A Fragile Example

Wee Fuzzball glares at the new Sylvanian baby, fresh out of his packet.

He wants the handbag, says Terence.

But it's the other one's handbag, says Federico.

They can share it, says Terence.

Wee Fuzzball reaches out a fuzzy paw, for the handbag.

New Fuzzball clutches it tightly.

He won't share, says Terence.

Try talking  him into it, says Sweezus.

Okay, says Terence.

He addresses New Fuzzball.

Do you know what sharing is? asks Terence.

New Fuzzball doesn't know.

I'll show you, says Terence. I'll share something.

Have you got anything? asks Sweezus.

No, says Terence. 

Sartre has a hairnet, says Sweezus.

So I do, says Sartre.

Can I borrow it? asks Terence.

I'm afraid you might snag it, says Sartre. 

It's just an example, says Terence.

Very well then, says Sartre. Take care.

He hands Terence the hairnet, that belongs to Simone.

Terence shows the hairnet to New Fuzzball.

Pretend you like this, says Terence. 

Grr, says New Fuzzball.

He likes it, says Terence.

Or he's good at pretending, says Sweezus.

Yes, says Terence. It's nearly the same.

New Fuzzball waits for the rest of the example.

This is my hairnet, says Terence. And we both like it. Here, you have a turn.

He hands New Fuzzball the hairnet.

Does that baby have claws? asks Sartre.

No, says Terence. Only I do. And I'm being careful.

He shows Sartre his claw.

New Fuzzball takes the hairnet from Terence.

Now what? Should he put in in his handbag? 

Wee Fuzzball has been watching this happen.

Why should New Fuzzball get a hairnet, when he's already got a handbag?

He makes a grab for the hairnet.

But hairnets are fragile.

It rips.

The Sorrows Of Fuzzball

I think Fuzzball looks sad, says Federico.

Terence look sternly at Fuzzball.

You just got rescued, says Terence. You shouldn't be sad.

Grrr-rah! growls wee Fuzzball.

That might mean he's confused, says Prong.

Why? asks Terence.

Maybe he liked it up there, says Sweezus. 

You'll like it better down here, says Terence.

Grrr-rah, growls wee Fuzzball.

I need to go back to Holy Spitball with the string and the new baby's handbag, says Prong.

Does he want it? asks Terence.

Baby bear wants his handbag, says Prong. Holy Spitball needs string.

The whole ball? asks Sartre. Or just enough for whatever he's planning?

It'll have to be the whole ball, says Prong. Unless we can cut it.

Maybe he can cut it, says Arthur. 

Or Saint Joseph? says Sweezus. He must have tools.

He's got an axe, says Terence.

Plan of action, says Sartre. Prong flies up with the string still attached to her leg. She asks Holy Spitball what length he wants, then asks Saint Joseph to chop it.

Prong's leg? asks Terence.

The string, says Sartre.

Phew! says Terence.

Phew! says Prong. What about the handbag?

In my pocket, says Federico.  And there's also this other one.

He takes out the tiny handbag, and the second Sylvanian baby, who has his own handbag.

Two for the price of one, remember? 

Grr, says wee Fuzzball.

Looks like he wants it, says Prong.

Which? asks Terence.

Wee Fuzzball points at the handbag.

Too bad. That's been promised, says Prong. Give it to me, then I'm off.

Federico gives Prong the handbag.

She flies up, with the handbag in her beak, and her leg still attached to the string.

Grrr-rah! growls wee Fuzzball.

Federico opens the packet containing the other Sylvanian baby.

The baby tightly clutches its handbag.

Having heard enough to know what comes next.

Intuitive Of You

Prong flies down with the bear baby.

She lands on the rim of the bowl.

Hurry up, says Holy Spitball. The Virgin'll be back soon.

Prong gazes at the baby bear to be rescued.

And the replacement, which she is carrying.

They do look the same.

Even their litle shirts are identical.

She gently places the replacement next to its twin.

The two baby bears look at one another.

Aw, says Prong. 

Yes, they look sweet together, says Holy Spitball.

Grr! says the bear to be rescued.

Grr! says the replacement. 

They pat each other's faces with their paws.

Better get wee Fuzzball out before they start bonding, says Holy Spitball.

Okay, says Prong.

She dips her beak into the bowl, to pick up wee Fuzzball.

Grrr-rah! growls wee Fuzzball.

Is there something you'd like to bring with you? asks Prong.

Wee Fuzzball points at his twin.

