick? asks Terence.

Ask them, says Sartre.

Are you guys sick? asks Terence.

No, says Bowl. We wanted to be patron saints of bears, but now we think bears don't deserve it.

Why don't they? aks Terence.

Because they eat infected rodents, says Toyshop.

Shit, says Sweezus. How come there are any bears left then?

They don't all eat infected rodents, says Federico. Some of them eat honey.

That's what I thought, says Sartre.

Maybe you're both thinking of Winnie the Pooh, says Arthur.

Maybe they are.

Simone comes back with a plate.

Then We Are Not Happy

Sartre can't remember where the others had said they were going.

A café nearby. Which café?

Where is Prong when you need her?

He'll have to cycle up and down the local streets, looking.

And what to do with the box?

He doesn't have a back pannier.

He will have to ride with the box tucked under his arm.

He hopes it isn't illegal.

And perhaps he should make sure the box contents are secure before starting.

He takes the lid off, to check.

Saint Elias lies wedged at the bottom. Feet at one end. At the other, his pointing finger.

He won't be moving.

But the bears are so small and one is quite precious. 

Which one of you is the one that we rescued? asks Sartre.

It was me, answers Bowl.

I'm going to look for a café, says Sartre. And I'll have to bring you. 

Thank you, says Bowl. Will we be joining the others?

Yes, says Sartre. If I can locate the café. I don't suppose you heard a mention of which one it was?

No, says Bowl. We were talking about bear diseases.

Don't remind me, says Sartre. Are you happy to remain in the box? I'll be cycling.

Do you have a back pannier with a clip? asks Bowl.

No, says Sartre. Your box would have to go under my arm.

Then we are not happy, says Bowl.

I was only thinking of you, says Sartre. Not the others.

We stick together, says Bowl. 

Saint Elias is touched upon hearing this answer from Bowl.

In his turbulent life, he had not stuck together with anyone, and look where it got him.

I could put you all in one of my my pockets, says Sartre. You would go up and down.

That sounds like fun! says Toyshop.

Why would we go up and down? asks Bowl.

Saint Elias is glad Bowl has asked, because he doesn't know either.

You would be in one of my my trouser pockets, says Sartre. And my legs will go up and down.

Who wants to? asks Bowl. 

Me! says Toyshop.

Saint Elias, being longer, is not sure. What if he falls out of the pocket?

But Sartre is already lifting him out of the box.

Stuffing him into his trouser pocket, head first.

Followed by Toyshop and Bowl.

He is just mounting his bicycle, when Prong appears.

Everyone's waiting for you, says Prong.

Lead the way, says Sartre.

What about the box? asks Prong. You can't leave it behind.

The bears and the saint are in my trouser pocket, says Sartre.

Why not in the box? asks Prong.

To avoid them being jumbled, says Sartre.

Fair enough, agrees Prong. But you still ought to bring it.

Sartre knows Prong is right. To leave it behind would be littering.

And they might need it later,

I would carry it, says Prong, but it's too big for me to carry it safely.

I'll do it, says Sartre. 

If nothing else, the story will look good in his blog.

Hunger Is a Test

Sartre goes back to his blog post. Where was he up to? 

Ah, yes.

He had been making a joke, but wasn't sure how best to put it.

The saint's pointing finger turned out to be pointless. 

Or:

The purchase of a saint with a pointing finger turned out to be pointless.

The latter version more accurate, but too wordy.

Jokes! Not worth the effort.

He deletes both versions and continues.

The sooner he finishes, the sooner he can join the others at the café.

Or...

He could join them now. 

The question of bear diseases has broken his concentration.

Carrion. Infected rodents. And small mammals.

He had thought bears ate honey.

Bowl had thought the same.

He has told Saint Elias and Toyshop what Sartre said about bear diseases.

They get roundworms from eating digusting things, says Bowl.

Serves them right, says Saint Elias.

But they might not know any better, says Toyshop.

YOU seem to know that eating those things is disgusting, says Saint Elias.

We have never been hungry, says Toyshop.

Never, says Bowl. Have you ever been hungry?

Me? asks Saint Elias. When I was in the desert I was always hungry.

So hungry you would have eaten ANYTHING? asks Bowl?

Hunger is a test! says Saint Elias.

What of? asks Bowl.

A test of faith, says Saint Elias.

In what? asks Toyshop. 

That something will turn up, says Saint Elias.

And did it? asks Bowl.

Yes, offerings, says Saint Elias. 

To you? asks Bowl.

Not exactly to me, says Saint Elias. But once I had slain the false prophets, there were pickings.

Bowl and Toyshop are impressed. 

Perhaps bears need to learn this.

But teaching bears about killing false prophets is probably beyond them.

Sartre comes over, and picks up the box.

He places the lid on.

Where are we going? asks Bowl.

But Sartre has not heard the question.