‘I don’t know, Bozo.’
‘I can’t see anything.’
‘I think that’s the point.’
‘How is wandering around in the dark going to help?’
‘That way, no one can see us either.’
‘What?’
‘I said, THAT WAY…’
‘Shhh!’ a rough voice from behind interrupted. ‘Are you crazy, kid? You want to talk to yourself, you do it the other side of the border.’ Theo stumbled on in the dark in silence for a few moments. Then he whispered, ‘See? You got me into trouble again.’
‘I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. A border is simply a line drawn on the map. I’ll bet anything that if it was daylight, this desert would look just as empty on both sides of the line. And why do we have to walk across it, anyway?’
‘They already told us,’ Theo hissed. ‘Don’t you ever listen to anything? The Israeli army watches this crossing point all the time. We have to keep quiet.’
‘What?’
‘I said, WE HAVE TO…’
‘Shut up!’ came the harsh voice from behind again. A bony hand landed on Theo’s shoulder and spun him around. He heard the sound of a match being struck, and one of the Bedouin guides cupped the flame in his palm. His angular face was contorted in fury. ‘Listen, kid. Friend of Omar or not – if you make another sound, I leave you in pieces for the soldiers to find in the morning. Understand?’
Theo nodded meekly and tried not to cry. Only when the flame was blown out and they trekked on over the rocky ground did he allow a tear to fall. He stubbed his toe against a stone and forced himself to swallow the cry of pain. He wanted to crawl under a rock and wait until the whole stupid adventure went away.
‘Hoo! What’s his problem?’ Bozo exclaimed. ‘No, don’t answer or he’ll do something that might permanently spoil my appetite. Sheesh, I thought these guys were meant to be helping us.’
It had been another long day. Omar had led them through sidestreets and alleys in his neighbourhood until the cops had got lost. Then he paid the local kids to show them the way out again. After that, Omar had driven them north for the rest of the day, through stony desert plains and dramatic red hills. Every now and then, oncoming cars roared by within inches on hairneck bends. Theo and Bozo were sure they’d end up falling off the cliff and into the turquoise waters of the lapping sea below.
It was already night by the time they arrived at the Bedouin village. A group of men came out of their huts and surrounded Omar, laughing at his city clothes and delicate, scar-free hands. Only when he pulled out a thick wad of bank notes did they begin to take him seriously.
‘These men will take you across the border to Israel,’ Omar told Theo. ‘Can we trust them?’ Theo asked.
‘That depends on what you mean,’ Omar replied. ‘They would just as soon slit your throat as light a cigarette if they had reason to. But once they have been paid, you will travel among them and they would give their lives for you. Everything is done to extremes in the desert.’
Since then, Theo had been piled in the back of a jeep like a parcel, thrown on to the back of a camel to cross a rocky pass, and now he was being subjected to a forced march of ten miles. All in complete darkness. Still, with no passport and every law-enforcement agency in the world on the lookout for him, this was probably the only way into Israel. Theo didn’t know for how many hours they’d been walking but he knew he couldn’t go on much more. His legs were slowly turning to jelly and his feet were bruised and aching from kicking large rocks in the dark. It was freezing, and the heat was being sucked out of his body by a persistent breeze that found every chink in his clothes. Their only guiding light came from a thousand pinpoints of stars in the dark blanket sky that covered the earth. Even Bozo had gone quiet. Theo felt his eyelids becoming too heavy to remain open for much longer.
Just as he thought he might collapse from exhaustion, he was pushed down to the ground.
‘Shhh. Voices up ahead,’ his Bedouin guide said, as he held Theo’s head against the sand. ‘Could be soldiers.’
The voices in front had also gone quiet and an awful tension filled the air, like a breath held for too long. The two Bedouin escorting Theo cocked their rifles. Theo pressed himself closer to the ground, convinced that the air would soon be thick with bullets.
Neither side made a move.
Finally, Bozo got a little bored and, despite Theo’s frantic gestures to stay put, he picked himself up and strolled on ahead. He returned a minute later in fits of laughter. ‘You should see yourselves,’ he wept. ‘There’s a jeep up ahead full of Bedouin as terrified as you!’
That was all very well, Theo thought, but how could he make his guides believe him? They were hardly going to take his word for it. He tried to relax and told himself that this kind of thing happened all the time. These Bedouin had lived in the desert for countless generations and had probably evolved a secret language to communicate in the darkness. He expected they would start to imitate the call of an owl or fox or something to announce their presence.
He felt a steady vibration at his side and one of the Bedouin near him pulled out a Fone. After a few tentative whispers, the man stood up laughing: ‘Allah be praised! It is my cousin, Mohammed!’
