by Duncan Ball
‘No, you didn’t,’ Gary said. ‘I could tell that she loved those jokes. It’s just that she hasn’t heard them before.’
‘What do you mean?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘The problem is that she has a rare condition called humouristicus cryitis. She cries at jokes. The funnier they are, the more she cries.’
‘That’s just plain weird,’ Selby thought.
‘It’s a rare condition,’ Gary explained, ‘but it’s not that strange. People often laugh so hard that they cry. The problem is that Wendy misses out on the laughing part and goes straight into the crying.’
‘But how can she possibly marry you, Gary?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘You are the funniest funnyman there is. You can’t stop telling jokes.’
‘I know. And she loves them but she can’t come to my shows, because when she cries it upsets everyone,’ Gary said. ‘By the way, are you coming to my gig tonight?’
‘Of course. We wouldn’t miss one of your shows for anything.’
‘Good, because it’ll be my last one. I’m quitting comedy after tonight.’
‘You can’t do that!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘That’s terrible!’
‘Terrible?’ Selby thought. ‘It’s a tragedy! It’s a disaster! What would life be like without Gary’s jokes? Sadder, that’s what.’
‘I’m so embarrassed,’ Wendy said when she came back from the bathroom. ‘I’m sure Gary told you about my condition. Please don’t take it personally. I loved your jokes.’
‘They’re really Gary’s jokes,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘He’s very funny,’ Wendy said, giving Gary a big hug. ‘I love him to bits. Would you mind if I stayed here tonight while you go to Gary’s show?’
‘Be our guest,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘You can keep Selby company.’
‘Oh, no,’ Selby thought. ‘I was going to sneak into Gary’s last show and now I can’t. I’m going to be stuck with Weeping Wendy!’
That evening, Selby and Wendy watched one comedy show after another on TV, and Wendy cried and cried and cried.
‘I know she’s loving it,’ Selby thought, ‘but I can’t stand all that crying! Now I know why Gary’s quitting. I wish I could do something about this laughing–crying thingo.’
In a flash, Selby was in the Trifles’ study and reading on the internet all about humouristicus cryitis.
‘This article by Professor Galina Gafaw is really interesting,’ he thought. ‘She says that it was once thought that people who had this condition had evil spirits in them, so they would be sent off to live in caves. Sometimes the people were tied up and tickled, but it just made them cry more. Professor Gafaw seems to be the expert. Maybe I’ll give her a ring.’
In another flash he’d found her telephone number and dialled it.
‘Professor, can I ask you something?’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m … ah … ah … I suffer from that laughing–crying thing.’
‘Humouristicus cryitis?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Stage One, Two or Three?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘What stage are you at?’
‘I’m not on stage at all. I’m at home.’
‘I see that you know nothing about the condition,’ the professor said. ‘Make an appointment so that I can see how you are.’
‘I can’t do that. I live a long way away. Can’t you just tell me on the phone how to get better?’
‘It’s not that simple. Let’s see now: two hats were talking. One said, “You stay here and I’ll go on a head.”’
‘What? Hats? Talking?’ Selby said. ‘Oh, I get it. It’s a joke. That’s good but can we talk about my laughing–crying thing?’
‘A couple of silkworms had a wrestling match. They ended up in a tie,’ the professor said.
‘A tie? Oh, yeah,’ Selby said, with a laugh. ‘That’s good.’
‘A cat gave birth to kittens in a park,’ the professor said. ‘She was arrested for littering.’
‘Littering? Oh, I get it: she had a litter of kittens! She was littering. Ha ha ha.’
‘The police arrested a baby for resisting a rest.’
‘I don’t get that one.’
‘He was resisting a rest. He didn’t want to have a rest — he was resisting it.’
‘Oh, now I get it!’ Selby said, with a big laugh. ‘That was a good one.’
‘You’re at Stage One,’ the woman said. ‘You’re not crying any more. You’re all better. Either that or you don’t have humouristicus cryitis at all and you’re wasting my time.’
‘But I am crying. That last joke made me cry. Is there a pill I can take to cure me?’
