Entry 8: Legal Advice Part 2
‘In the 1950s,’ Curbludgeon read aloud from the note in front of him, ‘I was a young, up-and-coming and woefully naïve solicitor determined to pursue a case that would grant me immediate fame and propel my career in double quick time. I was given the dredges of cases by my senior colleagues and relegated to mind-numbing document review and compilation of briefs. I considered if I found a high-profile case for my practice to pursue, that would advance my own position.
Nothing came to mind yet incidentally, I was a keen follower of historical shipwrecks. One weekend, I was poring over some old archive photos of the Titanic ship, one of the great wreckages of all time – just before it set off on that fateful journey. I saw in one photo an oddity that surely, I thought, was some kind of optical illusion: a small speck perched on the bow, which looked like a bird. That wasn’t strange in itself, yet this one looked undoubtedly like a kookaburra – most unusual for the northern regions of the world. What’s more, the top of its head was shaped unnaturally, almost as if it were wearing a sailor’s cap. I shook off the impression as the result of damaged film.
Life went on and I was beginning to seriously question my career choices. In my heart I was a historian, but as is universally true, money only flowed from more practical forms of employment. So I stuck stubbornly to the legal field and tried to make up for the dreariness with the afore-mentioned obsession with prestige.
One day, I was strolling along a platform at a train station when I caught sight of something peering at me from a train that had just pulled up. It was a kookaburra wearing a Russian ushanka hat. It looked at me, expressionless – most likely the bird had zoned out. I blinked twice or three times thinking I was imagining the bizarre sight. Yet there it sat, munching on what looked like a scone. There was no time to lose. I jumped on board the train just as its wheels began spinning into motion and marched through the carriage until I found the overweight kookaburra. There it was, staring out the window and devouring the scone. Inexplicably, there was a train ticket in its lap – who would sell a train ticket to a bird?
I sat a little further away, keen to observe the bird before approaching. At the next stop, a sparrow flew over and sat on the open window sill by the kookaburra’s seat. They began haggling about some nonsensical business proposition about mining in Siberia. My curiosity and shock too much to take at this point, I walked over and sat opposite the kookaburra. The birds paused in their conversation and turned to me.
“What is it that you want, human (‘hoooman’)?” the kookaburra asked. ‘Can’t you see we are having a private and confidential discussion about business deals?”
“Hang on, there’s no deal yet,” the sparrow objected.
I had no time to lose, these birds could fly off any minute. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said, “But I must ask, were you a passenger on the Titanic?” I felt like an idiot even as I asked the question. Here I was, conversing with a bird about being passenger on a human ship, some 40 years ago, well before it was born.
“Indeed I was,” the kookaburra interrupted my thoughts, “It was one of my favourite excursions.”
“How were you alive?”
“I am 61 years old,” it replied, as if that were all the explanation needed.
“So you witnessed the iceberg and the crash, you saw it all?” I gaped.
The kookaburra narrowed its eyes, “I did see it all, but only when everyone else saw it or after others saw it. So no early peeks of the iceberg or anything.”
The sparrow cut in with a chuckle, “That’s not true – you saw the iceberg well before. And you didn’t even bother informin’ the crew, though they were paying you $5 in the hour to fly ahead and observe the horizons.” The sparrow was lounging about on the sill though the train was hurtling along at full speed now.
“I don't know what you mean. Yes okay, I saw it,” the kookaburra immediately relented, “But I was hungry, so first priority was a gourmet meal of course.”
I was stunned and excited by this sudden turn of events. “So you’re directly culpable for the sinking of the Titanic?” I blurted out.
The sparrow looked me up and down. “Oh no, Kookie, I think this here human is one of those solicitor folks. Looks like you’re going to get sued!”
The kookaburra shook its head dismissively. “No, no, I have no time for that. I need to catch many different trains to Russia.”
“I’ll fly and meet you there,” the sparrow nodded and flew off.
I had a hard time persuading the constables at the kookaburra’s connecting stop to detain it, for them it was an alien concept to take a bird into custody. But I was already heady with the potential glory and mass attention from being the first solicitor who litigated against a bird for gross negligence in one of the most memorable tragedies in modern history. It was a thrilling idea. I managed to get the kookaburra kicked into prison while in the meanwhile, I obsessively built a case against it.
I have no idea who bailed the criminal bird out of prison, but indeed before long, it was back to ordinary life. That only motivated me further to get the case into court. My dedication was infectious and before long, half my practice had been pulled onto the case. We had one of the best barristers in all of London on our team, and the papers were running mad with headlines about the biggest case of the decade, one confidently predicting ‘NEGLIGENT SAILOR BIRD WILL BE BROUGHT TO JUSTICE’. It seemed like my dreams were coming true in a manner far beyond anything my imagination could have predicted.
Finally, the court date arrived. When the kookaburra – Kookie Banjo Jr. – was summoned to the stand, astoundingly it openly confessed.
“Yes of course,” the kookaburra said, gazing around the courtroom at the large gathered crowd, “I saw the iceberg. I was employed to see such things.”
The crowd murmured loudly and the judge ordered silence.
The kookaburra’s confession was long and at times, surprisingly dull. It seemed to have an odd fixation with irrelevant details, like how the shape of the clouds reminded it of whipped cream.
I will not spend too much time on the remaining details, it pains me too greatly. Suffice it to say I should have known the bird’s legal representation had an ace up their sleeves, for they appeared far too relaxed throughout the proceedings. And sure enough, it so happened that they had legitimate proof of the bird’s insanity: a certificate for the Cwazy Gene was presented to the court and a panel of medical experts, including a veterinarian, had an animated discussion about the peculiar causes and symptoms of the illness.
The certificate was dated well after the shipwreck, but on reasonable doubt of the bird’s sanity at the time, the jury returned a negative verdict and the charges were summarily dismissed. In his closing observations, the judge noted, “It was hard enough to ignore the fact the prosecution is trying a bird. It is impossible to ignore they are trying a bird that is also of unsound mind. This amounts to a gross misuse of the resources of our criminal justice system.”
With those brief words, the judge ruined my reputation and I was fired. From there began a quick spiral into destituteness.
And so ends the summary of my last case from my former days of employment – for historical records,’ Curbludgeon finished reading.
"Good grief," Louis said.