Mystery Bay Blues

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘What did you do when you came back from Grace’s?’ Warren asked Clover.

  ‘Helped mum round the house then read a book,’ Clover replied.

  ‘What are you reading?’ asked Les.

  ‘Fetish. By Tara Moss,’ answered Clover.

  Warren caught Norton’s eye. ‘We were only talking about that earlier.’

  ‘You were?’ said Clover.

  ‘Yeah. It didn’t get a bad write up in the paper.’

  ‘She’s a really good writer,’ declared Clover. ‘I’m quite enjoying it.’

  ‘Cool,’ replied Les. ‘If it’s all right, I’ll borrow it off you when you’ve finished.’

  They talked away and ripped into the delicious while Season FM pumped out the hits and memories from the flapper era. Before long everyone was starting to feel no pain.

  ‘So what’s doing with these mushrooms?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Yes. I think it’s about time I made the coffee,’ replied Clover.

  Clover put the kettle on then got the Tiger Stripes from the fridge, emptied them out onto a chopping board and started dicing them up while the water boiled. She tipped the mushrooms into a jug, added instant coffee, plus a little evaporated milk and honey, gave it a stir then poured out four mugs and handed them around. It looked like a cross between greasy dishwater that had run out of detergent and lumpy mushroom soup.

  ‘Well. Here we go.’ Clover raised her coffee and took a mouthful.

  Les took a mouthful of his and nearly gagged. ‘Ohh yuk!’ he said. ‘It definitely isn’t Moccona.’

  Warren screwed up his face. ‘Christ! It tastes like someone eating curried rat just shit in my mouth.’ He blinked and swallowed some bourbon.

  ‘You get used to it,’ said Grace, sipping away on hers.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll bet you do. Ohh bugger this,’ said Les, and drained his mug, washing away the taste with delicious.

  ‘I think that’s the best idea,’ said Warren, doing the same thing.

  The girls finished theirs and there was a collective silence.

  ‘So what happens now?’ said Les.

  ‘Give it time,’ said Clover. ‘Be cool.’

  ‘Yes. Be cool Les,’ said Grace.

  Les settled back, took a sip of his delicious, then turned to Warren. ‘Okay Woz, old mate,’ he said. ‘Now that everybody’s here. Do you know you’re walking in your sleep?’

  Warren screwed his face up at Les. ‘I’m what? Ohh piss off.’

  ‘I’m fair dinkum, Woz. Remember when I set that rat-trap last night? And I left it under the kitchen table?’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Warren.

  ‘I got up this morning and it was in the fridge.’

  ‘There was a rat-trap in the fridge?’ said Clover. ‘What? Still set?’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘I went to get some milk and it nearly took my bloody finger off.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t put the bloody thing in there,’ declared Warren.

  ‘But that’s not all,’ continued Les. ‘When I got up on Saturday morning, our shaving gear was scattered all over the bathroom floor. And someone had pissed all over the seat. No prizes for guessing who.’

  ‘Your shaving gear was all over the bathroom?’ said Clover.

  ‘Everywhere,’ said Les. ‘I cleaned it up and didn’t say anything. But before that, I had to force my way out of my room.’ Les turned to Warren. ‘Because someone had jammed a bloody old horseshoe under my door.’

  ‘You had a horseshoe jammed under your door?’ said Grace.

  ‘Yeah. I nearly had to break the door down to get out.’

  ‘And you reckon I did it?’ Warren looked at Les, quite put off.

  ‘Well, of course you did. That’s why you’ve been calling me Lucky Les all the time. I know your warped sense of humour, Woz.’

  Warren looked directly at Norton. ‘Les. Apart from the rat and the bear waking me, I’ve been sleeping like a log. I haven’t moved. And where would I find a bloody horseshoe? And if did, I can think of a better place to stick it than under your door.’

  ‘Woz. Get fair dinkum. You got it from under the house. Mate. I know it was only a joke,’ smiled Les. ‘And that’s cool. But sleepwalking can be a worry.’

  Warren stared at Les. ‘I got a horseshoe from under the house? You moron. Remember last night in the kitchen? When it turned freezing cold?’

  ‘The kitchen got cold?’ said Clover.

