Awesome Cliffhanger

Will you explain to me what's going on? says Sartre.

Okay, says Prong. The lasso fell into the pelican's beak. The only way I could get him to open his mouth was to shout Incoming Fish!

That's heaps inventive, says Sweezus.

It wasn't my idea, says Prong. There were angels with chalices. Their suggestion.

So let me understand this, says Sartre. You shouted incoming fish and the pelican opened its beak automatically..

Yes, says Prong. And I got the lasso out.

And now the pelicam wants his fish, says Sartre.

Fair enough, says Sweezus.

Yes, says Prong So where can we get one?

I'd ask Federico, says Sweezus. But he and Arthur went off to get breakfast.

That leaves us, says Sartre.

And me, says Terence. 

I was including you, says Sartre.

And the old Fuzzballs, says Terence.

And them, says Sartre.

He sighs.

What's up? asks Sweezus.

Too many details, says Sartre. I may give up writing this blog.

Don't do that! says Sweezus. I'll lose my job.

You write it then, says Sartre.

Okay, says Sweezus. Where are you up to? 

The string, says Sartre.

Sheez! says Sweezus. That far back! What about the mantilla?

Yes start from there, says Sartre. Here, use my phone.

Shouldn't we be looking for a fish, asks Prong.

You guys go looking for a fish, says Sweezus. I'll be here writing.

Use my style, says Sartre. And mention the shop where I bought the mantilla.

No worries, says Sweezus.

Sartre, Terence and Prong head off to look for a fish shop.

Sweezus sits on a stone step.

Sartre's style. That should be easy. What was the last thing he wrote?

The string. Yeah Sartre couldn't remember why it was needed.

Too bad. Leave that out.

He starts typing: 

The hairnet being ripped, I needed a replacement. Not for the rescue, but to give to my wife. I got on my bike and rode through the streets of Barcelona, looking for ladies' hair things. I found a shop selling mantillas and combs, Magatzems de Pilar. There I bought an exquisite lacy mantilla with fringes at a reasonable price. One of our smaller companions tried it on. Here is a picture.

Sweezus fiddles about adding the picture of Terence as a ghost.

Yeah that looks heaps funny. Vello will like it.

He continues:

When I returned, things had moved forward. The baby had been rescued. But there was a snag. The replacement baby had a handbag, the original didn't. Our parrot flew back up to see if this had been noticed. It hadn't. But there was another snag now.

Sweezus looks at his work. Awesome stuff. A cliffhanger.

He posts it.

Done.

Be A Victim

Did you get it? asks Holy Spitball.

Yes, here it is, says Prong. Now where is that handbag?

Here, says the Virgin. 

She hands Prong the broken handbag.

Little Fuzzball looks unhappy.

Don't worry, says Prong. I'll be back in no time.

Little Fuzzball starts to look happy.

She doesn't mean actually no time, says the Virgin.

No, it's just a saying that means soon, says Prong. Have a nap or something.

Or, says Holy Spitball, Little Fuzzball and Normal could play with the lasso.

Now Normal looks unhappy.

He doesn't want to share his lasso with a baby.

What a nice idea, says the Virgin. But my baby is tiny. There's not much he can do.

Normal thinks of something Little Fuzzball can do.

Be a victim.

He grabs his lasso. Twirls it

Stop! commands Holy Spitball. Or you'll lose it again.

Yes, it must be tied to your waist first, says the Virgin. Come here and I'll do it.

Normal goes to her and she does it.

Normal scrambles away. Twirls his lasso.

Success first time!

Little Fuzzball wriggles out of the lasso.

Lassooooo! squeals Little Fuzzball

Too many ooos says the Virgin. But well done. You've learnt a new word.

I'll be off then, says Prong. She flies down with the handbag.

Passing the pelican.

Remember the fish! honks the pelican.

I'll remember, says Prong.

We should have asked for something, says the first angel.

Should have, could have, says the second angel.

They nod at one another.

Prong reaches the ground.

Here's the handbag, says Prong. Who's going to fix it? And who can get hold of a fish?

Take it easy, says Sweezus. What's this fish thing?

Terence thinks he knows.

Fish glue! says Terence.

No one has fish glue these days, says Sweezus. We'll buy some super glue.

So we don't need a fish, says Terence.

The fish is for the pelican, says Prong. I promised.

Pelican? Fish glue?  Fish?

Sartre, who has been trying to make catch-up notes for his blog, gives up trying. 

My Fish Is The Third

Prong thinks fast.

Something she has become good at.

I'll bring you a fish, says Prong.

When ? asks the pelican.

As soon as I've done the first thing, says Prong.

What is the first thing? asks the pelican. And will it take long?

Not long, says Prong. Then there's the second thing. 

What are the two things? asks the pelican.

May we guess? asks the first angel.

Of course we may, says the second angel.

Go ahead, says Prong. What's the first thing?

The first thing is to return the lasso to whoever dropped it, says the third angel.

Not quite, says Prong. He didn't drop it, he threw it.

I was going to say threw it, says the first angel. 

But you were too slow, says the third angel.

What about the second thing? asks the pelican.

I have to pick up Little Fuzzballs's broken handbag and take it to be fixed, says Prong.

Who is little Fuzzball? asks the pelican.

The Virgin's new baby, says Prong.

No one told us the Virgin had a new baby, says the first angel.

