Monkey Wars

by Richard Kurti

Gu-Nah smiled. “By getting up early. Dawn tomorrow.”

  “Even the infants?”

  “Especially the infants.”

  —

  Trying to appear eager for their first lesson, the rhesus had lined up in neat rows as Gu-Nah and Mico approached. The monkeys were just doing what they thought soldiers did, but when Gu-Nah stood in front of them he shook his head. “That’s exactly how we’re not going to win this war.”

  The rhesus exchanged nervous glances.

  “Now gather round,” Gu-Nah said casually. “For the next few moons we’re going to do nothing but play games. The way I see it, if you want to fight different you have to think different; and to think different you need to grow up all over again, which means learning to play all over again.”

  But it was play with a difference….

  Wrestling became an exercise in the inequality of power. Gu-Nah organized the monkeys into pairs, adult against adult, youngster against youngster, and made them wrestle each other for control of a square marked in the dirt.

  At first everything was evenly matched and very few fights had a clear conclusion. Then Gu-Nah secretly told half the monkeys to change their tactics—instead of simply wrestling, they were to focus all their energy on attacking one part of their opponent’s body.

  The monkeys were puzzled, but they tried it anyway.

  Twitcher was matched against a rhesus male called Cadby. That morning they had wrestled each other to exhaustion without either getting pushed out of the square. Now, though, Cadby decided to focus all his effort on Twitcher’s left arm.

  “Attack!” shouted Gu-Nah and, as the two monkeys threw themselves at each other, Cadby dived for Twitcher’s arm and yanked it toward the ground. Twitcher tried to prize him off but it was no use; Cadby just focused more of his energy on the arm, leaping up and locking both his legs around it.

  Twitcher paused, utterly confused about how to counter the attack. As he hesitated Cadby swung round, pulled Twitcher off balance and sent them both tumbling to the ground. Still Cadby didn’t let go—he leaped to his feet and dragged Twitcher across the dirt by his arm. Trying to relieve the searing pain, Twitcher scrambled after Cadby and was promptly bundled out of the square.

  The monkeys were astonished at the bizarre but brilliantly effective technique.

  “You get the point,” said Gu-Nah, stepping into the square. “Two matched forces will just keep slugging it out. But winning is what fighting is about. Whatever forces you have, focus them where the enemy is least expecting it and you create confusion. You throw them off balance. You win.”

  Gu-Nah looked along the line of monkeys. “Any youngsters want to try it?”

  “Me!” exclaimed Joop, a particularly enthusiastic youngster.

  “Good. Who else?” said Gu-Nah, looking at the other young monkeys.

  “No, I want to try it on Cadby!”

  The monkeys all laughed—Joop was half the size of Cadby and obviously didn’t stand a chance.

  Gu-Nah just gave a wry smile. “Even better.” And he ushered Joop into the square.

  The monkeys murmured nervously.

  Joop looked up at Cadby with a solemn face. “Don’t go easy on me.”

  Cadby smiled indulgently. “As if.”

  “Attack!” barked Gu-Nah.

  Cadby thrust forward to grab Joop by the shoulders—his plan was to lift the young monkey clean off his feet and toss him out of the square. That should get a laugh. But he’d forgotten that the whole point of the exercise was about upsetting plans.

  Cadby lunged and Joop flung himself to the ground, avoiding his grasp. Then, as Cadby swung back round, Joop hurled himself toward the bigger monkey’s left leg. The speed and force took Cadby completely by surprise; he didn’t even have time to tense his muscles; his leg was just snatched away and he tumbled into the dirt.

  The watching monkeys gasped in surprise; a few started to laugh. Anger pricked Cadby—he’d show this little upstart who was the better fighter.

  But immediately Joop struck again, grabbing the bigger monkey’s ears and twisting his head, forcing Cadby’s body to follow…and roll right out of the square.

  The spectators burst into spontaneous ground-thumping, delighted at the triumph of the underdog.

  With the battle over, Joop switched back from warrior to polite little monkey, helping Cadby to his feet and asking, “Are you all right?” as if the attack had been nothing to do with him.

