Chester Parsons is Not a Gorilla

by Martyn Ford

  Anyway, in total there were six episodes in the first series. We watched them all once they had been edited – to be fair, some of it was funny. There was a great bit when I was in a swan running through a busy shopping centre, causing absolute feathery carnage, screeching at people and flapping my wings, knocking over shelves and bins. I chased one guy until he cried. That was a good day, I enjoyed that. But once you’d seen one episode, you’d seen them all.

  Either way, the first series aired and, as predicted, we were famous. Yay. Everyone knew me as the kid who could control animals.

  And yet, even then, people still shouted ‘Yum-yum puff-puff’ at me. I reckon, when I die, that’ll be carved into my gravestone.

  Here lies Chester Parsons, YUM-YUM PUFF-PUFF.

  I don’t even like Puff Puff Wheat Puffs – we got them for free for a year after the advert and they make me sick. Taste like sugary bits of floor.

  Once Amy and Chester was popular, we went on a few talk shows together. We were even on the morning news. This was more her thing than mine, so I let her do most of the talking. These interviews were always the same. The presenter would ask some general questions, about our fame, about the show, about the weather, whatever, and then they would say, ‘Maybe Chester could demonstrate it now?’ As if they just thought of that. Oh, while you’re here – that’s a good idea. Obviously that was the plan all along. That’s why you invited me. Wheel out ya tortoise, let’s get it done.

  I did all this stuff with a smile though – I was professional about it. I’m good at pretending I’m enjoying myself – after all, I’m an actor (remember?).

  You’re probably thinking I was being ungrateful. You’re probably thinking, hey, now Amy and Chester has finished, I could pick up where I left off – carry on acting.

  But no. Wrong again.

  You see, the contract was for two series of the show – and there was already talk of more. There was a break from filming, which seemed to fly past in a mad frenzy. And before I knew it, Christmas had been and gone, the park was frosty, and series two was about to begin.

  *

  The minibus pulled into the huge empty car park on a cold Sunday afternoon. This series would start a bit differently – we were going to film everything ‘on location’. Day one. Scene one. The zoo.

  ‘Yah, riiight, OK,’ Brian said. ‘We’ve got the run of the whole place today. Studio’s throwing big money at this season. So I want everyone at their best. Lots of teeth – Amy, remember the necklace has to be visible or the sponsorship deal is void.’

  Brian’s enthusiasm was in top gear. Last year he was producing a fun show about a couple of kids. This year he had a million-pound budget and had to keep his bosses happy.

  We all stepped out of the minibus and on to the tarmac.

  ‘Chest-o,’ Brian said. ‘I want to see that dazzling smile of yours too.’ He grabbed me in a soft, playful headlock, his puffy blue coat ruffled my hair.

  ‘Get off,’ I said, laughing.

  He let me go. ‘That’s the one – what a money-maker.’

  ‘I’ll see you in court,’ I said, neatening my collar.

  I’ll admit his joy was infectious. He was probably the one thing that made it all bearable. When someone is constantly positive, it does make people happy.

  They let us film in the zoo over a bank holiday weekend, but we had to wait until the evening, after closing time. I guess they didn’t want us freaking out the visitors. As series two was ‘bigger and better in every way’, there were going to be more exotic creatures, more excitement and more, Brian said, ‘Zing-zing pow.’ Whatever that means.

  The Silent Cameraman set everything up and found a good location to film. Thinking back, I honestly don’t remember being introduced to him – I’m sure he had a name and I’m sure he could speak. But he never did. He just filmed. Maybe it was so we would forget he was even there. Either way, Silent Cameraman was what we called him.

  ‘Let your hair down, Chester,’ Amy (Just Amy) said, checking her make-up in the minibus’s wing mirror. ‘I know you’re only pretending to be happy – no one else can see it, but I can.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Just have fun – when this is over, we’ll get paid more money than we can even imagine. Plus, how often do we get to hang out and just muck about together?’

  I smiled. ‘Yeah.’

  Damn. Just Amy was right.

  I remembered my mindfulness training – where all this started. I have to look at my thoughts.

