by J. M. Walker
However, the jaguar kept watching the monkey. She strained her neck at Edward’s acrobatics and after he’d pirouetted and twirled about the branch, she realised he was calling to the sleeping leopard. She understood the monkey’s shouts, that he was pleading for the leopard to wake. That Edward had come to save the old cat and break him out. That outside the zoo Doris and Bear were waiting, with Bessie too, and together they had decided to renounce the circus. They were going to live free and they wanted the leopard to live free with them.
“Wake up,” she said softly to the leopard.
Edward’s antics attracted the magpies the jaguar helped to feed. Into the tree flew the first black and white bird, then a second arrived, full of joy as it heard Edward’s speech. They dropped from the tree and landed about the leopard’s head. The old leopard opened his eyes and growled at the birds, but they held firm, dancing about his ears.
“Wake up, wake up,” they snapped at the cat. “It’s time for you to go.”
The leopard pulled himself to his feet and thought about swiping one of the magpies. But he heard twigs breaking in the tree above and a leaf fell past his nose. He searched for its origin and saw his circus monkey putting on a show above his head. Though he would never admit it, he was pleased to see Edward the tufted capuchin hanging above his cage.
“He says he’s here to break you out. With his friends,” said the jaguar.
“There is no way out,” the old leopard said, speaking to Edward now through broken teeth. “I found a way, but they’ve doubled the locks.”
“That’s a good thing,” said Edward.
The leopard growled again, thinking the monkey was mocking him.
“Every lock has a key,” said Edward. “Do you know where the keys are?”
“I do,” said the jaguar.
She spoke with a gentler voice than Edward was expecting.
“The administrator took them. They are in his waistcoat pocket.”
“Is that a human?” asked Edward. “What does he look like?”
The jaguar described the man, his weak and listless features.
“There’s not much meat on him,” she concluded, struggling to portray him any other way.
“Does he carry a book of sorts?” asked Edward.
“He had one, yes,” said the leopard. “He hid behind it.”
Edward realised he had just seen this human in the crowd blocking his path past the tigers’ cage.
“Wait there!” said Edward, who disappeared into the tree’s foliage.
“Where does he think we might go to?” said the leopard. “He’s a stupid monkey.”
“He seems clever to me,” answered the jaguar. “He found you didn’t he?”
As Edward ran, he plotted and schemed. He knew he didn’t have long; this human carrying the ledger could disappear at any moment. As he cantered along the top of the brick wall facing the tigers, he started to smile. He already knew what he was going to do. He was a trained circus monkey no less. Outwitting the humans wasn’t all that hard. He’d been doing it his whole life.
Edward spotted the crowd of men standing next to the stagnant hippo pool. He heard the man in tweed bemoan the quality of the water and saw the thin man respond, opening his book, nodding, hastily making note of the King’s remarks. Edward ran on. Just like he used to in the circus, he would approach his target from the side. He would use one human as a distraction while he robbed another.
Edward crossed the lawn and ran up the back of a gentleman’s suit and on to his tall hat. The man thought he’d been pushed in the back and turned to remonstrate. Edward tipped his hat backwards, using it as a springboard to leap on to the shoulder of the next gentleman. He grazed that man’s beard as he jumped again, using the shoulders of three men, including the King’s bodyguard and his private secretary, as stepping stones. As the crowd began to split, Edward took his final leap, landing on to the chest of the King of England, grabbing his lapels as if squaring for a fight.
A few gentlemen in the party gasped, losing their nerve, while one found his, bringing up his cane to strike the monkey from his monarch. He hesitated, realising he was more likely to hit his ruler. The King took a few paces back, struggling to look down at the monkey fiddling with the buttons on his coat.
“What is this?” he asked in a rich, amused voice.
“Your Majesty,” shouted the administrator, rushing forward. “I can explain...”
But he could not. Edward seized his moment. As the King of England started laughing, the monkey jumped at the administrator. He grabbed on to his suit and the King laughed some more. Edward realised this crowd was his to play. The monkey slapped the administrator’s flaccid cheek and the King let out a hearty chuckle. So Edward calmly rifled the administrator’s pockets. He no longer needed a distraction. Everyone bar the human he was hanging from thought this was part of the day’s show. So Edward tugged at a handkerchief and with a flourish tossed it into the hippo pool. He pulled out three coins and casually tossed each into the water, the metal disappearing with a plop below a layer of algae. The administrator was speechless, aghast. Edward patted down the human’s waistcoat and feeling what he had come for, he withdrew three keys on a silver ring. He held them aloft as the King’s private secretary made a joke about the animals running the zoo. Then as quick as he’d appeared, Edward jumped from the administrator’s chest and on to the side of the pool. Clutching the keys he ran up a sign, and from the sign he climbed on to the roof of the bat house, waking a succession of flying foxes as he ran over their tarred roof.
As he bolted, the administrator tried to calm his diaphragm.
“Your Majesty. If you would kindly follow me, we have our main presentation of the day,” he said. “A little show we thought you might enjoy. It will begin shortly by the seats arranged in the centre of the gardens.”
