by Bill Olver
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Christine Hamm (Gorilla; My Darling, the Gorilla; Gorilla Girl) is a PhD candidate in English Literature at Drew University. She won the MiPoesias First Annual Chapbook Competition with her manuscript, Children Having Trouble with Meat. Her poetry has been published in Orbis, Women’s Studies Quarterly, The Adirondack Review, Pebble Lake Review, Poetry Midwest, Rattle, and many others. She has been nominated four times for a Pushcart Prize, and she teaches English at CUNY. She has published three books of poetry; Blazevox released her third book, Echo Park. Christine was a runner-up to the Poet Laureate of Queens.
(back to table of contents)
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
THE MAN WHO BROUGHT THE MONKEYS
by Henry Sane
Like most of my friends, I remember hoping every day that summer—the summer of my tenth year—we’d get a special visit from the man who brought the monkeys. When August came around, I felt sure that, once again, he’d skip over our neighborhood, leaving me and my friends to go monkey-less for a third year in a row. (Living in south Florida, it is needless to say that it was torture not to enjoy some monkey refreshments every once in a while!)
Finally though, just when the talk of “back-to-school wear” was starting to come up in advertisements and dinner conversations, our prayers were answered.
It was the hottest day of the summer—one of those days when I swear I could see ants sizzle on the pavement outside my bedroom window—when I saw the Monkey Man’s big rainbow-colored truck round the corner and head down our back alley street. If only I could express the joy I felt when I saw that happy little truck—and then when I heard the first notes of that merry, repetitive tune!
Wasting no time, I grabbed the money I’d been saving in my top drawer and raced out of the house, hoping for my friends’ sakes that they too had heard the familiar tune and that their mothers would let them out into the blistering heat for just a few minutes without sun block (such a delay could cost them precious seconds, and the Monkey Man never stayed around for very long).
When I stepped outside, my knees buckled as the aroma of the Baboon Floats and Gorilla Kabobs wafted under my nose. I realized for a fleeting moment that life felt like a dream—but that smell! It was enough to slap you in the face, shake you around and assure you that you were most certainly living in reality. I have since come to realize, so many years later, that that was, without a doubt, the most real moment of my entire life.
As I approached the curb, I met with my friends, looking around to make sure the whole gang was there. There was Freddy, Pitch, Walt, Lance, his little sister Becca, Chris P., Chris K., Mattie, Ham, Little Mikey, Geoff, Jesse, Melissa, Gretchen—even my old Uncle Abe came galloping out from our house and joined us like he always did when he saw us out playing kickball in the street. Everyone—except of course Mitchell, whose parents sent him to his aunt’s house in Virginia for the summer—was accounted for. I was delighted that almost all the kids I was closest to—Uncle Abe included, being such a kid at heart—could share in this magical experience with me.
It only took a few seconds for the monkey truck to reach us. Within a few yards of our waiting post (beside the “Speed Limit 20” sign outside my house), the truck pulled to a stop amidst the bustling crowd, sending visible shivers through every nerve of each surrounding child. Even the parents, who came wandering out of their houses after us, seemed to recall the joy of their own respective childhoods.
Without delay the Monkey Man, whose pleasant demeanor was apparent even through the reflective windshield, left his driver’s seat, disappeared momentarily into the back of the monkey truck, and reappeared at the side window, indicating he was open for business, willing and ready to cool off the burning masses. As he shuffled about, setting plastic jars of kabob sticks and monkey toppings upon the window counter, his thin silver mustache twitched ever so slightly, accentuating his glowing smile, which grew bigger and bigger as he watched us all rush madly toward the window, hoping to be first in line. Leaning half his slender body through the serving window, he exclaimed merrily, “No need to push and shove! I’ve got a full supply on board, so there’s plenty to go around! Now,” he said, looking about with a hint of playful mystery, “who’s up first?”
Naturally, everyone shouted at once, “Me, me, me!”