‘A pill? No, you’ll have to come and see me.’
‘But how will you cure me?’
‘I’ll talk to you. First, I’ll want to know about your childhood and everything you did as a kid. And of course I’ll want to know whether you were told jokes at school and were picked on for laughing — or crying. And then I’ll …’
‘This could take a long time,’ Selby said.
‘Not really. Five or ten years if we’re lucky. There’s no quick cure for humouristicus cryitis. If there were, I wouldn’t have a job.’
‘Okay, thanks for your time,’ Selby said. ‘And thanks for telling me those jokes. They were great. Gary Gaggs told me the same ones ages ago.’
‘Gary Gaggs? Did you say, Gary Gaggs? Not the Gary Gaggs?’
‘The one and only.’
‘You actually know him?’
‘He’s an old friend of mine.’
‘I love his jokes!’ the woman said. ‘I use them all the time with my patients to get them to cry. You wouldn’t happen to know the Elephant and Mouse Joke, would you? I know the joke but I’ve never heard the punchline.’
Selby had heard the punchline to the Elephant and Mouse Joke, the joke that was so funny that when Gary told it on the radio half of Bogusville landed in hospital. It was a joke that made Selby laugh so much that he almost had to leave home forever so as not to give away his secret.
‘I don’t want to do that again!’ Selby screamed in his brain. ‘I have to think about sad things, quick!’
Selby’s mind raced from one sad thing to another at lightning speed. He thought of everything sad that had ever happened to him. He thought about a train crash and a plane crash and a ship that sank. He thought about a story he’d heard about a kitten that drowned. And he thought of the saddest thing he could possibly imagine: Gary stopping telling jokes. By now he was crying. The thought of no more Gary Gaggs jokes made tears stream down his cheeks and soon he was blubbing like a baby.
‘I can’t tell you the punchline,’ Selby sobbed. ‘It’s just too funny. Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo.’
‘You’ve got it!’ the woman screamed. ‘You’ve got humouristicus cryitis but you have the rarest sort, the sort that comes and goes: humouristicus cryitis sometimesitis. I’ve heard about it but I’ve never met anyone who has it! Where do you live? I want to study you! I want to write a book about you!’
Selby had to think fast. Suddenly he had an idea.
‘What if I did the same thing for Wendy that I did for myself when I couldn’t stop laughing at the Elephant and Mouse Joke?!’ he thought.
‘I think I have a cure,’ he said.
‘A cure? You have a cure? Tell me! Please let me meet you! I won’t charge you anything! I’ll pay you! We’ll both be rich!’
‘Thank you, but no thanks,’ Selby said. ‘I’ve got to try my plan. Goodbye.’
‘Wait —!’
Click.
It was a frantic dog that secretly put in the soundtrack from Gary’s Gig Gags show in the CD player while Wendy was in the kitchen making a sandwich. He quickly programmed the CD player to play over and over again and then he turned it on.
‘Hello, ladies and germs,’ Gary’s voice boomed out, ‘I’m Gary Gaggs and I’m a comedian. I wasn’t always a comedian. I used to be a tailor. I
wasn’t good at it. My work was only sew sew. I guess it didn’t suit me. Or sew it seamed. Woo woo woo.’
‘Hey, that’s Gary!’ Wendy said. ‘I’ve never heard those jokes before. How did the CD player get turned on?’
‘But seriously, folks,’ Gary went on. ‘Once I worked as a waiter. One day I spilled a bowl of alphabet soup. It spelled DISASTER. Then I worked in an origami shop but it folded. After that I was a butcher. That’s right, folks, a butcher. But I backed into a meat-grinder and got a little behind in my work. Woo woo woo.’
‘A little behind in his work,’ Wendy said, crying all the while. ‘That’s a great one! Boo hoo hoo … I loved it!’
‘I used to sell expensive perfumes. They cost a thousand dollars a bottle. I had no common scents.’
‘No, common scents,’ Selby squealed in his brain. ‘I’d completely forgotten that one. Oh, oh, oh, the only thing that’s keeping me from laughing is Wendy’s crying.’
