Heard Though A Packet

Terence is all by himself, on the steps.

Except for the Fuzzballs, who have stopped playing.

Come closer, says Terence. Someone might steal you.

The Fuzzballs look puzzled.

Steal you, says Terence. Take you away.

The Fuzzballs shuffle closer, with their handbag.

Look, says Terence. 

He shows them the handbag, which had been mended..

It's for the new Fuzzball, says Terence. We fixed it. But look what's happened!

He shows them his claw with the hat pin stuck to it.

One of the Fuzzballs looks scared.

The other one doesn't.

It's a hat pin, says Terence. Say hat pin.

Ow! says the one who looked scared.

No, says Terence. HATPIN.

The Fuzzball who doesn't look scared pulls on Terence's shorts to get his attention.

How? says the Fuzzball who doesn't look scared.

How! and Ow! are nothing like hat pin.

Terence gives up. Where is Prong?

As if Prong has known Terence is wondering, she flies down seconds later.

I was talking to Holy Spitball, says Prong. What's been happening down here? 

Simone came, says Terence. She put on the mantilla and went inside the palace with Sarty. I'm teachng the Fuzzballs to talk.

How's that going? asks Prong.

They can't even say hatpin says Terence.

Why don't you try something different? asks Prong. 

You try something different, says Terence. 

Prong looks at the Fuzzballs. 

At least one of you should be able to talk, says Prong. One of you was in the Virgin's bowl for years and must have learned something. Who was it!

 One Fuzzball puts his hand up. 

That's the one who looked scared when I showed him the hat pin, says Terence.

Now we're getting somewhere, says Prong.

She addresses the one with his hand up.

Why were you scared of a hat pin? asks Prong.

Handbag, says the Fuzzball.

They are not the same thing, says Prong.

He knows that, says the other Fuzzball.

Yikes! says Terence. He said he knows that

I heard, says Prong. Perhaps he would care to explain.

All right says the other Fuzzball. I've been able to speak all along. I'm not the one who spent years in the Virgin's bowl. I'm the one from the toy shop, where I heard many words, and absorbed them.

I thought you were in a packet, says Terence. 

I could hear very well through the packet, says Toyshop Fuzzball.

So why have you been pretending you could only say handbag? asks Prong.

Because Bowl Fuzzball could only say handbag, says Toyshop Fuzzball. And he is my brother.

A brother wouldn't do that, says Prong.

Bowl Fuzzball decides that this has gone far enough.

Yes he would, says Bowl Fuzzball.

Inside The Utterly Glorious

Sartre and Simone join the queue. 

It starts moving faster.

They're soon inside.

The morning sunlight streams through Gaudi's stained glass windows.

The shifting colours turn the stone forest into a magical place.

Blue, green, yellow.

Orange.

A crucified Jesus floats skyward, under a jellyfish.

Is that supposed to be a jellyfish? asks Sartre.

No, dear, I think it's a parachute, says Simone.

Sartre wonders why either was thought to be necessary.

Simone looks around for the woman who lent Sartre the hat pin.

But a woman without a hat pin looks much like another.

However, Lucky-Hatpin-Freda has spottted Sartre and come over.

Hello, says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda. You came inside after all.

Yes, says Sartre. The handbag is mended.

Wonderful! says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda. And is my great grandmother's hat pin still stuck to the boy? 

Afraid so, says Sartre. We're just waiting on some nail polish remover. 

If I'd known, I'd have brought some with me, says Simone.

It's not something one thinks to pack nowadays, says Lucky-Hatpin Freda. 

No it isn't, says Simone. With all these nail salons everywhere, everyone has false ones. I'm Simone, by the way.

Freda, says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda. Isn't this place utterly glorious?

Oh yes, says Simone. But I bet my dear husband is having sour thoughts about it.

Not at all, says Sartre. But I do have some questions. 

What questions? asks Lucky-Hatpin-Freda.

To begin with, says Sartre, just imagine you're God.

How am I supposed to do that? asks Lucky-Hatpin-Freda.

You aren't, says Simone. But my husband seems able to do it.

Then let me try, says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda. Hmmm. Very nice! What a lot of trouble these Spanish humans have gone to, all for me. I shall reward them by sending sunshine through the windows. 

And what is your opinion of the jellyfish? asks Sartre. 

What jellyfish? asks Lucky-Hatpin-Freda.

There you go, says Simone. It seems God does not think it's a jellyfish. How about a parachute?

A parachute! So that's what it is! says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda. 

The Fate That Awaits

Has the glue stuck the clasp to Sartre's fingers?

No, he has been very careful.

But suddenly, he is unable to see.

Hands cover his eyes from behind. 

A familiar voice says: Surprise!

Beaver! says Sartre. 

It's not a beaver, says Terence. 

He calls me Beaver, says Simone.

You don't look like a beaver, says Terence.

My name is de Beauvoir, says Simone. It's a little joke we have between us.

But why have you come here? asks Sartre.

To see how you're doing, says Simone. I've been reading your blog. It's very funny.

It's not supposed to be funny, says Sartre. It's meant to be philosophical about bikes.

