by Alan Black
Carl called the jungle the Birmingham Zoo. Harpo laughed every time he heard Carl say Birmingham Zoo. All of the people knew the jungle was the jungle. It did not matter what you called the jungle it was still the jungle.
Harpo knew the hairless-not-people were not smart, but they were useful and funny. Harpo liked hairless-not-people. Carl was his special favorite. Carl was a good servant to the people. He kept their jungle areas clean, brought them food, and showed Harpo the hairless-not-people secrets that made them so funny.
Harpo could do all kinds of things and the hairless-not-people would try to do the same things. Harpo was sad that the hairless-not-people were not smart enough to do the things he could do, but they tried. It made Harpo laugh when they tried. When Harpo laughed, the hairless-not-people laughed in their funny, high-pitched grunts.
When Carl first shared the hairless-not-people secrets with him, Harpo could not tell one hairless-not-people from any other. Now Harpo could recognize the large from the small, female from the male, and even recognize certain individuals as frequent visitors. When Harpo recognized a hairless-not-people, he always waved at them, just as Carl had showed him. The hairless-not-people always waved back. Harpo did not think they could help themselves; the waving was just what they did.
The light-not-heat in the hairless-not-people place was not bright. Harpo could see across to the large-hairy-not-people place. He could see Babec staring back at him. Carl called the large-hairy-not-people ‘gorillas’ and said that the big one was Babec. Many of the hairless-not-people who came to see Harpo also looked at Babec.
Babec stared back. That was all Babec ever did; stare back. When the hairless-not-people poked their tiny noses against the seeing-rock as if they were trying to smell through it, Babec only stared back. Harpo did not understand, even when Carl had explained that Babec was a celebrity of sorts in the jungle. He was the first gorilla in the world to have a pacemaker in his heart.
Carl had shown Harpo a picture of a Komodo dragon. He had explained the dragon lived in a jungle area nearby and many hairless-not-people came to see it, but they always came to see Harpo too. Harpo had studied the picture. He did not know how the dragon had come to be on paper, but the dragon looked like the water-beasts from when he was young and in the other jungle. Carl called the other jungle Sumatra. Harpo did not care. It was just the other jungle. This jungle was better. In this jungle, the water-beasts did not try to eat Harpo.
Harpo understood that the picture was not the dragon. It was what the dragon looked like. Carl had given Harpo empty-pictures and Harpo had made colored scratches on the empty-pictures with soft-not-sticks. He tried hard, but could not make a picture of the dragon as good as the one Carl had. It was fun to try and it made the hairless-not-people happy when he tried, happy enough to give him special food.
He could not understand why the hairless-not-people would want to look at something ugly. Why look at ugly when they had the beauty of the people to look at? Harpo guessed they just went where they were herded.
Harpo was glad the hairless-not-people came to see him, even if Babec was not glad to see them. Carl said everybody knew that Harpo was the best. Harpo knew this. He was of the people, of course he was the best. Harpo never thought otherwise.
Carl had told Harpo that the hairless-not-people called Harpo’s tribe orangutans. Carl also called him Harpo Marks, just as he called himself Carl Marks. It did not really matter to Harpo what his servant called him. He knew he was the leader of the people. He could smell it. He did not need his servant to tell him. Of course, he liked Carl, so if it made Carl happy, then it did not matter to Harpo.
“Carl?” Harpo thought. “Carl give Harpo food now.”
Not seeing Carl in the hairless-not-people place, Harpo went to the back of the jungle. He looked through the openings between the not-twigs that grew there and looked into the hairless-not-people servant’s cave-between-jungles. He did not see Carl.
He looked across at the jungle of the small-hairy-not-people that lived there. They were a smart, clever bunch. The small-hairy-not-people were not as smart as the people were, but smart enough to have hairless-not-people servants of their own. Carl would not have been in their jungle. He was the people’s servant.
Harpo howled a long call for Carl. Carl would hear him if he was anywhere in the jungle, unless he was behind a rock-not-rock. A rumbled huffing ended the call with an expression of frustration at not having found Carl.
