Ben Robinson is a graduate of the BA English Literature & Creative Writing programme at Goldsmiths.
Now on the Creative and Life Writing MA, Ben is working on an experimental climate-fiction novel, and a collection of comedic short stories. He has read poetry at the Foundling Museum in Russell Square as one of the winners of the museum’s ‘Charismatic Objects’ poetry competition in 2018, and at the British Library as part of the 2017 Africa Writes Festival’s Young Voices Showcase.
Below is a series of extracts from Mister Stupid, a novella written in 2023.
Email: bo.robinson2000@gmail.com
Mister Stupid
With the sun’s painting in the eastern sky fading, the Prince awoke. The carpet beside him was a vibrant orange. All around him were fruit-bearing trees and bushes. He scoured them all but saw no peaches.
‘I was going to make one of each, but I thought a kind of mishmash of everything would be just as tasty,’ the Old Man said, bending over a dwindling fire. ‘Here,’ he placed a plate of pie by the Prince’s lap, ‘apple, pear, plum, fig, blackberry, strawberry, blueberry, elderberry and a bit of lemon zest.’
‘How did you-‘
‘Bad question.’
The Old Man handed the Prince a fork. The Prince caught his eyes beginning to roll, so he met the Old Man with a glare instead.
‘Not hungry?’ the Old Man asked. Still glaring, the Prince picked up his plate, and put a forkful of pie into his mouth. He didn’t want to tell the Old Man how delicious it was, but his glare quickly melted into a satisfied smile. The Old Man smiled back at him.
‘Once you’ve had your fill, we’ll do some picking and head on.’ The Old Man looked toward the carpeted road, ‘I wonder if those idiots are still making their bridges.’
‘Who?’
‘Oh, you’ll probably meet them soon,’ the Old Man replied, ‘they’ve been here since my second trip. Probably the dumbest pair on this whole road. They’ll love you!’ He chuckled. The Prince kissed his teeth. He finished his pie in a hurry, then licked his fingers clean.
‘I’ll take what’s in the trees,’ the Prince straightened his back, ‘you take the bushes?’
The Old Man glanced at the bushes, then up at the Prince.
‘Oh no,’ the Prince protested, ‘you’re not getting up here.’
‘But we’ll be so much faster!’ said the Old Man, gearing himself up for a climb, ‘besides, berries’ll get all mushy in your satchel.’
‘That’s actually a good point,’ the Prince replied, equal parts bemused and impressed. Before he could protest further, the Old Man was halfway up his back. The Prince lowered his shoulders to help the Old Man climb onto them, and they spent the rest of the morning plucking apples, pears, figs, and plums together.
With their satchels and stomachs filled, the Old Man and the Prince left the grove, and followed the carpet until they reached a chasm. It was deep enough to die in, and as wide as the immortal willow was tall, but fortunately, there was a bridge. The carpet lay over it, narrowing to fit between the guard rails. Two men, each on opposite sides of the chasm, with ropes, stakes, planks, nails, and a hammer at their sides, were hurling hurtful words and gestures at one another. The Prince slowed down to greet the first man, but the Old Man gave him a whack on the head.
‘We’d be wasting our time talking to them,’ the Old Man said.
‘It sounds like they need a mediator,’ the Prince replied, ‘maybe a plum or two would help cool their tempers.’
‘I can’t think of anything but a hard push that would calm these two down,’ the Old Man laughed, ‘they’ve been arguing like this forever.’
‘No we haven’t!’ The men at either end of the bridge replied in unison.
‘Eighty years!’ The first man yelled.
‘Eighty-one!’ The second man yelled back.
‘Eighty!’
‘Eighty-one!’
‘See what I mean, Mister Stupid?’
The Old Man tugged at the Prince’s hair, trying to pull him onto the bridge. The Prince stood his ground.
‘Would either of you gentlemen care for some fruit?’
The Prince smiled, reaching into his satchel.
‘No!’ the men yelled in unison.
‘Let’s just go,’ the Old Man sighed.
‘Why are you both out here?’ the Prince asked, ignoring the Old Man’s protests.
‘What does it look like!?’ the first man tutted.
‘I’m building a bridge!’ the second man answered.
‘No, I’m building a bridge!’ The first man waved his fist across the chasm, ‘you’re just copying me!’
