Monkey Man

By Anthony Graham

The ape-man comes of age in this darkly comic novel. Our hero is rescued from the depths of a remote jungle where he has lived with a troop of gorillas and is taken to London by a film company where he is confronted with modern society.

He wonders at modern human customs and is often confused and frightened by the state of civilisation, while fashionable society in turn finds the hero a mystery.
He has loved and lost and the novel explores his quandary and answers the question as to whether he will love again.

Monkey Man is peopled with a cast of extraordinary characters including a billionaire mogul, his wild daughter, film makers, musicians and academics. Combined with a savage satire of 21st Century society and the sympathetic portrait of a young man, this novel is both biting and moving.

While at first blush Monkey Man may appear to be a simple parody, there is an underlying insight into the ferocity of today’s society, especially when compared with the orderly but also brutal community of the gorilla troop.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Mar 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922542588

Anthony Graham

The author has practised as a barrister, QC, judge and Law Professor over a career spanning 50 years. He is also a musician and songwriter. He is the Jazzer in the Rocker & Jazzer band that has recorded a number of albums and he has co-written numerous songs that have been covered in the USA and Europe. He has written a number of published text books and his novel Jerry O is available in print and as an ebook.

Book preview

1.

It was Professor Milo Arbuckle who first saw the man. The professor was lying prone on his stomach in the camp lay-up watching two grandpa gorillas squatting in a corner of the clearing. They noshed lazily on a bundle of bamboo shoots that had been gathered from an overhanging tree. The primates chattered away to each other like any two old male friends. They probably spoke of past glories, some real, some imagined, of friends now long dead and of the current state of disrepair within their world. All they needed was a chessboard, a Ventolin inhaler and two cups of Turkish coffee to make the diaspora complete.

The team was only in situ for two days and the gorilla troop had not yet been given individual names, but Milo wrote Felix and Oscar in his notebook to identify the two venerable gorillas. Milo was an animal behavioural scientist and he relished the prospect of hunkering down in the lay-up whilst inspecting the passing parade of primates, for the ninety days the expedition was scheduled to remain in the montane forest of the Eastern Congo.

Oscar and Felix were sitting on their haunches at right angles to one another. They were at the edge of an informal clearing in the forest, which served as a junction of a number of intersecting pathways that gorillas had made as they moved around the troop’s territory foraging, eating and playing. The lay-up was chosen carefully. It gave an unobstructed view of the junction through a veil of verdure. It was covered with a topping of greenery which was supposed to camouflage the watcher from the troop. This was a forlorn hope. The primates knew every inch of their territory. Generally, once the gorillas understood the spectators were not a threat, they tolerated their presence and at times even put on a live show for the cameras. Milo sported Stewart tartan golf trousers. He had often been warned to wear camouflage pants, but he manfully resisted. ‘They are my hallmark,’ he claimed. The gorillas noticed the pants, but so far had resisted the temptation to further investigate the brightly coloured aberration.

Arbuckle was alone. The other scientists, photogra­phers, producers and lackeys were back at the camp scheduling tasks and planning excursions. Milo was the advance party. He was never happier than when he was on his stomach filming primates with his trusty Leica video recorder, Minolta SRT-101 still camera and his ancient Polaroid instant Land Box.

Milo, when not on assignment, resided in a tenured professor’s apartment on the campus of Leeds University. He was a guest steward at Yorkshire Zoo and was often seen pontificating on BBC TV as to the mating habits of chimpan­zees, the feeding traits of cheetahs and other esoteric aspects of animal behaviour. Milo generally preferred animals to people, having endured a short, loveless and childless marriage and years of the arcane bickering that is a constant of academic life.

Milo heard the swishing noise of approaching gorillas. From an opening to his left emerged a small, but fully grown female ape. ‘Jane,’ wrote Milo in his notebook naming the newcomer. She was followed by a human male, so this was the first sighting.

The man was of medium height. He was naked, bony and scrawny. He appeared to be white skinned, but it was difficult to accurately be sure as he was caked in dirt, and was hairy and darkly tanned. His black hair hung in a lank mass of tangles. He was about half a metre behind the female and he seemed to be concentrating on remaining in her wake. His penis was red, engorged and swollen. The man held it in one hand so that it extended horizontally like a shaft and was aimed directly at the female ape’s ample backside. The pale sunlight was shining on the knob of his derrick which gleamed like a fulsome beacon on a ship’s prow.

