Aristotle's Nostril

by Morris Gleitzman

  Then Aristotle realised something.

  Of course, he thought, that’s probably where all the local germs are. Off having fun. That’s what the amoeba meant about this being a dangerous place. Everyone enjoys themselves so much they’re always in danger of forgetting the time.

  Aristotle didn’t say anything to Blob. He was worried that Blob probably wouldn’t agree and might injure himself by trying to go scorn-shaped and scowl-shaped and sarcasm-shaped all at once.

  At last they reached the top of the mole.

  The view was stunning.

  ‘Wow,’ yelled Blob. ‘Look at that. You can see our nostril.’

  Aristotle looked.

  Blob was right. They were up above the forest now. In front of them in the distance was the entire vast nostril entrance.

  Aristotle gazed at it and tried not to go sad-shaped. Would he ever see his home and friends again? Probably not.

  Oh well, he thought. At least Blob’s not taking it all so badly any more.

  ‘Incredible,’ Blob was saying, so amazed-shaped his arms were flapping. ‘Isn’t that the most amazing sight you’ve ever seen?’

  Aristotle agreed it was. Until he turned round and looked in the other direction.

  Then he saw a sight that amazed him so much he almost fainted.

  ‘Blob,’ he whispered. ‘Look.’

  Blob didn’t turn round.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Blob. ‘I think I can see some of the germs in the nostril. They look like they’re having a meeting. Probably to pass the Aristotle Banishment Bill. Yes, they’re voting now. One vote . . . two votes . . . three . . .’

  ‘Blob,’ screamed Aristotle.

  Blob turned round.

  And went so stunned-shaped he looked like he’d been flattened by a large chunk of flying nightie fluff.

  Aristotle had never been more stunned-shaped himself. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was like something from a dream or a legend or the confused thoughts you have when a flying chunk of talcum powder whacks you in the top bits.

  But here it was, in real life, towering majestically next to the nostril he and Blob had just been banished from.

  Incredible.

  Unbelievable.

  Another nostril.

  5

  Aristotle had never trotted halfway down a mole so quickly. Or tripped and rolled the rest of the way so fast.

  He had never scrambled through a face-hair forest so frantically.

  And now he was experiencing another first. Hiding behind a dune of toast crumbs, gazing up at . . .

  Incredible.

  ‘Incredible,’ panted Blob, squeaky with amazement. ‘It’s another nostril.’

  It certainly was.

  To make absolutely sure he wasn’t having a squiz molecule meltdown, Aristotle peered across at the old nostril, then back at this one, then at the old one, then back at this one again. The old nostril was some distance away, at the other side of a vast skin cliff, but it was definitely there.

  Which meant a grand total of . . .

  ‘Two nostrils,’ squeaked Blob. ‘The human’s got two nostrils.’

  Aristotle struggled to take this in.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Blob. ‘Why would anyone need a second nostril? Particularly when their first one is operating in a very orderly and efficient manner with two hundred and thirty-three thousand six hundred and forty-seven laws, bills, acts, rules, regulations and reminder notices.’

  Aristotle’s thoughts were spinning.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘since we left, our nostril got old and became a parent?’

  Blob gave him a look.

  Aristotle could see Blob didn’t think this was very likely. He didn’t think it was very likely himself now his think molecules were calming down.

  ‘If a human can have three tummies and ten big toes,’ said Aristotle, ‘I guess it can have two nostrils.’

  ‘We’ve got to get back and tell the others,’ said Blob. ‘So they can start passing new laws. For example the Nostril Exit Act will have to become the Nostrils Exit Act. We’ll need thousands of meetings. Come on.’

  Blob grabbed Aristotle and tried to pull him away from the new nostril. Aristotle pulled harder and dragged Blob back down behind the toast crumbs.

  ‘We can’t go back,’ said Aristotle. ‘We’re banished, remember?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Blob. ‘They’ll let us in when they hear our news. They’ll probably pardon us. I reckon there’s an eighty-five percent chance we’ll be heroes.’

