Theo sank back on to his bed and wiped the dust from his eyes. I’m dreaming, he thought, I must be dreaming. Probably the aftereffect of being asleep for three months. Only stands to reason that I should start to confuse things. He rubbed his eyes until they saw sparks and then gave himself a long, hard pinch. But that just hurt and everything looked exactly the same afterwards. Nothing could change the fact that in front of him stood a blue creature with large, gleaming eyes and a long, curly tail. And it seemed to be busy drying itself on the curtains of his room.
‘Who are you?’ Theo asked again, regaining his confidence a little.
A blue hand came out from behind the curtain in response.‘They call me Bozo.’
Theo shook Bozo’s hand and reflected that he was still no wiser for knowing his visitor’s name. Moreover, Bozo made no sign that he had any plans to stop yanking Theo’s hand up and down.
‘What are you doing?’ Theo asked. Bozo’s head popped out from behind the curtain, his yellow eyes wide open in surprise.
‘The Storyteller told us that you Hoomans shake each others’ hands when you meet.’
‘Well, yes,’ Theo admitted. ‘But only for a moment. Then we usually let go and ask questions.’
‘Like what?’ Bozo asked distractedly, as he sniffed the flowers. Liking the smell, he began to chew on the petals of the tulips.
‘Hey! Why are you eating my flowers?’ Theo cried, snatching the vase away from him.
‘You ask people that when you first meet them?’ Bozo laughed, his tail beating from side to side. ‘Oh boy, the Storyteller told us you guys are crazy, but I guess you have to see it to believe it. Hee! Hee!’
Theo wasn’t quite sure the conversation was getting anywhere, but before he could reply he heard footsteps coming down the hall.
‘Quick! Hide!’ he whispered. Bozo rolled under the bed and Theo scooped up the blankets from the floor and dived on to the mattress. At the same moment Sandra entered the room with a candle in her hand.
‘Theo? I heard your voice from down the hall. Were you scared by the storm? It’s taken out all of the electricity for three streets,’ Sandra said, as she placed the candle on Theo’s bedside table. Theo gave her a weak smile and then let his eyelids droop as though he were overcome with drowsiness. He felt his nurse tuck him in and pick up the letters from the floor. ‘Well, if you need anything, give me a shout. I’m only down the hall.’
Theo waited until her footsteps faded to a distant echo before he threw off the covers and peered under the bed. There was nothing there. He lowered the candle to be sure and called, ‘Bozo? Psssst, Bozo?’ There was no answer and Theo sighed. ‘I guess it was all just a weird dream,’ he said.
‘Who are you calling weird?’ demanded an indignant voice from behind him. Theo whirled around to see Bozo polishing off the rest of his tulips and begin on the roses.
‘Why didn’t you answer when I called you?’ Theo asked, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the strange blue creature was still there.
‘I had my mouth full,’ Bozo explained. ‘Ow! These roses have sharp bits.’
‘They’re thorns. Roses grow them so they don’t get eaten by horses and cows.’
Bozo shook his head and laughed. ‘No, no, no. You really don’t know the first thing, do you? I mean, do you see daisies armed to the teeth on your garden lawn?’
‘Well, no…’
‘Exactly! The real reason,’ Bozo continued smugly, ‘is that beautiful flowers – like beautiful people – usually come with a bad attitude. That was one of the first things the Storyteller told us about you Hoomans.’ Bozo extracted a thorn from between his bright yellow teeth and then drank the water from the vase to wash down his meal.
Thunder rolled moodily outside but the storm was already passing. The rain maintained a steady patter on the window, as if it was asking to be let in. The candle flame danced on its stage of wax, casting shadows that leapt about the room. Bozo watched them with interest.
‘Exactly who is this Storyteller you keep going on about?’ Theo demanded, pulling at Bozo’s tail to get his attention.
Bozo swung around in shock. ‘Who is the Storyteller? You mean you didn’t receive a message from him today? Man, he like promised me…’
‘Oh yes. That one,’ Theo said, as he fumbled around for the card. He found the envelope and discovered that the stamp was also luminous. He passed it over for inspection and only in that moment did he realise that the creatures on the stamp looked just like Bozo.
‘I don’t suppose you know any of these …people?’ Theo asked nervously.
Bozo grabbed the envelope from him and cried, ‘Ah, look! There’s Dodo, Lobo, Gogo, Gaga and Raga! It’s rather a good likeness, too. How like the Storyteller to send a picture to remind me of home.’
‘But who is the Storyteller?’ Theo pleaded.
‘Why, he’s the one who tells the Story.’
‘What story?’ Theo asked, completely confused.
Bozo gave him a big grin. ‘This one, of course.’
By a candle flame that danced to the rhythm set by the falling rain, Bozo explained the whole thing from the beginning. The storm raged outside and the windows shook in their frames as the Bloon spoke. Theo listened carefully to the full account and had to resist the temptation not to pinch himself again.
