Monkey by Steve Dempsey
Tim in Putney, back
against his front door, picked through his keys. He was drunk and so
it took him several minutes of fumbling around in the low orange
glare of the street light to select the correct one and get into his
basement flat. He staggered along the corridor and collapsed through
onto the sofa in the living room. Some time later he started. There
was a strange earthy bitter smell in the room, like leaves or
cabbage. Tim leaned over and switched on the light. It was the latest
in Swedish design, like a small umbrella hanging from the ceiling.
His mother had given it him but Tim found it annoying.
On the glass table
between Tim and the TV, and about the size of a newborn child, was a
small monkey. It was sitting hunched over with its knees drawn up. In
the indirect light of the lamp, the monkey's beige fur looked almost
green and the tufts of white around its black face made its features
look even smaller. Its long tail was stretched out across the table
and the black tip kept flicking up angrily.
'Shoo,' said Tim,
'Bugger off.' The monkey rolled back on its haunches and stared at
him. Its tail swept round into its shadow. It sat there, silently not
quite looking at Tim. Tim pressed himself back into the sofa, levered
himself up with great effort and scrambled back towards the door. The
monkey lifted up its feet and spun round on its bottom on the smooth
surface of the table. Feet still up, it bared its teeth, no grinned,
at him.
And Tim remembered.
He was only twelve. The
school was on a trip to London. Instead of the more fancied, and
expensive, Zoo in Regent's Park, they had gone to the small one in
Battersea. They had sat round the Peace Pagoda whilst they ate their
sandwiches and crisps, throwing conkers at each other and kicking the
Autumn leaves into noisy brown clouds. Finally the teachers had
ushered them into the zoo. It had cows and sheep. What kind of a zoo
had cows? There were cows in the fields all round his provincial home
town. This wasn't a proper zoo!
Eventually they found
some monkeys. “Green Monkey” the card under the window had said
but they hadn't been green at all. Tim pressed his nose against the
pane and shouted.
'Oi monkey, want some
of this?' He held up a small plastic cup of lime squash, the sort
with a foil lid. Now this was proper green, luminous almost. Suddenly
the monkey was interested. It dashed over to Tim and pressed the
underside of its body against the window. Tim jumped back and his
friends laughed at him.
'I show you, bloody
monkey. I'll show you green.' Tim held the carton by the window and
moved slowly towards the part of the enclosure that was covered in a
metal cage. He teased the monkey a few times, hiding the drink under
his coat and waiting for it to lose interest before whipping it out
again. Finally the monkey could take it no more and started
screaming. Tim pulled back the lid of the cup and threw the entire
contents over the little creature.
'Now you're green!' he
shouted and jumped back. The monkey retreated to a perch and started
licking itself but the rest of the troop smelled the sickly sweet
drink and came over to investigate. The poor little monkey was
deluged by the others, all licking, scratching and biting. When the
keeper finally came to see what the fuss was, the monkey had taken
quite a beating. When asked what had happened Tim gave the
non-committal teenage grunt and shrug and wandered off.
Back in Putney, Tim
snapped out of his reverie as he felt a small furry hand coming out
of his pocket. The damn monkey had his iPhone. It hopped back on to
the table and grinned with excitement holding the phone up in one
hand. Tim lunged for it but it flexed its legs and leapt away, up
Tim's arm, off his head and onto the light-fitting. It hung there,
holding itself almost horizontal with legs and tail, whilst it
clutched the iPhone in its paws and chewed at it.
Tim jumped but the
monkey just hoisted the phone out of his reach. It had managed to get
the back off and the battery dropped to the floor. Tim raced to the
kitchen in search of a broom. There was a terrific crash from the
front room. He ran back to find the broken lamp in the midst of the
shattered table, tiny pieces of glass twinkly in the light from the
hallway. With the end of the broom, he manoeuvred the mess out of the
way to find the crumpled remains of his phone, the screen cracked,
wires poking out of the back and the SIM card bitten in half. Of the
monkey, there was no sign.