Milo Arbuckle must have shifted his body in surprise, or perhaps he slightly gasped, because the naked man stopped momentarily and looked directly at the lay-up. He seemed taken aback. As he turned away to follow the female, a small trail of brownish stain began trickling from his rear and down the inside of his legs accompanied by a walnut-sized turd. The man continued walking into the forest and disappeared into the veldt. The professor continued filming throughout the scene. He shot continuously with the Leica, whilst juggling the Minolta and Polaroid with his other hand to take some still snaps.

The two grandpa apes gave a knowing look towards Milo’s hiding place. They pulled themselves up, turned and padded back into the undergrowth.

Milo waited a decent interval. When the coast seemed clear, he left his hiding place and ventured down into the clearing. He donned rubber gloves and used a tiny spatula to scoop up the liquid excrement and tiny brown dollop and place the potpourri in a plastic handy-bag.

He could not wait to get back to base camp to inform the rest of the team of his extraordinary sighting. Regrettably, this would never occur.

The leader of the gorilla troop was a large young silverback. He had been watching Milo from a vantage point behind a montane tree for some time. He was not sure what to make of him. He waited patiently whilst Milo gathered the last of the scat. The silverback padded silently into the clearing. He took hold of the professor’s neck and twisted it sharply in a clockwise direction. Milo expunged air in a sharp retching gag before expiring.

The silverback raised himself to his full height and banged his chest a few times, without much real enthusiasm. In a gesture of, perhaps, contempt, he ripped Arbuckle’s pants from him and disappeared into the forest clutching the bright tartan garment. The scene remained untouched as if a yellow forensic crime tape had banded the area in the vicinity of the dead and now trouser-less scientist.

2.

The naked man walked a few steps beyond the clearing and into the undergrowth, when he heard the sound of Blah the leader padding into the clearing. In calling him Blah, the man simply tried to emulate the sound made by him when he sought attention. He did not know if this was the leader’s name, or simply his call sign. The man’s own call sign was Og. He was not sure how he came to use this call, but it was many moons since he first joined the troop and the call sign was now intrinsic to his life. He knew he was not like the others, but he had little memory of any other life. Occasionally, a random and incongruous image would flash into his head. He was in a small boat with two others. He was wearing a straw boater hat and a sailor suit. The other people in the boat were large and jolly, and then the evocation was gone from his mind. More often there was a memory of being in a car that struck a tree and rolled over. Then he was suddenly alone and sobbing until a large, furry paw picked him up and softly patted his head until he settled down. There were other random thoughts. They sometimes included conversation. ‘Where is Daddy?’ he remembered. ‘He will be back soon, he is at his club,’ another softer voice replied. He sometimes saw himself as a reflection in the window of a store. It was a clothing store, yes it was a woman’s clothing store. He was a child, dressed in a screen-printed cartoon mouse tee shirt, blue pants, sandals and a cap; the man remembered the cap. Then the memory suddenly would fade and he was back in the present. The man was also aware there were others like him. There were creatures that sat where the man in the funny pants sought to hide.

One day long ago, the man walked beyond the forest. He arrived at a long open area where strange noisy beasts travelled at breakneck speed. He had reached the highway. His guardian ape Rog, the first mate of the old leader Gur found him, growled and led him back into the montane forest.

The man watched the killing of Milo Arbuckle. He was not particularly surprised. Violence arrived often and in unexpected ways to the troop and the dead creature was, after all, an intruder. The man was a little perplexed as to why Blah yanked the dead man’s covering from him and even more bemused when he noted the legs were white and hairless.

He waited until Blah was gone before venturing back into the clearing. The man was fearful of his fate under the leadership of Blah. The old leader Gur was comforting and protective of him. His female mates, particularly Rog, fed him until he knew the ways of the forest and understood which plants were healthy and which were dangerous. Things had changed. Blah sometimes and without warning roughly threw him to the ground or ran at him screaming. The man thought this had to do with the female Erg. She was the man’s mate. Admittedly congress was awkward, but he believed Erg would be his mate forever. He wanted no others. It was fair to say, though, there had been no other offers.

As the coast seemed clear, the man warily walked back to the clearing. He loitered for a while at the entrance and when he was convinced Blah was not in the area, the man approached the dead Arbuckle. The dead scientist lay with his bag still strapped across his body and his various belongings spread around the area. The man searched Milo’s bag. There were many strange objects. He examined a shiny, small, thin case. It was Arbuckle’s Nokia phone. He also inspected a larger oblong box with tiny buttons. It was the Minolta still camera. He packed up Arbuckle’s case and left it neatly beside the body. He also examined the plastic bag of excrement and after sniffing it a few times laid it on the belly of the dead man.