Dark figures advanced on them and the two parties embraced warmly, kissing each other on the cheeks and play-fighting. The tall Bedouin who had threatened Theo was now visibly relaxed. He turned to Theo with a smile and said, ‘We are safe now. The Israeli patrol has already passed tonight. You will continue your journey with Mohammed.’ He bent down on one knee and looked Theo in the eye. ‘You walked like a man tonight. May Allah protect you on your travels.’ Then he and his companion turned and marched back the way they had come, under a night sky that was also ready to depart.
‘I don’t get it,’ Bozo declared, watching the guides disappear into the distance. ‘One minute he threatens to cut your throat, and the next he treats you like a long-lost brother or something.’
‘I guess it’s like Omar said about extremes in the desert,’ Theo replied with a shrug. ‘Like, here it’s either completely dark or blindingly bright. It’s freezing at night and baking hot during the day. Everything is so dead that when you do find someone alive, they live everything to the fullest.’ Bozo stared back him in amazement. ‘Since when did you become a philosopher?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t know. I guess I’ve just had a lot of time to think about things on the road.’
‘Of all the ways to waste your time,’ Bozo exclaimed in disbelief. ‘You could have invested many a good hour in picking your nose or learning to whistle between your teeth or cracking your toe joints or…’
‘If I’m to save the Storyteller, I’d better start trying to put the pieces together in my head,’ Theo interrupted. ‘I think I’m beginning to see some kind of pattern, but it’s all still out of focus.’
Bozo stared at him long and hard. ‘Yeah? Well, as long as you don’t go all serious on me. There are enough Hoomans walking around with faces like concrete as it is.’
The ignition of an engine brought an end to their conversation. Mohammed beckoned Theo to jump in the back of the jeep that was silhouetted against the sky. The boy and the Bloon climbed up the back step and took a seat on the side against the canvas. The wheels skidded out of the sand and they drove off into what was left of the night with their lights turned off.
Theo woke to the smell of coffee. He opened his eyes to see Mohammed brewing a pot over a flickering paraffin stove in the back of the jeep. He let the pot boil seven times, withdrawing it from the flames and replacing it on the heat. Then he poured out four small glasses of coffee: two for the driver and his companion in front, one for Theo and one for himself.
‘No one knows how to make coffee like the Bedouin,’ he smiled proudly, handing Theo his glass.
Theo took a sip and winced at the bitter taste. ‘Do you have any sugar?’ he asked.
Mohammed’s face turned grave and he took a deep breath. ‘I forgive you, as you are but a child and don’t know our ways. But you must know that among the Bedouin the quality of our coffee is a source of great pride. It’s considered good manners to hold the glass between your thumb and little finger to show your eagerness to drink, even though it’s so hot.’
He demonstrated how to hold the glass and took a noisy, satisfied slurp. ‘To add sugar would destroy the taste. Besides, we seem to have run out of sugar lumps.’
Theo took another sip of his bitter coffee and shot a murderous sidelong glance at Bozo.
‘Hey, don’t look at me like that!’ said the Bloon. ‘I don’t see anyone offering me a glass of coffee.’
Theo ignored him and looked out of the back of the jeep. They were passing through a landscape of dry gravel hills. From the position of the sun, he guessed it was already midday. ’When will we arrive in Jerusalem?’ he asked.
‘In five hours, enshallah,’ Mohammed replied.
‘What does enshallah mean?’
‘It means “If God wants”.’ Mohammed smiled, revealing a set of golden molars. ‘Every good Muslim should add “enshallah” to every plan he has. Who are we to know the future? We are but toys in the hands of God.’
‘You remind me of a taxi-driver I once met in London,’ Theo laughed. ‘I think he was from India.’
‘India?’ Mohammed sneered. ‘A land of heretics who believe in a theatre cast of gods with blue skin? Do not confuse me with those blasphemers. No, my friend. God is one and his name is Allah, and we Muslims are his people.’
‘What do you have to do to be a Muslim?’ Theo asked.
‘We pray five times a day, we don’t eat pork and we go to the mosque every Friday.’
Theo couldn’t remember seeing anyone pray so far. He counted on his fingers: he’d left the hospital four days ago.
‘But isn’t it Friday today?’ he asked.
Mohammed looked down into his glass of coffee. ‘Yes, but in these hard times we must sometimes attend to business first.’
‘Oh, I really don’t know much about religion,’ Theo apologised. ‘Maybe I’ll learn more about it in Jerusalem.’
‘Enshallah!’ Mohammed answered with another broad smile of gold teeth.
