Hare, There and Everywhere: Episode Five

by Martin Smith
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By the 20K mark, Hare found himself out alone in the open plains and powering ahead. No Tortoise. No crowd. No worries. ‘Keep your form,’ he said, and he straightened his back and checked his pumping arms and legs. ‘Keep your focus,’ he said, and he moderated his breathing and stared forward with single-minded determination. ‘Don’t succumb to the loneliness of the long-distance hopper.’ And he closed his eyes and chanted the calming mantra he’d stolen and patented.

‘Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare—’

Bang!

Hare came to a sudden, bone-cracking, breath-taking stop. Rubbing his head, he cursed his loss of form and focus. He looked up and saw a giant tortoise shell. What the hell was that doing out here in the middle of nowhere? he thought.

Up ahead a truck came into Hare’s view, and it reversed with a whining roar back towards where Hare and the shell lay and stopped with a skid. Four ninja tortoises hopped out of the cabin and gathered around the shell, and with much grunting and groaning and sweating and swearing, they heaved the shell into the back of the truck.

‘Really sorry about that,’ the blue-masked tortoise said. The tortoises laughed as they hopped back in the truck.

‘Arseholes!’ Hare said.

A red-masked head appeared out the passenger window and said, ‘Vacuous wanker.’

As the truck roared away, Hare shook a fist and shouted, ‘At least your uncle can alliterate, you illiterate imbeciles!’

Hare groaned as he struggled to his feet, and he set off with a painful shuffle along the race road, hopeful he would run out his injuries.

On and on Hare shuffled.

On and on Tortoise plodded.

And wider the gap between leader and last became.

As Hare neared the 25K marker, a bus came into view, and he saw three little pigs, each wearing a crisp white lab coat. One held a clipboard, another a small plastic cup, and the third donned pink rubber gloves.

The first pig stepped in front of Hare and held up an officious palm and said, ‘Halt. Drug testing.’

‘No problem,’ Hare said.

The second pig handed Hare the plastic cup and escorted him to a toilet booth next to the bus. Hare stepped inside, and the pig, with a huff and a puff, joined Hare and closed the door. A muted light fell on the pig’s face as it said, ‘Sir, if you could just provide a sample in the collection cup provided.’

‘What? With you in here?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Watching me?’

‘Yes, sir. It’s protocol.’

‘But I can’t pee with someone watching me.’

‘Well, sir, it’s either that or disqualification.’

‘OK. OK. Give me a minute.’

Hare turned his back to the pig and breathed in and wriggled out of his jackstrap, which dropped to his ankles. He held the plastic cup and pointed and prayed. He willed his bladder to yield a trickle, a dribble, even a drop, but, alas, the bore had dried up. He whistled Dixie, visualised icy waters streaming off thawing glaciers and sweet-talked his prostate, but the cup remained empty.

‘Having trouble, sir?’

‘A little.’

‘Would sir like a drink of water?’

‘Yes, that might help.’

A bottle of water appeared over Hare’s left shoulder. He hunched his shoulders and cupped his privates.

‘Hey, you’re not looking, are you?’

‘No, sir. That would be most unprofessional. But I will request our maintenance crew to block that pesky, cold draught. Shrinkage can be a devil when sampling.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

Hare ripped off the bottle’s cap and drained the bottle with rapid gulps. Right, he thought, give his kidneys a minute to work their magic, and his cup would runneth over, and he could escape this cell and the prying eyes of its warden.

Boom-boom. Hare’s ears pricked. Boom-boom. Holy shit! he thought. Tortoise is catching up.

‘Could I please have another bottle of water?’

‘Certainly, sir.’

Hare received and drained another bottle.

Boom-boom. Louder. Boom-boom. Nearer.

‘Could you turn the tap on, please?’

The pig obliged and the tap ran. Nothing. Hare rinsed his hands under the flowing water. Zilch. He sniffed peppermint oil. Nix. He sat on the toilet and applied the Credé manoeuvre, but still his bladder refused to yield even a drop.

‘Actually, could I have a whole crate of water? Urgently!’

The pig obliged, and Hare gulped and gulped, dropping emptied bottle after emptied bottle at his feet, all while Tortoise boom-boomed nearer and nearer and louder and louder. Still Hare’s bladder remained defiant.

The boom-booming stopped. Hare placed his ear against the booth wall. An exchange of muffled voices occurred outside, followed by a prolonged creak, a moment’s silence and the whoosh of a forceful stream filling a bucket. Damn Tortoise! Hare thought. Damn him and his cursed bladder being able to yield a sample on the spot.

The sound of flooding outside triggered Hare’s bladder, and scrambling to get his sample cup at the ready, he sighed and relaxed and peed. He’d half filled his cup when outside went silent, followed by another muffled exchange, a grunt and groan, and then boom-boom. Nooooo! Hare thought, Tortoise had hit the lead. Hare willed his bladder to empty, and his cup filled and filled. To the top. And beyond.

‘I … I … I need another cup,’ he said.

Another cup appeared over his shoulder, and with a hasty swap, Hare filled and filled the second cup. To the top. And beyond.

‘I think I need a bucket,’ he said.

A bucket appeared over his shoulder, and with a hasty swap, Hare filled and filled the bucket. To the top. And beyond.

‘I think I need a garbage bin,’ he said.

The pig wheeled a bin in front of Hare. He stood on the chair, and with a hasty swap, he filled and filled the bin until, with a piss shiver and a last spurt, his sample lapped the bin rim.

Hare jumped from the chair and shook and shimmied his body until his jackstrap was in place, and he burst from the booth, only to run into the pink-gloved trotters of the third pig.

‘One last check, sir,’ the pig said.

‘One last check?’ Hare said. ‘What for? Can’t you see I need to get back in the race. Tortoise is getting away.’ A soft boom-boom faded in the distance.

‘Not until we’ve tested you, sir.’

‘Tested me? I’ve already flooded the Nile Delta for you.’

‘Sorry, sir. We won’t hold you up for much longer. It’s just a rectal. To ensure you’re not carrying illegal substances.’

‘What?’

‘If you’ll bend over and brace yourself, sir. It’ll only take a jiffy. I assure you, you won’t feel a thing.’

As Hare stared into the distance and cursed Tortoise, his buttocks clenched, his face grimaced and his eyes bulged and watered.

The gloved tester was true to her word, for Hare was soon back on the road and in pursuit of Tortoise. Within a kilometre, Hare sighted his trudging opponent, and as he passed him, he turned and gave him a smug smile and flipped him the bird with a raised middle toe and left him in a cloud of dust.

‘Nescient knobber,’ Tortoise said, and he lumbered on.

On and on Hare ran.

On and on Tortoise plodded.

And wider the gap between leader and last became.

Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of Hare, There and Everywhere on Sunday 28 June.

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