  Gu-Nah immediately set everyone to work practicing the technique. Young wrestled old, females wrestled males—there was no hierarchy.

  —

  There were more upsets in the days that followed, as each new game turned some preconception or other on its head.

  For “command or control,” Gu-Nah split the group into adults against infants and gave them an objective: to build a bridge across the storm gully that ran behind the steelworks. This was no easy task—the concrete ditch was as wide as a small road, and full to the brim with swirling water.

  Gu-Nah organized the adults along traditional troop lines. Twitcher was put in charge of the operation and had to direct operations from the water tower. Strict military discipline was to be maintained at all times.

  The youngsters, on the other hand, were given no leader. Instead, Gu-Nah told them that they were each personally responsible for successfully bridging the gully. It was as if they had all been made leaders.

  A well-organized hierarchy of adults against an anarchic band of infants all vying with one another? It should have been obvious who would win.

  While the youngsters dispersed in random directions, all doing their own thing, Twitcher issued a long stream of carefully considered orders, sending out some monkeys to look for materials, ordering others to find a good crossing point.

  As the sun reached its highest point, Twitcher was still looking at designs drawn in the sand, while the rival team had amassed a huge pile of materials at the side of the storm gully and was starting to experiment with various constructions.

  Cadby reported back that the youngsters were in the lead, but Twitcher wasn’t worried. “No point being the fastest if your bridge collapses,” he chuckled, convinced that good organization would win the day.

  But by sunset the young monkeys put the final piece of their bridge in place and successfully crossed the gully. The race was over, and the adults hadn’t even finished their foundations.

  Twitcher was stunned. All the adult monkeys were. They stared, incredulous, at the euphoric infants dancing back and forth across their bridge. It was the weirdest bridge any of them had seen, a kind of pontoon, floating on old tires and secured to the bank at either end with bits of cable…but it worked, and that was what mattered.

  “What just happened?” demanded Gu-Nah.

  “We won! We won!”

  “But why did you win?” insisted Gu-Nah.

  The youngsters quieted down; they had no idea why.

  “One word: freedom.” Gu-Nah let the word hang in the air for a moment. “The young monkeys were free to try anything they wanted; the adults could only follow orders.”

  “So it’s my fault,” said Twitcher fractiously. “For giving the wrong orders.”

  “It’s not the orders you gave; it’s the fact that you had to give them at all,” Mico intervened diplomatically. “You had to work with a hierarchy. It gave you control, but it lost you time. The youngsters just collected whatever looked interesting. A lot of it was junk—they didn’t care; they collected it anyway. But when they started playing with their pile of junk, that’s when their ideas started coming. Because they didn’t need to worry about following orders, some of those ideas were crazy.”

  Mico pointed to a rubber tire under the middle of the bridge. “They wouldn’t have thought of using a floating support if they hadn’t just happened to have collected a tire.”

  “I saw a pile of tires as well, behind the small warehouse,” protested Cadby, trying to save face for the adults.

&n
bsp; “Then why didn’t you collect some?” asked Gu-Nah.

  “I sent word to ask for permission.”

  “And?”

  “The order came back: We’re building a bridge, not a boat. Leave them.”

  Gu-Nah nodded. “You followed orders, like a good soldier.”

  Mico put a reassuring hand on Twitcher’s shoulder. “And you tried to keep everyone focused on the mission: bridge not boat. Just like a good commander.” He spun round and looked at the group of adults. “No one did the wrong thing. The point is, you lost because you didn’t have the freedom to win.”

  Gu-Nah swung across the ground and made a dramatic leap onto the bridge, which bobbed under his weight. “And it’s the same for the langur. When we attack Tyrell’s empire, we need to do what the youngsters did with this bridge. Move fast, react quickly, strike while his army is waiting for orders. We’ll make mistakes,” he grabbed the bridge and shook it. “Their first three attempts collapsed, but they fixed the problem fast because they didn’t have to wait for orders. Winning a battle isn’t always about making the right decision. No, sir. Sometimes it’s about making the quickest decision.”