At that moment they heard an awful crunching from the engine. The driver pulled up roughly to the side of the road and everyone jumped out to see what was wrong. They lifted the bonnet to clouds of dense smoke. The three Bedouin shook their heads regretfully.
‘Is it anything serious?’ Theo inquired.
Mohammed shrugged and exchanged some words in Arabic with the other passenger. They came to a decision and pulled out from the jeep a long carpet, which they laid by the side of the road. While the driver struggled to fix the engine, they produced a backgammon board from somewhere and began to make more coffee.
‘You’ve got to admire how they handle a crisis,’ Bozo commented approvingly.
Theo wasn’t quite as impressed. ‘So when do you suppose we’ll get to Jerusalem?’ he asked Mohammed.
‘Who can say for certain?’ his guide answered distractedly, his attention fixed on a pair of dice and some wooden counters. ‘Later today. Tomorrow at the latest. Enshallah.’
Theo stared at him in disbelief. Then he turned to Bozo and sighed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘These guys are going to be here for ever. We’ll have to make our own way to Jerusalem.’
‘How?’ Bozo asked, ever ready to follow but rarely to lead.
‘I thought we might hitchhike,’ Theo answered doubtfully.
‘Great. Does it take much practice?’
‘I don’t think so. You just stand by the edge of the road and sort of stick your thumb out….’
‘And cars stop?’
‘Hopefully. Look, here comes one now.’
An expensive sports car careered around the bend. It was a flashy red vehicle that seemed like it was from another planet in these bleak hills. A young guy with sunglasses was at the wheel. A woman with dyed blonde hair sat beside him, doing her lipstick in the rearview mirror. Theo and Bozo stuck out their thumbs and the car sped up, churning dust into their faces.
‘You know,’ Bozo coughed, ‘I get the feeling there’s a fine line between hitchhiking and standing by the side of the road like an idiot.’
Theo couldn’t help but agree. He wiped the dust from his eyes and looked down the road again. There were no vehicles in sight. The Bedouin continued to play backgammon. They seemed to have completely forgotten about him.
What car was going to stop for a child, anyway? And if they did, wouldn’t they just imagine he was lost and take him straight to the police?
Theo pinched himself and banished these negative thoughts before they could root themselves any deeper in his mind. ‘Come on, Bozo. Let’s think positive: we have to believe someone will take us. Let’s imagine our dream ride.’
Bozo closed his eyes and began to concentrate intently. ‘OK, I’m picturing a truck on its way back from the biscuit factory. Maybe it will break down from being overloaded and we’ll have to help lighten the load…’
‘Bozo, can’t you ever take anything seriously?’
‘Now you’re getting the idea. Give the lad some time and he’ll work anything out.’
‘I’m trying to get us out of this desert, OK?’
‘And a fine job you’re doing, too. We’ve moved almost ten metres in the past 15 minutes.’
They were so busy arguing that they failed to notice a Volkswagen van coming round the bend, playing loud, bouncy music. It pulled up beside them. A man with long, curly hair and beard, and wearing a skullcap, stuck his head out of the window. ‘Why be angry when you can be happy?’ he cried merrily. ‘God wants us to be happy!’
He laughed and began to pull away. Bozo and Theo stared at one another and then began to run after the van.
‘Wait!’ Theo yelled. ‘Are you going anywhere near Jerusalem?’ By way of an answer, the van slowed down to walking pace and the side door slid open to let them in.
Inside the van there was something of a party going on. Six men in long white shirts, all with long, curly hair and beards, were clapping hands and singing along to the accordion music that blared out of the van’s stereo. They placed a skullcap on Theo’s head and encouraged him to clap along too.
‘Is it someone’s birthday?’ Theo asked, raising his voice above the music.
‘Every day is someone’s birthday,’ they yelled back with a whoop, and turned up the stereo.
‘Now these guys I like!’ Bozo cried, jumping up and down on his seat.
Theo smiled uncertainly. He felt like he was the only sane person in the van.
They stopped in every town that they passed and all the men poured out into the street to dance ecstatically around the van. They did back flips and bounced up and down in the middle of the road, holding up the traffic and not caring less. Bozo performed acrobatics on top of the van, fully in his element. ‘This is just like being back in Bloonland!’ he whooped. ‘Do you think these guys would let me join, even without the hair and beard?’
After one of these stops, Theo climbed into the front seat and the driver handed him an orange as they drove off. ‘Are you also Muslims?’ Theo asked, as he endeavoured to pull back the peel with his thumb.
The driver’s fixed smile wavered for a moment. ‘Where did you get that idea, my boy?’ he eventually replied. ‘We are Jews – Bretslav Jews.’