It's failing on that count, says Simone.

Did you see the photo of me? asks Terence. I was being a ghost.

I did, says Simone. You were wearing my mantilla.

I didn't rip it, says Terence.

I would have been cross if you had,  says Simone. It's supposed to replace my ripped hairnet.

I must apologise for that, dear, says Sartre.

Never mind, mon petit, says Simone. I prefer the mantilla. Where is it?

Somewhere around, says Sartre. First let me put down this handbag.

Oh yes, the famous handbag, says Simone. Is that it? It's so small!

It's the Fuzzball's, says Terence, taking the handbag from Sartre.

What's that stuck to your finger? asks Simone.

A HAT PIN! says Terence. It's coming off soon.

Let me help, says Simone.

No need, says Sartre. Sweezus has gone to get something to dissolve the glue.

Nail polish remover would do it, says Simone.

I suppose you have some? says Sartre.

Well no, says Simone. I didn't expect I would need it. 

She looks at the hat pin.

Whose hat pin is it? she wonders.

Has Sartre been flirting again?

Sartre knows what she is thinking.

The hat pin belongs to a very old lady, says Sartre.

A great grandma, says Terence. Of another lady.

Oh, a younger lady, says Simone Where is this younger lady?

Inside, says Terence. 

I'm going  inside myself, says Simone. I've bought two tickets. May I have my mantilla? 

Sartre feels in his pockets. 

Here it is.

Thank you, says Simone, arranging it over her hair.

Coming in with me? asks Simone. 

I can't leave Terence, says Sartre.

He's been left before, says Simone. I read your blog, remember?

I'll wait here, says Terence. Sweezus is coming. 

Very well, says Sartre. Don't lose the handbag.

I won't, says Terence. 

Sartre goes off with Simone.

To join the queue for the fate that awaits him.

Inside.

Time Doesn't Go Backwards

Five minutes to go.

What will you write? asks Terence. 

First I'll re-read what Sweezus wrote, says Sartre.

And then what? asks Terence.

Change it if necessary, says Sartre.

He would write good things, says Terence.

Good things they may be, says Sartre, but untruthful.

What's untruthful? asks Terence.

Fanciful, says Sartre. For example I didn't go to buy glue on my bike.

You could easily change it, says Terence. 

But I'm required to provide bicycle content, says Sartre.

Say you didn't go to buy glue on your bike, says Terence.

But why would I bother to say that? asks Sartre.

Because, says Terence, you have to. What else was too fancy?

That I bought the most expensive glue, says Sartre.

Change it to gluiest, says Terence.

I bought the gluiest glue?  says Sartre. 

That's true, says Terence. Look at me, stuck to a hat pin.

Three minutes to go.

Sartre tries to remember what else Sweezus wrote.

The assistant asked too many questions. And he, Sartre, gave him too many answers. Resulting in the assistant concluding they had rescued a child. And he, Sartre, to escape further scrutiny, rode away fast on his bicycle. The one he didn't go to buy glue on! 

It's true, there will need to be changes.

One minute to go.

One minute to go, says Sartre.

Shall I count it? asks Terence.

One? says Sartre.

I can easily do it, says Terence.

Anyone could do it, says Sartre. Try counting down the seconds.

One.... two....three, says Terence.

Not like that, says Sartre. Start from sixty and count backwards. No, wait, not sixty, some seconds have already elapsed. Start from forty.

Forty, says Terence. Forty one.

Backwards, says Sartre.

That's impossible, says Terence. Time doesn't go backwards.

It isn't going backwards as such, says Sartre.

I know that, says Terence. Forty two.

In fact, there are now twenty seconds remaining.

Sartre counts them down in his head by himself.

...three...two...one. Yes. The drying time is finally over.

He tries to let go of the clasp. 

Terence is watching.

But Sartre is having a bit of a problem.

Zero Sum Luck

The two ladies enter the Sagrada Familia together. 

Ah! says the ladies.

Because it looks very high.

And coloured light in blue tones streams though the stained glass windows.

It's like some sort of stone forest, says the first lady.

So it is, says the second. Shall we wander through it together?

All right, says the first lady. My name is Freda, by the way.

What a coincidence! says the second lady. That's my name as well.

I was just thinking about your lucky hat pin, says Freda.

So was I, says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda.

And the nature of luck, says Freda.

What were your thoughts? asks Lucky-Hatpin-Freda.

Only that luck is sometimes zero-sum, says Freda.

I think I see what you mean, says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda. I lose it, which is bad luck, then someone returns it, which is good, but I'm no better off.

Yes, says Freda. But look on the bright side. You meet some nice people.

Yes, that young man, says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda. He was nice. 

And that dear little boy, says Freda. 

I wonder if the young man is the little boy's father, says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda.

I doubt it, says Freda. The little boy looked like he belonged here.

Now you mention it, so he did, says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda.

Like one of the outside statues come to life, says Freda.

What a thought! says Lucky-Hatpin-Freda.

The two Fredas make their way round the basilica.

The light, and the stone carvings. Divine! 