‘I was here first and you know it!’ the second man shouted.
‘Just wait till I make my way over there!’
The Prince looked at the first man, then the second, then at the bridge.
‘Why don’t you just take the path that’s already here?’ he asked.
‘Here we go.’ The Old Man rolled his eyes.
‘Where’s the honour in that!?’ the men exclaimed. ‘Where’s the pride in taking a path that’s already there!?’
The Prince looked back at the carpeted road, then forward. Its orange turned slowly into indigo past the bridge.
‘I’ve had this conversation more times than I can count, Mister Stupid,’ the Old Man said, ‘you’re not going to stir some epiphany, you know.’
‘So let me get this straight,’ said the Prince, still ignoring the Old Man, ‘you both want to build your own bridge across this chasm, but you don’t want to help each other, and you don’t want to use the bridge that’s already here, even as a way to help you build your own.’
‘Is that so hard to understand?’ the men replied.
‘Well,’ the Prince sighed, ‘it was nice talking to you, best of luck!’
The Prince took his first step onto the bridge. It was taut beneath his feet, and stayed that way. Once the Old Man and the Prince were across the chasm, they both looked back at the first man, then down at the second.
‘Do you remember what I told you both the last time I was here?’ the Old Man asked.
‘I didn’t think we had met,’ replied the second man.
‘Neither did I!’ added the first.
‘No, I didn’t think so,’ the Old Man chuckled, ‘so I’ll remind you. Tie your rope to one of your posts and stake it. Tie the other end to yourself, climb down the chasm, then back up the other side. Undo yourself and stake in the rope so it’s taut. Use that to make another rope crossing, lace through your planks, then knot your ropes round the stakes a couple times.’
‘No!’ the men cried, ‘if I didn’t come up with it, it’s not my bridge!’
‘See what I mean, Mister Stupid?’ the Old Man smirked.
‘I think I do,’ replied the Prince, ‘should we leave them some food anyway?’
‘Allow me,’ the Old Man said, still smirking. He took hold of two plums, and threw them into the chasm. ‘Go and get ‘em, boys!’ he cackled.
The Prince looked back, half-expecting to watch the men fall in after them. The two men looked back at him for a moment with all the anger they’d been directing at each other, but quickly turned back, continuing their barraging.
‘You said those two are the stupidest on this whole road, right?’
‘I said they probably were,’ the Old Man chuckled, ‘there might be someone I haven’t seen yet, but I doubt it.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Oh, going down this road’s a one-time-thing for most people.’
‘So why have you been this way so many times?’
‘Bad question.’
***
Above the Old Man and the Prince, the moon, heavy in the empty night, cast a glimmer on an outline of a mountain ahead of them, and a dull glow on the carpet.
‘Why don’t we set up camp soon, Mister Stupid?’
‘I’m not tired.’
‘I am.’
‘Well, I don’t want to stop yet.’
‘Whyever not?’
The Prince was too tired to come up with a response.
‘I’m at the whim of your shoulders, Mister Stupid,’ the Old Man yawned, ‘but you know they’ve been slouching for the past hour? You’re tired too, I know it.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Oh really? So if I told you about how nice it is to to feel the warmth of a fire, to drink a mug of cocoa, to rest your head against a nice soft pillow, to pull a blanket up over your-‘
‘Fine,’ the Prince sighed, ‘where should we stop?’
‘Oh, nowhere round here,’ the Old Man said, ‘way too open, the wind would be dreadful.’
The prince yawned, upping the pace of his footsteps. Within a minute, though, he was walking slower than before, practically dragging himself, keeping his posture only so that the Old Man wouldn’t fall off of him. If he did, the Prince thought, he’d lie with him. The carpet, after all, would make a better mattress than dirt. His vision began to blur, then fade. Once he’d regained it, he found a pillow under his head that he didn’t remember laying. The Old Man was warming a pot of tea.
‘Where are we?’ said the Prince, rubbing his eyes.
‘On the carpeted road, Mister Stupid,’ the Old Man replied.
He poured some tea into a mug and placed it at the Prince’s side.
‘Drink up,’ he said.
‘We got any pie left?’
‘I ate it all.’
‘Well, could you make some more before we set off?’
