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 Spiball. 

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.

Not THE Sartre?

Prong explains that the bear was not stolen, as such.

It's going to be paid for, says Prong.

I suppose I'll have to take your word for it, says Holy Spitball.

So are we okay? asks Prong. Will you act as a lookout?

Yes, says Holy Spitball. When do you make your move?

As soon as we get the rope and the net, says Prong.

Don't you have them? asks Holy Spitball.

They're coming from Paris, says Prong. 

You can buy nets and ropes in Barcelona, you know, says Holy Spitball.

It's not that, says Prong. 

Your choice, says Holy Spitball.

The normal bear is tipping sideways again.

Holy Spitball rights it.

Tell you what, says Holy Spitball. I could use that rope when you're finished.

Okay, says Prong. So you're keeping the bear. You don't want a monkey?

Who knows how long it will take to get a monkey? says Holy Spitball. 

You can have the rope, once I've used it, says Prong. 

Great, says Holy Spitball. So how shall we do this?

What? asks Prong.

Me being a lookout, says Holy Spitball. 

Watch the Virgin, says Prong, and send me as signal when she's distracted.

Even better, says Holy Spitball. I'll distract her myself.

What about your bear? asks Prong.

Let me deal with that, says Holy Spitball.

Okay, says Prong. When we're ready I'll fly up to you, then you fly down and distract her, and I fly down and switch baby bears.

Will you have the rope? asks Holy Spitball.

And the net, says Prong.

So now we're just waiting for the rope and net to arrive from Paris, says Holy Spitball. 

On the next train, says Prong.

Who's bringing them? asks Holy Spitball.

Sweezus and someone called Sartre, says Prong.

Not THE Sartre? says the Holy Spitball. 

But Prong, being from Australia, does not know.

Not Stolen

Prong flies back down.

Which bear is he having? asks Terence.

He chose the normal one, says Prong. 

Problem solved, says Arthur.

Except for one thing, says Federico. It hasn't been paid for.

I'll pay for it later, says Arthur.

Did you STEAL it? asks Terence.

No, says Arthur. I forgot I was holding it.

Yes, that's different, says Terence.

Shall I take this bear up to Holy Spitball? asks Prong.

Yes, says Terence. Then he'll start being our lookout.

Arthur gives the normal bear to Prong, who flies up to the cypress tree, holding it in her beak.

Hee-ooo-ah, says Prong.

Pardon? says Holy Spitball.

Ay-ih, says Prong.

Holy Spitball assumes she means take it.

He is used to such mumbles.

He takes the normal bear in his beak and tries to balance it on a branch.

It tips sideways, and is going to fall, but he saves it.

I should have asked for a monkey, says Holy Spitball.

A monkey? says Prong.

A monkey has better grip, says Holy Spitball. Longer legs. The right sort of tail.

I see, says Prong.

Where did you get it? asks Holy Spitball.

I think it came from a toyshop, says Prong/

Then perhaps you could exchange it, says Holy Spitball.

No, says Prong. We couldn't. 

Why not? asks Holy Spitball.

Because it hasn't been paid for, says Prong.

Don't tell me it's STOLEN! says Holy Spitball.

Not stolen, says Prong. 

She tries to remember how Arthur had put it.