Yes. Since when? asks the second angel.

This morning, says Prong. But it's just a replacement.

The angels look at one another.

Are they okay with replacements?

They look into their chalices.

The first angel thinks of a question.

What happened to the old baby?

The second angel thinks of a question.

Why does the new baby have a handbag?

They both ask their questions at once.

Prong pretends she only heard the second question.

These babies all come with a handbag, says Prong.

And its handbag got broken, says the pelican. Catch up, guys.

Okay, say the angels. Just asking.

The parrot's got three things to do, says the pelican, and my fish is the third.

It certainly is, says Prong. I'd better get going.

She flies up to return the lasso.

Parrots are more efficient than doves, observes the first angel.

Incoming Fish!

Don't worry, I'll get it, says Prong.

She flies down to the pelican, who has now closed his beak.

This might be tricky.

Excuse me, says Prong.

The pelican says nothing, its mouth full of string.

Our bear dropped his lasso, says Prong. Have you seen it?

No response from the pelican.

He has it, says a cement angel.

The angel is standing nearby, holding a chalice.

Yes, says an second angel, also holding a chalice.

If only, says a third angel, with a chalice.

If only what? asks Prong.

If only your bear had dropped his lasso into a chalice, says the first angel.

Any chalice, says the second angel.

You'd have got it back straight away, says the third angel.

Thank you, says Prong. I see what you mean. Chalices are open. 

The pelicans beak was open, says the third angel.

But not now, says the second angel.

What's the best way to get him to open his beak? asks Prong.

Try shouting Incoming Fish! says the first angel.

The angels all laugh.

Should I? asks Prong. 

Worth a try, says the second angel.

But I don't have a fish, says Prong. He'll see that immediately.

There'll be cement fish somewhere, says the second angel. 

All creatures are somewhere, says the first angel.

And all plants, says the third angel.

All right, says Prong. 

Incoming Fish!

The pelican opens its beak.

The lasso is visible.

You'll have to ditch the lasso first, says Prong.

Thuth, says the pelican.

I'll help if you like, says Prong.

She approaches the pelican and pulls the lasso with her beak.

Now Prong's beak is occupied by the string.

And the pelican's isn't.

Where are these incoming fish? asks the pelican.

Prong spreads her wings to indicate she can't answer.

Here, says the first angel, offering a chalice.

Prong drops the string in.

Now she can theoretically answer,

But what is the answer?

Open Pelican

Prong has flown down to tell everyone what's happened.

What happened? asks Terence.

We pulled Normal bear out of the fork in the tree, says Prong.

Yay! saysTerence.

But then the rescue went wrong, says Prong.

Boo, says Terence.

Not that wrong, says Prong. It's just that Holy Spitball let go of the string.

Too busy spying, says Terence.

No, he got jerked, says Prong.

So where's the normal bear now? asks Sweezus.

Yes where is he? asks Sartre. I need to know too.

He fell into the Virgin's bowl, says Prong.

Yikes! says Terence. Did she notice?

Of course she noticed, says Prong. Luckily Normal bear didn't fall on Little Fuzzball.

Sounds like a good outcome, says Sweezus.

Did you give him the message? asks Terence.

Yes, says Prong. And guess what?

What? asks Terence.

Little Fuzzball can say handbag, says Prong.

Did you teach him? asks Terence.

No he just learnt it, by listening, says Prong. And  pencil.

Is there a reason for him learning pencil? asks Sartre, noting the word down.

He had one in his handbag, says Prong.

Maybe your Fuzzballs have a pencil in their handbag, says Sartre. 

Why don't you open it and see, says Sweezus.

It's too small and fiddly, says Sartre.

So he doesn't.

How about the lasso? asks Sweezus. Did the normal bear like it?

I don't know, says Prong. I came down to tell you guys what happened before he started lassoing.

Go back up! says Terence.

Okay, says Prong.

Up she goes again.

At last! says Holy Spitball. Look what happened! The clasp on the handbag is broken.

We were hoping your friends down below might be able to fix it, says the Virgin. Baby's upset.

Little Fuzzball snuffs loudly.

Sure, says Prong. But before I go, how does Normal bear like his lasso?

He hasn't tried it yet, says Holy Spitball. 

Normal is ready to try it.

He picks up the lasso. 

Wait! says Prong. It has to be tied round his waist first.

But too late. Normal has thrown the lasso at a branch and missed it.

And the lasso has dropped into the open cement beak of a pelican.

Where Is He Now?

The Virgin is surprised to find Normal bear in her bowl.

Are you all right, dear? asks the Virgin.

Normal bear is surprised too. He says nothing.

Pencil! cries Little Fuzzball.

Did he land on your pencil? asks the Virgin. 

Handbag, says Little Fuzzball.

Normal bear looks underneath himself.

Yes, a handbag. And he's seen it before.

Is it broken? asks the Virgin.

Little Fuzzball starts crying.

Snuff-snuff.

Holy Spitball flies down.

My fault, says Holy Spitball. He was heavier than I expected. When he jerked I let go of the string.

Jerk! says Little Fuzzball.

I don't like you saying words like that, says the Virgin.

Little Fuzzball snuffs harder.

Did my bear land on your baby? asks Holy Spitball.

No, but it was close, says the Virgin. He may have damaged the handbag.

