martinsmithstories

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‘Two young, virile white lions, one named Rightus and the other Leftus, approached a bank rimming a bend in the River Nile. Twin brothers and heirs to their father’s throne, they were a tad fratchy, not only because they’d wasted their morning, bogged down in administrative matters of the Crown, but also because it was a bank holiday and not a single beast of the savannah scurried about the shoreline, ready to sacrifice themselves for the lions’ lunch.

‘“I say, Leftus, there’s never a quick takeaway when you need one,” Rightus said. “And I’m so hungry.”

‘“Me, too,” Leftus said.

‘With their stomachs growling and their mouths salivating, they scanned the bank and then the river.

‘A pair of ears surfaced mid-river, followed by a pair of bulging eyes and an enormous muzzle, and a hippopotamus, big and of a brown sheen, stared wide-eyed at the lions.

‘“Holy cow, what a whopper!” Rightus said. “She’ll do nicely. I’ve always wanted to try a hippo burger.”

‘“Me, too,” Leftus said.

‘Rightus raised his regal snout and called out to the huge hippopotamus, “Come, peasant, what is your name?”

‘The hippopotamus opened her ginormous mouth and said, “I am the Queen of the Nile.”

‘“No, you’re not,” Rightus said. “That was Nefertiti, queen of the 18th Dynasty of Ancient Egypt and the great royal wife of Pharaoh Akhenaten. You can’t fool us. We got O levels for Ancient History. What is your real name?”

‘“My real name?” the hippopotamus said.

‘“Yes,” Rightus said.

‘“Biggus,” the hippopotamus said.

‘The lion brothers released a snigger.

‘“Biggus, you say?” Rightus said. “And do you have a last name, peasant?”

‘“Yes,” the hippopotamus said.

‘“And what is that last name, peasant?” Rightus said.

‘“Chickus,” the hippopotamus said.

‘The lion brothers burst into laughter and rolled about the bank dust and wept regal tears.

‘Rightus composed himself and said, “Well, Biggus Chickus, step forward from the depths of the great river and present yourself before the royal blood of the savannah and sacrifice yourself for a kings’-to-be feast. Hurry now. The quicker you come here, the quicker it will be over.”

‘“No!” the hippopotamus said.

‘“No?” Rightus said. “Why not? Come, know thy place! Desist!”

‘“Never!” the hippopotamus said.

‘“We’re not going to come in and get you,” Rightus said. “I’ll have you know that we’ve just had our coats tongue-cleaned by winsome handlionesses and our manes blow-dried by a north-easterly blowing across the savannah. You’ll soon tire. You can’t keep your little legs pumping forever. You’ll end up either lining the riverbed or our stomachs. Take your pick. I assure you there’s nothing worse than death by drowning.”

‘“In that case,” the hippopotamus said, “I challenge you both to a truel!”

‘“A truel?” Rightus said.

‘“Yes. I challenge you to a game of Blink,” the hippopotamus said.

‘“Blink, you say?” Rightus said. “How do you play that?”

‘“Simple,” the hippopotamus said. “We, two kings-to-be and a self-appointed queen, form a right-angled triangle and stare at each other, and whoever blinks first is the loser. If I lose, I will gladly step from these waters and let you devour me. If one of you loses, you let me be and go on your way.”

‘“Well, if that’s what it takes,” Rightus said, “then Blink it is. I accept your challenge.”

‘“Me, too,” Leftus said.

‘A flamingo approached with broad flapping wings and landed and stood on one leg in the shallows. Her name was Elornus, first-born daughter of Thagurus, the greatest of all adjudicators on the savannah. She raised her long, pink neck and said, “Lady, Gentlemen, take your positions.”

‘“Psst! Leftus!” Rightus whispered. “You take her right eye, and I’ll take her left eye. This should be over in a jiffy. I can’t wait to sink my fangs into her chubby rump.”

‘“Me, too,” Leftus said.

‘As the lions parted and took their places on the shoreline of the River Nile, Biggus Chickus lowered her huge head until only her eyes, ears and nostrils remained above the surface of the river.

‘“At the count of three,” Elornus said. “One. Two. Three.”

‘She dropped her leg and the game of Blink began. The lions’ eyes glowered. The hippopotamus’s eyes glowered. The lions’ eyes bulged. The hippopotamus’s eyes bulged. The lions’ eyes watered. And the hippopotamus’s eyes watered.

‘Word soon spread across the savannah of the great stare-off, and creatures great and small gathered at the bend in the river and watched in awe.

‘Some cheered for the young lions, hoping their obsequiousness would spare them becoming the future kings’ next meal, whereas others cheered for the hippopotamus, the under(water)horse, hoping that for once the obnoxious princes of the savannah would get their comeuppance.

‘All afternoon, the three raged their blinking battle as the sun dropped in the west. Still, the lions’ eyes glowered. Still, the hippopotamus’s eyes glowered. Still, the lions’ eyes bulged. Still, the hippopotamus’s eyes bulged. Still, the lions’ eyes watered. And still, the hippopotamus’s eyes watered.