‘All out of flour.’
The Prince finished his tea, helped the Old Man gather up their things, and put him on his shoulders. The moment he turned to face the rest of the carpet, the Prince stopped in his tracks.
To his right was a glass mountain. Though it was a cloudless morning, the mountain’s peak reached higher into the sky than the Prince could see. Snow near the stratosphere seemed suspended in the air. Sun-kissed veins of gold and precious stones cast great shining colours out from the transparent rock they were encased in over the fields to the Prince’s left. He remembered the stained-glass windows in his father’s palace, and how they lit the walls across from them with scenes of battles. The same streaks of colourful light were now in front of him, stretching through the sky, filling it with rainbows. A short hike from the mountain’s foot was a cave with a single passage, snaking through the glass to its centre, where, seeming to float, was a ruby, easily twice the size of his father’s palace.
‘Alright,’ said the Old Man, ‘we can look for five minutes, but then we really must be on our way.’
‘Oh, we’ve suddenly got somewhere to be, have we?’
‘Well, we’ve got to find some wheat so I can make more flour.’
‘Oh, come on,’ the Prince pleaded, ‘we’ve barely stopped this whole time!’
‘Fine,’ the Old Man grumbled, ‘I guess, if there is any wheat ahead, it’s not going anywhere.’
The Prince smiled.
‘Let me down, would you?’
The Prince squatted and the Old Man hopped off his shoulders.
‘It is pretty, isn’t it?’ The Old Man smiled.
‘And the size of that ruby?’
‘Quite pretty indeed.’
The Old Man and the Prince sat down on the carpet and took in what was in front of them. They pointed out peculiar-shaped veins as if they were cloud watching, each time following the beams of light shining out from them. Striking a vein of rose quartz, a pastel-pink sunbeam shone over the Old Man and the Prince, bathing them in its soft glow. They sighed blissfully and smiled. Nothing, the Prince thought, could ruin this moment, until he began hearing the sound of clanking metal. For a while, he and the Old man ignored it, both sighing louder in an effort to mask the noise, then out of frustration. They turned around. A knight was coming up the carpeted road.
‘You there!’ the knight pulled up his visor, ‘and you,’ he said, now able to see the Old Man. ‘Are you here to battle the beast?’
‘Beast?’ the Prince asked.
‘The beast in the mountain!’ the knight replied. ‘The most fearsome beast in all the world!’
‘There’s a beast in the mountain?’ the Old Man asked.
‘The most fearsome beast in all the world!’
‘Yes, you’ve told us that,’ the Old Man tutted, ‘what kind of beast?’
‘No one knows! It’s that fearsome! Sated only by the flesh of men! The most fearsome beast in all the world!’
The Old Man and the Prince rolled their eyes at each other.
‘And I take it you’re here to vanquish this beast?’ asked the Prince.
‘Or feed it,’ the Old Man muttered.
‘I am indeed!’ the Knight straightened his back, and looked off proudly into the distance.
‘You should take your armour off, then,’ the Old Man chuckled.
‘What?’
‘Well, if you’re going to let it eat you.’
‘What are you talking about!?’ said the knight.
‘Never mind,’ the Old Man sighed.
The knight didn’t respond.
‘Are you going to go and vanquish it then?’ asked the Prince.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ the knight looked back at the Prince, ‘maybe some words of encouragement?’
‘Aren’t you a knight!?’ the Old Man shouted, ‘you’re meant to be all noble and brave, aren’t you?’
‘Even the noble and brave need some motivation from time to time.’
‘Well, if what you told us is true,’ the Old Man smirked, ‘you’re about to walk into a cave that’s home to the most fearsome beast in all the world. You’re facing certain death,’ his smirk widened, ‘but your sword looks sharp, and your armour’s very shiny.’
‘My sword is sharp, and my armour is shiny,’ the knight repeated, a worried frown appearing on his face.
‘That’s the spirit!’ the Old Man’s smile was as wide as it could be, ‘now get in there and slay that beast!’
The knight slammed down his visor to mask his fear, forgetting the Old Man and the Prince could still see his eyes.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ said the Prince, ‘no one would blame you if you decided not to go in there.’
‘But what about honour!? What about glory!? What about dying a hero’s death!?’ the Old Man protested.