I'll have it fixed, says Holy Spitball. It's the least I can do.

Very kind, says the Virgin.

I'll give it to Prong, says Holy Spitball. She has friends down below.

I know, says the Virgin. But where is she?

She must have flown down to tell them what's happened, says Holy Spitball.

She's very good, says the Virgin.

Isn't she, agrees Holy Spitball. And she thought up the rescue.

And my happy existence, thinks Normal. But she got that part wrong.

Come on bear, says Holy Spitball. 

He gathers up Normal.

Oh, wait, says Holy Spitball. I'll need that string unthreaded.

The hairnet lies in the bowl, still threaded with string.

Easily done, says the Virgin.

She pulls the string through, and gives it to Holy Spitball.

Are you planning to keep him tied up? asks the Virgin.

Not at all. says Holy Spitball. This string, if you look at it, is a proper lasso. When this end is tied round his waist, he can use the lasso to catch and swing between branches.

Like a monkey? says the Virgin. 

Exactly, says Holy Spitball. You'd better watch out!

I once had a bigger baby, says the Virgin. He was always up to mischief.

I remember that infant, says Holy Spitball. 

I can't say I miss him, says the Virgin. But I sometimes wonder where he is now......

The Happy Existence

Now to rescue the normal bear, which is stuck in a fork of the tree.

How are we going to do this? asks Holy Spitball.

You sit at the top of the cypress holding one end of the string, says Prong. I'll fly across to the bear, and net him. Then when I say pull, you pull.

Simple enough, says Holy Spitball.

Just be ready, says Prong. He might jerk you.

Jerk me! says Holy Spitball.

He'll be falling, says Prong.

You think of everything, says Holy Spitball. 

I try to, says Prong.

Holy Spitball perches at the top of his cypress, holding one end of the string in his beak.

Prong flies across to the normal bear.

The normal bear glares at Prong from his uncomfortable position.

I'm here to rescue you, says Prong. Your happy existence is about to begin.

Normal starts looking more cheerful.

Hold still while I net you, says Prong.

Normal holds still. 

Prong thinks about the best way to net him.

Head and legs? Or bottom.

No, she can't net his bottom.

I'll drape the net over your ears, says Prong. And then pull it forward to net both your feet. After that I'll get Holy Spitball to pull the string tighter. 

Normal decides not to think about how painful this might be,

Instead he thinks about what Prong might have meant by his happy existence.

Prong nets his ears. Then pulls the net over his feet. 

So far so good. 

Prong signals to Holy Spitball. 

Pull the string tighter!

Holy Spitball pulls.

Normal's feet draw up close to his face.

His bottom loosens (in a good way).

He drops out of the fork in the tree.

Holy Spitball has been prepared for a jerk, but not quite such a big one.

He teeters, on his branch. Tries to right hinself. Drops the string.

Normal falls down unrestricted.

And lands in the Virgin's bowl next to Little Fuzzball.

Phew!

It could have been worse.

The Clever Baby

What did you say? asks the Virgin.

She stops threading the string though the hairnet.

Oh, nothing, says Prong.

It sounded like handbag, says the Virgin.

Did it? says Prong.

Odd you should say it, says the Virgin. Because I recently found one.

What did you do with it? asks Prong.

Put it aside, says the Virgin. Would you believe it was in the baby's bowl?

Little Fuzzball looks sad.

Some babies like handbags, says Prong.

But where had it come from? asks the Virgin. Who knows what might have been inside?

Didn't you look? asks Holy Spitball.

No I didn't, says the Virgin.

Where is it? asks Holy Spitball. My bear might like it.

Your bear is welcome to it, says the Virgin.

She reaches behind her.

Here it is, says the Virgin. You should probably open it first.

Will you open it? asks Holy Spitball. 

The Virgin fiddles with the plastic clasp at the top of the handbag.

Click! The handbag pops open.

Lttle Fuzzball is watching.

Inside is his stuff! 

A tiny pencil, a tiny notebook and a tiny drink bottle. 

Little Fuzzball wriggles and squeaks with excitement.

Maybe you should let your baby keep it, says Prong.

Oh...I don't know, says the Virgin.

It would be educational, says Prong. Your baby might learn to say handbag, like other babies.

Other babies say handbag? says the Virgin.

I know at least two who do, says Prong.

Little Fuzzball is listening. 

Litle Fuzzball can guess who the two who do are.

Well, if they can say handbag, so can he.

Bag-bag, says Little Fuzzball.

He's already trying, says Prong.

Handbag, says the Virgin. Say it properly or don't say it.

Handbag, says Little Fuzzball.

Well done, says the Virgin. Now say pencil.

Could you just finish threading the string through the hairnet? asks Holy Spitball. Then we'll be off, and leave you to your lessons.

The Virgin threads quickly.

Done, says the Virgin. And sorry, we'll be keeping the handbag, so your bear can't have it. 

Never mind, says Holy Spitball. Once he's rescued from the fork in the tree, he can pursue other activities.

Watch him, says the Virgin.

Good bye, Virgin, says Prong. You have a very clever baby.

Thank you, says the Virgin.

Pencil! says the clever baby 

A Bear How Funny

Prong flies up with the hairnet.

She lands on a branch, near Holy Spitball.

How's it going? asks Prong.

Nearly out, says Holy Spitball. What's that there?