‘Then, as the sun kissed the horizon, Rightus roared and said, “I cannot hold on much longer.”

‘“Me, too,” Leftus said.

‘“Me, three,” Biggus Chickus said.

‘And Rightus roared and said, “I’m going, going, going …”

‘And Leftus said, “Me, too, too, too …”

‘And Biggus Chickus said, “Me, three, three, three …”

‘The eyes of the three glowered. The eyes of the three bulged. The eyes of the three watered. And the eyes of the three … blinked! All at the same time.

‘The lion brothers stormed off into the twilight, disgusted with themselves for having forfeited their lunch (and dinner) by playing such a silly game, and Biggus Chickus submerged herself beneath the river surface and released a sighed bubble of relief at having survived.

‘Elornus turned towards the crowd of animals gathered on the embankment and said, “I declare the challenge a draw. Fools! No one was ever going to win. Like Pa Thagurus always used to say, when playing Blink, the stare of the hippopotamus will always be equal to the sum of the stares of the lions opposite.”’

Raylene took a deep swallow and snuck a diffident glance up at the cackle and said, ‘So, guys, what did you think of my attempt at humour?’

The hyenas looked amongst themselves and then back at Raylene, and their eyes bulged and their mouths opened and their fangs bared and they … laughed! Long and loud.

‘He-He-He-HA! Not bad. Say, you’re a funny gal,’ the leader of the cackle said as tears streamed from his eyes. ‘He-He-He-HA! Any more like that? He-He-He-HA! No, don’t tell us now. I want the whole clan to hear them. He-He-He-HA! We can’t make it tonight. It’s Friday night. Family scavenger hunt night. He-He-He-HA! How about tomorrow? Are you busy? He-He-He-HA!’

‘Tomorrow night? Saturday night?’ Raylene said.

‘He-He-He-HA! Yeah, at dusk. He-He-He-HA!’ the leader said.

‘I’ll have to check my calendar,’ Raylene said.

She repeated her joke to the cackle of hyenas the next night, along with a dozen more jokes she’d been working on, and the hyenas laughed and laughed. Word spread throughout the great savannah, and Raylene performed her comedy routine as Hippity Hip-Hip-HooRay, every Saturday night, live at the bend in the River Nile. All manner of God’s creatures lined up near the bend in the river on Friday evenings and spent a restless night and next day jostling for front-row positions on the shoreline and waited for the humorous hippopotamus to surface at dusk and dazzle them with her wit.

And dazzle them Raylene most certainly did. Whether telling a knock-knock joke or a three-hippos-walked-into-a-waterhole joke or a did-you-hear-the-one-about-the joke or a what-do-you-get-when-you-cross-a-what’s-its-name-with-a-you-know-what joke, Raylene delivered her comedy routine with panache and left her audience rolling on the bank and with tears streaming down their cheeks.

And for the first time in her life, Raylene had friends. Real friends. Indeed, some of those friends even came with benefits. She was the most popular gal on the savannah. Requests came for her to perform more often or at other bends in the River Nile, but she declined. ‘One show a week, Saturday night live,’ she told them. ‘That’s all.’ She figured that way her show would remain fresh, and she would have all week, whilst submerged in the river waters during the day or grazing on short grass on the savannah plains during the night, to think up new material.

As Raylene’s success and popularity grew, so did her self-confidence. She stopped worrying about how others perceived her. Even her stammer disappeared, and all the animals called her Ray, the Queen of the Nile.

Late one Saturday afternoon, as the crowd gathered at the shoreline and waited with restless impatience for Hippity Hip-Hip-HooRay’s comedy show to begin, an oxpecker flew down and rested at the end of Raylene’s muzzle and said, ‘Big show, tonight, Ray. It’s a full bank. A sell-out.’

‘No different to my previous shows,’ Raylene said.

‘No,’ the oxpecker said. ‘Trust me. This is a big show.’

‘What do you mean?’ Raylene said, now cross-eyed.

‘I mean, you’ve someone special in the audience,’ the oxpecker said.

‘Who?’ Raylene said.

‘A talent scout,’ the oxpecker said.

‘A talent scout?’ Raylene said. ‘Who?’

‘Didn’t give their name,’ the oxpecker said, ‘but they’re from Saturday Night Live. They’re here to check you out.’

A ripple of anxiety ran along Raylene’s submerged spine, and her mouth threatened to unhinge 180 degrees and beyond.

‘A-A-A talent scout from Saturday Night Live?’ she said. ‘I-I-I can’t do this. N-N-Not tonight. I-I-I’ll die in front of an unforgiving audience.’ And her stumpy tail swished frantically, and she befouled the pristine waters of the River Nile.

‘Hey, you’ll be fine,’ the oxpecker said, giving Raylene a reassuring pat with his wing. ‘Just find a friendly face in the audience, focus on them and do your stuff. And whatever you do, don’t look at the talent scout. Good luck, and break a leg!’

