Memoir of a Snail

Farewell, Pinky.

The potatoes!

Potatoes?

Potatoes...

Pinky...

Pinky, what do you mean?

Oh...

Oh, Pinky.

Be free, Sylvia.

Don't worry.

I'll be OK.

I wasn't always this alone.

My childhood was full of people.

Hmm...

Dad used to say that childhood was like being drunk.

Everyone remembers what you did, except you.

But my childhood was sobering, Sylvia.

I remember everything,

right from the start.

I'd always liked feeling caged in,

snug, and protected.

It was a shock to be born premature.

I wasn't fully baked,

and looked like a baby rabbit.

I was named Grace Prudence Pudel.

My twin brother, Gilbert.

The nurse said we had two souls,

but one heart.

Mmm. I liked that.

Our birth was very strenuous for Mum,

and she died.

We left her womb

and she entered her tomb.

Mother snails do the same

after they've had their babies.

Don't they, Sylvia?

As I grew older,

I suffered a smorgasbord of afflictions.

I was always back in hospital for something.

The doctor said I was like a china doll

you could shatter with just a stare.

Eventually, they needed to fix my floppy lip.

Things went bad.

I lost so much blood,

I needed a transfusion.

The doctor asked Gilbert if he'd give me his.

Huh?

Oh.

He said yes,

even though he thought he'd have to die to save me.

How long before I die?

They quickly explained he wouldn't die.

His body would make new blood.

Oh.

He became everyone's hero that night.

Especially mine.

To cheer me up,

Dad gave me Mum's old jewellery box.

Ooh!

Inside, it had her snail collection,

and her ring.

She'd loved snails as well,

and had been a malacologist.

I thought Gilbert should have the ring.

Ooh.

I'm going to wear this till the day I die, Gracie.

Despite my woes, Sylvia,

I believed in glasses half-full and silver linings.

Gilbert's glass was half-empty, though.

I remember how he was often sad.

It seemed like he had a secret he wanted to tell.

He was like Holden Caulfield, James Dean and Charlie Brown

all rolled into one.

He saw people as a threat.

At school, he was always my warrior, my defender.

Rabbit face, rabbit face,

rabbit face, rabbit face.

Give me that.

Hey, morons.

Hmm?

Agh!

...able to breed a chicken with a giraffe.

He said that he's able to lay eggs,

but has a really long pecker.

Our home was our sanctuary,

a place where we felt safe

to read our books and watch our favourite shows.

I loved my bedroom.

It's where everything was just so.

Right angles brought me enormous comfort,

as did my snails, Sylvia.

They were my friends,

so I made more of them.

I knew they'd never leave me,

hurt me.

Or die.

I didn't like people dying.

I wanted to save people.

Save the homeless.

My favourite was James.

One Christmas, I covered him in decorations

so he could feel some Christmas cheer.

He loved his tea.

Huh?

Ah! Ah.

Ah...

Good on ya, little possum. Good on ya.

He was once a magistrate,

but was defrocked for masturbating in court.

Back then,

I thought masturbation meant chewing your food thoroughly.

He once told me that

masturbation was the thief of time.

- Ooh! - Huh?

James gave me my first real snail.

Ah!

Your mum, Sylvia.

He told me to put her in a big jar

and feed her Vegemite.

While I was busy trying to save the world,

Gilbert wanted to break free from it.

Free others.

Huh?

Ugh!

Once, he let our neighbour's cockatoo escape.

Fly, Mildred! Come on, fly!

Bye, Mildred!

Gilbert said Mildred never seemed so happy.

If he wasn't letting animals free,

he was rescuing them.

He didn't care about the dangers.

I'll save it, Gracie!

- Gilbert! - Ah!

Come on, fella!

Agh!

Over here, Gracie!

Gilbert loved animals so much

he became a vegetarian.

Aww! Now she's got a boyfriend.

Look, Gracie, they're hugging.

Ugh...

Eggs, wow!

We'd created our own little family.

They hatched, Gracie! Babies!

You became my favourite, Sylvia.

Your swirl went opposite to the others.

Gilbert named you after Mum's favourite author.

But the thing that made Gilbert really unique

was his love of fire.

He wanted to eat it.

He'd spend hours playing with fire.

I remember how he always smelt like burnt matches.

At school, the girls swooned.

He was the flame, they were the moths.

But he was more interested in reading, and magic.

I think he just wanted to disappear.

And spend all his pocket money at Bert's.

Bert was the type of person

parents told you to avoid, Sylvia.

Someone who might offer you boiled lollies.

Ooh.

Bert seemed anything but magical.

Gilbert's dream was

to be a street performer in Paris.

Look, Gracie!

He was always practising.

Oh, shit!

Ow, ow, ow!

And often burnt himself.

We got little scars from the sparks.

And when we put our arms together,

they formed a face.

Oh, look, Gracie!

It felt great when we did this.

Our feelings aligned.

A lot of twins say this, Sylvia,

and it's true.

I felt his emotions,

his happiness and his sadness.

Which seemed to be

the fourth member of our family.

Mum's death had left a hole.

Dad had tried to fill the void,

but... he had his own problems.

Dad was French,

and had once been an animator in Paris.

He made stop-motion films

with an old Bolex camera.

He showed them to us sometimes.

To pay for his art form,

he busked on the streets.

Bonjour, messieurs dames,

Je suis I'incroyable Percy Pudel.

Mum met him on a holiday

she'd won in the Woman's Weekly magazine.

Hep-ah!

Oh!

Et voila, messieurs dames.

Ohh...

Wow!