‘What do you think goes best with the blue suit: a grey or a black tie?’ Dr Bunsen asked Camilla Davis backstage, as he stood in front of a mirror trying out last-minute colour combinations.
The presenter glared in dislike at his expensive but tasteless clothes. ‘Whichever,’ she said, and read a list of camera shots handed to her for approval. She made a few minor corrections and then handed back the list to her assistant who dashed off to brief the cameramen.
‘And should I put my arm around Theo’s shoulder to express affection or should I maintain a professional distance?’ Bunsen queried.
Camilla looked at him with utter revulsion and tried to put herself in Theo’s place. ‘Stay as far away as possible,’ she advised. She pretended to occupy herself with the lighting.
Camilla Davis had been in the entertainment business for 20 years and had brushed up against some of the slimiest creeps to be found anywhere. But her guest tonight was among the most revolting and loathsome she had been obliged to work with in her entire career. Still, she was a professional and there was a job to be done. She would smile for the camera and she would look like she meant it, too.
Her eyes alighted on Theo, who sat on a stool in the corner with a faraway look in his eyes. She supposed he was in shock from the traumatic events at the hospital that day. She hesitated for a moment and then strolled over and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Theo, are you sure you want to go through with this?’ she said. ‘The producer will kill me if you’re not on stage tonight, but we can get by without you if you don’t feel up to it. I mean, after what happened today you must be…’
‘It’s fine, thank you,’ Theo said.
Camilla marvelled at his courage and resilience. She had been prepared to deal with an unruly brat, but Theo’s calm and manners had caught her off guard. She felt sorry to think that he would end up in Bunsen’s clutches.
‘OK. It’s up to you. We’re on in three minutes, so I’ll go through the programme with you. A few of the bigwigs are going to make their usual dull speeches, the crowd will clap a lot and then we’ll write the cheque to the doctor. He’ll probably yak on for a while – if he goes on too long, we’ll cut his microphone and claim technical difficulties – and then it’s your turn.’ She bent down to straighten Theo’s collar. ‘Everyone wants to know about your adventures around the world but you just tell as much as you feel like, OK?’
‘OK.’ Theo nodded.
Camilla brushed back his floppy hair and then went to await her position on stage. Funny, she thought, I must be getting soft. Since when did I care about the feelings of people on the show? Maybe it’s something to do with the gravitational shift the scientists were talking about today.
Theo was watching the same broadcast on a Hypnosis-box just above him. A spokesman for the government reeled out vague scientific explanations, which he clearly didn’t understand, either: ‘As a result of …ah … unusual solar activity, there has been a …a gravitational anomaly today at 2.30 p.m. East Coast time. Across the nation, reports have come in of people feeling unusual emotions as a result of the energetic phenomenon, but Nasa has assured us there is nothing to worry about. Health clinics in all major cities have been authorised to hand out pills to counter any residual sense of uncertainty or loss of motivation caused by the …ah … gravitational shift. We are quietly confident that any disturbance will shortly pass, and that we’ll soon see everyone in their cars, in the shops and in front of their TVs as happy as they were before.’
A chubby finger turned the set off.
‘What are you doing back here?’ Bunsen growled. He was nervous and so felt the need to bully someone smaller than himself. ‘You’d better not let me down tonight, you snivelling brat. You caused enough trouble today at the hospital. Now move it.’
Theo got to his feet obligingly and Bunsen was disturbed to note that the boy was calm. The abject depression of the morning seemed to have passed and he moved with the air of one who still had a few cards up his sleeve.
‘I’m warning you,’ Bunsen hissed.
They took their seats on a long, yellow couch at the side of the stage, and a technician attached microphones to their shirt collars. Camilla stood at the front and, as she prepared to face the audience, she had the look of an Olympic diver preparing to leap. The curtain went up and a cry of ‘Theo! Theo! Theo!’ rang out. It took several minutes to abate. Many of those sitting in Carnegie Hall that night wore T-shirts with Theo’s face on the front and badges that read ‘Where can he be?’