Edward ran to the leopard. He had three keys to open the two locks he knew of, a simple exercise in trial and error. But Edward was cleverer than that. As he returned to the cats’ cage he begged the old leopard to show him the padlocks. He then sized them by eye, and selecting the two largest keys, he matched each lock and key by sight. Wrapping his fist around the first key he pushed it in and twisted, the lock jumping apart. Edward tried to pull at the chain hanging from the lock, but he couldn’t unravel it from the fence. So he moved to the next, inserted the key and popped that open too.
“Come on,” he cried.
“There is a third lock,” said the jaguar. “The door you’re working on leads down a tunnel which ends at another gate. That too is locked.”
“How do I get to it?” asked Edward.
“I don’t know,” said the jaguar.
“You need to get those chains off,” said the leopard. “Get past the first door. Then you can run down to the gate.”
Edward wrapped both arms around one of the chains and pulled, but it didn’t budge. He tugged at a link, but could only lift it an inch before the others weighed it down. How he suddenly wished for Doris’s strength. But then he remembered that he was the cleverest of all the animals, a monkey destined to change everything. He realised he was confronted by a problem, and any problem could be solved. He looked about him, but could only see the ends of rolled cigarettes on the floor and bunting hanging from the top of the fence. He followed the wire, hoping he could climb over and down and reach the second door that way. He spotted it, but was annoyed to see the gate was enclosed by the wire tunnel, the last padlock out of reach.
Then it came to him. In the cage of the red panda, he’d bent over a long bamboo stem and felt the power of it flex and snap. He’d broken the stem using not his strength, but his weight.
“A branch,” he shouted at the cats. “Get me a branch!”
The old leopard still didn’t quite trust the monkey.
“Why do you want a branch?” he asked.
“Why does it matter?” said the jaguar. “It’s time you learned to accept someone else’s help.”
She moved into the grass and started foraging. Nose to the floor she sniffed for sticks, but the floor of their enclosure was barren, sterile apart from the smell of their own scent. The leopard watched her hunting for wood.
“I can get a branch,” said the leopard.
He accelerated across the enclosure and with a single leap he climbed the maple tree. He tested the strength of the two lowest branches. The jaguar gulped as she realised what he was about to do. He walked out upon the weakest and as the branch bent and creaked he just kept on walking. The moment it snapped, the jaguar thought she saw the leopard smile. Down he came, legs entangled in the branch. As the leopard hit the floor, the broken ends of the branch jabbed into the leopard’s lungs, winding him. But up he stood. He took the branch in his jaws and staggered with it towards the monkey, like an excited, tired dog coming off the beach with its favourite stick. He got to where Edward could reach the branch and collapsed.
Edward didn’t hesitate. He dropped the keys and pushed his arm through the wire and pulled, shearing the last of the branch’s leaves as it passed through to his side. He lifted it above his head and shoved one end under a metal chain still wrapped around the enclosure door. As the leopard had walked along the branch, the monkey danced along it. As he neared the end, he jumped up high, and caught the branch on the way down, spinning around it like a champion gymnast. His weight forced down the lever, pushing up under the chain at the other end. Four links popped off and fell, their weight and momentum dragging the others off the door until the chain landed in a heap on the other side of the wire to the prostrate leopard. Edward shoved the branch under the second chain and repeated the trick. As that chain fell the door opened.
Edward chattered, running his little hands through the bonnet of dark hair on his head, feeling at the daises around his neck. He picked up the keys and ran down the tunnel. The jaguar tracked him on the other side, astonished at the sight. The monkey reached the last lock and selected the smallest key. He could feel the jaguar’s breath as she studied him. He paused.
“It’s ok,” she said. “I won’t harm you. Even the birds are my friends.”
Edward had come too far. He turned the key. The last lock dropped. The sound of it striking the floor roused the leopard. The jaguar stood, confronted by the open door. The leopard joined her.
“It’s time to go,” the old cat said.
“I don’t know if I can,” she replied.
“It’s time you learned to accept another’s help,” said the leopard.
He licked her coat.
“She is coming with us,” he then said to Edward.
A large crowd had gathered around the lady in the ivory dress. She thought they might be examining her attire, commissioned as it was for the King’s visit. But that didn’t explain why these ladies and gentlemen stayed twenty feet back, or why they started to laugh. Finally, the lady noted the direction of their pointing fingers. She turned to face a dancing elephant and an anteater wearing a crown of holly.
The animals had followed the lady deep into the zoological gardens. Once upon her shoulder, Bessie became reluctant to leave, in case she scared the human, while Bear could see no reason not to follow the lady, given her presence had helped their entrance. Doris just carried on dancing, and soon she was leading the lady and the crowd of humans towards the bandstand, where Doris could see even more humans gathering about a broad circle of wooden chairs.
The more Doris danced the louder the crowd cheered. Bessie could resist no longer. Despite the cries of the scavenging gulls she jumped from the lady’s shoulder. Flying down to her heels and up again, she alighted on the lady’s hat. Upside down, she flew on to Doris and hopped along her back, receiving the elephant’s praise.
