The Legend Of The Gorilla

By John Karelis

When struggling entrepreneur - Don, meets aspiring writer - Kat, in an unpredictable encounter, he believes he has found the true adoration he's been yearning for all his life. Don confesses his stories to Kat and she arises to inspire him to put together, "The legendariest books that have ever been fabricated in Australia!" To raise funds to fix his conun-drums.'

Kat runs away with Don to take his business national in his Bricklaying truck while she resumes her writing and he commences his novelistic journey, expecting a great adventure but confronted by ghosts from their pasts.

When everything ultimately goes up in smoke, Don stumbles on what he's truly been searching for; himself and the power and magic of, 'The Gorilla,' within.

Inspired by a real life experience, The Legend Of The Gorilla is so full of emotions and punexpected twists, it keeps you on the edge of your seat the entire trip.

Romeo and Juliet meet Beauty and The Beast versus Dumb and Dumber. Deadpool times Harry Potter, divided by The Wizard of Oz greater than The Alchemist.

The Legend of The Gorilla is a flirtatiously flinging witch and wizardry origins story; pervaded by the effects of karma and fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Dec 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781456629885

Book preview

Meet...

PROLOGUE

The Final Continuum.

They paused there, and he looked out to the Sydney CBD.

How’s this for a story? he yelled out waving the journal in the air. Twelve years in purgatory!

The skies rumbled and he looked up.

Jackman, Hugh! he called out. "Our gameplan is long overdue!"

People walking their dogs turned and stared, continuing their stroll along the footpath.

He turned around facing Kirribilli House and he knew the Prime Minister could feel him. You want my toll? You’re gonna hafta dive in to my soul! I shalt bring out The Gorilla if’t be true or not you want to roll!

Thunder throbbed in the background as a shadow soared across the water, and he looked around. The Australian Federal Police car was still parked next to the GBT, they certainly weren’t laughing anymore.

Clouds were rolling in again getting darker, and walkers began to jog as winds started to whirl.

He was facing the whole of Sydney and the whole City could see him, The GBT and Mack as lightning struck to the east, illuminating the sky and The Gorilla shadowed across the water.

Mack howled into the wind, "Awoo…" and the lit candle wick sputtered in the ground.

He faced the Sydney Opera House and cried out, Behold the shell shaped sails and blowing gails. Ghosts of the east allied with this wiz-like beast, thy giant blowhorn shalt sing to sayeth the least!

A gust of wind passed through as the lights in the CBD twinkled and a loud crack like a whip came from his right while rain started to patter down from the heavens, and The Gorilla flashed inside him.

Picnickers ran away shrieking to their loved ones, Let’s get out of here! as he turned to the Sydney Harbour Bridge and yelled, "Look at that steel through arch, perfect for an otherworldly march. A masqueraded coat hanger, ready for the closing banger. The Gorilla from the west uniting the spirits of the rest, we willst be second best!"

The lights flickered from the buildings in front as lightning discharged again from the mountainous clouds beyond the City, and every dog was going crazy from the inside of vehicles as was the flame in the Earth while Gorilla electrified throughout.

Everyone had disappeared and he was stretching his arms out into the wind and opening his chest in The Warrior pose; energies intensified as Mack continued to howl, "Wooo..."

The skies were black with the City lights only visible; it was breathtaking and the fresh aroma was out of this world. His heart beat as one with the celestial sphere above as the sky roared loudly, and he voiced,

I am Andonis Gorelis; born twenty-ninth of June, nineteen-eighty-five...

The candle flame continued expanding while dogs howled like direwolves from inside their vehicles.

In the name of WildKat, Yorgo, and Yiayia Maja, I want a well heeled stance! The Gorilla will prompt thy weighty chance! he yelled out loud. It is he you want! Take me! You’ll see!

Torrential rains flooded on his head and thunder clapped like voodoo drums in his ears, while the animals howled hysterically and the flame in the Earth flared up. He threw the journal as far and high as he could towards the City as a single red rose petal slipped out to his side and the entire Sydney CBD’s power cut,

Doophh.