  ‘Yeah. Like a bloody morgue. So Einstein here said, “There must be a draught coming from under the house”.’ Warren turned to Les. ‘And when I was walking to my room, I asked you, you goose — “What is under the house?” Because I haven’t bothered to look.’

  Les thought for a moment. ‘Shit! You did too.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Warren. ‘We’ve made contact with the lost tribe.’

  ‘Well if that’s the case’ said Les, ‘who …?’ Suddenly a strange, tingle ran up Norton’s spine. He sat back in his seat, a surprised look on his face. ‘Shit! What was that?’

  Grace caught Clover’s eye, then smiled serenely at Les. ‘Why don’t we leave it till tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Clover. ‘Why don’t we talk about it in the morning, boys?’

  Les blinked at the girls as if he was now looking at them through a shop window. ‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘Why don’t we.’

  Warren was staring at something on the table. ‘Yeah, good idea. Why don’t we.’

  Les looked around and the room had changed shape. There were no straight lines or sharp edges. Everything had been rounded off. The table, the fridge, the kitchen cabinets. It all looked as if it was moulded out of plasticine.

  ‘Are you all right, Les?’ asked Grace.

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Les, staring at his drink. The ice cubes had lights in them and it was glowing in his hand. ‘Yeah. I’m good,’ he said, slowly.

  ‘How are you Warren?’ asked Clover.

  ‘How am I?’ replied Warren, looking around. ‘I’m not sure. Did Tinkerbell just fly through here sprinkling stardust everywhere?’ He looked at his hand. ‘Hey. It’s all over my fingers.’ Warren blew on his fingers and started to laugh. ‘Shit! Look at that,’ he said.

  ‘Why don’t we take our drinks out onto the verandah, and have a look at the night,’ suggested Grace.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ said Les. ‘Do you know the way from here?’

  Grace smiled across at Clover, then back to Les. ‘Follow us Les. It’s not far.’

  ‘Hey. Don’t leave without me,’ said Warren.

  Les got up and followed the others down the hallway to find it had turned into a green, glowing tunnel. The ceiling had heightened and the floor was narrower, while the doors on either side looked like the entrances into an igloo. Around him the air seemed denser, almost like water, and Les felt as if he was wading as much he was walking. They stepped into the plasticine loungeroom and there were colours going everywhere. His ghetto blaster had grown legs and was singing to him, the piano looked like a whale and the bear standing on the whale’s head seemed the same size as Les, with a big, friendly smile spread across its face. They walked out onto the verandah and Les leant against the railing with his drink and gazed up at the sky.

  It was still cloudy. But in the clear patches the stars were buzzing round like fireflies. The rolling clouds looked like herds of cattle charging across the sky, then they turned into endless hectares of gigantic, pink, grey mushrooms. The water in the harbour had changed to blue, molten lava and the ocean looked like a huge indigo blanket covered with tiny, silver feathers and someone was shaking it. He turned to the surrounding buildings and they’d turned into funny, colourful drawings, swept by convections of more colour. It was beautiful. And it was all beautifully drawn. Les turned to the others.

  ‘Hey. You know what it’s like?’ he said. ‘It’s like I’ve landed in Toon Town.’

  The others had disappeared. Instead, Warren had turned into Mickey Mouse, complete with a huge pair of white glo
ves. Clover was Minnie Mouse in a pair of Doc Martens with her hair punked up. And Grace’s Wrangler jacket was now a black leather Brando jacket and she looked like a cross between Barbarella and the Terminator.

  Les started laughing. ‘Holy Shit!’ he said.

  ‘What’s the matter, Les?’ asked Grace.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this.’ Les told them what he was seeing.

  ‘That’s okay, Les,’ said Grace. ‘You know what you look like to me? Foghorn Leghorn. Wearing a Blues Brothers outfit.’

  ‘I reckon Yogi Bear,’ said Clover. ‘In a tuxedo.’

  ‘No, no. You’re both wrong,’ said Warren. ‘It’s Yosemite Sam in a white Elvis jump-suit.’

  Les gave Warren a crazy look. ‘Whooh! You make me so mad, you long-eared little varmint. I ought’s to blast the hide clean offen’ your fur bearin’ carcass.’

