Wyk

The Pulpies

“What about you?”

Wyk broke what had been a long silence. As soon as they had arrived back on the path, she had released a veritable torrent of questions about everything and anything she saw: “So, are they a story? What about that? Is that a story?” Marie responded in the affirmative each time, though she hadn’t seen fit to add any detail. Before long, Wyk had stopped asking out loud; though she was working through every person and object they passed, in her head. That small, doll-like creature with the head of a tortoise: a story. The house on the hill in the distance: a story. The tall figure that looked like it was made of dust particles: a story. The gorilla with a baseball hat: a story. And so on, and so on.

“How do you mean?” asked Marie.

“We’re all stories. So, what is yours?”

“Ah. It’s not that interesting,”

“Tell me anyway.”

Marie sighed. “Well, I suppose I can. My… well, I’m… it’s, well… it’s… so, I’m about a scientist. A real person. It’s a bit dull really, my story just follows her life.”

“That doesn’t sound dull at all. What was she called?”

“Marie, of course.”

“Was she famous?”

“Yes, I suppose she was. She… she discovered things about how the world works.”

“What sort of things?”

“She, I, we discovered radioactivity. And radium. And, sadly, the effects on the human body. I, we, she died of leukaemia. Very sad.”

“Oh. Oh dear. That is sad.”

“Yes, it was. It is. But that’s my story. Not all stories have a happy ending. In fact, real life stories rarely do.” Marie shrugged. “But as long as my story continues to be told, I will live forever, right?”

“How do you mean?”

“The Saysay, the Collective Consciousness, contains all the stories that are being told. If a story stops being told, well, p’offf…” Marie’s fingers gestured a small explosion, then a collapse into nothing.”

“P’offf.”

“Yes, p’offf…”

“Right.” Wyk ponded this. “So, as long as people think I exist, I exist, yes?”

“As long as people care.”

“Which means, so, people care about me right now, right?”

“Yes, I suppose they do.”

Wyk beamed. “Well, that’s just fine. Are we… are we nearly there yet?”

Marie rolled her eyes. “Yes, and no.”

“It seems like it’s taking forever.”

“Yes, it will. That’s because you are spending so much time on the journey.”

“How do you mean?”

“You think we’re walking along, right now? We’re not. We’re going from where we were, to where we want to be. And every time your mind goes in another direction, we will take longer.”

“But all I was doing was thinking about everything that is here.”

“Exactly. If you thought about it a little less, we would progress faster.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You have a lot to think about. Think of it as you catching up.”

“This place is strange.”

“It’s not really a place. It’s the Saysay.”

“Okay,” said Wyk. She still wasn’t sure what that meant, but she took on that her actions had consequences. “I will try to think a little less.”

Marie laughed that tinkly laugh again. “You can try, but I don’t suppose you will succeed. Your journey will take as long as it needs to take.”

Wyk set herself about not thinking quite so much. She succeeded, for a short while, before her mind went exploring once again.

“This makes more sense,” she said, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“All this… this strangeness. If everyone can choose how they are represented, then it’s all going to be a bit, you know, random, isn’t it?”

“Well, you, they don’t really choose.”

“But you get my point.”

“Of course.”

Wyk smiled again. Even though she wasn’t completely sure what was going on, she decided she would make the best of it. That was, after all, what her story was about. “There, look, the Square!”

“Yes, not long now.” Marie nodded.

“Who is that?” Wyk pointed towards the main entrance, or more accurately, towards the sudden gaggle of people emerging from it. They were all similarly well dressed, wearing greys and browns: nothing you might call characterful. Wyk found this surprising: given the random selection of animate types that generally filled her view, these appeared decidedly normal, which was strange in itself. Wyk wasn’t sure exactly how many there were, twenty or thirty she thought, but numbers were not her forté. Quickly they approached; they came past in a rush, chatting among themselves and not stopping to offer the time of day. Wyk and Marie stood back against the edge of the path, letting them pass — as if they had any choice in the matter.

“They all look very similar,” said Wyk, stating the obvious. “Who are they?”

“I don’t know. Just more stories,” said Marie, shrugging.

Wyk watched as they continued up the route the pair had came. “Wait.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I swear, I was looking at one, and she just vanished.”

Marie followed Wyk’s gaze. “I didn’t see it.”

“No, maybe I was wrong. But it was weird.”

“This whole place is weird, right? Come on, one thing at a time. We need to get to the bottom of what happened to that arch. Come on.”

“Okay, I suppose.”

The pair continued down the path, pausing for the occasional traveller. As they arrived at The Square, from Wyk’s perspective, nothing much had changed: the structure was much as they had left it, with its vast signpost at the centre, and the roads stretching off in every direction.

“Right, the arch,” said Marie.

“How are you going to find out?”

“I’ll find someone to ask.”

“Why don’t you ask that man we saw before?” Wyk looked. There he was was still, sitting cross-legged against the fountain.