‘I used to train fleas for a circus,’ Gary continued, ‘but one day a dog came along and stole the show. Woo woo woo. I was thinking of being a hotel clerk but I had reservations. I also wanted to be a policeman but I thought it would be a cop out. Get it? A cop out? These are the jokes, folks. Then I made computers but I lost my drive. I raised chickens for a while. Yes, me, Gary Gaggs, I had a poultry farm. One day all the chickens escaped. I never did re-coup my losses. Woo woo woo.’
‘Re-coup his losses?’ Selby thought. ‘Oh, I get it. He couldn’t get them back in the chicken coop! Oh, that’s great!’
On and on Gary went, with Wendy crying so loudly that Selby could barely stand it. And when the CD stopped, it started all over again at the beginning.
‘Hey, I’ve heard enough,’ Wendy said out loud. ‘Oh, no, this is one of those silly CD players that you can’t turn off without the remote. Where is it?’
Wendy searched while Gary’s jokes went on and on.
‘I used to guess people’s weights at a circus but I could never get them right. Finally I saw the error of my weighs. Woo woo. But seriously, folks, I once pretended that I was an X-ray technician but everyone saw right through me. And I was an inventor. I invented a belt made out of cardboard. Seriously, I did. I wore one all the time but it was a waste of paper. A waist of paper? Cardboard belt? Are you with me, folks?’
Wendy kept searching for the remote control. By the time the Trifles came home with Gary, her crying had stopped.
‘Hey!’ Gary said as he came in the door. ‘You’re listening to my CD!’
‘Yes, it’s very funny. I just can’t find the remote to turn it off.’
‘Can’t find the remote?’ Dr Trifle said, watching Selby get up and stretch. ‘There it is! Selby was lying on it. He probably lay down on it and it started the CD.’
Selby struggled to hide a tiny smile.
‘Gary’s show tonight was wonderful,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘The audience loved it!’
‘Yes, my very last show,’ Gary said. ‘And now I’ll be looking for another job.’
‘Gary, I’ve got an idea,’ Wendy said. ‘You could work in a service station.’
‘A service station?’
‘Yes, you could give away dead batteries — free of charge.’
Gary and the Trifles looked at Wendy.
‘Free of charge?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Oh, I get it, free of charge! That’s funny.’
‘Or you could work in a circus and wear a mushroom suit,’ Wendy went on. ‘You’d be a fun guy. Or you could set off fireworks, only you might set yourself alight and make an ash of yourself.’
A smile slowly spread across Gary’s face.
‘I could be an electrician, because I’m a bright spark,’ he said.
Wendy laughed.
‘You’d certainly know watts watt,’ she said, laughing again.
‘Hey, I forgot that one,’ Gary said. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with the alphabet?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I do,’ Wendy said. ‘U and I should be together. Oh, Gary, I don’t think you’re that funny any more.’
‘You don’t?’
‘You’re very funny but I’m kind of used to your jokes. I think I can listen to them and just laugh without crying. I’m so used to them now. Don’t you see, Gary? I don’t want you to quit doing your show. I’ll even help you write the jokes.’
‘You could do that?’
‘I think I could. Your jokes are very … well … similar, you know.’
‘Oh, Wendy, I love you.’
‘And I love you too, Gary.’
Selby watched as they threw their arms around each other.
And if anyone had been watching Selby carefully, they’d have seen two little tears of joy trickle down his cheeks.
‘I love a happy ending,’ he thought. ‘Hey, I love it so much I’m almost crying!’
There was no warning. Selby looked out the window as the scenery flashed by. The train was going faster and faster. It tore through Bogusville railway station so fast that all Selby could make out was the VILLE at the end of the sign. The Trifles were standing in the lounge car with the other passengers sipping their drinks and eating bits of food that waiters brought on silver trays.
There was a slight bump, as if one of the train’s wheels had run over something. It was then that Selby knew something terrible was about to happen. Sure enough, after the bump there was the high-pitched squeal of metal against metal.
But no one seemed to notice.
No one except Selby.