‘What’s heroic about getting eaten?’ The Prince looked down at the Old Man, ‘surely if he wanted glory, he could bring a diamond from the mountain back to wherever it is he came from?’
‘Enough!’ the knight shouted, gripping his sword. ‘I’m going! I’m going to the cave and I’m going to return with the beast’s head!’
‘Well, good luck!’ said the Old Man and the Prince, almost in unison. They watched as the knight got to the mouth of the cave, walked through it, and vanished into the red chamber.
‘Oh,’ the Prince gulped, ‘so it’s not a ruby.’
Red splattered out from the chamber down the passageway.
‘Oh my,’ said the Prince, ‘maybe we should get going.’
‘I was just about to suggest the same thing.’
The Prince knelt down to let the Old Man onto his shoulder, and with the sun still well above them, the pair carried on down the carpeted road. Ahead of them, the indigo was turning an algae-like green.
***
It had been three sunrises since the carpet below the Old Man and the Prince had turned green, and two and half sunsets since the Old Man and the Prince had said a word to one another. Silently, the Prince carried the Old Man on his shoulders until it was dark. They’d unroll their bedspreads in unison, create a metronome with their footsteps as they gathered firewood, looked up at the night, shut their eyes, then looked at the day, down at the carpet, and onward. The Prince wanted to ask the Old Man why the carpet was no longer changing colour, what the next fool they’d encounter would be doing. But, for the first time in his life, the Prince found himself comfortable in silence. Or, at least, comfortable with not knowing how to articulate his thoughts. Occasionally, he’d feel the Old Man’s grip on his shoulders tighten a little, or hear him hum a familiar tune, but by the time the Prince decided it would be worth asking him what he was humming, the Old Man’s grip had returned to normal, and the song would be over.
‘You know, Mister Stupid,’ the Old Man said, ‘we’re almost at the end.’
‘I assumed we’d been getting close,’ said the Prince, ‘so how do we get back?’
‘Back where?’
‘Good point,’ the Prince chuckled, ignoring a sudden twinge in his chest, ‘so what do we do when we get there?’
‘Get where?’
‘The end.’
‘Oh, right,’ the Old Man stroked his beard, ‘good question. I suppose that’s up to you.’
The Prince looked ahead, then came to a sudden stop, and spun himself around to face where he and the Old Man had come from, forgetting for a moment that the Old Man was still on his shoulders. The Old Man kicked his legs up off the Prince’s shoulders and threw his arms above his head.
‘Weeee!’
‘Sorry about that.’ The Prince grabbed on to the Old Man’s feet as if they were the straps of a rucksack.
‘No, no! Don’t be sorry, Mister Stupid! I never went on the rides at the funfair, you see. But this,’ he tapped the Prince’s head, ‘this is better than all of those clickety-clackety deathtraps put together!’
‘Oh, well, I can spin around a couple more times, if that’s what you want.’
‘Till we’re dizzy, Mister Stupid!’
And so, the Old Man and the Prince spun down the carpeted road, overcome with sensations neither of them had felt since long before the start of their journey.
Still spinning as the sky began to darken, neither the Old Man or the Prince had noticed that, not far ahead of them, the carpet stopped. There was no grand facet of nature waiting for them where it ended, no treasure of any sort. Instead, arched over the edge of the carpet, carrying a set of spools, a hook-knife, and a brush, was a very old and very tired looking man. A very old and very tired looking man who, in spite of waving his arms and crying out to them both, the Old Man and the Prince crashed into.
‘What on earth are you two playing at!?’ the carpeter barked. ‘No one ever tell you to look where you’re going?’
While the surrounding meadows were still wobbling in the Prince’s vision, the Old Man had got himself upright.
‘Been a while, old friend.’ The Old Man smiled. The carpeter met him with a blank stare.
‘Hang on,’ the Prince furrowed his brow, ‘you’re the one who’s been carpeting this road?’
The carpeter turned his blank stare toward the Prince.
‘How long have you been doing this?’
The carpeter shrugged, then turned his attention back to the carpet.
‘How long do you intend to go on?’
‘Until the carpet’s finished.’ The carpeter rolled his eyes.
‘Don’t roll your eyes at-‘ the Old Man piped up, shaking his fist, but found himself quickly silenced by the Prince’s hand pressing onto his mouth.
