Best Australian Yarn: Bubbles of Happiness by Scott Anderson

Once upon a time there was a little boy named Timothy who lived with his Mum and Dad in a hub of urban high culture called Rockhampton. One day he was walking along the banks of the Fitzroy River. It was hot as buggery and Timothy was sweating like a dog shitting razor blades so when he saw a large gum tree he sat down to rest in the shade. After a while, Timothy decided to shoot through. No sooner had he taken a step when he heard a voice from behind him; ‘Please human, can you help me?’ ‘Who said that?’ said Timothy turning around to face the river, but nobody was there. ‘I did’ said the voice and to his astonishment when Timothy looked down, sitting upon the bank of the river was the cutest little turtle with the biggest brownest eyes. ‘You can talk?’ said Timothy. ‘Talk? I can breathe through my bum underwater’ said the turtle. Timothy couldn’t help but laugh. ‘What’s so funny?’ asked the little turtle. ‘Breathe through your bum? You’ve gotta be taking the piss.’ ‘Oh sure’ said the turtle rolling his eyes ‘a talking turtle is no big deal but one that can breathe through its bum has gotta be taking the piss.’ ‘That’s a fair point.’ ‘Wanna be bum-buddies?’ asked the turtle. ‘What’s that?’ ‘When us turtles become bestest friends forever with someone we call them our bum-buddy.’ ‘Then I want to be your bum-buddy’ said Timothy ‘what’s your name?’ ‘They call me Brown-eyes, Brown-eyes plural ‘cause I’ve got two of them and they’re really brown.’ ‘You’re very mindful of syntax for a turtle’ Timothy said. ‘That’s what makes us different from other turtles’ replied Brown-eyes. ‘Not only can we breathe through our bum underwater but we consistently endeavour to respect parochial linguistic conventions. What do they call you?’ ‘They call me Timothy’ said Timothy ‘Timothy singular because when I was born my Mum and Dad said ‘let’s call him Timothy.’ ‘Well that’s weird but now that we’re bum-buddies I’m reluctant to judge you concerning a minor cultural difference. Look Timothy, I don’t want our dialogue to be too didactic at this early stage in the story but because you humans are always farming without considering its’ impact on our habitat the oxygen in our water is decreasing and us bum breathing turtles are dying out. We’re currently endangered but without help we could become extinct.’ ‘Oh no’ said Timothy. ‘We need a human to go back to the big smoke and tell all the other humans about us. Unless someone can raise bum breathing turtle awareness at some point in the third act me and all my bum buddies might disappear for good.’ ‘No worries buddy, I’ll do it’ said Timothy, and with that Brown-eyes leapt joyfully into the air and dived deep down into the river and blew bum-bubbles up to the surface so Timothy could see how happy he was. When Timothy got back to town it was starting to get dark. Before long you’d be able to stand at the top of Mt. Archer and watch the streetlights gradually spell the word ‘HELL’ as the sun went down. At sundown the first place he came upon was the Railway Hotel and sitting outside as usual was Mick. ‘G’day little mate’ Mick said ‘Whatcha been up to?’ ‘Well I was down at the river but then I got jack of it and just when I’m about to shoot through I meet this turtle named Brown-eyes and we became bum buddies and he can breathe through his bum underwater but because of farming there’s not enough oxygen in the water and him and all his bum buddies could become extinct so he asked me to come back to the big smoke and raise bum-breathing turtle awareness’ and with that Mick sprayed out a mouthful of beer through his nostrils. Eventually he composed himself and said ‘So let me get this straight, you reckon you’re bum-buddies with a talking turtle that can breathe through its’ arse and his name’s Brown-eye?’ When Timothy’s father got home from work his mother explained the whole extraordinary story to him. ‘Well no son of mine is gonna make a galah of himself,’ he said ‘we better get his head read to be on the safe side. A talking turtle is one thing but one that can breathe through its arse is just taking the piss.’ Timothy’s mother rang the family quack, an eastern european man named Dr Sloberdonabich and made an appointment for the very next day. The next day Timothy couldn’t understand why he had to see a doctor, he didn’t have a fever, his nose wasn’t runny, in fact he felt perfectly fine. When he went into the doctor’s office the doctor asked him about the turtle he met the day before, and so Timothy took a deep, deep breath and explained the whole story again. When he’d finished the doctor wasn’t laughing, and so Timothy added ‘The problem is, every time I try to raise bum breathing turtle awareness everyone just laughs’ but the doctor didn’t laugh at all. He simply excused himself politely and asked Timothy to wait in his office while he went out into the hall to speak to his Mum and Dad. As he spoke to Timothy’s parents they noticed he was bleeding from his mouth. It seems that while he was in his office not laughing at Timothy he’d bitten through his bottom lip. ‘Look I don’t think this is anything to worry about’ said the doctor ‘but I can understand your concern. A talking turtle is one thing but one whose respiratory system can function under water by way of its anus is obviously mad as a cut snake. But it’s normal for children to let their imagination run wild, and according animal’s human characteristics has been a staple of children’s entertainment since the snake in the Garden of Eden. Despite the blood dripping from his chin Timothy’s Mum and Dad were comforted by the Doctors medical opinion and drove Timothy home feeling relieved that he may not be nutty as a fruitcake after all. That night the doctor had a dinner party and after a few red wines he couldn’t resist telling everyone about the about the funniest patient he’d seen in donkey’s years. One of the guests was a journalist for the local newspaper who was always looking for a new story and so the next day he arrived at Timothy’s house to ask him all about the turtle he’d met. Timothy took a deep, deep breath and explained the whole story again. When he’d finished he expected the journalist to laugh but he didn’t, so Timothy added ‘The problem is, every time I try to raise bum breathing turtle awareness everybody just laughs.’ Instead of laughing the journalist just kept on asking more and more questions about Brown-eyes and all the other turtles. ‘This could be my big chance’ Timothy thought. ‘If he writes about bum breathing turtle awareness in the newspaper then Brown-eyes and all his bum buddies might have a chance of being saved.’ For the first time in days Timothy was excited, and the next morning he couldn’t wait to see the headlines of the Rockhampton Chronic on his Mum’s I-Phone. ‘Mum and Dad and everyone are going to be so proud’ he thought to himself ‘and all those pricks at the pub are going to be spitting chips for taking the piss out of me’ but just then something terrible happened. No sooner had Timothy logged on when he saw the awful headline in big black capital letters. ‘LOCAL GALAH CLAIMS TALKING TURTLE BREATHES THROUGH ITS’ BUM’ ‘Oh no’ said Timothy, he’d never been so embarrassed. He couldn’t even bring himself to read the terrible article so he scrolled straight down to the comments where a huge thread was growing by the second. All of the comments were bad and some of them featured phrases like ‘window-licker’ and ‘This is what happens when cousins marry.’ Poor Timothy had no idea what they meant he just knew they were bad, really bad. ‘Oh no’ he said again as tears welled up in his eyes ‘Mum and Dad are going to be so ashamed of me and all the blokes at the pub are just gonna hang shit on me again.’ Meanwhile, waking up that same morning in a local hotel was a visiting indigenous public figure and political activist named Mr Patterson. He called room service and ordered bacon, eggs and the local newspaper for him and his missus. ‘What the hell is this?’ he said when he saw the article about Timothy ‘That poor kid.’ ‘His poor parents’ said his wife. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Well the kid’s obviously a few sanga’s short of a picnic, I mean a talking turtle is one thing but one that can breathe through its’ bum is taking the piss.’ ‘Pigs arse’ said Mr Patterson ‘those turtles are real. I’ve known about them since I was a kid. There’s even a dream time story called Bubbles of Happiness about a turtle with a good grasp of syntax who commits too many linguistic transgressions within the one sentence and gets banished to the bottom of the Fitzroy river and only survives for three weeks by learning to breathe through his bum until he gets rescued by a tribal elder who stumbles upon him while inadvertently inventing snorkelling by unwisely attempting to play the didgeridoo underwater and to this day every time a first peoples goes by the Fitzroy river the turtles blow bum bubbles to the surface to show their appreciation.’ ‘That’s a beautiful story’ his missus said. ‘We’ve gotta help this poor kid, what he’s saying is true but everybody’s just laughing at him.’ ‘But how?