With both fists clenched, he pounded them into his chest as his whole life flashed before his eyes, and he grunted,

HOO!

CHAPTER 1

Monkey Business.

The chickens were clucking and the cows mooing while the birds chirped in the summer sun. He could hear other kids laughing, playing volleyball on the crushed limestone road and their Mum calling to them, "Oloi mesa! Everyone inside!"

A shepherd whistled at his sheepdog, who barked, herding the flock home after grazing in the valley.

It was mid-summer in June, 1994, and he was nine years old. He was in the village visiting his grandparents for the first time that he could remember, with his Mum Eleftheria, his ten year old sister Maria and his big brother Steve, who was 12. His Dad Klemenis stayed home to continue his cleaning jobs, and ‘he’, was Don Gorelis.

Eleftheria’s Dad, Pappou (Granddad) Stavro, drove an old jungle-green tractor and lime trailer for a living, picking up bales of hay which Don and Steve helped to pile on the back of the trailer a few times a week. Pappou Stavro called Don a workaholic because he always wanted to help.

Pappou met Don’s Grandma, Yiayia Maja, in Poland after the war ended in 1945 and brought her back to the small isolated village of Kerkini, nestled between two wide green mountains in Northern Greece - to start a new life.

At one edge of the village there was a lake with an abundance of native fish, pelicans, terns and storks, while cattle grazed freely in the surrounding marsh and reeds.

Pappou and Yiayias’ house was on the opposite side of the village, right in the corner next to a creek with frogs and turtles. A sheep pen was behind that with the farmlands and woods following. At that time of year the snow had melted off the mountain tops and the streams were running dry.

Kerkini Serron, a quiet place where one would go to write a novel… that was right until they showed up.

Steve and Don were sitting in the formal lounge room paying little attention to the outside world as Don plowed through Tetris blocks on his eight bit handheld computer, and Steve, always the inquisitive one, dismantled Pappou’s mechanical music box with his new swiss army knife. The taste of Pappou’s charcoal-grilled lamb cutlets with Yiayia’s mashed potatoes and shallow fried onions lingered in Don’s mouth as he listened to the beeps of misshapen bricks rain down the three-inch screen.

Pappou and Yiayia were asleep in their room on the opposite side of the house while Eleftheria and Maria read in the dining room. It was around 2pm, siesta time.

Pappou said that ghosts inside play the music, Steve uttered.

Mummy says there’s no such thing as ghosts, Don replied.

But The Baboula is real!

Don’s eyes widened in shock and he quickly went back to his game as Steve continued to take apart the mechanical tune player.

Wanna see a magic trick? Steve asked abruptly with an awkward smirk. I think I know how we can get Pappou to quit smoking.

Pausing his game, Don asked, How?

Come with me.

Don did as he was told – he propulsed himself off the soft pillows on the handmade hardwood couch, trod passed the antique coffee table on the vinyl floor and stepped into the guest room where they shared a king-sized bed for their three-month stay. The rooms were all plastered and painted white with hairline cracks in the walls and ceilings. An average sized rotting timber window frame let in light, and below that next to their bed was a large smooth sloping table with a cast iron scale model truck resting against the ridge which was meant to stop pens from rolling off. A golden covered diary sat flat behind, and beside the writing table, in the corner of their well-lit room was what looked like a large timber treasure chest.

Come over here, Steve said, waving Don to the glory box.

There was the noise of woodpeckers in the backwoods as Steve faced the wooden chest, and then the keys sitting in the keyhole jingled as he unlocked it.

Lifting the hinged lid and resting it back, creaking against the wall, Steve proceeded to dig deep into the heart of the chest and Don took a step closer to peer inside. Lying within was a sphygmomanometer on top of some handwoven soft-pillow cases that their Mum made before she married. Under them were a couple of blankets which Steve rolled together along with the sheets underneath, and lifted them out of the glory box as one neat package.