  Mico looked along the line of monkeys, wondering whether they’d understood. He saw a mixture of confusion and doubt; then he caught Papina’s eye. She was smiling; she had grasped exactly what he and Gu-Nah were saying. And if Papina was on board, sooner or later, the others would get it too.

  —

  Papina had every reason to smile—each new exercise changed the way she saw the world and, for the first time in many moons, she no longer felt like a victim.

  The exercise she loved most of all was the one they started and ended each day with—the “zigzag.” All the monkeys would gather in a circle and link arms; then, on Gu-Nah’s signal, every other monkey would lean inward while all the others leaned out. If every monkey kept calm and trusted, it worked beautifully: your weight was taken by your neighbor’s and everyone just hung peacefully, defying gravity.

  Papina always tried to make sure she was next to Mico for the zigzag. Looping her arms tightly through his, holding him, yet at the same time being held by him, that feeling of mutual reliance…it reminded her of the simple trust they had enjoyed when they were younger, stealing illicit meetings in the moonlight.

  And after all the heartache, it felt good to trust again.

  Hister’s disappearance ramped up Tyrell’s paranoia. He was convinced that Mico had somehow plucked her from the heart of the cemetery just to taunt him.

  It rammed home the urgency of capturing Mico; as long as the traitor lived, there was a fatal flaw in the lord ruler’s strength.

  Urgently he summoned Breri and Sweto to the map room at the top of the summer house tower and demanded to know what they were going to do about the problem.

  “Perhaps he’s fled the city altogether, my lord,” suggested Breri.

  “Perhaps,” Tyrell said tetchily, but he wasn’t convinced. The orange pip carelessly tossed away had a nasty habit of taking root where you least expected it.

  “I’m doubling the monkeys at your disposal,” he said, glaring at Sweto. “You are to pursue every lead, report every sighting, search every street.”

  “Don’t worry, my lord. We’ll find him.”

  “That’s what you said last time,” snapped Tyrell. “Now go!” He gave an impatient flick of his tail, which sent Breri and Sweto scampering away.

  The lord ruler sat alone in the middle of the room cradling his head in his hands, trying to ease the pain that gnawed at his mind. There was only one thing that gave him peace these days: his great plan. As long as he was thinking about that, he felt safe.

  He swung across the room and stood in front of the carved map of the city, gently trailing his fingers across the tangle of streets. The great plan would give him total control of all this; it would be a world where nothing moved without his knowledge, a world where Tyrell could finally know happiness.

  —

  The ruling cadre gathered expectantly in a room overlooking the long pool. Rumors had been circulating for days about what Tyrell was going to announce, but one thing was certain: this meeting was of the highest importance as only a handful of the most senior monkeys had been invited.

  General Pogo was there, his long record of unquestioning loyalty made sure of that; the Barbaries were represented by Hummingbird and his deputy, the wily Oatsack, which meant that whatever Tyrell had in mind was going to involve some heavy-duty fighting. Breri was surprised and delighted to be summoned, and realized that he was now reaping the rewards of turning in his own parents. The last monkey was Sweto, whose influence seemed to be growing by the day.

  While they waited, attractive young female langurs circulated, handing out unusual fruits.

  Suddenly the females withdrew, the delegates fell silent and all eyes focused on the door, waiting for their leader to appear.

  Tyrell paused outside, kindling the expectation. Then, with a brusque, businesslike flurry, he bowled into the room.

  “Fellow monkeys,” he began, not bothering with small talk, “I had hoped this wouldn’t be necessary. When news first reached my ears I refused to believe it. But I was wrong. I’m afraid we have to face the brutal truth: the traitor Mico is working with the humans. Together they intend to attack us, smash the langur empire, murder those of us they can catch, banish those they cannot.”

  There was an audible gasp in the room.

  Sweto and Breri were astonished that, despite all their work hunting Mico, they hadn’t the slightest inkling of this plot. They gazed at Tyrell, wondering at his omniscience.