‘So, how long is the carpet going to be?’
‘How long is the world?’
‘You sure you’ve got enough wool for that?’
‘Oh, yes,’ the carpeter smirked, his demeanour finally softening, ‘I’ve got plenty. Only problem is, I’ve only got one colour left.’
‘You were weaving green last time I was here, weren’t you?’ asked the Old Man, the anger in him starting to subside.
The carpeter looked back at him, squinted, then burst into laughter.
‘I thought that was you! It’s just that you’ve got so small! Wow, long time, Old Man! How’s Alice?’
‘Oh, you know,’ the Old Man smiled, ‘still dead, but Alice is doing great, should be catching up with her in just a minute, actually.’
‘Glad to hear! You’ll let her know I said hello, won’t you?’
‘Wait, wait,’ said the Prince, ‘who’s Alice?’
‘I thought I told you.’ The Old Man shot the Prince a puzzled look, ‘I told you about my wife, didn’t I? Told you about my pets?’
‘You told me you had a wife and that you’ve had pets.’
‘Oh, well, they’re all called Alice.’
‘And one of your pets is here?’
‘No,’ the Old Man said, ‘she’s that way,’ he pointed upwards.
‘Why wasn’t she in the kingdom with you?’
‘She does what she wants, Mister Stupid,’ the Old Man chuckled, ‘I never liked the idea of a birdcage.’
‘Alice is a bird?’
‘No, she was my wife. Alice is a bird.’
‘What?’
‘Bad question.’
‘You haven’t changed at all, have you?’ The carpeter laughed.
‘Not one bit.’ The Old Man joined in the laughter. The Prince was at a loss for words.
‘You know, I never asked you why you decided to start doing this,’ the Old Man said.
‘You never thanked me for it either.’
‘Why would I thank you? I didn’t ask you to carpet the world.’
‘No, but it’s what I’m doing. And hasn’t it been nicer on your feet?’
‘He’s not been walking on it,’ the Prince interjected. ‘It broke his fall once or twice, though.’
‘Well,’ the carpeter turned his focus back to the Prince, ‘have your feet hurt at all while you’ve been here?’
‘Actually,’ the Prince took a moment to think, ‘they haven’t.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Is that why you’re doing this then? You just wanted to walk on carpet instead of dirt?’ The Old Man laughed.
‘Are you saying you’d rather walk on dirt than carpet?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Well, there you have it!’
‘Why didn’t you just put some carpet in your shoes?’ asked the Prince.
‘Oh, because-‘ the carpeter frowned, ‘I didn’t think of that.’
‘I didn’t think of that, he said!’ The Old Man cackled.
‘Well, I’ve got this far,’ the carpeter straightened his back, ‘no point changing the plan now.’
‘You’ve only got the rest of the world to go,’ said the Old Man, half folded over in laughter, ‘shouldn’t take you that long!’
The Prince couldn’t help but join in the Old Man’s laughter.
‘Anyway,’ the Old Man said, trying to compose himself, ‘we best be off,’ he took a deep breath, ‘all this talk of Alice has got me missing her.’
‘Wait, before you go,’ the carpeter said, ‘you still got any of those pies you used to make?’
‘What flavour?’ The Old Man started digging through his satchel.
‘Some apple would be lovely if you’ve got any.’
The Old Man pulled out a slice and handed it to the carpeter.
‘I thought we were out of flour?’
‘I found some wheat.’
‘When?’
‘Bad question.’
The Prince let out a sigh, then lowered himself to let the Old Man up on his shoulders.
‘Well, it was lovely to see you.’
‘You too, Old Man,’ said the carpeter, ‘I’m sure we’ll speak again soon.’
He and the Old Man shared a knowing smile. The Prince, too confused to even know what to ask, shrugged, and set off.
‘Give me a spin, would you?’ the Old Man pleaded.
‘Oh, alright,’ the Prince smiled, ‘but only a couple, I’m still a bit wobbly from earlier.’
Spinning as he walked, the Prince felt the firmness of dirt for the first time since he and the Old Man had started their journey. His feet were already beginning to hurt, and the pain brought with it the same long forgotten sensation for the Prince that the spinning had whilst there was still carpet ahead of him.