You can't bring him, says Prong. I was thinking about luggage. Your twin had his own handbag.

Grrr-rah! growls the twin. 

He'd forgotten he had his own handbag.

Grrr-rah! growls wee Fuzzball.

What's going on? asks Holy Spitball.

 I think I screwed up, says Prong. I asked Fuzzball about luggage and now his new twin is upset.

Why is the twin upset? asks Holy Spitball.

Probably because he's remembered his handbag, says Prong.

What handbag? asks Holy Spitball.

He came with a handbag, for his baby things, and I've left it behind, says Prong.

Are you sure that's the problem? asks Holy Spitball.

Grr! says the new twin.

I think Grr means yes, says Prong.

If it does, says Holy Spitball, then why, when they first saw each other, did they both say yes?

So what? asks Prong.

Wouldn't they have said hello? asks Holy Spitball.

They could have said yes, says Prong. As in: YES! my long lost brother!

Intuitive of you, says Holy Spitball.

Thank you, says Prong.

Alert! The Virgin's returning! says Holy Spitball. 

What should I do? asks Prong.

Take wee Fuzzball and go, says Holy Spitball. And when you come back with my string, bring new twin's handbag.

You're a quick thinker, says Prong.

GO! says Holy Spitball.

Prong picks up wee Fuzzball and flies down to where Terence and the others are waiting.

You did it! cries Terence. 

Good on you! says Sweezus.

A parrot of action! says Sartre.

But Federico thinks Fuzzball looks sad.

A Dreadful Tragedy

Can I try it out first? asks Holy Spitball.

But it's tied to my leg, says Prong.

So I see, says Holy Spitball. But you could untie it.

No I couldn't, says Prong. Nor could you. It takes fingers.

All right, says Holy Spitball. Let's get this thing started.

You fly down and distract the Virgin, says Prong. When she's distracted, give me a signal.

Okay, says Holy Spitball. I'm going now. Mind my bear.

Aren't you going to take it? asks Prong.

No, it's wedged, says Holy Spitball.

Accidentally? asks Prong.

On purpose, says Holy Spitball. But you see why I'll need a rope in the future.

Not really, says Prong. 

To give it more freedom, says Holy Spitball.

Oh, yes, says Prong.

She imagines the normal bear swinging from a branch of the cypress.

A happy existence.

Keep your eyes peeled, says Holy Spitball. I'm about to descend.

He descends to the head of a lamb, near the Virgin.

Hello, Holy, says the Virgin.

Hello yourself, says Holy Spitball.

Any news from the Vuelta? asks the Virgin.

Haven't you heard? asks Holy Spitball.

No one tells me anything, says the Virgin.

Matthew Brennan has now won four stages, says Holy Spitball.

Has something happened to Tadej Pogacar? asks the Virgin.

Don't you KNOW? asks Holy Spitball. He crashed out last week. Concussion and broken clavicle.

What a dreadful tragedy! says the Virgin. I must tell Saint Joseph.

Yes, you do that, says Holy Spitball. And I'll mind your baby. Ooh, hello little fuzzball, it's me!

Don't call him that, says the Virgin.

She gets up stiffly, and moves towards the Faith Portico, where Saint Joseph is working.

Holy Spitball gives the signal to Prong.......

Moona Moona

Unless... says Sartre.

Unless? says Prong.

We tie one end of the string to you, says Sartre. And let it out as you ascend with the baby.

Prong tries to think this plan through.

Nothing seems wrong with it. 

Okay, says Prong.

Get started! says Terence. People are coming.

A group of keen tourists are forming a short queue nearby.

Who's going to tie the string to me? asks Prong.

I'll do it, says Federico. I'm used to this sort of thing.

How so? asks Sartre.

In the theatre, says Federico. When I'm putting on plays.

I heard you were a poet, says Sartre.

That too, says Federico. 

Ballad of the Moon Moon, says Arthur. That's one of his.

Moon moon? says Terence. Why are there two moons?

Federico starts tying the string to Prong's leg.

It just sounds better, says Federico.

No it doesn't, says Terence.

In Spanish, says Federico.

Oh, says Terence. Moona moona.

Not moona moona, says Federico. Luna luna.

Baby Pierre made up a moon poem, says Terence.

How did it go? asks Federico.

Terence can't remember.

Arthur can.

O moon O moon, round and green, says Arthur.

Very nice, says Federico. 

He finishes tying the string.

Prong is now ready. She grips a baby Sylvanian bear in her beak.

