Short Story / Evil Monkeys
The room echoes his movements as he walks. Each step calling out his presence. The walls and floor are pure black African marble, mined by his father’s company. He walks to the center of the room. From there he is surrounded on all sides by the great glass covered enclosures. A museum in the round. Behind the glass is a terrarium, divided into sections. Some sections are warm and dry. Others moist, the humidity collecting on the glass. Others have no roof, allowing the sun to shine in. Still others yet, are dark, for sleeping.
He is only nine years old. Still young by most standards, but surely old enough to understand the implications of his father’s collection.
His father calls them Enna Kobaka, evil monkeys. There are just two of them in the whole museum. One male. One female. The terrarium has been their home since they were found on the sidewalk outside of the consulate after a suicide bomber had made orphans of them. That was in the capital city.
They are in the breakfast café, the two of them. That’s what he calls the small sunny enclosure at nine-o’clock. It’s where Henri’ always feeds them. The sun is still low. There are many shadows. It’s still cool out. Cool enough to sit in the sun eating dates, antelope heart and drinking goat milk. Or fresh water. The preference of the male.
The boy catches his own reflection in the glass. His hair is cut short, for summer. Almost to the scalp. He can see the outlines of his skull. The young, chocolate black skin stretched taut over the top of his head, as if a summer mask. He can see his eyes. Bright white, almost smiling. He knows he will be warmly greeted.
The male is holding the box. Henri’s clever invention. It is made of teak, and large enough to hold a meal for two in it’s central cavity. Covering the outside however, are multiple pieces of hand-carved mahogany. Each restrained at its edges. They are almost as if polished tiles, but rectangular in shape instead of square. The tiles are arranged as a puzzle, covering the exterior of the box. The tiles can not be lifted, but instead must be slid in one direction or another. In order to get the box to open, the tiles must be arranged properly. And every morning, it is a new arrangement.
The whole purpose of the exercise is to give the residents of the museum something to stimulate their minds. To ward off boredom.
It is always the male that works the puzzle.
The boy has not been allowed to name them. But he has regardless, if only in his head. Dakar for the male, Ghena for the female. He is also never to address them as him or her. They are “its” as far as his father is concerned. Sinful creatures, far more dangerous than any animal of the jungle or the disease for that matter, that threatens the kingdom. One need only look beyond the borders of Africa to see what damage they’d wrought.
He stands only inches from the glass, looking at the two of them. Dakar is several feet away, sitting on a bench, working intently on his box, oblivious to all else. Ghena, is much closer. She walks over to the glass. She stands and looks down at him, directly in the face. Only inches away.
He knows they are people too. Just like he himself. Human beings locked up behind glass to be studied, like animals in a zoo. White people. He’s seen them in the streets sometimes. And heard them speak on television. He’s heard about their atrocities. And knows they are evil. But it’s hard for him to see that, when he looks in Ghena’s eyes.
Her eyes are brown, like his own. Only not so deep and rich. Her hair is long. His father won’t allow for grooming. He wants them in their natural state. She is naked. A sad testament to his father’s anger. Having lived her life behind the glass, she has no language. No thoughts. Only emotion, which she shows freely with her face. This morning, she is inquisitive.
He studies her skin. The pale offensive symbol of colonialism. Of slavery and disenfranchisement. He studies her nose. Beakish, and seemingly of little use but for pecking at granules in the dirt. Compared to the eager eyes of his classmates, she seems dull and likely stupid.
But she watches him too. Perusing his face. His own nose. His hair. The clothes covering his body.
He’s been told she is thirteen years old; Daker, fifteen. They are brother and sister.
Neither seems capable of the horrible deeds he’s heard quoted directly from his father’s lips.
They are quite docile for such fiendish creatures. Spending most of their days simply sitting or standing around, or swimming. Or working the various puzzles Henri’ pushes at them through one of several trap doors. Because even Henri’ is not allowed to enter their quarters. The air inside their home is specially treated so as to keep them from catching things. To the best of his knowledge, neither of them has ever been sick with so much as a cold.
He wonders how long they will live. Or what will happen to them if something ever happened to him and his father. Or Henri’.
She is still watching him. Moving her eyes over his face. Stopping now and then to peer into his eyes. As if he had answers to her unformed questions.
He doesn’t. He doesn’t know what his father hopes to learn from his captives either, nor if he’s learned anything already. His father is quite silent on the topic.
He peers back at her, unable to resist her simple smile. He wonders what she might be like if she’d been raised in a proper home. If she’d be the type to hurl harsh invectives at him on the playground. Girls were usually like that.
He smiles back at her. As he would were she a newborn, or a simpleton from the special needs room at his school. A polite smile so as to not offend.
Eventually, Dakar solves his puzzle and the box is opened. He grunts for Ghena. She turns to note his success, then turns back for one more look. Or a goodbye perhaps. Then turns once again and walks slowly to the bench to join her brother.
The boy doesn’t stick around to watch them eat. He needs to get to school. His driver will be waiting.
He walks the length of the room, his hard soled shoes echoing on the cold floor below. His thoughts on the day ahead.
He doesn’t notice the door clanging shut behind him.