 A hairnet, says Prong, I'm going to use it to free your wedged bear.

How? asks Holy Spitball.

First I'll need some of your string, says Prong. 

This lasso? says Holy Spitball. Then help me get out of it.

Okay, says Prong. 

She hangs the hairnet on a cement leaf, and sets about helping.

A tweak here, a tug there. And Holy Spitball is free.

I know what I did wrong now, says Holy Spitball.

That's good, says Prong. Now help me thread string thought this hairnet.

Are you joking? asks Holy Spitball. 

We both have beaks, says Prong. 

If it was up to me I'd ask the Virgin to do it, says Holy Spitball.

Do you think she'd agree? asks Prong.

Why not? says Holy Spitball. She's always saying she'd like a hobby.

Does she know about your bear? asks Prong.

Not yet, says Holy Spitball. This would be a good time to tell her.

Then let's go, says Prong. You bring the lasso. I'll bring the hairnet.

They fly down to the Virgin, who is absent-mindedly patting New Fuzzball.

Hello, dear, says Holy Spitball. How's the baby?

Good as gold, says the Virgin.

I have something to tell you, says Holy Spitball. I too have a baby.

How can that be? asks the Virgin.

It's a bear actually, says Holy Spitball. Nothing like your little bundle.

A bear, says the Virgin. How funny.

Not that funny, says Holy Spitball. It's got itself stuck in my tree.

Surely a bear can find its way out of a tree, says the Virgin.

It's wedged tightly, says Holy Spitball. But my friend Prong has planned a rescue by means of a hairnet and string.

Clever Prong, says the Virgin. 

Thanks, says Prong. We were wondering if you'd help thread the string though the hairnet.

I'd be happy to, says the Virgin. If my fingers weren't stiff.

Oh, come on, says Holy Spitball.

He drops the lasso in her lap.

What a well-made lasso, says the Virgin. Perhaps you don't need the hairnet.

It would be safer, says Prong.

You're quite right, says the Virgin. Give me the hairnet.

Prong gives her the hairnet.

And sneaks a look into the bowl where New Fuzzball is sleeping. 

Or pretending to be sleeping.

Handbag! whispers Prong.

Handbag?

New Fuzzball's eyes have popped open.

She Said Cat

I'm back! says Prong.

Did Holy Spitball like the lasso? asks Terence.

Yes he liked it, says Prong. Until he tried to use it.

It was for his bear! says Terence.

I know, says Prong. But he wanted to try it out first.

So what happened? asks Sweezus.

He got into the wrong loop, says Prong.

Could he get out of it? asks Terence.

No, he's still in it, says Prong.

Ha ha! laughs Terence.

What about his bear? asks Federico.

It's still wedged in the fork of the tree, says Prong. I came down for the hairnet.

Can Prong have the hairnet? asks Terence. Where is it?

I have it, says Sartre. But it's ripped, and therefore useless.

Not necessarily, says Prong. I've come up with a plan.

Excellent, says Sartre. I'm a plan man myself. What is it?

Net the bear, says Prong. Thread the string through and pull. 

Thread the string through before you net the bear, says Federico.

Good thinking, says Prong.

Let me make a note of this plan, says Sartre. Run it by me again.

Federico runs the plan by Sartre while Sartre makes notes. 

I should have made notes all along, says Sartre. I must ask Prong about the string thing.

Ask away, says Prong. That string sure has come in useful.

Why did I suggest tying it to your leg? asks Sartre. 

Don't you remember? asks Prong.

Too many things have happened, says Sartre.

You're right, says Prong. Well, if you recall, I was to fly a new Sylvanian baby up to the Virgin's bowl. And Holy Spitball wanted some string for his bear. A parrot can only carry so much in her beak, at one time.

Aha! says Sartre. It's coming back to me now. My suggestion. 

Yes, says Prong. And us having no scissors.

So Saint Joseph had to chop it, says Terence. Lucky he didn't chop your foot off.

Sweezus looks at Arthur.

Arthur shrugs.

So what if Terence has been thinking up horrors. Is it his fault?

I'm going to fly back up now with the hairnet, says Prong. Any messages?

Who for? asks Terence.

Anyone, says Prong. Holy Spitball, his bear, the Virgin, her new Fuzzball?

Tell the new Fuzzball the old Fuzzballs can say Handbag, says Terence.

That should put the cat among the pigeons, says Prong.

Sartre wonders if she meant to be funny. 

But it wasn't that funny.

Because she said cat.

Thinking Up Horrors

What did I look like? asks Terence.

Sartre shows him the photo.

A sparkly ghost, says Terence. With  my feet.

I suppose ghosts have feet, says Sartre. Now let me get on with writing this post.

Terence looks at Sweezus.

Do ghosts have feet?

Yeah I guess they do, says Sweezus. 

He looks at Federico. He's Spanish. He'll know.

Ghosts may or may not have feet, says Federico. It depends on how their life ended.

How? asks Terence.

Think about it, says Federico. 

Terence thinks about it. 

Don't think about it, says Sweezus.

No don't, says Arthur. You'll start thinking up horrors.

Thanks, Arthur, says Sweezus.

What horrors? asks Terence.

People who died with out feet, says Arthur. For various reasons. But don't worry, it rarely happens.

Yikes! says Terence.

Sartre is only half listening.

He is writing his blog. Now where was he?

....a stroke of genius on my part.