Theo nodded and then inquired, ‘And what do you have to do to be a Jew?’
‘Jews are the Chosen People. We Bretslav also believe that the only way to find God is through joy. And possibly loud disco music.’
They drove at a leisurely rate through the afternoon, stopping everywhere and anywhere to disrupt the flow of traffic by dancing in the street. The signs to Jerusalem showed they were getting closer all the time, and Theo felt a sense of excitement growing within him. The hills began to rise around them and the land turned green again. As the sun sank low in the sky, the van pulled up in a village just five miles from Jerusalem and the music was turned off.
‘Are we stopping to dance again?’ Theo asked, a little confused.
‘No, no, my boy,’ said the driver with a cheerful grin. ‘The sun is almost setting, and on Saturdays Jews are not allowed to work. No driving. No music.’
‘But it’s still Friday,’ Theo protested.
‘But for Jews, each new day begins at sunset. Come! Join us for the evening meal.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Theo replied. ‘But I’m in rather a hurry to get to Jerusalem. Thanks for the ride.’
He waved goodbye and began walking down the road. After a minute or two, he noticed Bozo was lagging behind as usual. Theo turned to see where his friend had gone. The Bloon was wearing a skullcap and appeared torn between choosing life as an eternal dance party or following his best friend.
Theo continued along the road sadly. He couldn’t make up anyone’s mind for them. Even if it did break his heart.
Moments later, he heard the flap of Bozo’s long feet catching up from behind. ‘All right, all right,’ Bozo puffed. ‘I’m coming. No need to hurry off like that.’
‘What about your new friends?’ Theo asked with a lump in his throat.
Bozo slapped him on the back. ‘Hey, kid, since I’ve met you, we’ve escaped from a hospital, stowed away on a bus, looked into crystal balls, flown flying carpets, been attacked by desert winds and smuggled across borders. Whatever else I can say about life with you, Theo, it’s rarely boring.’ Bozo curled his tail around Theo’s shoulders. ‘It’s just been a while since I had a good party, is all.’
The path they followed curled up around a slope that faced various other hills, all covered with scattered white stones like broken teeth. Villages rose from the green slopes like colonies of mushrooms, and the valley was ominously silent in the absence of traffic on the road.
From around the corner, they heard what sounded like a group mumbling. Seconds later, there emerged a procession of nuns marching up the hill, chanting old prayers in Latin.
One old nun saw Theo and paused. ‘Are you lost, my dear?’ she asked in a couple of languages before trying English.
‘A little bit,’ he admitted. ‘I’m going to Jerusalem.’
‘Why, you’re almost there.’ She smiled. ‘Why don’t you walk with us?’
‘Thank you. But don’t you have a car?’ Theo wondered, exhausted from the desert trek of the night before.
The nun frowned and waved her finger at him. ‘Only through suffering and hardship will we account for our sins, my dear,’ she tutted. ‘I don’t know. Children today. I expect you’ve never walked a mile in your life.’
‘She’s having a laugh, isn’t she?’ Bozo cried indignantly. ‘She’d collapse at less than half of what we’ve been through.’
Theo nodded in agreement but dropped in at the nun’s side. At least she knew where she was going.
They climbed the slopes as night began to fall, and the nuns continued to chant, if a little less enthusiastically than the men in the VW van.
‘Are you Jews?’ Theo asked, as they paused for a breather.
The nun looked back at him in shock. ‘I should hardly think so,’ she snorted. ‘We are Christians, the only true religion of God. Come to our church on Sunday and repent of your sins.’
‘What sins?’ Theo stammered, wondering what he might have done wrong.
The nun looked down at him patiently: ‘Everybody is a sinner, my dear.’
‘Does that include God?’ Bozo giggled, and it was all Theo could do to keep a straight face.
The nuns trudged up the hill with the long faces of the righteous and pure until they came to the outskirts of Jerusalem. Although all the buildings were made of stone, it seemed to Theo quite a modern city, with rows of shop fronts and parked cars. At that hour, though, there was no traffic in the street. The only visible movement was the men in black suits and hats, with their long, curly beards and hair, hurrying to the synagogue. They glared at the nuns as if they were aliens.
‘These Jews don’t look quite as happy as the ones in the van,’ Bozo observed. Theo couldn’t help but agree – their severe expressions and resentful looks reminded him more of the nuns.