  Could I make this positive? Easily. I was at a zoo. I had been nearly every domestic animal. But lions, tigers, giraffes? This was all new. All right – I decided I would enjoy myself.

  ‘OK, yah, listen up, guys,’ Brian said. ‘Let’s get some quick shots of the car park. Then, quick intro from Amy, Chest-o gets cosy in the van, then get yourself into a bird – maybe one of these crows.’ There were three big black birds pecking at some rubbish a little way from the minibus. One squawked. ‘Then down on to Amy’s shoulder. We’ll get a GoPro fitted, then into the zoo for some freestyling, yeah? Great. Great. Let’s roll.’

  By now, mind jumping was as straightforward as riding a bike. Easy once you know how. I didn’t even need to concentrate. I just looked at an animal and – zip-whoosh – I was controlling it.

  I pecked a hole in a polystyrene cup with my long black beak, leapt a couple of times on the spot and turned to look at Amy. Then, with a jump and a few flaps of my wings, I flew up and landed on top of the minibus. I peered down through the sunroof and saw my body sleeping peacefully in a trance below. Always weird to look back at yourself.

  ‘Hey guys …’ Loser Amy said.

  Brian strapped a small camera round my neck, which meant I could film quite literally a bird’s-eye view of the zoo. Being some animals did get dull but, when it came to flying, that was always great fun. Every single time, it felt amazing. It felt effortless, like in a dream – I just pushed up into the air and watched the ground fall away beneath me.

  I drifted and glided and turned over the entire zoo, seeing it from above like a map, all the fields, paths, the huge empty car park, the minibus now just a tiny white rectangle. Then falling, spiralling, the wind rushing through my feathers, I landed on top of a cage. From there I would jump down into an animal, do some tricks, prove I was in control, then look up at the crow, shoot back into it, and then up and away.

  It must have been about 6 p.m. when I arrived at Tito’s enclosure. Tito, the eleven-year-old silverback gorilla. The zoo seemed especially proud of him – he had a huge cage all to himself, with tyre swings and ropes and platforms. Then a little tunnel, which had windows along either side, led to another enclosure with all the other gorillas, and an indoor area to sleep and eat. That section of the zoo was called Gorilla Mountain. All the signs, the benches, even the bins had little pictures of gorillas and notes with key facts about them. Did you know ninety-eight per cent of gorilla DNA is the same as Homo sapiens DNA (which is humans)? Did you know gorillas are the largest primate? Did you know gorilla eggs are the strongest eggs in nature?

  I may have misremembered some of those facts.

  As always, I looked down into the cage, spotted the target, then whistled through the air and arrived in his mind. Being a gorilla was awesome. I danced and swung and leapt around the enclosure. I made all the classic ooo-ooo-aaah-aaah sounds. I ran towards the edge of the cage, my big arms swinging. Then I did some roly-polies and threw straw all over myself. They even got me to paint some pictures and take selfies on a phone – one with the whole crew behind me.

  It was evening when we wrapped it up for the day – it was getting dark, cold. The crow I’d been using to travel around was still waiting at the top of the cage, so I tilted my huge hairy black head and looked at it. Off I go. Farewell, Tito. It’s been a laugh.

  But nothing happened.

  Huffing, frowning, I tried again. Then I stepped a bit closer to the bird – I tried sitting, relaxing, lying on the
ground, but I just couldn’t get out of the gorilla.

  ‘Come on, Chester,’ Amy said from behind the viewing glass, tapping her watch.

  I could see a worried look on Brian’s face. But Silent Cameraman was still filming me. I roared and hit my chest.

  Just do it, I thought, grabbing my head and groaning. By now I was in a bad state – a mix of angry and terrified. Which is an odd combination. I let out my loudest roar yet, which echoed around the zoo. The startled crow flapped its wings and left nothing but a single feather falling down through the air towards me like a black leaf.

  Panicked, I stared at Amy. Maybe I should go for a human host. That’s it. I would leap into her mind (even though she told me never to do it again) then get back to my body that way. But I couldn’t do that either. I was stuck. Trapped in a gorilla, of all places.

