‘Theo! What have you done to your flowers?’ The day was only 15 seconds old for Theo and already there was someone screaming at him. He squinted between dewy eyelids and saw Nurse Sandra standing over the vase of headless flowers with a horrified look on her face. She held a few chewed-up stems in one hand and stared at Theo in disbelief. There was little doubt that a fairly good explanation was expected. ‘Um, I was hungry?’ he offered.
‘You ate them? Are you crazy?’ she shrieked, slapping one hand over her eyes.
‘I think I was dreaming that they were chocolate …or something.’
Lying wasn’t a skill that came easily to Theo, but in the bleary morning light the truth didn’t seem an option. Sandra looked him straight in the eye and he felt wide open under her gaze, as if she was hunting through the contents of his mind and already knew he was hiding something. Any minute now he would break down and tell her about Bozo. Then there would be a whole lot of explaining to do, which wouldn’t be too easy as he wasn’t sure that he understood all that much himself.
Sandra opened her mouth to speak but just then the bell down the hall began to ring. With a snort she hurried off, casting one more appalled look at the vase and Theo as she went. Theo peeked behind the curtains and under the bed but Bozo was nowhere in sight. He shrugged and replayed the events of the night in his head as he slid the breakfast tray on to his lap. He took a slurp of rice pudding and remembered how a strange blue creature had flown in through his window on a balloon. It had stood there and told him that he and everyone else in the world were all just part of some story. It didn’t make any more sense at 8.30 in the morning.
What on earth was he thinking? Was he out of his mind? It must have been part of some strange dream – like thinking the flowers were chocolate. But it was a dream that Theo was beginning to believe.
Come on, Theo, he said to himself. You may have amnesia but you’re not crazy – no matter what the doctors think. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to know that the world wasn’t going to end, after all.
He spooned some more rice pudding into his mouth and almost choked when he heard a familiar voice say, ‘I see they don’t trust you with solid food yet.’ Theo jerked around and his jaw dropped as he saw Bozo appraising his breakfast tray with disappointment. ‘I don’t suppose anyone thought to bring me any flowers?’
Theo’s pleasure at seeing his new friend was tainted only by the uneasy thought that what he had heard the night before might be true. Bozo’s oval, yellow eyes gazed at him with an expression of pure innocence – an impression that was offset by the mischievous curl of his dark purple lips. Theo started to laugh but then some cautious instinct warned him to be careful. It suddenly struck him that he had no idea who Bozo was. How had he come in floating through the window in the first place? How did he know that Bozo was telling the truth when he talked about the Storyteller and the Story?
Theo’s mind began to race through all the paranoid possibilities: Bozo could be some strange creature that had run away from the zoo. He could be some out-of-control experiment that had escaped from a laboratory. Or maybe he was some kind of old-fashioned fairy or ghost.
He might even be an alien.
Before Theo could think about the implications of this, he heard Bozo whisper from the doorway: ‘There’s a whole crowd of people armed with Flash-boxes. I think they’re coming to see you!’ Bozo leapt across the room and promptly installed himself behind the curtains.
‘Flash-boxes?’ Theo asked in confusion, but in the same instant a squad of doctors and press swung into the room. The journalists had large cameras around their necks and hungry looks on their faces. Theo had a nasty feeling he knew who was on the menu.
‘Good morning, Theo!’ boomed Dr Bunsen, who led the pack. His smile was large and insincere. Theo guessed it was more for the benefit of the cameras than for him. ‘Now give your visitors a big smile!’
The cameras had already begun to click and Theo reeled from the blinding flashes. Sandra approached the side of his bed and whispered, ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. These people are journalists and they want to ask you a few questions. Don’t answer anything you don’t want to – believe me, they’ll probably make up the answers anyway. I think the doctor invited them here so that he could have his shot at being famous.’ She gave his arm an encouraging squeeze and moved to the side.
The winding and clicking didn’t stop for a moment and the reporters jostled with one another for space. All eyes were on Theo and he felt quite uncomfortable. What if he sneezed?
‘Theo, Theo! How does it feel to be awake?’ asked a journalist with a squeaky voice and a face like a piglet.