“He won’t know anything. He just raves.”

Wyk wasn’t sure about this. “How do you know?”

“You heard him before, didn’t you? He’s hardly going to be a source of wisdom.”

“In my, ahem, story, we learn that you don’t know until you try.”

“Please, feel free.”

“Okay, I will. Excuse me,” said Wyk in a loud voice, towards the man sitting next to the fountain. ‘Why are you sitting there?”

“Why not? It’s where I’ve always sat. For as long as I can remember,” answered the man.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to move?”

“Well, once I did, but after a while, I decided I quite liked it. I’ve seen things come, and I’ve seen things go, and do you know, these days, I just go with the flow!” he laughed at that, a long, guffawing laugh that brought tears of glee to his face but, eventually, turned into more of a wheeze. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Go with the flow,” he said, still chuckling.

“That’s funny,” said Wyk, who hadn’t been able to help laughing as well: she grinned up at Marie, who didn’t seem to be in quite such good humour.

“Is it?” asked the man, abruptly.

“Why, yes.”

“Nobody’s ever said that before. In fact, nobody has said much to me before. Not much at all.”

“That’s strange.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought as well, at least, until I stopped thinking about it. Which was quite a while ago, now I come to think about it again. And, now I come to think about things, I’m not sure I do like sitting here.”

“Make your mind up,” mumbled Marie, shaking her head.

“My dear young thing, there’s much you don’t understand about me. Don’t think I haven’t heard your talk.”

Wyk decided to press on. “Why do you wear such a big hat?” she asked, in hope of changing the subject.

“A big hat is always a good idea, when you are at sea.”

“But… but you’re not. At sea, I mean.”

“ I am always at sea. It is in my blood, in my heart, in my soul.”

“Was your story about the sea?”

“All of them.”

“All of them?”

“All of them,” he said, lifting his arms upward and tracing an arc in the air. “As long as anybody can remember, stories have been told about the sea. And as long as stories have been told, I have been in this place. Once, I was the sea. Then, I was in the sea, then on the sea, and then, I watched the sea from afar. And then,” he shrugged, “I just got a bit bored of being anything to do with the sea. So I came here, and sat down on this very spot. It’s quite nice, really. I can see the world go by. Just a shame nobody ever stops to ask my opinion on anything.”

“Can I ask your opinion on something?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“That’s my joke! Ha!” He exploded in uproarious laughter, once again keeping going into he could only wheeze. “Can you ask my opinion? Oh, my sides. Oh dear, oh dear.”

Wyk ploughed on. “Back when we came through last time, you said that the Pulpies moved the arch.”

“Did I? Oh yes, I did!”

“Well, did they?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Marie couldn’t help speaking. “We’re getting absolutely nowhere here. Look old man, either tell us something useful or, …”

“Or?”

“Look, just get on with it, okay?”

The old man looked like ha hadn’t had so much fun in years. “I will take my time, after all, we have all the time in the world, don’t we? No, we don’t. And I will tell you why. You want to know what’s going on? I can tell you. I’ve been here longer than most.”

“Oh come on, let’s go,” said Marie. We don’t have time for this.

“Wait,” said Wyk. “I want to listen to him.”

“Leave, and you won’t learn,” said the man. “Do you know how long I’ve been here? Do you know?”

“Umm.. no I don’t.”

“Nor do I! It’s as long as I can remember! But it’s different now. Back then, we knew what story we were telling. Then it got complicated, but that was understandable. Then it was complicated again, and that, too, made sense. But this, now… Now, it’s different.”

“Really, I think we should go,” said Marie.

“Well, I don’t,” said Wyk. “I’ve always been taught that people should listen to each other. I’m staying.”

“Alright, stay then!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, I will stay too!, of course That way, if he tells you something stupid, I can tell you.”

Wyk didn’t think Marie was being quite fair, but thought she’d better let it pass.

The old seaman continued, determinedly oblivious to this interaction. “It wasn’t always like this, you know. We had a long period where nothing changed, and then came the changes. And now, it’s all a mess.”

Wyk listened carefully. “I’m very sorry, but I don’t understand what you mean,” she said. “I think you better start at the beginning.”

“We don’t have time for that!” he said.

“We have all the time in the world, old man,” said Marie, calmer. “You of all people must know that.”

He looked flustered by this, but then regained his composure. “How long have you been here?” he asked Wyk.

“She’s a Newbie,” said Marie. “Straight out of the mist.”

“I didn’t ask you!” he said. “Right. Well, well, well. Well, I have been here a very long time indeed, as long as anyone.”

“You must be a very old story,” said Wyk.

“Ah, you understand that much then?

“I explained it to her,” said Marie. “I…”

The sailor shot her a look and she abruptly stopped saying whatever she was about to say. “Where was I? Ah, yes, I am a very old story, one of the oldest. Few stories are older than tales of the sea. And for a long, long time, there were very few stories. We were told, we were repeated, and we pervaded across generations, passed from one to another.”