‘Good evening and welcome to this very special show here at Carnegie Hall, New York. I’m Camilla Davis and tonight we shall finally meet and learn the truth about the boy who’s been in our thoughts and hearts for so long.’ She paused to allow a burst of applause. ‘Theo, the Sleeping Celebrity and Child Fugitive, is back with us, and tonight we will present the man who found him with a cheque to the value of 100,000 British pounds.’
The crowd gasped, although they knew perfectly well how much the reward money was.
‘And now it’s my honour to introduce Cecil Diggory, the president of Tigers Club International, the association that supervised the raising of the reward money from philanthropist societies around the world.’
An old man in a tweed suit ambled on stage. The crowd sighed. Their eyes were trained on Theo sitting on the couch. They wondered how long they’d have to wait to hear the whole story.
Diggory began: ‘Some may wonder why the search for a single child should merit so much attention and money. The answer is simply that Theo has become a symbol for today’s youth, lost and astray….’ He waffled on in the same vein, boring everyone senselessold-.
A police chief followed. He explained to the world how the international co-operation of highly trained police forces around the world had led to a sting operation to apprehend Theo and his accomplice. No one had yet been charged, he stated, but the public could expect the culprit to be brought to justice soon.
The audience shifted in their seats uncomfortably as they waited for the star of the show to step up. They were not alone in their impatience: across the world an estimated 500 million people were tuning in via television or radio to follow the show live. Indeed, among them were a street preacher in London with a beautiful Italian woman at his side, an old fortune-teller in Paris, a librarian in Jerusalem, and even an old sadhu in the Himalayas, who tuned in through an ancient, crackly transistor.
The mayor came on next and declared how delighted he was that Theo should have been recovered in New York, the showcase for Freedom, Democracy and the American Way. He hoped that voters would remember that when it came to his re-election.
‘I’m sure we will,’ Camilla said with one of those professional smiles that could mean absolutely anything. ‘And now, it is our great pleasure to present the cheque for £100,000 to the man who deserves our gratitude and admiration for bringing Theo back to us.’
Dr Bunsen straightened his tie. His heart pounded wildly as he prepared to go forwards. Would his bald spot shine in the studio lights? Would his voice crack under pressure? He felt the blood rush to his head and he steadied himself desperately.
‘Will you please give a big hand for…’ Camilla began, and then, for the first time in her career as a TV presenter, she froze. Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one: suddenly everyone’s attention was drawn to the back of the auditorium.
An Indian man wearing sandals came crashing through the doors on a Yamaha motorbike. He drove down the aisle towards the stage – and he wasn’t even touching the handlebars. The bike wheelied up on to the stage screeched to a halt, sending Buntee head over heels and into the arms of Camilla.
‘Buntee!’ Theo cried ecstatically.
The crowd looked on in wonder and picked up the name in chorus. ‘Buntee! Buntee! Buntee!’ they cheered, delighted by the welcome excitement. Theo ran forwards to meet the clown.
‘What’s going on?’ Camilla whispered, striving to keep her composure in front of the cameras. ‘Who is this guy?’
‘Buntee is the one who looked after me in India and brought me here,’ Theo explained.
Camilla took in the situation: Theo’s explanation, the response from the crowd and her intense dislike of Dr Bunsen. She came to a snap decision. Spontaneity was the name of the showbiz game, after all. ‘How about that for an entrance!’ she smiled, and the crowd were on their feet in excitement.
Bunsen jumped up angrily to protest but no one heard what he said – someone had tied his laces together and he fell flat on his face, passing out as his head struck the stage floor. The crowd loved it – after a dull start, the show had certainly picked up.
‘So Mr …Buntee. It’s our pleasure to award you the £100,000 reward for finding Theo.’