  That was the beauty of a brilliant lie, thought Tyrell. It gave you power that was difficult to challenge, because there were no facts to dispute.

  “I have to say,” he went on with a bitter smile, “Mico’s plan is a good one.”

  Again the monkeys were thrown off balance, expecting Tyrell to rail against his enemy, not praise him.

  “The fact is, no other animal would dare attack us. The rhesus tried it and we wiped them from the face of the city. But humans…they are the only creatures left who are arrogant enough to turn on us.

  “I don’t have to tell you how dangerous humans are. We’re surrounded by proof of their ingenuity—the huge buildings, the thundering trains, the animals they slaughter to satisfy their hunger. If all that energy was turned against us…”

  Tyrell looked at each monkey in turn, seeing the fear as they imagined the carnage.

  “So what can we do to protect ourselves?” Tyrell mused ominously. “We strike first.”

  Astonishment in the room. Had they misheard their leader?

  “In battle, the first strike defines the conflict.” Tyrell rose and started to pace around the monkeys.

  “Close your eyes and imagine what this city would look like if it was cleansed of humans. No cars or buses to run over our young; no cacophony of noise day and night; no human filth to encourage the rats. Why should we be forced to live in the cracks and shadows when humans occupy the grandest buildings with the finest views?”

  By now there was real indignation in Tyrell’s voice. “The humans have ruled this city for long enough. We monkeys are more agile, we have sharper teeth, we can climb higher, run faster, and…we have tails! We should be the rulers of this city. This is our destiny, and you…” His gaze passed over the monkeys. “You are the generation chosen to fulfill it.”

  A feeling of soaring ambition galvanized the room as the thought of ruling the entire city took hold, tempting the monkeys to reach far beyond their grasp.

  Breri was hypnotized by the power of the vision; this was why he had sworn undying loyalty to Tyrell, to be a part of greatness. Bursting with pride, Breri raised his fists and brought them thumping down on the floor. Once, twice, and immediately Sweto joined in, thundering his unquestioning support.

  Not wanting to be outdone by langur loyalty, Oatsack declared, “This is our destiny!” and joined in with the thum
p of approval.

  Only Hummingbird hesitated.

  When he imagined the city without humans, he saw barren markets and the empty ruins of shops; he saw a world where the fountains would run dry, where there would be no one to drive away the snakes. Surely a city without humans was no place for monkeys.

  But when he saw the others thumping their support, Hummingbird knew he had to go along with it. For now.

  He hadn’t wavered for long, but it was enough to alert General Pogo, because in truth, Pogo too was gravely worried. He hadn’t been so foolish as to give any outward sign of doubt; in fact, he had applauded more enthusiastically than the others.

  After the meeting, though, as the monkeys all went their separate ways, the general allowed himself to think freely. And then he understood exactly what made him feel so uneasy: wasn’t the foundation of all langur power the fact that they protected humans from the violence of monkeys? Which surely meant that what Tyrell was now proposing was the quickest way to self-destruction.

  For the first time, Pogo realized that the lord ruler had moved beyond visionary leadership into madness. But who was going to tell him?

  In the days after the massacre, one thought had come to dominate Fig’s life: how was she going to end it?

  Since the murder of her infants Fig had neither hope nor purpose. Her heart beat, her blood flowed, her nerves tingled, but deep in her spirit, where it really mattered, there was no pulse.

  So while the other monkeys were hard at work, Fig sat quietly brooding on top of the water tower, trying to will her life away.

  She watched the monkeys set out every morning full of nervous excitement and return each evening exhausted and challenged. At first it just deepened her despair to see others so engaged with life. And yet, the more Fig watched, the more she saw a bond grow between the survivors. In the youngsters’ excited banter, she could hear the thrill of minds being opened.

  Day by day, as Fig saw hope nudge out fear, she felt something quicken in her own heart. But it wasn’t hope.

  Papina was sitting alone by a puddle under the water tower when she felt the gentle touch on her back. She turned round and saw Fig crouched quietly.