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I think the build up is too matter a fact. I suspected they were people but I wish he had observed them more before revealing they were human. I feel like I am getting a look into this boy’s life but not enough to satisfy my curiosity.
What if you let Dakur’s puzzle solving abilty be linked to his working on an escape. Something the visiting boy sees but doesn’t understand as the Dakur starts working on a way to escape—but in such a way that the reader knows…that might be interesting.
Just a thought. Good writing.
Lou G.
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If it is what I percieve it to be, then I am quite intrigued by the idea that a brother and sister are locked up on display in some freakish “museum”. I thought this was a little creepy and I liked the way it was from the point of view of a child who maybe does not understand the wrongness of what his father is doing. I think if you provided a little more details about the surroundings it would be a little more clear and would be easier to comprehend. I was confused as to whether it was sometime in the future or not and also what the location of the museum was in the world. I think you have a good formula for an even better story it just needs a little tweeking. I am reminded of a short story I read in grade school about a man who fell off of a steam ship in the ocean. He was rescued by an eccentric rich man who took him in and fed him and bathed him and gave him new clothes. They were out on some unknown island that the eccentric owned. After nursing the man back to health he informed him that he was a great hunter and that the man had been rescued so that he could be brought to the island to be hunted. It was a neat twist, I think you sort of have the same thing going on here. Good work though, keep it up!
Very unsettling story. I could almost see the terrarium and its inhabitants. The description of Ghena and her actions is hauntingly good, as well as the boy’s earnest curiosity. I never saw the fact that they were humans coming until you pointed it out in the eleventh paragraph. I have nothing to criticize, thanks for a wonderful story.
April 29, 2006
Deleted User
Many of the sentences are short and choppy and could easily be changed into longer sentences. It will make it easier for the reader. Here is one example:
“The sun is still low. There are many shadows. It’s still cool out.”
The use of pronouns was a bit much as well. I got confused about who was being talked about at times. There wasn’t much of a conflict in the story, that I could see.
I think you could use more description. I wanted to see the terrariums and what was inside of them. What did the monkeys look like?
A little revision and the story will be on it’s way. Good Luck.
Oh, ouch, I did not see the twist coming. Very nice, extremely effective. Your tone reminds me somewhat of pieces I have read from Latin America on colonialism.
I like the way you have the father in the background but so very present. There is a touch of mystery too…no mother…just the boy and his father and Henri. Did the white people do something to the mother? It’s very subtle but definately there.
There were a individual sentances or images where some judicious cutting might make the story stronger.
I think “pure black African marble” would be sharper if you dropped “pure”.
The sentance “Still others yet, are dark, for sleeping.” felt awkward. Perhaps “Others are dark, for sleeping.”?
When you describe the mahogany box I stumbled a bit. “Covering the outside however, are multiple pieces of hand-carved mahogany. Each restrained at its edges.” The word “however” is not really needed. Also, “Each restrained at its edges.” felt awkward, as I have played with puzzle boxes similar to the one described here, and the joins are so smooth that there is no way to tell that the edges are “restrained”.
All in all, an effort worthy of kudos.
I’ll try to give you a helpful review, but it was so well written that it is hard to do anything aside from praise it. I will say that the chopped up sentences are a nice effect that you used a little to much in the very beginning. I understand you want me to read the sentences in that “tone” or “style” but sometimes a comma is more suited than another period.
I especially loved the way you never said that the “Enna Kobaka” were human prisoners, kept out of cruel curiosity and hatred for their culture.
What on earth could have inspired, or perhaps provoked, this story?
Para 1 – Solid first line. It motivates the reader to continue. It sets the stage for mystery or foreboding.
You use many sentence fragments throughout the text. This doesn’t bother me, but it may offend some readers. You may reconsider using fragments sparingly.
There appear to be too many paragraphs. For example, para 7&8 may be part of para 6.
Para 11. ”Just like he himself”. Eliminate “himself”.
How does the reader know Ghena haas no thoughts? How does the reader know Ghena is inquisitive?
Para 14. Hoe does the reader know Ghena is perusing the boy’s face?
Para 19. ”unformed question” sounds like it contradicts Ghena having no thoughts, even though the contradiction is not there.
Sounds more like a political article for animal rights than a short story.
This is a disturbing story on several levels. It is generally well written with a few minor glitches.
As a general observation, I think the writer overuses the sentence fragment technique. Used sparingly, fragments make a strong point. Overuse, as in this story, makes the reader wonder if the author knows how to form a complete sentence.
“That’s what he calls the small sunny enclosure at nine-o’clock.� – Does he call it something different at ten? If so, what? Why is the time important to the story?
“The tiles can not be lifted, but instead must be slid …� Either delete “instead� or delete “but� and rewrite with semicolon and independent clauses.
“But he has regardless, if only in his head.� Somewhat awkward. Either delete “regardless� or delete “But� and rewrite.
“… the jungle or the disease for that matter, that threatens …� Awkward and confusing. What threatens Africa–the animals, the disease or both? If the disease, rewrite to “… or, for that matter, the disease that threatens�
Finally, I was confused as to whether Henri` is the caretaker or the boy. I would suggest some clarification when Henri` is first introduced.
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