The small-hairy-not-people swarmed out of their trees. They climbed their not-twigs and chattered back at Harpo in their not-speak. Harpo raised his middle finger at the small-hairy-not-people and turned his back on them. Harpo knew that it made Carl unhappy when he showed his middle finger to the hairless-not-people, but Harpo thought it was funny that it always seemed to make the small-hairy-not people mad.
Harpo liked to make the small-hairy-not-people mad. They thought they were special. Carl called them chimps. Harpo did not care. They were not people. They were not animals, but they were not people either.
A rock-not-rock blocked his way to the hairless-not-people servant’s cave-between-jungles. The rock-not-rock was being a rock. Harpo poked his arm through the not-twigs. He stretched down to the bump on the rock. Carefully, he pushed the correct little bumps on the bigger bump and the rock-not-rock stopped being a rock. It swung out of the way and became a not-rock.
He swung over the opening and hung in the air, listening to the nonsense chatter from the small-hairy-not-people. He decided to ignore them. He dropped down, hunched over and stepped into the cave-between-jungles. He looked both ways and did not see any hairless-not-people. He pushed the rock-not-rock back into place where it became a rock again.
Harpo hurried to the big rock-not-rock at the end of the cave-between-jungles. He pushed against the silver thing. He pushed the big rock-not-rock until it became a not-rock. He looked into the open area beyond the people’s jungle.
Carl hurried across the open meadow.
Harpo shook his head in disgust. He knew that Carl was not bright, but everyone knew that to move across an open area of any jungle was an invitation to be some animal’s food. Carl was a good servant but someday something would eat him. No matter how often Harpo tried to teach Carl to stay in the trees, the hairless-not-people did not understand.
Harpo held the rock-not-rock open until Carl scurried through. Harpo was happy he waited. He could smell food in the thing Carl carried.
TWO
CARL said. “Dang it all, Harpo Marks. I have told you a dozen times, not to open this door. We will both have our gooses cooked if the director or even anyone else knows that you figured out how to get out of your enclosure.”
He stepped inside. Harpo let the door swing shut of its own weight. Harpo looked at him and covered his nose.
“What? Yeah, I know. I cut through the Monkey Habitat on the way back from the commissary. It was those damn gibbons again. I think they can smell you on me and it makes them mad.”
Carl was the director for all of the apes in the Great Ape House of the Birmingham, Alabama Zoo. His specialty was orangutans, but he managed all of the ape habitats and their staff. He sometimes felt he spent more time with his human staff than his ape residents.
Carl said, “Come on, Harpo. Let’s go to my office. I have some paperwork to do before I go home tonight, so you might as well dine in my office as anywhere. Everyone else has gone for the night.”
Carl rambled on as the two walked together to the office suite. He believed Harpo understood every word he spoke, even though, as an expert on orangutans, he knew the ape understood only about five hundred words.
“Hey! I saw Teri,” Carl said.
Harpo looked up at the name. Harpo liked Teri, even though she smelled like hairy-tree-animals.
Carl said, “Yeah, I think she wanted me to ask her out. I think. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t. Anyway, I was going to ask her out to a movie or dinner or something, but I didn’t. I could n
ot get the words out. Hey, get the door for me? I got my hands full of your supper.”
Carl continued to talk as Harpo punched the number code on the door lock with care. The glass door slid open, letting the pair into the air-conditioned office suite.
*
CARL squeezed his Smart Car into a space that would barely hold a motorcycle. At times, he loved his little car. It served as great transportation from his apartment to work and back. He did not have far to drive and at 60 mpg he smiled driving past gas stations. At times, he was frustrated with the tiny car as there was never room to haul more than a package or two.
He might have to borrow or rent another car if he ever asked Teri out. Driving a car made by Mercedes Benz sounded great, but in reality, it was a bit embarrassing for a full-grown man to drive a toy car no matter how ecologically sound.
He parked halfway between his apartment and Billy-Bob’s Backyard Barbeque and Booze Bistro, a local bar and grill. The regular patrons called it the B6 with affection, for obvious reasons. The neighborhood hangout was Carl’s favorite place to grab a meal or a drink. Tonight he wanted one of Billy’s, or Bob’s, world-class burgers before he retreated to his small third floor apartment.