But as I could have guessed, no one knew yet what they wanted. Therefore, I contented myself to hang in the middle of the pack with Uncle Abe, pondering over the menu board’s many options while the kids in front of me blurted out their orders..
“I’ll have a Chocolate Chimp Sundae!” cried Gretchen.
“Marmoset Marmalade for me!” shouted Pitch.
“Gimme a Gibbon Ribbon Rainbow!” exclaimed Lance.
“I wanna Lil’ Lemur Pop!” Becca yelled to her brother.
“Big Baboon Float! Big Baboon Float!” bellowed Ham, who was obviously sick of being spoken over.
“Gelada Gelato here!” declared Chris P.
“Gelada Gelato for me, too!” dittoed Chris K. (who always got what Chris P. got).
“I’d like just a small Ape Shake, please,” said Geoff in his quiet, polite way.
When all the initial orders had been placed and fulfilled, I found that as we had been inching forward (Uncle Abe and I), we were suddenly at the front of the line. At last I had the Monkey Man’s full attention.
“And what can I get for you, young fella?” the Monkey Man asked me, smiling brightly.
Despite studying the menu board’s every detail for several minutes, I still hadn’t decided what I wanted. Everything looked so good! After several seconds of hesitation, Uncle Abe said jovially, “C’mon Davey, quit holdin’ up the line! Monkeys don’t come and go for you alone, ya know!”
Everyone laughed, including the Monkey Man. I laughed a bit, too, but my appreciation for Uncle Abe’s silliness was stifled by my resolute concentration on the menu board.
“Now, now,” the Monkey Man said gently to Uncle Abe. “I’m sure he’ll make up his mind soon, won’t you, young fella? Tell me, what’s caught your eye above all else?”
A little embarrassed, but still willing to satisfy the Monkey Man’s request, I told him there was something on the menu board I’d never before seen or tasted. I asked the him what it was, pointing to its picture.
“Oh, the Tamarin Dream?” he said. “It’s brand new and it’s simply delectable! It’s a small, orange monkey that is just bursting with flavor! It’s like a monkey parade came waltzing down your taste buds! You have to try it! You just have to!”
With a huge smile and several exaggerated nods, I agreed, my eyes all the while dancing madly behind closed eyelids. Without hesitation, the Monkey Man turned to his store of treats and fetched the Tamarin Dream, passing it down to my eager little hands, which accepted the gift with the utmost delight. As I studied my delicious-looking treat, Uncle Abe ordered an extra-large Gorilla Kabob, paid the Monkey Man for the both of us (I’d forgotten in all my excitement), and directed me out of the way so as to allow the next customers to take our place.
By the time we had moved out the way, I still hadn’t tasted my Tamarin Dream. I was in too much awe of its appetizing features—and from what I saw, I was sure this would be the most exquisite thing I ever put my tongue to.
But oh, how looks can deceive!
I took one bite and, within an instant, was horror-stricken. The monkey treat, as if out of some terrifying tale of the unknown, came to life.
When I look back on that unprecedented moment, I still have trouble believing it actually happened—
The Tamarin Dream—a monkey—came to life in my very hands! (I repeat it to emphasize that, despite the obviously supernatural implications, this was reality).
Out of instinct I screamed, dropping the monkey to the pavement, watching in pure baffled fear as it scampered away and up a nearby oak tree, finally coming to rest on one of the more elevated branches. Uncle Abe, having seen the whole thing, could only stand by, fr
ozen, speechless, white as a ghost. The surrounding parents reacted similarly, while their children suddenly burst into pitiable shrieks and wails, many of them tossing down their own monkey treats for fear of an equally terrifying result.
The Monkey Man, however, having heard my piercing cry, immediately exited his vehicle and came to comfort me. The calmness of his disposition suggested that this had happened before and, more importantly, that he knew how to handle it.
As the reality settled in, many of the parents—Uncle Abe included—started hurling vicious insults at the Monkey Man, demanding answers from him, wondering how he could be so careless as to let a tainted shipment of monkeys get into his store, and how he could then sell such a frightful treat to an unsuspecting child.
