the story of helga

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Bugs of the Secret Garden

Helga takes Zina out on the town in Melbournes famous night club precinct

THE STORY OF HELGA

Influenced by a Bavarian culture, Helga calmly strode across the world imprisoned in a small see-thru plastic packet of creamy German chocolates.

Her immediate view of the lower hemisphere was formed as she statued motionless for days behind the aromatic lolly counter in an uptown David Jones store. Not so removed to the dark sweaty manufacturing and packaging halls of Munich or indeed the stuffy eye-watering mountain salt mines of Austria.

Consuming humans emitting a variety of tasty smells, would lift, shake, peer, squeeze, grunt and admire the clear plastic box which protected her from cunning and inquisitive fingers.

Helga's epic journey from Europe was not unaccompanied, standing on the sagging shelf beside her were at least fifty identical boxed dolls - stacked centurions, perched as guardians of the DJ's chocolate domain.

Helga was a doll that did not like chocolate. The persistent emulsified burnt cocoa smell made her feel ill and brought haunting visions of Black Forest Cake and where she had been. She already felt bloated and queasy from a regimented course of anti vaccine injections.

Only days before, Helga was officially welcomed to the southern island continent of Australia. At the immigration quarantine station she was prodded, pricked and pumped by a little unshaven black haired man who wore a dirty white coat which stunk of old prawns and curry.

Helga was grateful he did not use the shiny bladed knife to cut her open and gorge her insides like he did with the doll in the line before her.

She tried to push-pop the lid of the container that imprisoned her. Alas it was securely taped and wrapped in a bright coloured ribbon.

A large white barcode sticker advertised her place of manufacture, type, price and use by date.

Fortunately with time she was able to use her tiny hair pins to puncture inconspicuous holes in the wall of the box. The air outside in the shop was cold and heavily saturated with the smell of mollified toblerone and lindt.

Days came, days went, more days came and many more went.

Hordes of upright-waking humans, all shapes, smells and size, snorted, pushed, filed, some took the dolls beside her and never returned, some just looked and rattled, some knocked them to the floor and kicked them under the display cabinet.

An air-conditioned Christmas came.

Santa stopped nursing excited children.

Flashing photographs disappeared.

Helga made friends with a smiley brown frog.

Huge chequered signs swung from the ceiling.

Brightly dressed people flocked in bunches carrying black and white bags and parcels - the shop was a street. Piped ceiling music played the songs of the new year, than of a surfing summer, than the fashions of Easter and the autumn and winter wind echoed on the windows.

Swinging signs come down to be replaced by larger ones and more sales. Sales. Sales.

Helga met a brown kangaroo, a brown bilby and a fat brown rabbit.

She learnt the metric system of weight, Aussie English and observed thousands of temptingly wrapped chocolates disappear into small plastic bags.

Then one day - the GREAT GERMAN CHOCOLATE WITH A DOLL SALE, arrived !!!!

Helga and her Bavarian friends were on the throw out table in the middle of the aisle.

One by one the dolls disappeared into black and white bags.

Days passed and people passed less frequent.

Helga lay next to a thin glass jar of English strawberry jam.