As Carl stepped through the open doorway every television in the place blasted a video clip of Charlton Heston shouting “Get your hands off me, you damned dirty ape!” followed by a manic barrage of movie clips of Clyde with Clint Eastwood and from the 2001 version of the Planet of the Apes.
Billy or Bob had seen his entrance and cued up the brief film montage that usually welcomed him into the B6. Billy or Bob, no one knew who was who, was a movie buff and had put together special film clips for many of the neighborhood regulars.
Carl grinned as people waved at him and called to him by name. He waved back whether he knew them or not.
“Hey, Monkey-man.” A large, black man at the end of the bar waved at Carl. He pointed at the empty bar stool next to him. The man’s broad shoulders infringed on the space around the available stool, but his small, rock hard derriere barely covered the seat. The muscles in his arms rippled at the slight motion caused by his wave.
Carl waved back and made his way across the room.
“Hi Gary. Apes not monkeys,” Carl said to the man. “Where is Rome?”
“Southern Italy. Jeez, don’t you dry-landers learn nothing in college?”
“Not that Rome, you beached squid. You know the one I mean.”
“In the head.” No matter how hard he tried, Gary could not get rid of his navy-speak.
No one knew how long Gary had been in the U.S. Navy or even what he had done, although rumors were that he had been a SEAL. Gary would neither confirm nor deny what his duties had been. He would not admit how long he had been in or how long he had been out.
Billy or Bob’s film montage for Gary, a retired veteran, was a patriotic tribute to the U.S. Navy. Many a young man scurried across the street to the recruiter after it played. Rome, Gary’s buddy, was a used car salesman. His video montage was nothing short of a wet-your-pants-funny, used car commercial for Jerome’s Re-Purposed Auto Emporium and Pole Dancer’s Museum.
Jerome, or Rome, was the opposite of Gary. He was a small, white man. He was one of those wiry types who never seemed to sit still and never seemed content with the way things were.
Billy-Bob nodded at Carl from across the counter, “What’ll it be, Monkey-man?”
Before Carl could answer, Rome grabbed him from behind in a headlock.
“Apes, not Monkeys,” Gary and Rome said in unison as Rome gave Carl a noogie.
“Tails, right?” Billy-Bob asked.
“Heads and tails. Apes have more smarts and no tails,” Carl said with a grin. “What’s up in the kitchen tonight?”
Billy-Bob shook his head. “Billy-Bob is on a rip.” Even the two men refused to admit who was Billy and who was Bob. “Trust me, and just let him loose. It will be worth the gamble.”
Gary said. “Best chow this side of Shanghai. If they had a cook like him on my last rust-bucket, I woulda’ never retired.”
“Well,” Carl said, “I guess I will have what the chef is having.”
Billy-Bob said, “Not likely. I am spoken for, but thanks for the offer. I will see what the man has cooking and bring something back.” Billy-Bob glanced at the front door and punched a quick series on numbers on a laptop keypad. He sent a schoolroom montage to the screens around the room.
Shouts of “Amy” and “Lynn” greeted two young teachers in the doorway.
Rome leaned in between Gary and Carl. “I am going to get me some chalk dust rubbed up against me tonight.” He hustled across the room to escort the women to the last vacant table in the crowded restaurant.
Carl watched the three people wind their way between the tables. He was amazed at the B6. No table was the same size or style as any other table. There was magic in the way a redwood picnic table blended with a black lacquered oriental dining table. A marble top kitchen dinette sat next to a heavy, thick-legged Sonoran-style table. Together they became a masterfully crafted mosaic.
No set of chairs in the place matched. Patrons of the B6 often traded seats around with wild abandon. They swapped a hard backed French Colonial for an amazingly comfortable Urban American Garage Sale reject. They traded the Queen Anne for an upholstered office task chair.
When the B6 had been in the design phase Billy-Bob had been unable to agree on a style of dinner plates. They decided that if they could not make their plates match, then nothing would match. Carl doubted if he would be able to find two spoons just alike in the whole building. Somehow, the regular patrons were as mismatched as the décor: bikers sat with business executives in suits, muscled up athletes sat with members of the geriatric set, police sat with…well…what looked like streetwalkers.