But no query or insult was too great for the Monkey Man. In a display of unparalleled charisma, he stood upright in his lanky posture, gripped the lapels of his jacket confidently and spoke in an authoritative yet consoling voice that at once hushed the panicked masses.
“Good people!” he exclaimed merrily. “Come now and listen! Allow me please to explain this strange phenomenon that has just occurred! I promise there is no cause for concern, for while this is indeed a very rare scenario we’ve all just witnessed, I assure you there is no danger in a monkey that should suddenly come to life! While I cannot explain the cause of this unearthly occurrence (nor can any scientist of notable repute), it is simply something that happens every so often. But look now! Up there, in the tree—the monkey simply sits there, keeping its distance due to a level of fear that is of a far more severe nature than what any one of us could ever know.”
Following his suggestion, we all looked up and, just as the Monkey Man had said, the monkey remained frozen in place as would any creature afraid for its life.
“Now if you will observe…” the Monkey Man started.
The Monkey Man, with the unadulterated attention of the crowd now upon him, then grabbed hold of the tree’s massive trunk and, like he were the most agile of youths, propelled himself up the tree with such energy that if one had blinked, the act of ascension might have been missed entirely. Before we knew it, the Monkey Man was upon the same branch as the living monkey treat. With great balance, the Monkey Man then fished into his pocket for some small morsel, which he held out as if attempting to coax the monkey toward him. As we watched in anxious throes below, we could overhear the Monkey Man say calming words, as if the monkey treat could understand the sweet nature of his tone. Then, carefully, the Monkey Man began to shimmy across the long branch toward the frightened monkey. When he was within a few feet of the little monkey, he extended the morsel he’d removed earlier from his pocket until it was easily within the grasp of the timid creature. The Monkey Man remained perfectly still as the monkey began to edge slightly toward him. The monkey, with obvious caution, examined the morsel he was offered and reached out with what appeared to be conscious hands to take the morsel and shove it inside of himself as if he were eating it.
Truly it was a moving and unforgettable performance!
The monkey, having finished off the morsel, was suddenly very lively. He danced and sang out happy-sounding notes, to which the Monkey Man responded by offering yet another morsel from his pocket. The monkey, as before, accepted it with what I perceived to be delight. The next morsel, however, the Monkey Man held just out of reach of the monkey, persuading it to follow him as he shimmied carefully back down the tree. When they reached the ground, the Monkey Man gently lifted the tamed creature and held it like a baby, feeding it several morsels, which caused it to make many pleasurable sounds.
By this point, the crowd had amassed around the Monkey Man, who bade us keep quiet so as not to startle the fragile monkey treat. He held his companion down low for the children to catch a glimpse up close, and we all instantly felt secure by its obviously placid demeanor. As I gazed down upon it (this was perhaps the strangest moment of all), I swear I remember seeing what appeared to be a face on the monkey treat, which then produced a gaping smile and innocent, sleepy eyes to represent its apparent complacency. After several minutes of silence, the monkey, curled into a little ball, was completely motionless; and once again, it looked like a normal monkey treat, lifeless as it should be.
Fixed still in a state of dreaminess, my friends and I all looked at each other and realized what a truly special moment we had all just shared in.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
From that point forward, the visits from the Monkey Man held a new sort of allure and wonder for everyone in the neighborhood. Before that memorable day, the monkey treats were delightful in and of themselves; but from then on, there was a new feeling, an encompassing whimsy that perhaps, just once more, someone’s monkey treat might actually come to life and give us another grand performance. Sadly though, the magic of that day would never be repeated.
Still, I’ve never given up hope. For even to this day, as I delve further into the riper of my years, I still listen out for the man who brings the monkeys, hoping that the next time he comes around, my monkey treat might, just maybe, come to life once more.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Henry Sane (The Man Who Brought the Monkeys) is an avid enthusiast of literature with a degree in English from Columbus State University. His fiction has recently been featured in The Medulla Review, Jersey Devil Press, Subtle Fiction, and Stanley the Whale, to name a few. He currently manages the online publication Swamp Biscuits and Tea.