Up she flies, as Federico lets the string out.

She lands on the cypress.

At last, says Holy Spitball. But what's with the string?

It's instead of the rope, says Prong. This is a delicate operation.

I see, says Holy Spitball.

But he does not see.

He had envisaged a rope to hold his bear in place.

A rope like the tail of a monkey.

A Man Is His Plan

Now we can start the rescue, says Terence. 

Is now a good time? asks Sweezus.

Yes, says Arthur. There'll be crowds later.

Yeah, but that might be better, says Sweezus.

Do you want my opinion? asks Sartre.

Is it DO IT NOW? asks Terence.

Yes, in a nutshell, says Sartre. 

What? says Terence.

The short answer, says Sartre.

But where's the nutshell? asks Terence.

I don't have a nutshell, says Sartre. The nutshell is a metaphor, for a small space.

I get it, says Terence. The small space is the bowl.

The bowl in which the baby bear is lying? asks Federico.

Not at all, says Sartre. Perhaps you'd prefer the long answer.

What's the long answer? asks Terence.

There's no reality except in action, says Sartre. Man is nothing else but his plan.

That's what we're trying to come up with, says Federico. The plan. Have you brought the equipment?

What? says Sartre.

The rope and the net, says Sweezus. You've got them.

Ah...oui, says Sartre. He reaches into his pocket and brings out a ball of string and a hairnet.

Shit, says Sweezus. They're kind of small.

All I could find at short notice, says Sartre. And the hairnet is Simone's, so it mustn't be damaged.

Where's Prong? asks Arthur.

Prong is behind Terence, awaiting instructions.

Here, says Terence. Give her a bear baby.

Federico hands Prong a bear baby.

Why are there two? asks Sartre.

Long story, says Arthur. 

How do I carry the string? asks Prong.

Has anyone got any scissors? asks Federico.

Maybe she won't need the string, says Sweezus.

But I promised it to Holy Spitball, says Prong.

Why does he want it? asks Sweezus.

To tie his normal bear to a branch of his tree, says Prong. 

So he won't need it yet, says Arthur. 

That depends, says Prong.

On? asks Sweezus. 

The distraction, says Prong. He might take his normal bear with him, but if he doesn't, it'll fall off the tree.

Wouldn't that be the perfect distraction? asks Sartre.

For him, says Terence. Not for the Virgin.

Surely a falling bear would attract her attention? says Sartre.

Terence thinks of the times when, falling down, he failed to attact her attention.

No, says Terence.

So Prong needs the string.

And they will need scissors.

He Wanted A Monkey

Prong flies down again.

How'd that go? asks Federico.

He put his bear on a branch but it kept tipping sideways, says Prong. So he said he should've asked for a monkey.

We don't have a monkey, says Terence.

No, but now he's happy keeping the bear if we leave him the rope, says Prong.

Our rope? says Terence.

We won't need it after the rescue, says Arthur. 

Is he being a lookout? asks Terence.

Even better, says Prong. He's going to fly down and distract the Virgin.

Did he say how? asks Arthur.

No, says Prong. Maybe he'll show her his bear.

That would be a bad plan, says Federico. She would look at his bear, then naturally turn to look down at her own.

Well maybe he won't do that, says Prong. 

Anything else we should know? asks Arthur.

He asked if Sartre is THE Sartre, says Prong. And I didn't know.

What's THE Sartre? asks Terence.

The philosopher, says Arthur. 

So is he? asks Terence.

You can ask him, says Arthur. He should be here any minute.

And truly, he should be here any minute.

The illuminations on the Sagrada Familia have now been turned off.

Dawn is breaking.

And two men are approaching the Nativity facade.

Hey guys! says Sweezus. We made it!

Hey, says Arthur. So did we. This is my friend Federico.

Garcia Lorca, says Federico. 

Poet! says Sweezus. Hey man, good to meet you. And this is Sartre.

Jean Paul, says Sartre.

Are you THE Sartre? asks Terence.

Who's asking? asks Sartre.

Me, says Terence. And Holy Spitball.

Sartre is taken aback. Who's Holy Spitball?

The lookout, says Terence. He wanted a monkey, but now he just wants our rope.

To hold his bear in place, says Arthur

Seems we've got stuff to catch up on, says Sweezus.

Arthur starts explaining.

Sartre listens but feels he has missed an opportunity.

What does it matter who Holy Spitball is?

He should have just told Terence that yes, he is THE Sartre.