Cecil Diggory stepped forwards with the chequebook and a fountain pen. They all poised for the Flash-boxes that were so numerous it seemed a lightning storm had broken out overhead. Camilla gave a beaming grin and announced, ‘And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. I give you everyone’s favourite fugitive: Theo!’
The applause threatened to bring the house down and it took a full five minutes for the cheers to die away. Theo stood there, bathed in adulation and at last he understood what it was the Storyteller wanted him to do. He looked out at the sea of smiling faces and he let the Palabras pour forth.
‘The last time I had to make a speech was when I stood on a soapbox at Speaker’s Corner in London,’ he began, and received a collective titter.
Very good, Camilla thought, begin with a joke.
‘I didn’t have anything to say then and it went down quite well. Now I do have something very important to tell, something that should have been told long before’ – he glanced affectionately at Buntee – ‘but which no one was ready to hear. That changed today at 2.30 p.m.’ A silence descended on the audience and they shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Theo had struck a raw nerve. He cleared his throat and continued:
‘You see, once upon a time there was this Storyteller….’
That night Theo told 500 million people the secrets of the Story. He told them about the origins of Hoomans and their connection to the Storyteller. He told them about the divisions in the old man’s mind that had given birth to the Enemy and the self-destructive urge within Hoomanity. He explained about the Storyteller’s sickness and his quest to save him. Finally, he told them about the Storyteller’s death that afternoon.
The audience listened as though being reminded of a long-forgotten dream. They longed for someone to burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all, and then they could join in and dismiss the whole thing as showbiz nonsense. But no one did. Because somewhere deep within they knew the boy was telling the truth.
Even Camilla struggled to respond. ‘If we suppose for a moment that what you say is true,’ she said, a little dazed, ‘then why didn’t the world simply vanish along with its Creator – if, as you say, he died today?’
‘We’re alone now,’ Theo answered, without a trace of doubt in his voice. ‘The Story is in our hands to tell. Its survival depends on us.’
‘And what if, in our ignorance,’ Camilla gave the camera a wink, ‘we suppose that your wonderful explanation today is simply the product of an overactive imagination?’
‘Then the Enemy will prevail,’ Theo replied. ‘War, sickness and exploitation will continue to spread through the entire Story. Trees will rot and fall, streams will be poisoned and the sky will fill with toxic fumes. Laughter and joy will be choked, and all bonds of love and trust will be betrayed and broken. The Story itself will shrivel up and die.’
A silence followed that even Camilla Davis, with 20 years of celebrity experience, struggled to fill. No one in Carnegie Hall stirred. All eyes focused on Theo in shock and awe. Most tried to block out his words, but the voice that had stirred in their hearts earlier that day grew louder, and they found it was saying the exact same thing.
The only audible sound in the entire hall was heard by Theo alone as Bozo shook himself awake after a quick nap on the sofa. ‘Man, I needed that,’ he yawned, stretching his long arms up to the ceiling. ‘Say, what’s everyone looking at you for?’
The producer cut the transmission, and across the world people stared at their blank Hypnosis-boxes in wonder. In Carnegie Hall everyone began to stir a little, as though waking from a deep dream.
The tranquillity was shattered as police stormed in through the sidedoors and ran towards the stage, their guns drawn. ‘You! The clown! Freeze!’ they ordered.
Officers jumped on stage and pulled Buntee violently down to the floor, cuffing his hands behind his back. The crowd went wild, rising to their feet and shouting abuse at the police. As the officers frogmarched Buntee from the stage, they had to defend themselves from a barrage of shoes and handbags thrown at them by the outraged audience.
‘Don’t worry, Buntee. We’ll think of something,’ Theo shouted. He turned to Camilla with a shrug and asked, ‘I don’t suppose you know any good lawyers?’
Things moved quickly after that. Camilla did indeed know the best lawyer in New York, and, though his fees were outrageous, he had excellent contacts. Within a few hours he had managed to cut a deal with the authorities for Buntee’s release. Camilla took Theo to the police station to meet the clown, and Bozo tagged along for the ride.