Wyk was rapt. “And what were you about?”

“Ah, that is a story in itself, of love, of the ocean, of what happens when one becomes the other. But now then, then things started to change. People started to write, to capture their thoughts as stories. Some, like myself, continued, just as we continued to be told. But some of the old stories started to be lost. We entered the second age, in which new stories started to appear, and older stories faded away, over time.”

“What happened to them?”

“Why, they went back to the mists. For a story that isn’t told loses its soul.”

“Wait,” said Marie. “Are you saying stories have souls?”

“Of course they do, dear, of course they do. For what is a story without a soul? So, anyway, this carried on for a while, a very long while. And then it started to change again. We know what happened, for it too was told as stories. The printing press came, then even more clever ways of producing books, and everything changed. Stories appeared faster and faster, and many did not last, vanishing into the mists not long after the were created. But still, many older stories continued, until now…”

The man stopped speaking, staring into the middle distance as Wyk and Marie looked on. At first he appeared uncertain, then his brow furrowed and he lowered his head. As he raised it again, his face was crossed with anger.

“…now, here they come again! I told you!”

The pair followed his gaze, and saw more of the funny little people arriving through the arch, into the square.

“Look, look! There they go you see! You know what they are, don’t you?”

“Er, no,” said Wyk. Marie just stood there.

“They’re the death of all of us! It’s the end, I’m telling you! Watch them!” The pair turned and watched the group as it moved away. As it did, Wyk noticed how the Square, normally so fixed and structured, blurred and wobbled ever so slightly behind them. Such was their momentum that the array of diverse, usually animated story characters, going to and fro on their business, seemed to pale as they stood back and let the gaggle pass. And even as they did, a a couple of the nondescript figures fizzled and vanished. “See that? By the time they reach the Street, there’ll be only a handful of them!”

“Wow, so, they’re just, I don’t know, disappearing?”

“Yes, that’s what they do, the Pulpies!”

“The Pulpies?” exclaimed Marie and Wyk, in unison.

“That’s what I said, the Pulpies! They exist for a while, then, they just seem to, I don’t know, run out of steam. And they seem to be appearing more and more often. But when I see another group, it’s the same as the last.”

Marie looked like she wanted to run away, but Wyk held on.

“Sorry, but I’m not understanding what you mean,“ said Wyk. “There’s too many things for me to understand here — the saysay, the places, my journey, the arch, and now these…”

“The Pulpies!”

“Yes, the Pulpies, if that’s what you want to call them. But”—and Wyk looked quite serious on this point—“I’m new, and I need to have things explained properly. You’re going to have to slow down, I’m afraid.”

He looked at her like she was mad. “What! I….I…. I’m so sorry. You’re right. I’m going too fast, aren’t I?” He paused. “That is what happened, in my… In my story. I need to…. slow down.”

Nothing happened for several moments: the old seaman was being true to his word. Eventually, he raised his head and stood up, sighing as he did so. Marie couldn’t help but look impressed. “Right,” he said, controlling his emotions as best he could. “So. You know what we are, don’t you?

“Kind of,” said Wyk.

“And you know what imagination is, don’t you?”

Wyk nodded. Lucy’s little brother had a wonderful imagination, his sister was always chiding him for having his head in the clouds but then he would come out with some great idea, and…

“Still with me? Well, this is the place where all the imaginations that have ever been come together. And its like. well, it’s like they’re dying.” He waved back toward where the Pulpies were still continuing other way. “Look, the edges of our consciousness are eroding. This whole place is dying.” As he spoke, the seaman’s beard bobbed up and down, his sage eyes like lumps of coal in the middle of his ruddy face. He leaned towards her. “They’ll destroy all of us, don’t you see? We only exist because people think we do!”

Wyk glanced at Marie, who had turned a deathly pale. “What’s up?” said Wyk, but Marie just shook her head.

“So, you see, they are the problem,” he continued. “The problem is not whether they are happening? The actual problem is, why are they happening and whether they can be stopped! Oh dear, oh calamity! If this goes on, they’ll replace us altogether! Ohhhh…” he said, as he sank back down to the ground, rambling gently.

“Come on,” said Marie, quietly.

“Shouldn’t we…”

“He will be in this state for some time. I have see him do this before. Come on.”

“What did he mean,” said Wyk as they started to walk away, “about the edges of consciousness eroding?”

“It was just the ramblings of a deranged fool,” said Marie. She didn’t sound very convinced, or convincing.

“I don’t believe you,” said Wyk. “This could be it. What if it’s the end of all of us? What do we do then?”

“If that is the case, then, p’offf…”

“P’offf?”

“Yes, p’offf, for all of us… look, it is my turn to need to think. There’s another place I want to take you. Let me. Perhaps, there, we might find some answers. Can we?”

“OK.”