Carl was positive some of the customers took the occasion to give new meaning to the phrase ‘dress for dinner’. He spotted a huge, burly, bearded firefighter. The firefighter sat with a nun of striking beauty. Last Tuesday the same couple dressed as a construction worker and a cocktail waitress. No one ever mentioned their true identities. Everyone knew them as Chuck and Sherri Reynolds.
Billy-Bob’s video montage for Chuck was a sidesplitting satire of the worst advertisement television ever broadcast for lawyers. Chuck ended with a ride into the sunset on the back of the smallest burro in North America. Billy-Bob and Chuck filmed it themselves. Sherri, as a loan officer at the bank on the corner, was treated to a film clip of various repo men.
Gary shook his head as he watched Rome. “Poor hound dog. If he was as bad a car salesman as he is bad at picking up pretty girls he would starve to death. And speaking of picking up girls, did you ask Teri out?”
Carl regretted having told Gary and Rome about Teri. But, once the cat was out of the bag, it would not go back in.
Carl shook his head. He said, “No. I was going to but it was too busy today.”
Gary mirrored Carl’s shaking head. “Coward.”
“No-” Carl started to protest.
Rome grabbed Carl from behind in a headlock again. “Yep, the sailor has it right. Coward. There is no such thing as too busy when it comes to the spanking and yanking.”
Gary pointed at Rome and then back at the duo of teachers. “You get chased back to the dock already?”
Rome said. “Oh no. They just aren’t into threesomes. They said I could come back if I brought Carl along with me. I told them he was spoken for, so they said you would do. They said you looked to be in good shape for an old man.”
Gary waved at the young women and they waved back. He pushed Rome back in their direction. “I’ll be right over.”
“Huh,” Carl said. “I always assumed that teachers were smarter than that.”
Gary flung an arm over Carl’s shoulder. “Listen up, Monkey-man. You ask that Teri girl out, ya hear? No. I mean it. Call her. Go see her. Hunt her down. I don’t care how. But, I am not gonna hear about her no more. If you haven�
��t asked her out by this time tomorrow I am gonna make you the guest star of a blanket party.”
Billy-Bob slid a burger creation in front of Carl. “Blanket party? Sounds like fun.”
Gary said. “Not hardly. It is where we sneak up on Carl in the dark, wrap him in a dirty blanket and beat him with socks that have bars of soap dropped in the toes.”
“Still sounds like fun,” Billy-Bob said, but he winced.
Gary said, “Not for the guest star. Listen, Carl. I mean it. Got me?”
“Yes,” Carl said.
Gary shook his head. He said, “The correct response is ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ It means ‘I hear, I understand and I will comply. ‘Yes’ and ‘no’ are for answering questions. So…”
Carl said, “Roger wilco.”
Gary got off the stool and crossed to the two young teachers. He mumbled the whole way about ex-Air Force zoomies turned civilian.
Both Billy and Bob stood across the bar from Carl.
“He is right, Doctor Marks,” Billy-Bob said.
“Yes he is,” the other Billy-Bob said. “You have had a thing for that young thing for far too long to let it go. Just ask yourself. W-W-H-D.”
“What Would Harpo Do,” the first Billy-Bob interpreted.
“Ok,” Carl said. “Tonight. She was still at work when I left. After I have this absolutely stunning burger I will go back and if she is still there I will ask her out.”
Billy-Bob grabbed the plate. “Nope. Sorry, I can’t serve this to you. This is my supper. And we are all out of food. So go now.”
**
SEKU stood near the Birmingham Zoo delivery entrance. Dark shadows hid him. He could not see or hear the three men with him, but he could feel their presence. The sole guard at the entrance would not present much of a problem. He was a short, overweight man armed with nothing more than a cell phone.
Seku hoped to replace the guard with one of his own men as soon as the others showed up. He glanced down the street at the sound of a truck. A decades old delivery truck coughed its way up the short drive. Neither of the men in the truck glanced in Seku’s direction.