As the sun kissed the horizon, the oxpecker fluttered before the huge audience and worked them into a frenzy as they clapped and stomped and roared in anticipation, and the sun’s last rays spotlighted the river surface, below which hid a frightened hippopotamus.

I can’t do this, Raylene thought.

As the sun sank below the horizon and the audience continued to clap, stomp and roar, a still frightened Raylene remained hidden beneath the river surface.

I just can’t do this, she thought.

Still, the oxpecker worked the riverbank audience into a frenzy. Still, the audience clapped, stomped and roared, all while chanting, ‘Hippity Hip-Hip-HooRay! Hippity Hip-Hip-HooRay! We want Hippity Hip-Hip-HooRay!’

Raylene pondered her newfound popularity and her friends and how far she had come from being a lonely hippopotamus living at a bend in the River Nile, and she thought, bugger this, and she shook her head and steeled her stance and calmed her beating heart. I can do this! Fame, fortune and unlimited room service, here I come.

The light of a full moon fell upon the river, spotlighting Raylene as her ears rose above the surface and heard the audience clap and stomp and roar and chant. Her eyes rose above the surface, and she fixed her gaze upon the oxpecker, who now sat on the tip of a rhinoceros’s horn. And Raylene’s muzzle rose above the surface, and she grinned a beaming smile and said, ‘Politics! Politics! Politics!’

‘What about politics?’ the audience shouted.

Raylene kept her gaze upon the oxpecker and said, ‘I’ll tell you what! What do you get when you cross Bill Clinton with a hippopotamus?’

‘We don’t know,’ the audience shouted. ‘What do you get when you cross Bill Clinton with a hippopotamus?’

As Raylene went to deliver the punchline, a flash of silver in the audience caught her eye, and she redirected her gaze and saw a silver pen scribbling away on a notepad held by a man with a deadpan countenance. The talent scout! From Saturday Night Live! Panic swept through Raylene’s rotund body. Her ears stood upright. Her mouth unhinged 60 degrees. And all she could say was “AH”.

‘A what?’ the audience shouted in delight.

Raylene’s eyes bulged in fear, and her mouth unhinged to 120 degrees as she released a longer “AHHHHH”.

‘Aaaa what?’ the audience shouted with glee. They leant forward and hushed, for they knew the punchline was coming.

And Raylene’s stumpy tail swished so frantically that it threatened to fall off, and her mouth unhinged a full 180 degrees. And stuck! And she released an almighty “AHHHHHHHHHH”.

The audience, baffled by Hippity Hip-Hip-HooRay’s nuanced joke, looked at each other in bewilderment. Some scratched their heads or butts, others booed and yelled insults, and one demanded a refund, despite there being no admission price.

Still Raylene’s fully unhinged mouth stuck and released an ongoing “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”. And she watched as the talent scout shook his head and rose and left, followed by the other animals of the savannah.

Soon not a single animal, let alone a friend or a friend with benefits, remained on the bank of the bend in the great river. And still Raylene stood with her enormous mouth unhinged at 180 degrees and stuck and released her unceasing “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”.

For seven nights and seven days, she continued until on the next Saturday night, live at the bend in the River Nile, Raylene closed her eyes, sank to her knees and ceased AHing. And the humorous hippopotamus was no more.

With mourning reverence the animals of the savannah gathered on the banks of the mighty River Nile for Hippity Hip-Hip-HooRay’s final show, only to roar and cheer with ghoulish delight as they watched white-headed vultures, black-backed jackals, spotted hyenas and marabou storks tear her foetid flesh from her bones.

And to this very day the sun-bleached skeleton of the humorous hippopotamus lies in the shallows of a bend in the River Nile, reminding all creatures great and small, be they of the savannah or beyond, of the moral of this cautionary tale:

A comedian is only as good as their last joke.

***

‘So, kids, what’d you think of the story? Artie?’

Zzzzzzzz.

‘Millie? Bertie?’

Zzzzzzzz. Zzzzzzzz.

‘Ernie?’

‘Good one, Granddad. Though I think the Profanity Pot’s full.’

‘Thanks, Ern. Us storytellers tend to have pretty fragile egos, so every little bit of praise helps.’

‘Granddad?’

‘Yes, Ern?’

‘Next time, can you recite an epic poem to us? With a wise-cracking, anti-heroic robot as the protagonist? One who loves flossing, flummery and fluid-dressing?’

‘Sure. But now it’s time for sleep.’

‘Goodnight, Granddad.’

‘Goodnight, Ern.’

‘Granddad?’

‘Yes, Ern?’

‘I love you, Granddad.’

‘I love you, too. Sleep tight and may your dreams be blessed with infinite jest.’

‘Gotta ease up on the Shakespeare, Granddad.’

‘Thanks for the tip, Ern. Goodnight. Goodnight to you all, you jesters of my blood, you merry lads and lass of my humoured heart.’

For Joshua, Amelia, Oliver and Adam