He continues:

Our mission seemed simple, But a knotty problem had come up. A dove representing the Holy Spirit began interfering. It demanded a bear of its own. Fortunately we had a spare one. A spare one which strictly did not belong to us, but needs must. The Holy Spirit's assistance was required. It had agreed to distract the Virgin, while our parrot made the switch.

He stops typing.

He's forgotten why they'd needed the string.

Why did we need the string? asks Sartre.

For the lasso, says Terence.

Before that? asks Sartre.

To tie to Prong's leg, says Federico. It was your idea.

How's it going? asks Sweezus.

I'm a bit behind, says Sartre. And I don't quite remember how things unfolded.

Doesn't matter, says Sweezus. Just keep it funny. And keep on mentioning bikes.

Merde! says Sartre. I haven't mentioned bikes since the train.

So mention them now, says Sweezus.

In what regard? asks Sartre.

Like, yeah, when you and Arthur went off to buy the hairnet, says Sweezus.

But we walked, says Sartre.

That's where you could embellish, says Sweezus. And make it funny.

Sartre does not like to take writing advice from Sweezus, but he knows that he ought to. 

However there is still the problem of not knowing why they needed the string.

Bien sur! The parrot will know the answer.

But where is she?

Look up Sartre!

Here she comes now.

A Slow Silly Dance

Stop! says Sartre.

Terence stops unwrapping.

Why are you doing that? asks Sartre.

Because it's okay, says Terence. 

I just called the boss, says Sweezus. And he said it's okay. But Terence ought to have waited.

Sorry, says Terence. I was going to be careful.

What exactly has Vello agreed to? asks Sartre.

The photo, says Sweezus. 

Terence wearing Simone's new mantilla? says Sartre.

He imagines how this will go down with Simone.

Not very well.

Vello thought it'd be funny, says Sweezus. 

It's all right for him, mutters Sartre.

You're morally obliged to go along with it, says Federico. You got a huge discount.

What if it becomes soiled? says Sartre. Or worse, ripped?

I'll assist Terence, says Federico. I'm used to working with costumes.

Yay! says Terence. 

Stand still, says Federico. 

Don't use the comb! says Terence. 

No, says Federico. I think we can arrange the mantilla without it.

Federico lifts the mantilla from its tissue paper wrapping.

He places it on Terence's head.

How do I look? asks Terence.

Sweet, says Federico. 

Yuck! says Terence. What if I do a silly dance?

It will fall off, says Federico. 

A slow silly dance, says Terence.

No dancing, says Sartre.

How about you pretend you're a ghost, says Arthur.

Genius. 

Federico rearranges the mantilla so it falls over Terence's face.

Terence waves his arms about. Woooooo-ooo!

Everyone is looking at Sartre. 

Even Terence, through the lace.

Sartre realises that it's up to him to snap the picture.

He snaps the picture.

How absurd life can be, sometimes.

I've Got Hair

Sartre is pleased with his deal.

The expensive mantilla and comb, at one third of the price.

All he has to do is mention them in his next blog post.

With a photo. 

And the address of the shop.

He walks back to the Sagrada Familia with Arthur.

Sweezus and Federico are waiting with Terence.

Guess what? says Terence.

What? asks Arthur.

I was trying to lasso the Fuzzballs, says Terence.

And? says Arthur.

They both said Handbag, says Terence.

How is that relevant? asks Sartre.

What does that mean? asks Terence.

What use is it to them? asks Sartre.

It's talking, says Terence. And I taught them.

Can they say anything else? asks Sartre.

Not yet, says Terence. Why don't you teach them?

I'll have to pass, says Sartre. I must start a new blog post.

Shit yeah! says Sweezus. Good you remembered.

Did you find a new hairnet? asks Federico.

Better than that, says Sartre, I bought an exquisite Spanish mantilla and comb. 

Cool, says Sweezus. Simone'll love it.

One third the price, thanks to Arthur, says Sartre.

Told you he was good, says Sweezus.

All I have to do is mention the shop in my blog post, says Sartre. And publish a photo.

Maybe a problem, says Sweezus. 

How so? asks Sartre. 

Vello won't like it, says Sweezus. Ads aren't allowed in Velosophy.

I shall speak to him, says Sartre.

Go ahead, says Sweezus. No wait, I ought to do it.

Can I be in the photo? asks Terence.

Yeah, that might help, says Sweezus. If Vello thinks it's meant to be funny.

Why would it be funny? asks Terence.

Mantillas are for ladies, says Sweezus.

And the combs are for ladies with hair, says Federico.

I've got hair, says Terence.

You've got cement curls, says Arthur. We'd have to drill tiny holes in your head, to stick the comb into.

No way! cries Terence.

None of this is going to happen, says Sartre. I'll organise my own photo. But first I must write this damn post.

He sits down on a step, takes his phone out, brings up his blog app, and starts tapping:

Much has happened since my last post on the train. My colleague and I arrived at the cathedral before dawn. Two more colleagues were waiting. Correction, three more, plus a parrot. I produced the rope and the net. They were surprised that the rope was a ball of string, but this turned out to be a stroke of genius on my part.....

He stops writing.

Why is Terence unwrapping the gift-wrapped mantilla? 

Fairly Famous

Arthur and Sartre are looking for somewhere selling ladies' hair things.