  Aristotle thought about how much the chief judge didn’t like him. He went frown-shaped to show Blob he didn’t think being unbanished was very likely.

  ‘What if they hate our news?’ said Aristotle. ‘What if they prefer being an only nostril? What if they banish us for a second time, this time with spears in our top bits?’

  He peered round the pile of crumbs into the new nostril.

  It was a bit too far away to be certain, but the new nostril looked pretty much like the old one. The shape was exactly the same. And Aristotle could see familiar nose-hair highways criss-crossing the vast internal spaces. Plus he was pretty sure he could make out dust-sorting depots and schools and mucusmines, all looking very much like the ones at home.

  Or rather, thought Aristotle sadly, what used to be home.

  ‘Stop that,’ said Blob. ‘If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, about going closer for a better look, stop thinking it.’

  ‘I’m going closer for a better look,’ said Aristotle.

  Before Blob could grab him, Aristotle ducked out from behind the pile of crumbs. He trotted towards the nostril entrance, flattening his body and folding it forward to keep a low profile. He flung himself down behind a fallen face hair and gazed up into the new nostril.

  This was better. He could see more clearly now.

  Yes.

  Nose germs, millions of them.

  From this distance they looked pretty much like the nose germs at home. They didn’t seem to have any strange features, like legs at the top and arms at the bottom. There was one difference, though.

  I reckon, thought Aristotle, these germs look happier.

  He wasn’t close enough to be sure but he didn’t think he could see any meetings. These germs seemed to be just wandering around. Probably playing and enjoying themselves and giving each other birthday cakes.

  ‘Don’t go any closer, you idiot,’ panted a grumpy voice.

  It was Blob, flopping down next to him behind the fallen face hair.

  ‘They’re nose germs,’ said Aristotle excitedly. ‘Like us. If we ask nicely, they’ll probably let us live with them. It’ll be just like at home, but hopefully with less rules and regulations.’

  ‘They might look like us,’ said Blob. ‘That doesn’t mean they are like us. They could be anything. Killers. Criminals. Mutants. Messy eaters. I will not live with messy eaters.’

  Aristotle squinted into the new nostril again.

  He had to admit he couldn’t be certain that these nose germs were exactly like him and Blob, but it would be easy to check.

  ‘They could be cannibals,’ said Blob gloomily. ‘That would explain why there aren’t any germs out here. They’ve eaten them all.’

  Aristotle sighed.

  Blob was still panting hard, the fluid wheezing around inside his body. Aristotle worried sometimes that Blob wasn’t very fit. It was hard to be fit when you spent all your time at meetings counting votes and never giving other germs piggybacks or going on trampolines. Unfit germs had less energy, and Aristotle often noticed how in Blob’s case having less energy meant being gloomy more often.

  ‘I’m going closer,’ said Aristotle. ‘Just for a peek.’

  ‘No,’ said Blob. ‘I won’t let you. They might have anti-peeking laws.’

  Aristotle gave Blob a stern look. Sometimes you had to be strict with your brother, even though he was a twin and had the same voting rights as you. Particularl
y when it was your fault he’d been banished and it was your responsibility to find him a new home with friendly nose germs and a nice school.

  ‘Stay here,’ said Aristotle. ‘Keep out of sight. Then, if anything happens to me, you can go and get help.’

  Blob went panic-shaped.

  ‘Not that it will,’ said Aristotle quickly.

  Blob stayed panic-shaped.

  Aristotle rolled out from behind the skin hair log. He lay flat on his front and slithered over the rubble of toast crumbs and insect dandruff towards the entrance to the new nostril.

  Behind him, faintly, he could hear Blob counting.

  For a brief moment Aristotle thought Blob had spotted some nostril defence force guards coming out of the new nostril and was counting them.

  Aristotle squinted at the nostril entrance.

  He couldn’t see any guards.