‘You mean to say,’ Theo stammered at last, ‘that me, this hospital, this city and …everything in the whole wide world are all just chapters in a Story? And that this Story is told by an old man on a distant planet inhabited by blue monkeys like you?’
‘Almost right. We actually prefer to be called Bloons.’
Theo ignored him and began to pace around the room, his forehead wrinkling so deeply that he suddenly seemed an old man. He shook his head in disbelief and waved his hands about like a conjurer attempting to pull a bunny out of a hat.
‘You mean to say that all the animals, all the people and all the countries on Earth are just part of some fairy tale? That our history, our culture, our society are all made up by some old man sat on a rock somewhere? Boy, you’re completely crazy, Bozo. Or, more likely, I am. Yes, that’s what it is. The doctors thought that something might have gone wrong with me after so long asleep. When Dr Bunsen comes back I’ll tell him I’m seeing things. Bozo, you’re just a figment of my imagination.’
‘You know, that’s really quite ironic,’ Bozo mused. ‘Because speaking of figments of the imagination, you yourself didn’t exist until about half an hour ago. The Storyteller just dreamed you up so that I would have a companion on my quest.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Theo hissed. ‘Haven’t you seen the papers? I’ve been asleep for the last few months and all the doctors here can prove it!’ He felt like screaming but didn’t want to alert Sandra again.
‘The Storyteller decided to backdate your entry into the story. That way I could find you here without any family getting in the way. OK, I know it’s a bit sudden,’ Bozo consoled him, wrapping his tail around the boy’s shoulders, ‘but just because you’re only half-an-hour old doesn’t mean you’re worth less than anyone else.’
‘I am nine years old,’ Theo insisted between gritted teeth. ‘Do you think you can just create people in a few minutes? They have to be born and grow up. That takes time! Ah, what’s the use? One of us is completely crazy, I’m sure of that much.’
Bozo thought for a moment and than said, ‘OK, OK. Imagine it like this: say we write a story about a fish called Bert. So once upon a time Bert was swimming along in the deep, blue ocean, smoking seaweed and watching the waves pass overhead. Now, if someone asks us about Bert’s past – his childhood, his family – we’ll have to make it up. He has to have a history even if he was invented only 30 seconds ago. And Bert would believe in it more than anyone.’
‘But Bert doesn’t exist!’ Theo cried, turning red in frustration.
Bozo leaned forwards with a wicked glint in his eye and whispered, ‘Who knows? Maybe he does now.’
Theo sat with his back to the wall and played it all over in his head. He certainly didn’t remember his past before today but he was sure that he had one. And though he’d been awake for only a day, he felt pretty confident that he knew what reality was all about. After all, how could a world as big and complex as the Earth fit inside the head of a single Storyteller?
But then Theo thought of the comics he’d been reading earlier. If he had been able to speak to the characters, they would have assured him that they were real. They would have been certain that their world existed. Though the truth was that their lives and exploits came from the head of some writer drinking too much coffee in a study somewhere. But these were stories with only 20 characters in them, not a planet with billions of people and trillions of animals. How could every conversation, every event fit inside one story?
‘All right, let’s say that I’m prepared to believe this,’ he began warily. ‘Are you saying that the Storyteller sits down every day and tells you about everything that’s going on in the whole wide world?’
Bozo wagged his finger from side to side. ‘Of course not. He just gives us the highlights each day. You know, the funniest bits about the crazy stuff you guys do all the time.’
‘Like what?’ Theo demanded, his pride bruised.
‘Like those Chains that you wear around your wrists. The ones with the big eye and the fingers that order you around.’
‘You mean watches.’
‘I mean Chains. They tell you when to come, when to go, when to eat, when to sleep. You can’t even sit still in a park for a few minutes before you check them to make sure you’re not late for something. And the funniest part is,’ Bozo chuckled, ‘you’re only prisoners because you want to be. You could take them off at any time.’
‘We’re not prisoners…’ Theo began, but Bozo was on a roll.
‘Of course you are. If you were really free, then you’d get up when your eyes open in the morning, eat when you feel hungry and go to bed when you’re tired.’
Theo had to admit there was some sense to what Bozo said. Still, he wasn’t much nearer to understanding where this was leading. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said. ‘But look, what about the Story – I mean, the Earth – all of this? We orbit around the sun and that’s part of a galaxy called the Milky Way, and that’s just one very small galaxy in a very big universe. If what you say is true, then where do you suppose we are?’ Theo threw his hands up to the ceiling, feeling like he’d made a very worthy point.
But Bozo didn’t seem in the least bit fazed. ‘Where are we? Why, we’re just in a corner of the Storyteller’s imagination.’
The pieces started to come together in Theo’s mind and he wasn’t sure he liked the conclusion. He struggled to put his thoughts in order and finally said, ‘According to you, the Storyteller is sick – dying, even?’ Bozo nodded sadly. ‘If he dies, what will happen to the Story? I mean, to me and everything in my world?’
Bozo looked up, his eyes wide and tearful. ‘I don’t know. Maybe everything will just disappear.’