Arthur spots a window displaying tortoiseshell combs and lace mantillas.

Magatzems de Pilar.

They go in.

Buenos dias, says the woman beind the counter. Que te gusta?

Que? asks Sartre.

What do you like? says the woman. I have many exquisite mantillas.

So I see, says Satre. They are delightful, but do you have a plain hairnet?

There is little call for those, nowadays, says the woman.

My wife uses a hairnet, says Sartre. And she is considered trés chic.

Why might she need a new one? asks the woman.

Because her hairnet has been ripped, says Sartre.

By a claw, says Arthur.

Involving a tug of war, says Sartre.

Violence! says the woman. Were you fighting with your wife, sir?

Certainly not, says Sartre. She is in Paris. I borrowed her hairnet for a secret mission.

And now it is ruined, says the woman. You must buy her a beautiful mantilla and comb, to atone.

Are they expensive? asks Sartre.

Quite expensive, says the woman. This one is worth two thousand euro.

She points to a white mantilla in which the lacework is intricate, edged with sparkling fringes.

And this tortoiseshell comb, seven hundred euro, she adds.

Anything cheaper? asks Sartre.

Of course, says the woman. What is your budget?

Sartre looks at Arthur, who had earlier indicated that he knows how to gets a good deal.

Arthur now remembers he said it.

Why not buy Simone the expensive one? says Arthur.

You know why, says Sartre. 

You could mention it in your next blog post, says Arthur. Add a photo. 

The BLOG! cries Sartre. I have neglected it!

What is this blog? asks the woman.

He's blogging the secret mission, says Arthur. He has hundreds of thousands of readers.

Oh, has he? says the woman. 

She looks at Sartre. Is he someone famous?

With a wife called Simone?

Come on, Sartre, says Arthur, 

What? asks Sartre. 

So, thinks the woman. That's who this Frenchman is.

Jean-Paul Sartre. Fairly famous. Even these days.

I could do you a deal, says the woman.

Grown Up Fingers

So Prong flies down with the string.

Problem? asks Sweezus.

More like a task, says Prong.

What is it? I'll do it, says Terence.

It needs grown up fingers, says Prong.

One of my fingers is grown up, says Terence.

Not enough, says Prong.

Give it to me, says Federico. What's required?

It has to go round the normal bear's waist, with the long end to form a lasso, says Prong.

Easy peasy, says Terence.

Not so, says Federico. It needs planning.

Yeah, says Sweezus. With one end left longer.

Who wouldn't know that? says Terence. 

I'll need help, says Federico. What size was that bear?

You bought it, says Sweezus.

No I didn't, says Federico. Arthur walked out with it, remember? 

But we all saw it, says Sweezus. It was about this size.

He demonstrates the normal bear's waist size with his hands.

Hold that position! says Federico. Now what part of Terence does it equate to?

Sweezus looks at Terence.

Leg, says Sweezus.

I agree, says Federico. Terence, come here with your leg.

Terence stands up and walks over.

Check the leg, says Federico.

Sweezus grasps Terence's leg.

Same? asks Federico.

Pretty much, says Sweezus. 

Right, says Federico. Give me the string.

Prong gives him the string.

He ties it round Terence's leg, leaving one end much longer.

Watch this, says Federico. It's my special lasso knot

He makes the long end into a lasso, with his special lasso knot.

Can I try it? says Terence.

What will you lasso? asks Sweezus.

One of the Fuzzballs, says Terence.

He bends, picks up the lasso end, and throws it at Wee Fuzzball.

And misses.

Handbag! cries Wee Fuzzball.

Handbag! cries New Fuzzball.

Well, who would have thought they would use their new word in that context?

That Kind Of Parent

Meanwhile Prong has flown up to see if Holy Spitball has got enough string.

Didn't expect to see you back, says Holy Spitball.

Just checking, says Prong. How's the string?

Now that you're here, says Holy Spitball, I could use some advice.

On constructing a swing? asks Prong.

Never thought of a swing, says Holy Spitball.

I imagined a swing for your bear, says Prong. And his happy existence.

Not what I imagined, says Holy Spitball.

A climbing rope, with knots? asks Prong.

How would that work? asks Holy Spitball.

You'd tie it to higher branch, says Prong. And he could climb up the rope to it.

Then what? asks Holy Spitball. Slide back down again and get rope burns?

That's what the knots would be for, says Prong. To slow him down. But also to help him climb up in the first place.

I'm not planning to be that kind of parent, says Holy Spitball.

Don't tell me you're planning to tie him up so he can't ever go anywhere, says Prong.

It's so he doesn't fall out of the cypress, says Holy Spitball. 

Has he fallen out before? asks Prong.

I haven't had him that long, says Holy Spitball. He's just wedged, at the moment.

Prong looks across at the normal bear wedged in a fork of the tree.

His little legs are sticking up. His head pokes out between them.

I wouldn't tie him in that position, says Holy Spitball. He'd be upright.

Let me think, says Prong. Why don't you give him a tail?

A string tail, says Holy Spitball. What good would that do? He isn't a monkey.

Of course not, says Prong. And he wouldn't be able to work his tail like a monkey, but what if you made it a loop?

There's an idea, says Holy Spitball. 

He could wear it round his middle, says Prong. 

And lasso the branches, says Holy Spitball. 

And swing, and climb, says Prong.