Their path led them down the hill and towards the enormous stone walls that represented the borders of the Old City. They came to a wide stone gateway, where Israeli soldiers eyed them suspiciously. Once they had passed through this gateway, the atmosphere changed completely. The streets became narrow, with old houses and shops towering up around them and there was room for only pedestrians to pass. It felt as though they were deep within the heart of the city and Theo had the sense of walking somewhere ancient. Long, stone streets stretched out before them, descending in steps a metre in length, and the houses grew tighter on either side. The lighting was dim and the prayers of the nuns echoed in the alleys around them.
Theo chanced to look up and caught sight of a street sign: Yehuda-Levi St. ‘Bozo,’ he whispered excitedly. ‘There it is. The library must be down there somewhere. Lets go!’ He started towards the street but a bony hand grabbed the back of his trousers.
‘No, my dear,’ the nun said. ‘I think it’s best if you come and see our head nun. This isn’t a safe place to be wandering around at night. Come now, no more nonsense…. Eeeek!’ She screamed as the teeth of a Bloon sank into her habit.
Bozo pulled with all his might: the dress tore loudly and some young Arab guys on a street corner blew piercing wolf whistles. The nun gathered up the shreds of her habit and Theo took the chance to slip away.
They had barely run 30 metres down the street before they collapsed against a door in hysterics. ‘Did you see her face?’ Theo giggled. ‘She turned as red as ketchup.’
‘Still, look on the bright side,’ Bozo cackled. ‘At least she’ll have some new sins to repent of this Sunday in church.’
Bozo lay down to enjoy his fit of laughter and Theo soon joined him. They guffawed until the tears came and they just had to look at each other for waves of mirth to wash over them once again. They struggled for air and hoisted themselves up on their elbows, wiping the tears from their eyes.
‘What seems to be so funny?’ a surly voice demanded.
They looked up and saw a security guard in the entrance of the doorway they’d been lying in. He glanced down at Theo, as if daring him to make any sudden moves. Naturally, this sent the pair into further hysterics. The security guard scowled, unsure what he should do.
In all his 15 years as a guard, he’d been feared, shouted at, threatened, even bribed once in a while, but never had someone simply stared at him and broken into fits of laughter. This wasn’t why he went to the gym five times a week and practiced his most menacing expressions in front of the mirror. Maybe he had something stuck between his teeth.
‘Look,’ he said, trying to reason with Theo. ‘If I wanted to be laughed at, I’d have found a job in the circus. You know, like a clown. But no, with muscles like these I was meant for better things – see? So I chose to guard a place of culture and learning. A library. But I don’t suppose a brat like you even knows how to read. So beat it!’ He slammed the door in their faces.
Theo looked up and read the lettering on the door: Library of Ancient and Exotic Scriptures. He straightened himself out and knocked on the door. Instantly, it swung open and the security guard glanced at him doubtfully. It wasn’t against his principles to hit someone less than half his height – it was just a long way down.
‘Now look, kid…’ he began.
‘I have a book to return to the library,’ Theo smiled.
The guard scowled. This was going from bad to worse. Now the little pipsqueak wanted to try his hand at conversation. ‘This isn’t a place for your pop-up books, kid. And there aren’t any comics inside, either.’
‘No? What about this?’ Theo asked, pulling from his -rucksack the book Omar had given him. ‘I’ll bet the lady with silver hair would like this one back.’
The security guard took the book into his hands with profound disappointment. There was definitely more to this brat than met the eye. His first impulse was to roll him down the hill and see what sound he made when he hit the bottom. But it was as well to be on the safe side….
‘Wait here,’ he barked. ‘And no more laughing.’ He slammed the door and marched up the stairs to ask the old lady. As he stomped up the steps, he swore he could hear muffled hysterics from behind the door.
‘The Storyteller was in a good mood the day he wrote the Giggles into the Story,’ Bozo chuckled, wiping his eyes with his tail.
‘The what?’ Theo asked, his smile so wide that it hurt his face.
‘The Giggles. They’re the spirits of pointless laughter. They roam through the air and lay their eggs in people’s ribcages.’
‘The ribs?’
‘Also under the armpits and in the soles of the feet. That’s why people laugh so much when they’re tickled there. Then, every so often, the eggs hatch and you get an attack of random, hopeless laughter. Usually the Giggles choose the bodies of children to lay their eggs in, but any old Hooman will do if he’s not too serious.’
The door swung open and a large shadow fell over them. ‘She’ll see you now,’ the security guard said with disgust.
Theo and Bozo took one look at each other and cracked up once again. Leaning upon one another for support, they staggered up the staircase of the library. Their laughter echoed throughout the whole building.
The security guard watched the boy go and hoped he might fall down the steps. Then he stepped outside to smoke a cigarette and see if he could scare some shadows. Maybe I should change jobs, he thought. Go somewhere I’m appreciated….