They are rubbish. They always are. You always know what’s coming next. Who the baddy is and who the goody. The jokes, such as they are, are telegraphed a mile off. Rubbish, they all are. Rubbish.
Eddie watched the dancers a-dancing beneath. Very pretty dancing dolls they were, of the variety that pop out of musical boxes, only bigger.
“What is this ballet all about?” he asked Jack.
“Boy sees girl, villain sees girl, boy meets girl, villain sees boy meet girl, boy gets parted from girl due to villain’s villany, boy remeets girl and boy gets girl in the end.”
“And that’s the story?” Eddie asked.
“Yes,” said Jack. “Clever, isn’t it?”
“That would be irony, would it?”
Jack said, “We should be doing our stuff!”
Eddie said, “I don’t want to!”
Beneath them, dolly ballerinas twirled. The hero, a wooden dolly who given the bulge in his tights apparently had wood on, did pluckings up on the heroine and twistings of her round in the air and the doing of something that is called a pas de deux. And also a full-tilt whirly-tronce, a double chuff-muffin rundle and a three-point turn with the appropriate hand signals and other marvellous things of a quite balletic nature.
The villain of the piece, imaginatively costumed in black, lurked in the limelight at stage left, posturing in a menacing fashion and glowering ’neath overlarge painted eyebrows.
Eddie said, “Don’t do this to me, Jack.”
Jack said, “It has to be done.”
And then Jack did it, but did it with care. He lifted Eddie from his paw pads, raised him to shoulder height and then hurled him. Eddie, wearing the face of terror, soared out over the dancers beneath. Jack buried his face in his hands and prayed for a God to believe in and wished Eddie well. And Eddie landed safely in the topmost crystal nestings of the mighty Opera House chandelier.
Unseen by dancers, orchestra or audience.
Jack peeped out through his fingers and breathed a mighty sigh. Eddie clung to the chandelier and growled in a bitter fashion. Jack waved heartily to Eddie.
Eddie raised a paw to wave back and all but fell to his death. Jack rootled the spanner from a nameless pocket and waggled it at Eddie.
Eddie steadied himself in his crystal nest and prepared to do catchings.
And it could have been tricky. In fact, it could have been disastrous. That spanner could have fallen, down and down onto dancers beneath. But it didn’t, for it was a calculated throw.
And Eddie caught that spanner between his paws and offered a thumbless thumbs-up back to Jack.
And Eddie peeped down from his lofty crystal eyrie. Through twinkling crystals, which presented the world beneath as one magical, he viewed the dancers, the orchestra and even the backstage, smelling of stables, which lurked behind the flats. It was a pretty all-encompassing overview, and one that brought no little sense of awe to Eddie Bear.
And of course bears are noted for their tree-climbing abilities and fearlessness of heights.
Eddie clung to the chandelier, and if he had had knuckles, these would at this time have been white. As would his face. From fear.
Jack grinned over at Eddie. “Bears are noted for their tree-climbing abilities and fearlessness of heights,” he said to himself, “so Eddie will be fine.”
Beneath, the villain enticed the heroine. Well, menaced was better the word. But as he did this via the medium of skilful dance, a degree of menace was lost.
And Jack looked down from on high, as did Eddie, and then Jack saw what Eddie saw, although from a different perspective.
Along the backstage the two of them crept, one Jack and the other one Eddie. The Jack carried two large suitcases. The Jack upon high’s eyes widened, though the Eddie upon high’s could not. Jack now did blinkings and rubbings at his eyes. That was him below. It really was. Though of course it really wasn’t. But it looked like him and walked like him, or at least Jack thought that it did.
Although it didn’t look altogether right. Jack screwed up his eyes and did long-distance squintings. What was wrong with this picture?
“He’s the wrong way round,” whispered Jack. “Oh no, he’s not – it’s just that I’ve never seen myself like that. I’ve only seen myself in a mirror.” And Jack did frantic wavings of the hands towards Eddie. Frantic mimings of a spanner being turned.
But Eddie wasn’t looking at Jack. Eddie was looking down upon his other self. “Damn fine-looking bear,” said Eddie to his own self. “Anders Imperial. Cinnamon plush coat …”
Down below, backstage, the other Eddie and the other Jack were unpacking the contents of the suitcases and assembling some rather snazzy-looking hi-tech equipment.
Above, Jack’s motions to Eddie became ever more frantic. Jack sought things to throw at the bear.
Eddie gawped at his other self. It was a damn fine-looking bear, but what was it? Spaceman? Space chicken? What? Where had it come from? Why did it look like him? Why was it doing whatever it was it was doing? And whatever was it doing?
Eddie now glanced in Jack’s direction. Jack seemed to be doing a foolish dance.
“Spanner!” mouthed Jack. “Release the chandelier,” he mouthed also.
“Ah,” went Eddie. “Oh, yes.”
Beneath the two detectives, their other selves, the other Eddie and the other Jack, appeared to have concluded the setting up of their hi-tech and Hellish apparatus. The Jack was now adjusting settings, twiddling dials, making final preparations.
Eddie on high laboured with the spanner – not easy between teddy paws – at the great nut and bolt that secured the chandelier to the ceiling above.[18]
Ballet dancers twisted and twirled. The villain, who wouldn’t get around to stabbing the hero until at least the third act, did more posturing and glowering with his eyebrows. The orchestra did the slow bit that involved violins.
The other Jack did straightenings up and rubbings of his hands.
Eddie struggled with the spanner. It was a tricky nut.
Jack glanced here and there and everywhere, down at the dancers, up at Eddie, down at their other selves, out towards the orchestra. Jack felt helpless. He was helpless.
Eddie continued his struggling, but the tricky nut wouldn’t budge.
“What do I do? What do I do?” Jack took to flapping his hands and doing a kind of tap dance.
Something tweaked him hard in the groin. Jack ceased his kind of tap dance.
“Ow,” went Jack. “Who did that to me?”
His groin got tweaked once again.
“Stop it! Oh, it’s you.” And Jack drew Wallah from his trenchcoat and held her to his ear.
“My calculations regarding the nut-turning potential of the bear would appear to be incorrect by a factor of one-point-five,” said Wallah. “It will be necessary for you to jump from the gantry onto the chandelier and turn the nut yourself. Do take care to cling onto something safe when the chandelier falls.”
“What?” went Jack.
“It’s a calculated risk,” said Wallah. “And as I will be with you and I care about you, believe me, it is the product of most careful and meticulous calculation.”
“I can’t do that,” said Jack. “I can’t.”
Eddie struggled hopelessly to turn the nut.
Lights began to pulse on the hi-tech apparatus far below.
“No,” said Jack. “I can’t. I can’t.”
A big white light began to grow backstage.
18
As opposed to the ‘ceiling below’ – although there is no such thing. Unless of course you live in a flat. But this is by the by.