What a helpful idea, says Holy Spitball. There's only one problem.

What is it? asks Prong.

I'm a dove, you're a parrot, says Holy Spitball. We can't make loops with string.

He is right, Prong realises.

But there is always an answer.

I'll take the string down and get someone to do it, says Prong.

Not Terence, says Holy Spitball. 

No, not him, says Prong. 

G Right B Wrong

Now what? asks Terence.

We wait here for Arthur and Sartre to come back, says Sweezus.

And do what? asks Terence.

Try teaching the Fuzzballs another lesson, says Federico. 

Yes! says Terence. Why don't I teach them to talk!

This is a task Terence knows he'll be good at. 

He sits down to think up some words.

I'll fly back up and see if Holy Spitball has enough string, says Prong.

Okay, says Sweezus. 

That leaves you and me, says Federico.

Lucky we've got Terence to entertain us, says Sweezus.

Was this his idea? asks Federico.

To rescue the Fuzzball? says Sweezus. Yeah it was. Prong spotted it before the Tour left from Barcelona.

I gather Terence was the original baby, says Federico.

Yep, says Sweezus. 

Terence has thought of a word. 

Handbag, says Terence.

Wee Fuzzball knows that this word means a handbag. But not how to say it.

Grr, says Wee Fuzzball.

New Fuzzball is motivated to outdo Wee Fuzzball

How good would it be if he could say Handbag and Wee Fuzzball couldn't. 

He would deserve to keep his handbag and not share it.

You try, says Terence.

Grragrag, says New Fuzzball.

Nearly, says Terence. Try again .

Grragrab, says New Fuzzball.

Did that sound better? asks Terence.

Worse, says Federico. He got the final consonant right the first time and wrong the second.

What was it? asks Terence.

G was right, says Federico. B was wrong.

Hear that? asks Terence.

New Fuzzball may have heard it, but it was unhelpful. What's G? And what's B?

He might not know what B and G are, says Sweezus. Make him sound it, letter by letter.

You do it, says Terence.

Huh, says Sweezus.

I said YOU do it, says Terence, 

I was doing it, says Sweezus. Huh is the first sound of handbag.

Huh, says Wee Fuzzball.

New Fuzzball glares at Wee Fuzzball. 

That was his lesson.

Huh-huh-huh, says New Fuzzball.

Huh-ah,  says Federico.

Hah, says Wee Fuzzball.

Hah! says New Fuzzball.

Great. At last they are getting somewhere.

Without Proper Eyeballs

I knew it! groans Sartre. Simone will be mad!

It wasn't my fault, says Terence.

No one said it was, says Sweezus. 

The Fuzzballs stare at the ripped hairnet.

Grr-rah! Grr-rah!

Who wants it now?

New Fuzzball grips the handbag even tighter.

Okay, it went wrong, says Terence. But did you learn my lesson?

New Fuzzball did learn a lesson.

Which was: Hold onto your stuff.

And Wee Fuzzball did not learn a lesson.

I learned a lesson, says Sartre. 

Don't lend your wife's hairnet, says Federico. 

She'll have other hairnets, says Sweezus.

True, says Sartre. She may not miss this one.

Yeah, says Sweezus. And you can buy her a new one in Barcelona.

A beautiful Spanish hairnet, says Federico. With a comb and mantilla.

Sartre is less distraught, now he has this plan of action.

I'll go with you, says Arthur, who has become somewhat bored.

Where? asks Sartre.

Wherever you buy stuff like that, says Arthur. I can usually get a good deal.

Yeah he can, says Sweezus. 

Like with the normal bear from the toyshop? says Federico.

Not always like that, says Arthur. 

I can't leave yet, says Sartre. I'm still holding Prong's string.

But he is lucky.

Moments later the string drops from the heights of the Sagrada Familia and lands at his feet.

Saint Joseph must have cut it, says Terence. 

At least something went right, says Sartre.

He and Arthur head off to look for a shop selling ladies' hair things.

Prong flies down.

How'd that go? asks Sweezus.

Great, says Prong. I dropped the handbag into the bowl, before the Virgin came back. She didn't even notice she had a different baby. Or that it had a new handbag.

She is not an observant mother, says Federico. 

She hasn't got proper eyeballs, says Prong.

Shit, says Sweezus. That must be hard.

Did you give Holy Spitball his string? asks Terence.

Yes, says Prong. I asked Saint Joseph to chop it.

Does he have proper eyeballs? asks Sweezus.

No, says Prong, But I stood well back from of the chopping place, and hoped for the best.

Brave you, says Terence.

Prong feels proud of the way she completed her mission.

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.

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.

Eat It Or Worse

 All right, she gets twins, says Arthur. 

Twins are good, says Terence. They can play with each other.

The Virgin will notice, says Prong.

She'll just think she forgot, says Terence.

Forgot she had twins? says Federico.

Yes, says Terence. But we should take them out of their packets.

I'll do it, says Federico.

He opens the packets, and extracts the tiny Sylvanian bears. 

And their handbags.

What's in them? asks Terence.

Baby things, says Arthur.

Now what? asks Federico.

We wait, says Arthur.

What for? asks Federico.

For Sweezus and Sartre, says Arthur. 

What's their part in this escapade? asks Federico.

They're bringing the rope and the net, says Terence.

What for? asks Federico.