Well worth the 26 euros. 

Meanwhile, outside, Sartre is watching the clock. 

He has been holding the handbag clasp togther for fifteen minutes. Five minutes to go.

Terence is sitting beside him, still stuck to the hat pin.

Sweezus has gone off to find something to dissolve the glue with. 

This is boring, says Terence.

A intelligent person should never get bored, says Sartre.

Are you bored? asks Terence.

No, says Sartre. I'm thinking.

What about? asks Terence.

What I'll do in five minutes, says Sartre.

What? asks Terence.

Continue my blog, says Sartre. There's a great deal to tell.  

Will you tell how you had to wait twenty minutes for the glue to dry? aks Terence.

That's the sort of thing I'll leave out, says Sartre.

I wouldn't, says Terence.

There's the difference between us, says Sartre.

I'm not a cheater, says Terence.

The Nature Of Luck

Yikes! I'm stuck to the hat pin! says Terence.

The glue can't be dry yet, says Sweezus.

No it can't, says Sartre. It takes twenty minutes.

Get it off me! says Terence.

Take it easy, says Sweezus. And keep still.

He takes hold of the decorative end of the hat pin. 

Terence closes his eyes.

Is it moving? asks Terence.

A bit, says Sweezus. But so is your claw.

No way! says Terence.

He opens his eyes. Yes, his claw is moving, along with the hat pin.

Stop! cries Terence. I can't lose that claw.

Why has he got a claw anyway? asks Sartre.

It's his blood brother's, says Sweezus. 

Shall I try? asks Sartre.

No, keep holding the clasp of the handbag, says Sweezus. I'll keep trying.

Stop trying! says Terence. I'm keeping the claw and the hat pin.

No you're not, says Sweezus. Imagine life with a hatpin attached to your claw..

I could bend it, says Terence.

Not going to happen, says Sweezus. The lady'll come back for it soon.

And then what? asks Sartre.

We'll explain, says Sweezus. I'll go and explain now, before she goes into the cathedral.

You do that, says Sartre.

Sweezus goes across to the queue.

The lady is near to the entrance.

She is talking to the lady who minded her place.

And would you believe, I forgot it, says the lady.

Your great grandmother's hat pin! says the other lady. Didn't you say it was lucky?

That's why I'm not overly worried, says the lady. I've lost it before, but someone always returns it.

That would be me, says Sweezus, arriving at that momenr.

There you see! says the lady. Thank you, young man. But where is it?

That's why I came over, says Sweezus. We've still got it.

Glue tube opening gummed up again? asks the lady.

No, the hat pin's stuck to Terence's ....errr...finger, says Sweezus. I tried to get it off before the glue dried but no go.

You need something to dissolve it, says the lady.

Yeah, we'll get something, says Sweezus. How long are you going to be in there?

An hour at least, says the lady.

No worries, says Sweezus. Meet us on the steps, when you come out.

I will, says the lady.

She enters the cathedral. behind the other lady.

Both of them contemplating the nature of luck.

And how it pertains to a hat pin.

He Can't Put It Down

Do you have anything for wiping the glue off ? asks the lady.

Only my tee shirt, says Sweezus.

He wipes his fingers down the front of his tee shirt.

What about the glue on my great grandmother's hat pin? asks the lady.

We can probably use it, says Sweezus. 

Quick, before it dries, says the lady. Where is it going?

Here, says Sartre. He is still holding the broken clasp open.

What a tiny handbag! says the lady. It reminds me of something.

Put a dab on each side, says Sweezus. 

I was going to do that job, says Terence.

That was before we got a hat pin. says Sweezus.

I'm sure the little boy could manage a hat pin, says the lady.

Yes! says Terence.

She gives him the hat pin. 

There are two blobs of glue near the end.

Steady, says Sartre. We don't want glue going down the sides of the handbag.

Ternce pokes a blob of glue onto one edge of the broken clasp. 

Then the second blob onto the other edge.

Sartre clamps the two edges together.

Well done! says the lady.

Yes, well done, says Sartre. How long do I have to hold this thing together?

Dunno, says Sweezus. Let's see the instructions.

He picks up the glue tube. Reads the instructions.

Twenty minutes, says Sweezus.

Dear me, says the lady. Poor you.

She smiles sympathetically at Sartre.

Would you like to take over? asks Sartre.

Me? says the lady.

No, I meant him, says Sartre. 

Can't, says Sweezus. Sticky fingers. 

I'll do it! says Terence.

What a helpful child, says the lady. His toy bear is very lucky.

It's not my toy bear, says Terence. It's Holy Spitball's.

And who is Holy Spitball? asks the lady.

We can't tell you, says Terence. 

Why is that? asks the lady.

Because he's a spy, says Terence.

I see, says the lady. Well I'd better get back to my queue. It's started moving.

She heads back to her place in the queue.

Phew! says Terence. She nearly found out EVERYTHING!

Hardly, says Sweezus. Are you taking over or what?

Here, says Sartre, holding out the handbag

Terence is about to take it, when he realises...

He's still holding the hat pin.

And worse, he can't put it down.