Placing the entwined parcel gently on the floor, Steve said, Watch this, then pulled out his Swiss army knife and swung out a hook-like tool.

Reaching back into the chest, Steve slipped the hook apparatus through a slight gap between the base and chest wall to raise a false bottom.

Steve levered the flap up against the back enclosure and propped up a latch.

There was a shoebox and some old multi-lingual text books surrounding an ancient walking-stick attached to the base of the chest by the silver handle in the shape of a gorilla. It was perfectly forged to suit a large human hand, with a solid, pale green coloured shaft and cue-like tip.

"Oh wicked! What’s that?" asked Don, flabbergasted.

Steve twisted his body to face Don and replied in a stern manner, That’s for when you’re old and grey.

"Cool! I can’t wait until I’m old."

Trust me, you can wait, Steve grumbled as Don gazed deep. You better not touch it, otherwise you’ll break it. It’s joined to the box pretty good.

Steve then reached into the glory box and pulled out the shoebox.

Looking sideways with a grin at Don, he shook the box to hear the contents rattling inside.

Steve fumbled open the package revealing an assortment of fireworks and popcrackers.

"Whoa! Where did you get the money to buy all those?"

I borrowed a couple of bucks from Dad’s change box every week and saved up.

Diving in with his fingers, he pulled out a matchbox-sized pack of pop-sticks, and said, Follow me.

He led Don back through the formal lounge passed the fine china and crystal glass cabinet which Don accidentally bumped with his left thigh. The glasses clinked and screeched as he yelped, Ouch, but nothing broke.

Don hobbled into Maria’s room behind his brother. I know what you’re gonna do, he murmured.

Be quiet and just watch, Steve uttered.

He did as he was told again as Steve gently lay down the tiny pack on Maria's glory box, and then stepped to the side and grasped out to the old timber window shutter which squeaked as he pulled it open.

He stood in front of the pane reaching into the corner with his right arm, and drew out a pack of cigarettes and a ceramic ashtray with its picture of a kangaroo.

Steve gently plucked a single cigarette and placed the pack and ashtray down on the glory box. He hauled out the Swiss army knife from his pocket once more, and slid out the tweezers from inside.

Don observed quietly as Steve unstuffed tobacco leaves from the smoke, emptying three quarters into the ash tray, and a cunny grin broadened on his face. Steve twisted to look at him for a second, paused, then turned back to his work. He picked out a mini pop-stick and slid it inside the partially emptied smoke, then refilled it with tobacco leaves and used the Philips head to compact it all in.

Steve repeated the filling process and smoothed out the wrinkles from the cigarette before replacing it into the pack.

Now we put everything else back where we got it from and wait.

A couple of quiet days passed. Steve and Don were on their way out to a hay bale job with Pappou who was driving his tractor, focused on the crushed limestone surface ahead, slithering between the southern mountain and lake.

Steve was wearing his Batman t-shirt and Don wore a Spiderman one as they hung onto the back of the trailer, sliding over the dusty road on their rubber masseurs as fishermen waterproofed their wooden boats and livestock fed in the pastures. The wind was blowing through Don’s hair and a waft of smoke up his nostrils.

**Cough, cough**

Hey Batman, do you think the popper went off and Pappou hasn’t said anything? he asked, facing Steve.

Don’t be silly Don. It prolly didn’t work, Steve replied as he threw his hands off the trailer to race behind.

Did you tell Maria?

Steve wasn’t the fittest of kids so he grasped back onto the gate and skimmed along again. I had to. What if something went wrong?

Maybe she told Pappou and he threw it out?

Hopefully.

Is the pack still there?

Na, I checked yesterday... Hey watch this, ready? Steve voiced excitedly. One hand!

Don watched his big brother skid along next to him with one hand in the air and the other firmly gripped on the trailer gate like a skiing Sun Wukong - so he copied.

With his left hand in the air - gliding through the wind, Don voiced abruptly, Hey Steve, what happens if it pops right now while Pappou’s driving?