  Aristotle smiled. Blob must just be counting his insides. Whenever Blob got really anxious he tried to calm himself down by counting his own internal organs and other bits and pieces.

  Silly old Blob, thought Aristotle fondly. Always worrying. I should have explained to him that we don’t have to worry about the nostril defence force here because we’re nose germs just like them and we come in peace.

  Aristotle was still smiling fondly when he reached the nostril rim.

  He stopped and peered around.

  Look at that, he said to himself. This nostril’s defence force border post is deserted. The germs in this nostril are certainly more relaxed and trusting than the ones at home.

  Aristotle crept down the slope towards the nostril floor, where a game of soccer was underway. He’d heard about soccer from Ralph and the others. Round ball, eleven thousand a side.

  It looked fun.

  Then Aristotle saw something that made him go completely grin-shaped. Birthday decorations, festooned around the entrance-ramps to several nose hairs.

  Yes, he thought happily. This is my kind of nostril.

  Suddenly a voice barked out behind him.

  ‘Stay where you are, sunshine. Don’t move or we’ll have to get rough.’

  Aristotle turned round. Advancing towards him, spears at the ready, were several nostril defence force soldiers, just like the ones at home except fiercer and with birthday decorations tucked under some of their arms.

  Aristotle started to wonder if this was the best time to be introducing himself and discussing living arrangements and school timetables.

  ‘You’re nicked, sunshine,’ said one of the soldiers, grabbing Aristotle with a powerful grip.

  The other soldiers grabbed Aristotle with equally strong arms. And, in a couple of cases, legs.

  ‘You’re coming with us,’ said the first soldier.

  They started dragging Aristotle into the new nostril.

  Aristotle managed one quick peek over the rim.

  Blob was staring out from behind the log, even more panic-shaped than before.

  Then Aristotle couldn’t see him any more.

  ‘Be careful,’ gasped Aristotle.

  He was saying it to Blob, begging him to stay safe and out of sight. But he soon said it again, to the soldiers. They were being very rough, gripping his arms very tightly as they dragged him across the nostril floor, not caring one bit that most of his arms felt like they were coming out of their sockets.

  Suddenly Aristotle wished he’d listened to Blob.

  It looked as if Blob was right. These nose germs were thugs and could easily be murderers.

  Cannibals, even.

  I’m about to find out, thought Aristotle miserably.

  ‘Help,’ he said.

  This time he was saying it just to Blob.

  6

  ‘Another nostril?’

  The clerk of the court doubled over with mirth and thumped a pile of ancient legal documents. Bits of skin-flake parchment flew everywhere.

  ‘Another nostril,’ he chortled. ‘That’s a good one.’

  Blob sighed.

  When he’d calculated there was an eighty-five percent chance the authorities at home would think he was a hero, he’d completely forgotten this meant there was also a fifteen percent chance they’d laugh themselves silly.

  The clerk of the court went nostril-shaped and danced around his office.

  ‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘I’m another nostril.’

  Blob felt himself going indignant-shaped.

  He could hardly believe this was the same clerk of the court who’d been so officious helping get him and Aristotle banished.

  The nostril defence force guards who had brought Blob in from the nostril rim were all laughing as well now.

  ‘Listen,’ said Blob. ‘It’s true. There is definitely a second nostril. I counted it myself.’

  The clerk of the court stopped dancing and stepped very close to Blob. Suddenly he was more serious than Blob had ever seen him in all of Aristotle’s many trials.

  ‘Did your brother put you up to this?’ he said.

  ‘Put me up to what?’ said Blob.

  ‘Coming here,’ said the clerk. ‘With this ridiculous claim about another nostril next door. Is this his idea of revenge, sending you here with a story to make us all look stupid?’

  Blob didn’t understand. It didn’t add up.

  ‘Why would a second nostril make you look stupid?’ he asked.

  ‘Because,’ said the supreme commander of the nostril defence force, striding into the room and standing close to Blob too, ‘we’re in charge of nostril security. If there’s another nostril, we have a duty to notice it. But there isn’t, so we haven’t.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the clerk of the court.