You'll have to ask them, says Arthur. They should be here soon.

I bet I could do the rescue without the rope and the net, says Prong.

How? asks Terence.

Fly up with one baby, drop it into the bowl, and watch what happens, says Prong.

They might make friends, says Terence.

All right, fly up with two babies drop them into the bowl, watch what happens, says Prong.

They might start to fight, says Terence.

And the Virgin will think she's got triplets, says Federico.

Okay, says Prong. I won't wait, I'll pick up the one to be rescued and fly down with it.

What if it doesn't want to come? asks Federico.

That's where the net comes in useful, says Arthur.

This could all be avoided if you only replace one baby with another, says Federico.

Then we'll have a spare baby, says Prong.

I know! says Terence. Fly up and ask Holy Spitball if he wants it.

He wanted one that was different, says Prong.

Ask him if he wants the baby or the normal one, says Terence.

Yes, there's an answer for everything.

I'll do it right now, says Prong.

She flies up to Holy Spitball, who is waiting in the cypress tree.

Where is my bear? asks Holy Spitball.

A quick question, says Prong. Would you prefer a tiny one with a bag of baby things or a normal bear that's a big bigger?

What's the Virgin getting? asks Holy Spitball.

A tiny one, says Prong.

Same as my one? asks Holy Spitball.

Mm, says Prong. But you could take its shirt off.

How would that look? asks Holy Spitball. Me taking its shirt off.

Suspicious, agrees Prong. Like you were planning to eat it.

Or worse, says Holy Spitball.

Prong can't think of anything worse.

But she supposes Holy Spitball's job is to think of such things. 

The Normal Alternative

Arthur and Federico go back to the bar.

Federico goes off for more drinks.

Arthur puts the normal bear on the table.

Federico comes back.

Why do you have that bear? asks Federico.

I forgot I was holding it, says Arthur.

Federico laughs. Why should he care?

So you will want to return it? asks Federico.

Maybe later, says Arthur. But it might come in useful.

How so? asks Feredeico.

The replacements are meant to be different, says Arthur.

Do we know why? asks Federico.

No, says Arthur.

Let us conjecture, says Federico. Perhaps they are replacements for two different bears.

I don't think so, says Arthur. 

Time to come clean, mi amigo, says Federico. What is the situation?

Finish your drink and let's go, says Arthur.

Si, rapida, says Federico. 

He gulps his drink down. So does Arthur,

Got the babies? asks Arthur.

Got them, says Federico.

Arthur picks up the normal bear. 

And leads Federico to the Sagrada Familia.

Bello! says Federico. Such tasteful illuminations!

Arthur agrees, they are tasteful.

He looks around for Terence and Prong.

Prong spies him first, and flies over. 

Have you brought them? asks Prong.

Yes, says Arthur,. Two baby bears. Show her, Fedo.

Federico produces the babies, in their packets, each  with their holder for baby things.

We specifically asked for them to be different, says Prong.

They're hard to obtain, says Federico. These were the only Sylvanian baby bears in the toyshop.

I suppose we could take their little shirts off, says Prong. 

They'd still look the same, says Arthur. That's why I brought this alternative.

He shows Prong the normal alternative.

Prong stares at the normal alternative.

Squawk! I'll get Terence!

She flies off and comes back with Terence.

Look at this pickle! says Prong.

Terence looks at the two baby bears and the normal alternative.

He sees no problem.

The Virgin gets twins.

Holy Spitball gets the normal alternative.

Not A Handbag As Such

Arthur and Federico enter the toyshop.

Bienvenidos, chicos! says the owner. 

Hola, senor, says Federico. 

Arthur has started looking for bears.

He picks up a normal one. Smallish.

Mi amigo is looking for the Sylvanian bears, says Federico.

Ciertamente, says the owner. 

He indicates a shelf of Sylvanian families, including the bears.

Federico and Arthur look at the bear family. 

Father, mother, brother, sister.

No bebé? asks Federico.

No bebé, says the owner. Separada.

He shows Federico a small packet containing a separate baby. 

It's not for me, says Federico. It's for him.

The owner shows it to Arthur.

Bebé, says the owner.

It might be too small, says Arthur. Does it come with a bonnet?

No bonnet, says the owner. Who is it for?

It's a replacement, says Federico.

Who has lost their bebé? asks the owner.

Arthur decides not to lie.

No one yet, says Arthur. But when they do, we'll need a replacement.

What a thoughtful young man, says the owner. Finding a replacement for a bear that is not even lost.

Thanks, says Arthur.

Is it for your little sister? asks the owner. Is she careless?

No, says Arthur. But someone might take it.

We would like to buy two of them, says Federico. Pity about the bonnet.

They do come with a handbag, says the owner.

What would a baby bear do with a handbag? asks Federico.

Arthur wonders the same.

I have never thought about it, says the owner. Perhaps it's not a handbag, as such.

What then? asks Federico.

For its baby things, says the owner.

Si, baby things, says Federico. Shall we have the two, Arthur?

Arthur looks undecided.

The owner would like to get rid of the babies, which do not sell well.

You can have two for the price of one, says the owner. 

Muchas gracias, says Federico. And how much is that?

Four euros, says the owner.

Federico pays the four euros with his credit card.

Muchas gracias, says Arthur, as he exits the shop with Federico, and the normal bear which he has forgotten he's holding.