Steve looked at him with raised eyebrows as Pappou glanced back and saw them. The tractor slowed down immediately and Pappou yelled, "Re! Epistrepste piso epano maimoudes! Oi! Get back up here you little monkeys!"

Unhesitatingly, they pulled themselves up into the trailer and scampered in front close to Pappou as he threw out three quarters of a cigarette into the lake; and then tractored off.

Pappou turned and called in Greek, See that mountain over there behind the church? That’s where your other grandfather - Haralambos, was slain.

Late the next morning, Don was sitting in his grandparent’s bedroom which doubled as the informal lounge room. Baywatch was playing on the black and white box-set television and he was on the dial up phone to his Dad - with his Mum and Maria beside him.

"H Mamma me lei oti kanete treles. Mum tells me you kids are doing crazy things, Klemenis said crossly. Olisthainontas piso apo to trakter eh? Sliding behind the tractor ay?"

We were just having fun, Don replied.

"Ay, no monkey business, alright?"

Sorry Daddy, he replied woefully.

"Give back yoor Mum pliz."

Okay… Bye Daddy.

I missed yoo, Klemenis said caringly.

I miss you too.

He handed the phone to Eleftheria and said, Daddy wants to talk to you.

Lovingly, she replied, "Doste ton se mena. Give him to me," taking hold of the handset.

Picking up his glass bottle of fresh creamy milk, Don wandered out the main entry door onto the concrete veranda passing Pappou who wore his black moccasins and grey slacks. His heavily tanned arms and face protruded from a rolled up white and brown long-sleeved shirt and fisherman’s hat while Steve sat quietly on a plastic chair down the other end of the steel balustrading.

Don pulled up a pew halfway between the two next to the side entrance, and sipped on his milk.

They were looking out at Yiayia’s garden which grew juicy red tomatoes and large green cucumbers on the other side of the creamy-pink slab path. The smell of her red and yellow roses in front filled his nose and a bumblebee buzzed by when Pappou lit a cancer trick.

Don noticed the ripe timber logs stacked up neatly for winter under the tin roofed pergola in the corner of the fertile grassy grounds as Pappou called out to him, "Doni?"

"Ti? What?"

"In the darkness of winter, Kerkini’s soul arises. The dark skies with the bright moon and the stars that shine down on the snow-capped mountains, the atmosphere is breathtaking and the fresh fragrances are out of this world," he philosophized in Greek. "Travel is the second most incredible thing you can do in this world."

Don was deep in imagination visualising the black, white and greens in the background as Pappou slugged away at his cigarette.

Sshhh...

Don’s mind was drawn to the entrance of the pergola by the hissing sound. All of a sudden, a blast came from his Granddad’s fingers as he drew the cigarette away from his lips,

CRACK!

Hearts pounded and time slowed as Pappou coughed, and a cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth sending their Granddad backwards into the wall in slow motion.

Pappou’s hands flew into the air, eyes wide open with his mouth over-expanded. Don’s empty glass milk bottle slipped out of his hand as the cigarette dropped on to the pavement and Pappou’s fisherman hat fell off his head. The heavy duty bottle hit the concrete when Don’s palms started to sweat and the hat landed right on top of the cigarette as the bottle rolled into the garden.

Pappou stood up in shock, speechless, and then gazed over Don and Steve intently.

"Ti itan afto? What was that?" he cried in surprise.

Maria was in her bedroom mumbling to Eleftheria, Vat must of been ve popper.

Pappou looked at Steve and Don in pitiful distress, shaking his head as they sat there stunned, focusing on his fallen hat. They realised he wasn’t physically hurt, but still expected some sort of outburst.

Don saw red in his Granddad’s eyes as blood flowed to his muscles ready to run while Pappou stormed towards them. Steve and Don swung over the steel balustrade into the garden but Pappou continued into the house through the double doors into the formal lounge room.