(back to table of contents)
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
THE LOST APES
by Viktor Kowalski
In every ape’s lifetime there comes a time of great weariness, a time of burdened brow and cloudy thoughts. Such time was now upon Clay, the rightful ruler of all ape-kind not by birth and heritage, but by fist and fang.
Clay sat upon his rocky throne and the weariness claimed him. He rested his chin upon his hand moodily as he contemplated the red roads that he had taken to ascend and keep his rule. Before his mind’s eye passed a panorama of his human servants giving him offerings in fruit, always keeping behind the bars that encompassed Clay’s mighty kingdom. Clay had, on many occasions, tried to impart some of his wisdom on his human servants but his efforts were fruitless. He had come to realize that his mighty oratory skills were far beyond the capacity of feeble human’s minds to understand—Clay remembered all the times he had stood upon a large rock delivering his decrees, and the humans hid their ignorance behind derisive laughter, their minds unable to comprehend the truth behind his words. They carried strange hand-held devices which clicked and flashed bright lights at him.
He also remembered Glaber, the ambitious and devious throne usurper he had to best in ape-to-ape combat to protect his throne. But now all this merged into a meaningless panorama of shadows and dreams, as Clay gazed dreamily at his kingdom and his subordinates.
“What bothers you, oh great King?” came the screeching voice to his right.
“I’m in a state of pensive disarray.”
“Eh?” blurted Reggie the chimp.
“I’m weary, Reggie,” Clay sighed dejectedly. “The burden of kingship weighs heavily on my broad shoulders.”
Reggie was basking in the afternoon sun, lying prostrate on the green grass beside Clay’s massive form. Presently he rose to his feet and eyed his King.
“My lord, you’re tired of the life of the court. Come with me to the great trees and let us roam them for a while.”
“Nay. Those things cannot lift my spirit. I shudder at the task at hand, and doubt that I’m ape enough to do it.”
“A task, my King?”
“Aye,” said Clay. “Look at those apes yonder, my subordinates.”
He swept his large hand over the sunny plain and pointed his finger at the bunch of primates that were drudging along with a slow gait, their faces expressionless and their limbs dangling limply.
“They have that look in their eyes.”
“What look, my King?”
“The
one of apathy and dullness. They grow lazy. Their apish soul is not a wild fiery blaze, but merely a waning flicker of a flame. Where has their zest for life gone, Reggie? Their live and breathe, aye, but alas, they are dead inside. They are not truly alive, but just sleepwalking. The worst of it is, they are unaware of their own mindless condition. But I can see it, reflected in the emptiness of their eyes. Just as I have seen it mirrored many times on the faces of the humans that visit me. It’s a most terrible fate to live in a walking daze. Shall ours be the same as theirs?”
“But, that’s why you’re here, King. You’ll teach them.”
“It matters little, good Reggie. I have tried to teach them wisdom, but my words fall on deaf ears.”
Reggie fell silent, his big eyes blinking and his mouth parted in a confused “o”. Clay looked down at his companion gravely, and shook his head. Reggie was an old friend, but Clay knew the chimp’s mind was not cast in the same mould as his own. Reggie had a good and loyal heart, but no deep broodings were meant to be contemplated by the somewhat dim-witted chimp.
A clamor rose from a group of apes who started bickering over some fruit. Clay watched wearily for a while, and then spat in disgust. Growing tired of the sight, he retreated to the back of his habitat—that is to say, his royal quarters—with rest on his mind, and hope that dreams may cast a light on the way out of his predicament. The heat was intense even in this late hour of the day, and so he was driven to find refreshment in the small lake nearby. The lake’s surface glinted brightly as Clay loomed over it to quench his thirst. He could see his image reflected in the shiny surface of the lake and his mind wandered.