  Right at this point, I totally lost it. I grabbed at the fence, used a stick to try and break the viewing glass, then bashed into it with my shoulder and my heavy fists. Brian opened the enclosure and started to say something, but I barged past, knocking Silent Cameraman off his feet. One of the zookeepers set off an alarm, shouted. I didn’t care.

  All I wanted was to get back to my own body – a direct jump was the only way. Nothing else mattered. Not the show. Not the fact that a gorilla was on the loose. Nothing.

  I climbed the perimeter fence easily, then thundered on all fours straight into the car park, straight to the minibus, straight to the side. I ripped open the door, literally pulling off the handle and flinging it over my shoulder. Then, with a deep grumbling groan, I started to breathe faster and faster. My eyes wide and scared as they searched the empty seats.

  My body was gone.

  Hey, remember earlier when we were talking about consciousness and I told you to look at your own thoughts? Did you do it? Notice anything strange? For me, it was like realising I’d been driving around for years and had never even spotted the car. The weirdest part though is that no one’s actually steering.

  That thing you say is ‘you’, like, the little person in your brain, is actually a thought itself. When you go looking for ‘you’, it usually disappears. It’s difficult to explain and some people try for decades to realise this, so don’t feel bad if you don’t figure it out straight away.

  Also, I was surprised by how thoughts actually happen. Close your eyes and have a look inside your mind. It’ll be dark red and probably weird in there. Wait a while for some thoughts. But don’t get too distracted by them. You’ll see that they just appear from nowhere. Like fish jumping out of water. It’s like, la, la, la, nice ocean, few waves, hey, look at those clouds, BAM – fish leaps up and then splashes back down.

  Dr Vladovski said consciousness is like watching a good film, being totally involved in it – feeling scared at the scary bits, happy at the happy bits, sad at the sad bits. But when you look really closely, you realise you’re actually just watching coloured light on a screen …

  Sorry, we got distracted again. I should stick to the story.

  Where was I?

  Oh yeah, that was exactly the problem – WHERE WAS I?!

  At first I was confused when I couldn’t see my body in the back of that minibus. By this time, Brian, Amy and Silent Cameraman had arrived in the zoo car park and were standing by my side. I was still in the body of Tito. I think this made it worse because male silverback gorillas can be pretty angry creatures. In the wild they fight each other and they go absolutely bananas (ha, bananas – perfect) when someone gets in their territory, or steals eggs from their nest. Also, when people film nature documentaries, presenters try not to make eye contact with alpha-male gorillas – apparently even that can wind them up. Window to the soul, remember?

  So with all that in mind, I felt especially upset about the situation. In fact, it’s safe to say, I overreacted. I leapt on to the bonnet of the minibus, feeling Tito’s heavy body slam into the metal. The suspension groaned under my weight. Then I punched a hole in the windscreen – my strong black arm looked like a hairy tree trunk. I grabbed the whole pane of glass and ripped it out, flinging it over my shoulder.

  ‘Hey!’ someone said. ‘Chill out!’

  I turned to look and heard a deep, terrifying roar – it came from my mouth – then I whacked myself on the chest a few times. Maybe chilling out was good advice?

  Nah.

  Instead, I jumped high, landing on the roof of the minibus. The metal panels warped and dented as I swung both fists down into it again and again and – why not? – again.

  The rest happened in a bit of a blur. I had just pulled one of the wheels off and bounced it across the car park with a grunting huff when I saw a tiny pale hand on my arm.

  ‘Chester.’ It was a girl. It was Amy. Just Amy. ‘Calm down,’ she whispered. ‘Calm down.’

  All right, yes, I thought, sitting on the ground. To my left, the minibus was destroyed – every window shattered, the driver’s seat snapped in half, all the cushion foam spread across the tarmac. I’d even yanked out bits of the engine. Brian was holding his shoulder and wincing in pain. I must have knocked him over or something. Silent Cameraman was standing next to his camera, which had been smashed on the floor. I guess Tito didn’t like being filmed.

  Just like when I was a squirrel and I wanted to climb trees and bury nuts, now, trapped in Tito, I had a short temper and a strong urge to find fruit (gorillas eat mostly fruit – that fact is definitely true). Also, I wanted to search through Amy’s hair and nibble her fleas.