Wearing her long floral summer dress, Yiayia stumbled out the front from the main entrance to see what the big scene was about as Pappou yelled at Maria, "Ti eginai? Gia ti milatai? Ti ekanes? What happened? What are you talking about? What did you do?"

Maria began to whimper, so Eleftheria answered, "Lypoumaste. O Stavros evale krotida sto tsigaro sou. We’re sorry. Steve put a popper in your cigarette."

"Kai O Andonis eh? Andoni as well, ay?" interrogated Pappou.

"O Donis mono kitousai. Don was just watching," sobbed Maria.

Yiayia listened closely from behind the small rose bush, nodding her head as she stared over Don in horror. With a tilt of her head, she laughed wickedly, "Huhuhahahaha."

Yiayia looked stormy, as if it were World War II again and her younger lover boyfriend was shot by guerillas. She looked straight through Don with her wide open pale blue eyes and grey hair as he stood quiet and motionless a couple metres in front of Steve.

Yiayia’s trembling fist was held in front of her chest as her pupils contracted, and through her gritted teeth, in her old husky Polish accent, muttered powerfully, "Zoa! Animals!"

CHAPTER 2

Gorilla’s in amidst.

I’m sorry about Pappou yelling at you before, he said to Maria as they sat at the desk in her room listening to All 4 One - ‘I Swear’ on a portable radio-cassette player.

It’s ok, I should of said somefink, she replied forlornly.

It’s not your fault.

I fink it is.

It’s not, but I feel bad too. I want do something nice for Pappou and Yiayia to say sorry.

Maria thought for a second, and then said, Why don’ you cook vem dinner?

What can I cook? I don’t have any money to buy anything.

Ve hens lay eggs everyday, why don’ you pick some and fry vem up? Vey should be waking up soon.

It’s a good idea, but that’s not enough.

It’s ve small finks vat count up in ve end Don.

Fanks Maria, Don said mockingly. I have an idea!

What are you going to do?

I can’t say, but you’ll like it.

Okay… Maria replied nervously.

Do you have any scissors?

We’re not allowed to cu…

Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything dumb, he cut in.

Alrigh. Maria slid open the top drawer on her desk, pulled out a pair of stainless steel scissors, and said, Here.

Thankyou, he replied, and pocketed the small cutting instrument. Stay vere.

Passing the fine china cabinet on Don’s way through the formal lounge, Steve asked, What are you doing? sitting on the handcrafted couch leaning onto the coffee table, rebuilding Pappou’s music box.

Nothing, Don replied in defence as he continued to the side entrance.

We’re not allowed to go in the chicken pen!

I know… There’s fleas!

Chickens were pecking at the ground in search of a delicious grubby feast and hens clucked in the concrete block coop behind the open aired log shed.

Pulling open the loose hinged and flaking timber door, scents of chicken manure filled his nose while hens whistled as they slept, and light peeped in through the small opening at the back - close to the roof.

His mouth watered as he beheld four eggs unattended in a nest of straw and what looked like dirt.

Standing in front of the rose garden, Don pulled out the scissors from his pocket and cut the two biggest and brightest red roses he had ever seen halfway down the stem.

He re-pocketed the sharps and walked to the side entrance, pushed down on the handle with his elbow and u-turned through the door with his hands behind his back as Steve peeked up. What’s behind your back? he asked.

Nothing, Don lied as he shut the door behind with his foot.

He continued on passed the antique furniture into his Mum’s room where she was asleep, and crept through the ajar double doors into the kitchen.

A rectangular wooden dining table was against the left side wall with six matching chairs and coordinated cupboard behind - in the corner. Opposite was an old gas bottle stove, and light glistened off an ancient silver lighter sitting on the sill of the half shut decaying window shutter above.

Half filling the glass vase with water from the tap, he returned it to its place centre table next to the freshly baked bread, and slid the roses inside.

The pan sat on a side eyelet as gas hissed out of the middle stove and he sparked a flame from the silver, mysteriously stamped lighter with an engraving of a poor looking witch.

Whoosh, erupted the