‘I don’t know. How is waking up supposed to feel?’
‘Theo!’ came a gruff voice from the back. ‘Do you know where you come from?’
‘I don’t remember,’ Theo shrugged.
‘You what? You don’t remember?’ came a chorus of excited voices, and the crowd jostled closer to stick large microphones in Theo’s face.
Dr Bunsen decided things had gone far enough and he stepped in front of the bed with his arms outstretched. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, as a doctor I may assure you that a temporary loss of memory is quite typical in these types of cases.’ Having gained the attention of the paparazzi, his voice swelled and warmed to its own sound. ‘However, under my careful psychological guidance, I am confident that Theo will soon be restored to his senses.’
‘Doctor, how did Theo wake up?’ The man with the piglet face asked.
Dr Bunsen smirked. ‘That’s Dr Bunsen, B-u-n-s-e-n. May I remind you that we are, after all, in the 21st century, and here at St Jude’s we are at the cutting edge of technology and innovative treatment. Theo has been under my personal supervision for three months now and, modesty permitting, I must suppose it was in no small part due to my expertise and dedication that…’ ‘I got a card,’ interrupted Theo suddenly, growing tired of the whole show.
‘You got a what?’ the journalists cried, hungry for sensation.
Theo looked at their bright eyes and poised pens. He couldn’t help thinking of ducks at feeding time in the park. ‘I got a card. It told me to wake up,’ he explained, trying not to see the dagger looks that Dr Bunsen was throwing him.
‘Who was it from?’ a woman with razor-sharp lips wanted to know.
‘It was from someone called the Storyteller,’ Sandra joined in, holding up the card for the cameras. There was another blinding flurry of flashes.
‘From who?’ they wanted to know.
But Dr Bunsen was missing the limelight already: ‘Come along, now. I really think we must leave the child to rest, hmm? Doctor’s orders! After all, he only woke yesterday. Perhaps you would all like to follow me to my study, where I shall be delighted to answer any further questions.’
‘Just one more question, guv,’ insisted the man with the gruff voice. ‘Theo, what are you going to do now that you’re awake?’
The answer sat at the back of Theo’s throat and he couldn’t swallow it, no matter how hard he tried. His mouth ran dry and the room fell silent as they awaited his reply. Looking around at the crowd of swollen, agitated faces, he felt his voice float out into the room like a feather.
‘I think …I think I have to save the world.’
The journalists left in good spirits, still over the moon about the last quote. They politely declined Dr Bunsen’s offer of a tour of the hospital. ‘We’ve got all we need,’ they assured him: a mystery cure from some fruit calling himself the ‘Storyteller’, a beautiful nurse with the healing touch and a child saviour of the world – more than enough for a cracking story!
Theo watched them leave and felt as though they were taking a small piece of his dignity with them. He turned to a rap at the window and saw that Bozo was out on the window ledge. He jumped up and let him in at once.
‘It was getting too bright in here with all those Flash-boxes,’ Bozo explained. He looked Theo up and down. ‘They got you, all right. You look thinner already.’
‘They’re called cameras,’ Theo corrected him. ‘And they don’t make you thin. They don’t do anything to you.’
‘That’s what you think. Each time they flash, they steal a tiny piece of you. Look at all the fashion models on TV. They get flash-boxed hundreds of times each day and they’re skinnier than anyone.’
Theo didn’t want to argue right now. Something else was on his mind. He swung his feet over the side of the bed until they almost touched the floor and cleared his throat. ‘Bozo, I was thinking – don’t take this the wrong way – but how do I know that what you’re telling me is true?’ Bozo stared back at him with wide, indignant eyes. ‘I mean, how do I know that everything you told me about the Story and the Storyteller is the truth … it’s a bit much just to ask me to take your word for it and all …you seem like a nice guy and…’ he trailed off, unable to take the hurt expression that covered his new friend’s face.
‘Well, I like that for gratitude!’ Bozo cried. ‘I leave my friends and planet behind and risk my life on a mission to save this crazy Story, and all you can do is call me a liar or a nut?’