  She stroked my shoulder.

  ‘Whurgh,’ I said. ‘Whurgh muh uuh-dy?’

  She looked over at the minibus.

  ‘Whurgh ah eh?’

  I was trying to say, ‘Where am I?’ But gorillas don’t have quite the same vocal chords as humans.

  ‘We don’t know, Chester.’ Just Amy seemed to understand. ‘The police are on their way.’

  *

  The officer who arrived had never seen or even heard of the show, so explaining the problem proved tricky.

  ‘Sorry, start again,’ he said, with his notepad ready.

  ‘Someone has kidnapped my brother,’ Amy explained.

  ‘But … but you said your brother is a gorilla?’

  During this conversation, I was hiding behind the damaged minibus. Brian said it would be best. We’d basically stolen a gorilla from the zoo. They’d be wanting it back pretty soon.

  ‘No,’ Amy said. ‘Chester’s consciousness is in the gorilla. His actual body is missing. Maybe you should look around for some evidence?’

  ‘OK.’ The police officer laughed. ‘Hey, come on down to the station. I think I know who can help you.’ He handed Amy a card and stepped towards his car. ‘Ask for him at reception. Have a nice day.’

  And, with a smile and a wave, the officer left. I had a feeling he didn’t believe us.

  Amy said it would be a shame not to film this trip to the police station, which made me frown and blow air out of my nostrils. This was a stressful time and I wasn’t really in the mood for doing tricks on camera.

  Brian patted my huge forearm and said, ‘Chest-o, I know this must be really hard for you. If you want to stop the show just nod and we’ll delay the second series. We can pick up once this is all sorted.’

  However, Amy looked over to me and shook her head. Maybe she was right. This pickle would probably be resolved by the end of the day – maybe it was silly to give up.

  It might affect our pay too.

  ‘Whurgh-eh-urrgh,’ I grumbled (trying to say ‘whatever’).

  Red Rose Pictures sent another minibus, which Brian drove to the police station.

  On the way, I sat in the back and tried to get my thoughts in line. What was I thinking? That someone was behind this. But who? Was it possible the—

  ‘Steeerhg Gwemmers.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Amy leant close to listen.

  ‘Deh – pepple.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Bahd pepple
. Cuhlt.’

  ‘Nope. Didn’t get a word of it.’

  ‘Pehhn. Geh mah pehhn.’ I pretended to write.

  ‘A pen?’

  ‘Geeah.’ I nodded. ‘Pappa. Peeehn ah pappa.’

  Brian passed a biro and a sheet of paper into the back of the minibus. It was difficult to hold it properly, especially with corners and bumps in the road. In the end I just gripped it with my fist, poked my tongue out and scrawled a few messy words. When I’d finished, I handed it to Amy.

  ‘D … B?’ she tried to read, squinting at the wonky letters. ‘D … R?’

  ‘Derhcteey.’

  ‘Der …? Oh, Doctor. Doctor … Doctor Vladovski …’

  ‘Mmm.’ I gave her a thumbs up.

  ‘Worm? Wormed?’

  ‘Neergh.’

  ‘Worked? Wa … Warned.’

  ‘Eh, eh, geah.’

  ‘About the store … the store in … Swindon?’

  I covered my face and groaned.

  ‘As in the town?’

  ‘Urrrrrgh.’

  ‘Sorry, Chester, it’s just … OK. St … Star? Yes? Star … Swim … star swimmers? Dr Vladovski warned about the star swimmers. The ancient or … order of … of mind jumpers?’

  Finally.

  Dr Vladovski had told me that all this was dangerous. I hadn’t seen him for months, since we started the show, so I was guessing he wouldn’t be happy that I’d made mind jumping world-famous. But the star swimmers – who I was now sure existed – would be even less happy.

  Maybe they’ve stolen my body as a punishment, I thought. Hey, maybe they’ve already lobbed it in the sea, or dropped it into a wood chipper? I felt a wave of terrible gorilla anxiety. Must avoid these negative thoughts. Dipped it in a piranha tank? No, stop.