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know yet’ and with that the stocky Mr Patterson started pacing around the room with his eyebrows lowered and his thumb and index finger clasping his chin. Mr Patterson’s gift for passionate public oratory along with his talent for translating his principals into political platforms meant that he was a very busy man but if he could think fast there might be something he could do to help Timothy, but what? He didn’t like to advertise it but Mr Patterson frequently read from Mine Kemph by Charlie Chaplin who invented Herbie the Love Bug and then started a big war. Privately he regarded Charlie as not only the greatest orator of the twentieth century but also possibly the greatest propagandist of all time. It seems that prior to his suicide by hypothermia on the eastern front Charlie had learned that people were more suggestible in large groups, and so large groups were gathered to hear him speak. He also understood that people were more suggestible at night, and so large groups were gathered to hear him speak at night. He also understood that people were more suggestible when they were fatigued, and so large groups were gathered at night and then made to wait a long time before he spoke to them. ‘I’ve got it’ Mr Patterson suddenly said. Later that night a large crowd of journalists gathered in the Rockhampton town hall, but this would be a press conference with a difference. As per Mr Patterson’s stipulations there were no tables or chairs. There was no food, beer, wine or even water. Everyone was forced to stand shoulder to shoulder in darkness before a spot-lit stage featuring an ancient indigenous depiction of a Fitzroy River Turtle. It was almost midnight before Mr Patterson stepped up to the podium, much to the relief of the audience who were tired, hungry, thirsty and right where Mr Patterson wanted them. ‘History’ he began in his characteristically passionate baritone ‘is full of examples of people who tried to warn us of an impending catastrophe. People who were laughed at, people who were ridiculed. ‘The Titanic’ he continued. ‘What if it sinks?’ Somebody asked. ‘It’s unsinkable’ replied an incredulous Prime Minister Asquith and everyone just laughed. Well thanks to James Cameron we all know how that turned out.’ ‘Collingwood’ he went on. ‘What if they make it to an AFL Grand Final but don’t turn up on the day? Somebody asked. ‘As if a team with the skill and determination to make it to an Aussie Rules Grand Final would fail to step up when it counted’ replied Collingwood’s indignant club President Syd Coventry, and everybody just laughed. Well thanks to the next thirty years we all know how that turned out.’ ‘And today, right here in Rockhampton, a little boy tried to warn us that we could lose a rare species completely unique to this ancient land that you and I are lucky enough to call our home and what happened? We all just laughed. Well it might be funny now but how funny will it be when we have to look our children or our grandchildren in the eyes and tell them that when someone tried to warn us all we did was laugh, and that now we’re leaving them a planet completely bereft of a species of turtle that can breathe through its’ arse and somehow they’re all just going to have to dig deep and try to find a way to get through their lives without them. How funny will it be then?’ At this point there were even tears in the eyes of several sociopathic journalists who had never once cried in their lives, even when they were born. Then someone in the audience started to slowly clap, and then someone else joined in unison, and then several other people joined in out of sync until the entire room erupted into a wall of thunderous applause and passionate cheering just like drunk and belligerent cricket fans slow clapping a British test bowler at the MCG. Out in the suburbs Timothy and his Mum and Dad sat gobsmacked in front of the family laptop, and in the front bar of the Railway Hotel Mick, Steve and all the fella’s whistled and cheered and felt like ‘such pricks’ for taking the piss. Timothy couldn’t wait to tell Brown-eyes the amazing news and so when Mr Patterson phoned and asked him if he could take him to where he met Brown-eyes he was so excited he couldn’t sleep. The next day Timothy took Mr Patterson to the spot where he met Brown-eyes and they waited and waited. Eventually they got jack of it and decided to shoot through. No sooner had they taken a step when they heard a mysterious sound coming from the river behind them. They turned around and the entire river was alive with bubbles. ‘Bubbles of happiness Timothy’ said Mr Patterson placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘Bubbles of happiness’ he repeated with a pensive sigh for some esoteric reason.

Best Australian Yarn: Bubbles of Happiness by Scott Anderson

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