Buntee was brought out in handcuffs. His guards took a few steps back to allow them to chat. ‘What’s going on?’ Theo asked indignantly. ‘I thought the lawyer got you free?’
Buntee waggled his head somewhere between a yes and a no. ‘That lawyer is a magic man,’ he said. ‘He pointed out to the mayor that there was a good chance of riots if they tried to prosecute. So they agreed to let me go on the condition that I take the next flight back to India.’
‘Then we’re coming with you,’ Theo declared.
The clown shook his head regretfully. ‘Alas, they say that will not be possible. The authorities were of the opinion that we simply attract too much trouble together – and they may be right!’ he laughed, trying cheer up Theo, whose head drooped sadly at the news. ‘Do not worry. If it is true that the Storyteller is within us all, then how is it possible for us to be apart?’
Theo nodded but it didn’t seem to change a thing. ‘What will you do now?’ he asked, swallowing a lump in his throat.
‘After paying the lawyer, there is about £10,000 reward money left. I will buy my plane ticket and leave the rest for you.’
‘No!’ Theo responded fiercely. ‘The money belongs to you. You saved me, Buntee. We would never have made it otherwise. Besides,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘I don’t think I want to touch money any time soon.’
‘You are becoming like my great-uncle,’ Buntee chuckled. ‘Very well. £10,000 is a princely sum in India. Maybe I will meet up with Raj and start my own travelling circus. I might find another dancing-girl to marry, and hit the road.’
The guards approached and whispered something in Buntee’s ear. He turned to Theo: ‘I must go to the airport now. It …it has been an honour.’ He bowed low. Theo and Bozo responded in kind with the result that they hit their heads together and burst out laughing. ‘It is good to part in mirth,’ Buntee grinned as the guards pulled him away. A squashed left foot confirmed that Bozo agreed.
‘How will we find your circus next time we’re in India?’ Theo called out as Buntee was led down the hall.
‘You, of all people, will surely find a way!’ the clown called, before he disappeared around the corner.
At the request of Camilla, who had taken a personal interest in Theo, her lawyer did a little research on the question of his forthcoming adoption. When it was discovered that Dr Bunsen still lived with his mother, it was understood that his plans had hinged on getting the reward money. As a result, he was ineligible to apply for guardianship of Theo.
‘This is an outrage!’ Bunsen fumed, when Camilla told him the news by Fone.
‘I’m afraid you simply don’t qualify, you self-important quack,’ she laughed.
‘Now hang on…’
‘No. I think I’ll just hang up.’ She grinned and put the Fone away. Then she turned to Theo as they took breakfast in the hotel where the mayor had lodged him.
‘So I really never have to see him again?’ Theo asked, scarcely daring to believe his luck. Camilla nodded.
‘We do need to find you a home, though. Thousands of couples have volunteered to take you. My lawyer forwarded me some of the most promising files for you to look through.’
She laid a pile of folders on the table and Theo began to examine them. The papers gave full personal details and photos of the couples applying. Theo needed only to look at the first one before announcing, ‘They’ll do.’
‘Mr and Mrs Valentino,’ Camilla read. ‘Are you sure you want to decide so quickly? This is a big decision, you know.’
‘Oh yes,’ he assured her. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this one.’
The meeting was set for that afternoon in the hotel restaurant. While the elite of New York dropped by to eat expensive lunches and get a closeup glimpse of the most famous nine-year-old in the world, the waiters stared at the child in amazement. Where did he get his appetite?
‘Good food here,’ Bozo grunted approvingly. ‘So how did you choose your new parents so fast?’
Theo grinned and nodded towards the door, where Camilla was showing in the chosen couple.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Bozo groaned.
‘Theo,’ Camilla called. ‘It’s time to meet Simon and Michelle Valentino. Is that an Italian accent I hear, Mrs Valentino?’