***
‘Almost there, Mister Stupid.’
‘Almost where?’
The Old Man pointed to a tree and a stump beside a narrow stream not far ahead of them.
‘There.’
‘Are you saying we should set up camp?’
‘I’m saying we’re almost there.’
‘Where?’
‘You already asked that.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
The Old Man chuckled.
‘You want a cup of tea?’
The Prince huffed.
‘Sure.’
With half-drank cups in their hands, the Old Man and the Prince sat back-to-back on the stump, listening to the steady crackle of the fire, the soft current of the water, and the whistling of the wind through the leaves above them, and the long grass all around.
They looked out in opposite directions. The Prince facing where he and the Old Man had come from, the Old Man, where he and the Prince would soon be going.
‘So,’ the Prince began, suddenly aware of how long he’d gone without talking, ‘where’s Alice?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What does she look like?’
The Prince waited for a response.
‘What does she look like?’
‘You know what a bird looks like, don’t you?’
‘Well, yes. But what kind of bird should I be looking out for?’
‘You’ll know when she’s here, Mister Stupid.’
‘How?’
‘Because she’ll be here.’ The Old Man pointed at the end of his beard. He took another sip of tea, then held the cup to his nose, and took a deep breath of the fragrant steam rising out from it.
‘D’you think we’ll be here much longer?’
‘Oh,’ the Old man chuckled, ‘you got somewhere to be?’
‘I was just wondering if I should refill the kettle.’
‘If you’re asking if I’d like another,’ the Old Man gulped down what was left in his cup then set it down beside him, ‘the answer is yes.’
The Prince sighed, then stood up, took hold of the kettle, and went down to the stream to refill it.
Once the kettle was boiled, and their cups were refilled, the Old Man and the Prince resumed their silence. The Prince looked out towards the low sun and saw a cloud he thought looked like an anchor. The Old Man looked up at the low moon, there were no clouds in his half of the sky. Leaning on each other, still looking outward, only moving to refill their cups, the Old Man and the Prince watched the night bloom. Though neither of them felt any desire to be doing anything else, the Prince was beginning to grow nervous. He started to picture the Old Man at the end of his other journeys down the carpeted road, sitting alone on the stump, waiting in silence to be joined by a bird he had no way of knowing would meet him there. As he opened his mouth to speak his concern, however, the Prince heard soft fluttering.
‘I’m sorry I took so long,’ he heard the Old Man say, ‘I hope you weren’t worried about me.’
‘I’m always worried about you.’ The fluttering stopped.
‘I’ve missed you,’ the Old Man sniffed, ‘I’ve been eating well. I promise. Still making those pies. They’re not as good as yours though.’
The Prince got up off the stump to give the Old Man and the bird some space, but
the Old Man took his hand and pulled him back.
‘I want you to know, my darling, that even though I want to be with you, even though there’s nothing I want more than to be with you, I think it’s still going to be a while till I am. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You said you wanted me to keep going as long as I could, and that you’ll be watching over me until I’m the oldest thing in the world. I think I’m getting close, my darling, I think I’m almost there. I’ll be with you soon, just not yet.’
‘Take your time, my love,’ the bird chirped.
The Prince felt the Old Man’s grip tighten.
‘You’ll stay here with me for now, won’t you? Just for a little while?’
The Prince heard a rustling come from the Old Man’s beard as the bird nestled herself against his chest.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you more.’
‘You know that’s not possible.’
The Prince heard the Old Man’s breathing match the rhythm of Alice’s coos. He heard him tell her all that had happened since they last saw each other, his voice a wind chime of everything important, everything that wasn’t, and everything in between. He heard her tell him what she had seen, he heard him laugh, and cry, and tell her over and over how much he missed her. He heard her tell him to come back soon, then a soft flutter that faded into the night. The wind had stopped. Save for their breaths, the world around them fell silent. The Prince squeezed the Old Man’s hand, and the Old Man squeezed his back. They sat on the stump till the Prince could see the moon and the Old Man could see the sun. The Old Man stood up, turned around, and climbed onto the Prince’s shoulders.
‘Thank you, Mister Stupid,’ the Old Man said.
‘So,’ the Prince cleared his throat, turning to face the sunrise, ‘what now?’