  Suddenly they all fell about laughing like they were going to piddle themselves. After a while they settled down and Les turned to the sky again. Now it was all pink and blue with chunky little yellow and white clouds edged with Mayan writing. He looked at the top of the railing running along the verandah and it had turned into a bright green railway line, with tubes of toothpaste for sleepers. Someone had left a white cup sitting on the railing. While everything round it was turning into all sorts of things and all kinds of colours, Les concentrated on the white cup, telling himself it was a white cup. Nothing else. And it stayed a white cup. Okay, Les told himself, as well as expanding your mind, the mushrooms work on your subconscious. But it’s only a trip. You go along with it and have some fun. But just be cool and remember you can come back to reality. It’s only your imagination. He left the cup and turned to the others, and for a moment they looked normal. Then they went back into cartoon form. Les looked across the street at a telephone pole and it turned into a gigantic, blue cactus. Then the cactus got up and walked away, crouched forward like Groucho Marx. Les could hear its footsteps sounding like someone beating on a bass drum as they faded into the distance. Les shook his head. At least I think it’s my imagination.

  ‘How are you handling things, Les?’ asked Grace.

  Les turned around and Grace was still Barbarella. ‘Not too bad,’ he replied. ‘I just watched a telegraph pole turn into a cactus and walk away.’

  ‘The boats on the jetty changed into storks a little while ago,’ said Clover. ‘And flew out to sea holding baby orang-utans in their beaks.’

  ‘How are you going, Woz?’ asked Les.

  Warren had his eye on a moth circling the light on the verandah. ‘I’m just watching this fighter jet. It’s firing golden arrows all over the place. And they’re exploding into showers of hundreds and thousands. It’s unreal.’

  ‘What about you, Grace?’ asked Les.

  ‘I’m into the Mandelbrot Set,’ said Grace.

  ‘The what?’ said Les.

  Grace pointed to the sky. ‘Can you see an odd-looking black hole up there?’

  Les stared up at the sky. ‘Yeah. I think I can,’ he said.

  ‘Keep watching it,’ said Grace.

  Les stared intently at the black hole. At first it looked a silhouette of the bear. Then it turned into a fat little Buddha shape with a pointy cap. From out of the black hole flowed countless paisley patterns of every colour and design imaginable: they were continuously forming and re-forming as they spread across the sky into space. Million and billions of them. It was like watching an epiphany of never-ending, ethereal, coloured patterns pouring from a huge kaleidoscope. It was spiritual, metaphysical and the strangest, most surrealistically beautiful thing Les had ever seen.

  ‘Holy smoke!’ he said. ‘Look at that.’ Les turned to Grace. ‘Is that the eye of God?’

  ‘Sort of,’ answered Grace. ‘It’s the Mandelbrot Set. Have a few Tiger Stripes and you don’t need a computer to click into fractal geometry.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Les, totally incredulous.

  After staring at the amazing colours, Les turned to the house. The windows had changed into eyes and the door was now a mouth. One of the eyes winked at him and a huge, Rolling Stones tongue flicked out of the mouth. Four rats dressed in jockey colours came sliding off the tongue pulling a pumpkin coach with a boardrack full of surfboards. The coach flew off over the railing and disappeared towards the golf course which had turned into a Jurassic Park full of pink and green dinosaurs; they were strolling arm in arm across the links carrying paper umbrellas. Les watched them for a moment then looked at his watch. Although it had melted like in a Salvador Dali painting, Les could still tell the time and he was amazed how fast it had gone. Unlike smoking pot where time often slowed to a crawl — mushrooms sped things up.

  ‘Shit! If we’re going to the concert,’ he said, holding up his watch, ‘we’d better make a move. Look at the time.’

  ‘Hey, you’re right,’ said Grace. She turned to the others. ‘Will we get going?’

  Warren was aghast. ‘That concert and all those people. It’s going to be a complete freak-out.’

  Clover smiled and put her arm around him. ‘It’ll be fun. You wait and see.’

  ‘What if you know who’s in there,’ said Les, ominously. ‘He’ll look like Godzilla.’

  ‘Oh God!’ wailed Warren. ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Grace, holding up a biro. ‘I’ve got my disintegrator, death ray gun with me.’

  They went inside and somehow Les was able to turn off the radio, find his guest pass, get the rest of his stuff together and turn the lights off except for the one above the front step. When the others got their things together they all rallied out the front before walking down the hill to the jetty.

