to be in. On the way he thought about coming home, and coming home he thought about going. Wherever he was he wished he was somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he’d bothered. Nothing really interested him – least of all the things that should have.
“It seems to me that almost everything is a waste of time,” he remarked one day as he walked dejectedly home from school. “I can’t see the point in learning to solve useless problems, or subtracting turnips from turnips, or knowing where Ethiopia is, or how to spell February.” And, since no one bothered to explain otherwise, he regarded the process of seeking knowledge as the greatest waste of time of all.
As he and his unhappy thoughts hurried along (for while he was never anxious to be where he was going, he liked to get there as quickly as possible), it seemed a great wonder that the world, which was so large, could sometimes feel so small and empty.
“And worst of all,” he continued sadly, “there’s nothing for me to do, nowhere I’d care to go, and hardly anything worth seeing.” He punctuated this last thought with such a deep sigh that a house sparrow singing nearby stopped and rushed home to be with his family.
Without stopping or looking up, he rushed past the buildings and busy shops that lined the street and in a few minutes reached home – dashed through the hall – hopped into the lift – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and off again – opened the door of the flat – rushed into his room – flopped dejectedly into a chair, and grumbled softly, “Another long afternoon.”
He look glumly at all the things he owned. The books that were too much trouble to read, the tools he’d never learned to use, the small electric car he hadn’t driven for months – or was it years? – and the hundreds of other games and toys, and bats and balls, and bits and pieces scattered around him. And then, on the far side of the room, he noticed something he had certainly never seen before.
Who could possibly have left such an enormous package and such a strange one? For, while it was not quite square, it was definitely not round, and it was larger than almost any other big package he’d ever seen.
Attached to one side was a bright-blue envelope which said simply: FOR MILO, WHO HAS PLENTY OF TIME.
Of course, if you’ve ever received a surprise package, you can imagine how puzzled and excited Milo was; and if you’ve never received one, pay close attention, because some day you might.
“I don’t think it’s my birthday,” he puzzled, “and Christmas must be months away, and I haven’t been outstandingly good, or even good at all.” (He had to admit this, even to himself.) “Probably I won’t like it anyway, but since I don’t know where it came from, I can’t possibly send it back.” He thought about it for quite a while and then opened the envelope, but just to be polite. ONE GENUINE TURNPIKE TOLLBOOTH it stated – and then it went on:
EASILY ASSEMBLED AT HOME, AND FOR USE BY THOSE WHO HAVE NEVER TRAVELLED IN LANDS BEYOND.
“Beyond what?” thought Milo as he continued to read.
THIS PACKAGE CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING ITEMS:
One (1) genuine turnpike tollbooth to be erected according to directions.
Three (3) precautionary signs to be used in a precautionary fashion.
Assorted coins for use in paying tolls.
One (1) map, up-to-date and carefully drawn by master cartographers, depicting natural and man-made features.
One (1) book of rules and traffic regulations, which may not be bent or broken.
And in smaller letters at the bottom it concluded:
RESULTS ARE NOT GUARANTEED, BUT IF NOT PERFECTLY SATISFIED, YOUR WASTED TIME WILL BE REFUNDED.
Following the instructions, which told him to cut here, lift there, and fold back all around, he soon had the tollbooth unpacked and set up on its stand. He fitted the windows in place and attached the roof, which extended out on both sides, and fastened on the coin box. It was very much like the tollbooths he’d seen on family trips, except of course it was much smaller and purple.
“What a strange present,” he thought to himself. “The least they could have done was to send a motorway with it, for it’s terribly impractical without one.” But since, at the time, there was nothing else he wanted to play with, he set up the three signs:
SLOW DOWN APPROACHING TOLLBOOTH
PLEASE HAVE YOUR FARE READY
HAVE YOUR DESTINATION IN MIND
and slowly unfolded the map.
As the announcement stated, it was a beautiful map, in many colours, showing principal roads, rivers, and seas, towns and cities, mountains and valleys, intersections and detours, and sites of outstanding interest both beautiful and historic.
The only trouble was that Milo had never heard of any of the places it indicated, and even the names sounded most peculiar.
“I don’t think there really is such a country,” he concluded after studying it carefully. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway.” And he closed his eyes and poked a finger at the map.
“Dictionopolis,” read Milo slowly when he saw what his finger had chosen. “Oh, well, I might as well go there as anywhere.”
He walked across the room and dusted the car carefully. Then, taking the map and rule book with him, he hopped in and, for lack of anything better to do, drove slowly up to the tollbooth. As he deposited his coin and rolled past, he remarked wistfully, “I do hope this is an interesting game, otherwise the afternoon will be so terribly dull.”
Chapter Two BEYOND EXPECTATIONS
SUDDENLY HE FOUND himself speeding along an unfamiliar country road, and as he looked back over his shoulder, neither the tollbooth nor his room nor even the house was anywhere in sight. What had started as make-believe was now very real.
“What a strange thing to happen,” he thought (just as you must be thinking). “This game is much more serious than I thought, for here I am riding on a road I’ve never seen, going to a place I’ve never heard of, and all because of a tollbooth which came from nowhere. I’m certainly glad that it’s a nice day for a trip,” he concluded hopefully, for, at the moment, this was the one thing he definitely knew.
The sun sparkled, the sky was clear, and all the colours he saw seemed to be richer and brighter than he could ever remember. The flowers shone as if they’d been cleaned and polished, and the tall trees that lined the road shimmered in silvery green.
WELCOME TO EXPECTATIONS said a carefully lettered sign on a small house at the side of the road.
INFORMATION, PREDICTIONS, AND ADVICE CHEERFULLY OFFERED. PARK HERE AND BLOW HORN.
With the first sound from the horn a little man in a long coat came rushing from the house, speaking as fast as he could, and repeating everything several times:
“My, my, my, my, my welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome to the land of Expectations, to the