Behind Doris, Bear sat on his rear. He lacked the anatomy and energy to perform for too long, one of the reasons he’d never been chosen as a main act in Whyte and Wingate’s circus. Besides, Doris and Bessie had the humans in raptures and he still had a leopard to locate. As Doris performed and the sun shone down, the humans began to remove their hats and push up their sleeves. Bear tried to work out what to do next. As his mind wandered with thoughts of the missing monkey and cat, his eyelids closed, a doze welling up from within, the sleepy fog taking his mind. His long head nodded. He placed it upon the grass.
“Wake up! You have to wake!”
The giant anteater had momentarily succumbed before he was woken for the second time in his life by the slobbering gums of a dog. Tony the terrier buried his nose into Bear and pawed at his head.
“All the humans are watching you!” said the dog.
Every person was now seated. Rows of chairs formed a half circle, enclosing the lawn and bandstand behind. Hats had been replaced, sleeves rolled down and the ladies had put aside their parasols. Bear lifted his head. Even Doris and Bessie had stopped moving. All the humans and his two friends were now staring down a path that led to the bandstand. Suddenly all the humans stood and applauded. As they rose, Bear noticed Lord Morgan among their number, three seats along in the front row.
A gaggle of smartly dressed men followed another down the path. The man in front, dressed in tweed and wearing a flat cap, strode up and on to the bandstand. He stood behind a lectern, grasping it with both hands.
But he didn’t speak. He peered down upon the lawn, incredulous at the Indian elephant and giant anteater that stood unchained before him. The men bustled about the bandstand, whispering into each others’ ears. A thin man holding a ledger was grabbed by the arm and pushed to the front, so he stood just a foot to the side of the man in the cap. The thin man surveyed his zoo and all the humans in it. He coughed. He spluttered. Then he spoke.
“Your Lords, ladies and gentleman. I most humbly present to you the King of England.”
The thin man then affected such a deep bow that he almost toppled from the bandstand.
The King smirked. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and removed a piece of paper, upon which he had written a speech. He again looked at Doris and Bear, who had turned to watch him also, becoming part of the audience. The King blinked at the animals. Unsure, he caught the eye of his private secretary.
“You said we were seeing a talking myna bird?” he asked his aide.
The private secretary shrugged. The King snapped open his sheet and began to read it out, projecting his voice above the shrieks and sounds of the zoo’s caged animals.
He told his audience how wonderful it had been for him to visit the great city of Bristol, a beacon of trade and civility in the west. He made mention of having spent the morning in the company of various professors at University College. A row of suited men nodded back, including Lord Morgan, who was nervously clicking his fingers, trying to bring Tony the terrier to heel. The King joked about how tedious university professors could be, especially when they were lobbying to receive a Royal Warrant for their institution. The professors nodded again, though less vigorously than before.
The King made reference to seeing that day animals from around his Empire, including a koala and kangaroo from Australia, a silverback gorilla from British East Africa and a pair of albatrosses returned from Ascension Island. The crowd politely applauded. By this time the zoo administrator had moved to the back of the bandstand, and was silently remonstrating with another man dressed in badly fitting attire.
The King then deviated from his speech.
“And of course our Indian elephant here,” he said, introducing Doris to the crowd as if they couldn’t see her. “What wonderful animals! I have never seen one so free as this. It’s enough to get the blue blood flowing,” he joked.
Doris reacted, lowering herself on to one knee, and with Bess
ie twittering away between her ears, she doffed her massive head towards the King. The crowd spontaneously cheered as a huge smile spread across the King’s face.
Suddenly a number of gentlemen and ladies jumped to their feet.
“They love you Doris. They love you,” cried Bessie.
But Bear could see otherwise. Positioned off to the side, Bear had a view down another crisp white path that led to the bandstand. As he heard the men and women gasp, the anteater could see three animals approaching.
The old leopard led, his hips and shoulders swaying with each stride, his tongue hanging wet, his eyes fixed on the humans. On his back rode Edward the tufted capuchin, the monkey grasping a fold of spotted skin on the leopard’s neck as his legs dangled upon the cat’s muscles. Following the leopard, her head bobbing out from behind his tail, ambled the jaguar. While the leopard stared dead ahead, the jaguar kept flicking her yellow eyes all about, taking in the zoological gardens she had lived in but never seen.
“There,” cried Edward, pointing ahead. “There is Doris!”
The leopard heard the monkey. But he had become as interested in the humans in their suits and gowns, who were now jumping from the most expensive ringside seats in all Bristol.
The King saw the leopard, recognising him. So too had the King’s bodyguard, who stepped up to his charge, placing a hand on his shoulder. The monarch gently removed the hand and quietly asked those around him:
“Are these animals supposed to be here?”
One man broke from the back of the bandstand. Dropping his ledger on the lawn, the administrator jumped down and ran, his moustache absorbing the sweat of his top lip as he stumbled across the grass like a baby giraffe.