  Walking down the hill was like going down a ski slope. They all leaned to one side as they turned left at the bottom and slid past the boats at the jetty. It was a full-on Toon Town trip now. Everything was a drawing by Harry Crumb and everybody they saw was a cartoon character in strange, colourful clothes. Even the people’s eyes poked half-a-metre out of their heads. They showed their passes and the security staff in black all looked like Darth Vader. Inside was pandemonium. There seemed to be cartoon characters running everywhere, honking horns and banging on drums. Music was coming from one of the tents and Les could see notes and cleft tones spinning high above the crowd. The weather was changing and amongst the patches of spinning stars the clouds were flying across the sky as in time-lapse photography.

  ‘We have to remember this night,’ said Les.

  He handed his camera to a cartoon character in a blue zoot suit with a huge yellow fedora who was walking past and asked if they would take a photo. The character in the zoot suit was most obliging. Les gathered the others around and the character took two photos. Each time the flash went off it was like a phosphorous bomb exploding. Les thanked the character, retrieved his camera and turned to the others.

  ‘What about drinks?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Good idea,’ said Warren. ‘I mean no. I mean yes. I mean …’

  ‘Ohh shut up, Warren,’ said Les. ‘Come and give me a hand.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Warren. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Yes you can. You stupid hippy. Come on.’

  Les dragged Warren over to the drinks tent and got four delicious. Paying for the drinks was a trip in itself. The fifty dollar bill had turned into an Indian blanket and his change looked like playing cards and gambling chips. All the drinks were full of glow worms wearing snorkelling gear. With not much help from Warren, Les handed the drinks around then they followed Grace across to the blue tent. Somehow they got four seats together and managed to arrive just as Pete Cornelius and the DeVilles came out on stage.

  ‘This guy’s really good,’ said Grace. ‘He’s only eighteen.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’ve heard of him,’ replied Les.

  ‘He’s from Tasmania.’

  Les looked up at the stage and it was a mess of lights going everywhere. Comets and shooting stars whirled above
the band, then an Egyptian Pharaoh in a chariot drawn by four black horses galloped above the stage, before heading out through the top of the tent. Les tried to concentrate on the band. The lead singer was wearing a plain, dark blue shirt and black trousers. The bearded drummer had on a black T-shirt and jeans and the other guitarist was wearing a cap and a Levi’s jacket. Next thing the lead singer turned into Zeke Wolf with this huge, bushy tail and the two others in the band turned into Heckle and Jeckle. Bloody hell, thought Les, and settled back in his seat as the band went straight into ‘If You Be My Baby’.

  The music didn’t sound quite as deep and smooth as being stoned. But it was still great and the light show was fantastic. Zeke Wolf and Heckle and Jeckle were boogeying away on stage while a small crowd of cartoon characters bounced up and down in front of the band as the rest of the cartoon characters in the audience got into the music. Norton’s delicious tasted like he was drinking liquid fire and he sipped away as the band did ‘All My Heroes Are Dead’, ‘After School Blues’, the old Johnny O’Keefe classic, ‘She’s My Baby’. Heaps of others and a sensational version of ‘Riders On The Storm’. Then it was over. Les looked at his watch and again couldn’t believe how fast the time was going. He turned to Barbarella, Micky and Minnie.

  ‘What did you think?’ he asked.

  ‘Unreal,’ answered Clover.

  ‘I still don’t know where I am,’ said Warren.

  ‘Yeah. Come to think of it. How did we finish up in here?’ Les asked Grace.

  Grace shrugged. ‘We just did. Next up is Jo Jo Zep and The Falcons. They’re the last act of the night. But I don’t like our chances of getting a seat.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Clover.

  ‘Yeah. I don’t mind standing up,’ said Les. ‘In fact I don’t care what happens one way or the other tonight. I’m having a ball.’

  ‘That’s good,’ smiled Grace. ‘But we’d better make a move. They’re on in fifteen minutes.’

  They left their seats and shuffled through the Toonies over to the booze tent. Les and Warren got another round of drinks and they joined the crowd standing outside the big tent. Les got Grace to hold his drink while he took his camera out and started taking photos of the crowd. They were still all Toonies in Toon Town clothing. But every now and again, one would slip back into almost human form and Les was convinced he was getting photos of their auras. One woman with long black hair had a blue, green and silver aura around her, radiating a metre from her body.