  ‘How could you have noticed it?’ said Blob. ‘You never leave this nostril. None of us do. Ever. Unless we’re banished.’

  The supreme commander and the clerk of the court looked at each other and thought about this.

  ‘He’s got a point,’ said the clerk.

  ‘Blimey,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘So there could be another nostril?’

  All the germs in the office went pale, except for Blob, who was already pale.

  Blob was feeling very stressed. He had so many anxious questions buzzing round inside him that he’d lost count of them. Which made him feel twice as anxious.

  One, he said to himself, do they think I’m a hero or not? Two, will they let me stay? Three, what about the maths homework I’ve missed? Four, will Aristotle be OK? Those soldiers who grabbed him in the other nostril didn’t look very friendly. And they were very rough. Poop, was that five or six?

  Blob realised the clerk of the court was speaking to him again.

  ‘Young germ,’ the clerk was saying. ‘If I take you to tell your story to the chief judge, do you know what will happen to you if your story isn’t true?’ Blob felt a surge of nervousness and relief all at once.

  That was definitely question number seven.

  ‘I’ll be banished again?’ he said.

  ‘Worse,’ said the clerk of the court. ‘Much worse.’

  ‘Another nostril?’

  The chief judge looked as though his outside layer was going to pop.

  I hope not, thought Blob.

  He started to calculate how long it would take to clean up the chief judge’s protoplasm if it was splattered all around the judge’s chamber, and how many germs would be required, and how many . . .

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ roared the judge.

  Blob went apology-shaped.

  ‘Sorry,’ he squeaked.

  ‘I was asking you,’ said the judge, ‘whether this is your brother’s idea of revenge, sending you here with this story to make us all look stupid.’

  ‘We don’t think it is,’ said the clerk of the court. ‘We think the other nostril might be real.’

  ‘But it’s not our fault,’ said the supreme commander of the nostril defence force.

  ‘We’ve never even been out of the nostril,’ said one of the soldiers.

&n
bsp; ‘I’m asking him,’ roared the judge.

  Blob had started calculating how long a rescue party would take to get to the other nostril and rescue Aristotle before the murderous thugs there started doing horrible things. Not that Aristotle deserved it. Irresponsible, that’s what he was. And sloppy. And careless. And silly.

  Blob began running through the other eighty-three personal faults of Aristotle’s that he’d thought of while he was waiting to see the chief judge.

  Then he realised the chief judge was yelling at him again.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Blob.

  ‘Young germ,’ growled the chief judge. ‘If I take you to tell your story to the prime minister, do you know what will happen to you if your story isn’t true?’

  Blob thought for a moment.

  ‘You’ll take me back to the other nostril?’ he said. ‘And let the germs there eat me?’

  The chief judge stared at Blob.

  Poor thing, thought Blob. He doesn’t look well.

  ‘Another nostril?’

  The prime minister stared at Blob, and Blob could see the prime minister’s think molecules actually whizzing around inside him.

  He decided not to count them. He’d never been this close to a prime minister before and he wasn’t sure if counting a prime minister’s inside bits was legal.

  ‘This other nostril,’ said the prime minister. ‘Is it bigger than ours?’

  Blob gulped. He’d never been asked a question by a prime minister before either. Apart from the little one a bit earlier, but that didn’t really count.

  It was a big responsibility.

  ‘Um . . . I think it’s about the same size,’ said Blob. ‘Give or take two percent. Or three percent. Two point five. Two point seven five. I could go and measure it.’

  The other government ministers in the government meeting room looked at each other.

  ‘I’m sure it’s not as beautiful,’ said the minister for the environment.

  ‘Or as well-defended,’ said the minister for defence.

  ‘Or as well-organised,’ said the minister for government committees.

  ‘How do you know?’ said the prime minister, looking hard at the other ministers. ‘Have you all seen it too?’

  The ministers all looked at the floor and admitted they hadn’t.