‘Why can’t they hear it?’ he thought. ‘Why aren’t they worried? It shouldn’t be making that noise. Maybe I can hear it because I’m a dog and I have super-sensitive hearing but they aren’t so they can’t.’
The train lurched from side to side. Drinks were spilled. Smoked oysters and bits of toast were dropped but still no one seemed to notice.
‘Why is the driver going so fast?’ Selby wondered. ‘If we keep going like this, the train will go off the tracks! I’ve got to stop it, but how?’
A man fell down and then stood up again, laughing. He grabbed a pole for support. Selby ran to the front of the carriage and tried to open the door.
‘It’s locked!’ he thought. ‘How will I get to the engine?! Hey, there’s a trap-door in the ceiling, so I could climb up on the roof. But it’s too high for me to reach! I’ve got to warn everyone! If I do, I’ll give away my secret; but if I don’t, we’ll all be killed!’
Selby cleared his throat.
‘Excuse me,’ he said.
Everyone kept on talking.
‘EXCUSE ME!’ Selby screamed.
Now all the passengers looked down at Selby in shock.
‘Did you say something, Selby?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Yes, I did. I know how to talk. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I’m telling you now. Listen, everybody: there is something wrong with the train. Don’t you hear that noise?’
‘What noise?’ Mrs Trifle asked, still stunned by Selby’s talking. ‘You can talk!’
‘I’ll explain later,’ Selby said. ‘Can’t you see that the train is bouncing all over the place?’
‘Well it is — a bit,’ a man said, grabbing a seat as the train lurched again. ‘But that’s normal. What isn’t normal is a dog that talks.’
‘Never mind about that!’ Selby shouted. ‘We’ve got to warn the engine driver! The carriage door is locked. Somebody lift me up to that trap-door!’
Dr and Mrs Trifle lifted Selby up, and he climbed through the hole. He crept along the top of the train, clinging on for dear life, till he got to the engine. He jumped down into the compartment.
‘The train driver is unconscious!’ he said. ‘Hey! Wake up, driver! Stop the train!’
The driver lay motionless as Selby reached for the brake lever. But before he could pull it back there was a huge crash and the train fell on its side, skidding down a grassy slope towards a river. With a huge effort, Selby hurled himself out of the driver’s compartment and leapt into th
e air as the train plunged down into the river. A chorus of screaming passengers turned to gurgles as the train sank from sight.
Selby waited, praying that the Trifles would come to the surface. But they didn’t. No one did. The long dark snake that was the river had opened its mouth and swallowed its human victims. The only sign of the train was the deep gouge it had made as it slid down to the river.
‘They’re drowning,’ Selby whimpered. ‘The dearest, most wonderful people in the whole world are gone. How will I live without them? I have to rescue them! But I can’t swim! I’m the only dog in Australia, and perhaps the world, who can talk but can’t swim! I can’t let this happen!’
Selby plunged into the icy water. He sank down, down into the dark as silvery streams of bubbles floated up past him.
‘Selby?’
The voice was soft and soothing.
‘Selby? Are you all right?’
He could feel Mrs Trifle’s hand shaking him gently and then patting him.
‘What’s wrong with Selby?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘His legs were twitching. He must have been having a bad dream. He could have been dreaming that he was running away from something, although his legs looked more like they were swimming.’
‘But Selby can’t swim a stroke,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘Maybe he can in his dreams. I sometimes dream that I’m flying, and I certainly can’t fly.’
Selby kept his eyes closed so that Mrs Trifle would keep on patting him. It had been a terrible nightmare, the kind that doesn’t go away when you wake up.
‘Thank goodness it was only a dream. Dreams are weird,’ he thought. ‘We go off into a completely different world. What do they mean?’
And for days after that, the nightmare came back.
Selby remembered a conversation the Trifles were having ages ago.
‘Do you believe in fate?’ Mrs Trifle had asked.
‘I hope you’re not talking about superstition again,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘No, fate. I mean, do you believe that whatever is going to happen will happen no matter what we do?’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘I mean everything that will ever happen has already been decided. It might even be written down somewhere.’