‘OK, take it easy,’ Theo pleaded. ‘I don’t mean to be rude. I’m sure you are doing something really heroic – it’s just that it’s all a bit hard to take in. I guess I need some kind of proof.’
Bozo nodded magnanimously and the two of them sat on the bed deep in thought. Finally the Bloon spoke up: ‘If only I knew how to get in touch with the Storyteller. He could send you a sign or something. But I haven’t got the first idea how to contact him.’
‘Wait!’ cried Theo. ‘What about the card he sent me?’ He grabbed the card from the bedside table and searched for a clue. He held it up to the light and read the message in the reverse image of a mirror. Nothing. He gave up and slumped back on his bed. ‘I hoped he might have left a phone number or something,’ he said.
‘I don’t know. It would never be like the Storyteller to make things too easy,’ Bozo mused. ‘He used to tell me that the answers always lay beneath the surface of things.’
They fell silent for moment and then Theo murmured, ‘What about the stamp?’
While Bozo looked on with curiosity, Theo wetted the edge of the stamp with a few drops from his glass of water and peeled it back from the envelope to reveal:
ST 77335599221100448866
‘ST must be Storyteller,’ Theo said. ‘But that’s the longest phone number I’ve ever seen.’
‘I guess he doesn’t want anyone calling him by mistake,’ said Bozo. ‘Leave it to me.’ He opened the window and hopped out on to the ledge, using his tail to balance in the wind. He edged along to a drainpipe and slid down the wall to the garden below. Theo jumped up to the window and waited with suspended breath as he saw Bozo dart through the garden from tree to tree, taking great care that no one saw him. He scaled the wall in one leap and dashed across the street to an empty phone box. A minute later he was back across the road and over the wall like a shot. He landed on all fours in the flowerbed, took a few good bites from the daffodil patch and retraced his cautious route to Theo’s room.
‘Well?’ Theo asked, dying of impatience. Bozo pointed at his mouth to indicate that it was still full. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to finish chewing his daffodils, though, and all the time his smile grew wider and more unbearable.
‘Come on! Tell me, you scoundrel!’ Theo insisted, barely able to sit still.
‘If you’re not going to be polite, I shan’t tell you anything at all,’ Bozo sniffed. ‘I was almost run over by a bus and all you can say is “scoundrel”.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m just dying to know – please?’
Bozo’s eyes lit up. ‘I phoned the number and there was no one there.’
‘Oh.’ Theo’s spirits drooped.
‘But I got through to a machine that said, “Welcome to the Storyteller’s emergency answering service. We are sorry but he cannot respond to your call just now. Please leave a message after the long bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep, and somehow – who knows how? – he’ll try to get back to you.’
‘So now what?’ asked Theo excitedly.
‘Now I go back to the flowerbeds to finish my lunch and you sit tight until the Storyteller picks up his messages.’ Bozo laughed and disappeared out of the window.
The rest of the day was like torture for Theo. At every moment he expected something amazing to happen. Maybe the clouds in the sky would take the shape of an old man and talk to him. Or maybe the Storyteller would appear suddenly on TV in a programme meant only for Theo. As much as his heart told him that Bozo was telling the truth, his head refused to believe it until he had some kind of proof. It was like walking the border between knowing and not-knowing, and it was a lonely place to be.
Yet nothing happened. The minutes passed like hours and he could take no enjoyment in his comics or in chatting with Sandra, who seemed to have forgotten the incident with the tulips. Even worse was when Dr Bunsen came to take revenge for the morning’s events by forcing Theo to complete entire papers of pointless psychological tests. He answered the multiple-choice questions in a kind of dejected apathy. He was powerless in a bed in a children’s hospital where everyone seemed to think they knew what was good for him. Even Bozo was nowhere to be seen all day. Theo hoped he hadn’t really hurt his feelings by doubting his word. Right now the creature was about the only friend that Theo had.
Sandra noticed that Theo seemed a bit down in the dumps, and she decided that he must have been worn out by the commotion of the morning. She gave him a light dinner of soup and bread, and ordered him to sleep as soon as it got dark outside. He protested feebly but her word was law and he found himself sinking into sleep early with a rather fed up expression on his face.
Had he known what was about to happen, he would have thanked her beforehand.