The man began picking up and examining the objects scattered around the body. There were a handful of polaroid photos strewn around. They were the snaps the unfortunate Arbuckle had taken just before he was attacked. The man picked up one of the polaroid images. It was lying face down on the ground. He turned it over and recoiled sharply. There was Erg. The photo captured a side view of her as she crossed the clearing. Behind her in the image was the man in all his glory being led by his member towards Erg. The man examined himself. He looked closely at his arms and legs and compared them with the likeness in the frame. He examined the back of his leg and there was a stain meandering from his buttock to his ankle. He had not noticed that he left a trail. He wondered at the magic happenstance. He knew that he should keep the bromide. It was the capture of a moment in time. He picked up a small black bum bag that had dislodged when Blah violently tore the trousers from Arbuckle’s body. The man with the call sign Og emptied the contents, a few coins and a USB stick, onto the ground. He carefully placed the polaroid photo into the black pochette. He thought for a moment. He picked up the phone and also dropped it in the bag. He quietly slipped away into the undergrowth.

3.

The base camp was situated one and a half kilometres from the lay-up in a clearing on a plateau of the veldt. When Professor Arbuckle had not returned to the camp two hours before sundown, the leader of the team, Taddeus Philby, set off up the hill. He was accompanied by the team adminis­trator Cynthia Burgess. Bearers designated a pathway signposted with red stakes when the lay-up was first assembled and the pair found their way to the junction without difficulty.

There were no apes in sight when they arrived. The body of the behavioural scientist was lying spreadeagled in the clearing, but curiously his leather holdall containing his camera and tools was neatly placed next to the body. They also noticed there was a plastic bag containing excrement neatly resting on the ample Arbuckle belly. Tad examined the ground and noticed numerous pawprints indicating that gorillas were recently in the clearing. He radioed base for assistance and soon after sundown the body was trans­ported to the base camp and was placed in the care of the team medic, Dr Hamish McLean.

Philby phoned London to speak to Lord Button, the mogul financing the expedition. He included in his account that Milo’s pants were missing and there was a bag of excrement resting on the Arbuckle stomach.

The trip was planned over two years. The team included 23 scientists, naturalists, producers, camera crew and support staff. Philby organised the venture with care and precision. Camera angles, time constraints and commentary were strategised back in London. The film was to be called Gorilla Guerrillas. Amazon Prime and Netflix were amongst the film companies and streaming services vying for worldwide rights. Lord Button was an aficionado of the work of Taddeus Philby. He had put up 7,000,000 pounds sterling to fund the venture.

‘Shall we call it off?’ asked Philby, but he did not have his heart in the proposition.

‘Not fucking likely,’ replied Lord Button, ‘Find another monkey gazer. This time find one who doesn’t wear fucking golf pants. Christ, I don’t blame the monkey for ripping the bloody things off him, though I guess I probably would have stopped short of killing the little bastard.’

Button spoke in a clipped, almost military way. His accent was indeterminate. Certainly, nobody would pick that he was the son of a Yiddish Portobello Road junk dealer. The cockney accent was long gone, as were crooked teeth and a gauche wardrobe. In their place was a tiny man with a deep accent-less voice emanating from a mouth sporting £50,000 worth of titanium implants, faultless grooming and bespoke Saville Row and Jermyn Street kit. Even his foul tongue did not betray his origins, as many of the new billionaires were potty mouthed and maladroit. It was a long climb from the Portobello Road to Mayfair, but Lord – formerly Jimmy – Button made the ascension before he turned 50. His corporation Scrotum Inc commenced with a stall at the Portobello Market selling pouch bags. The bags were, at first, made from cheap imported Thai leather, but soon were manufactured from a variety of exotic materials. He even marketed a bag allegedly manufactured from actual baby elephant scrotums. This promotion provoked an angry reaction. Animal activists conducted demonstrations outside the Scrotum Stall, much to the pleasure of Lord Button, who orchestrated the demonstrations. He was subjected to a grilling on national television and agreed to not only withdraw the pouches from sale but announce that he would devote his life to the protection of wildlife. He neglected to mention that the offending pouches were actually made from stretched vinyl, sourced from Calabria. His new range of environmentally sound pouches became a status symbol for green activists and animal crusaders.

Naturally, they were discovered by the fashion conscious and became a necessary accessory for all of the many sexes. Button opened his first shop in Chelsea. Soon every man, woman and the assorted gender genus were either carrying a purse-sized pouch or schlepping a strapped version, casually, over the shoulder.

‘Put it to the testes’ was the catchy slogan that was the ubiquitous catch-cry that adorned billboards across the UK. A minor royal male was engaged to fruitily advertise the Scrotum pochettes and handbags. An advertising whizz-kid came up with the snappy catchphrase, ‘Have the balls to tote the pouch.’ Presently Lord Jimmy Button owned 800 shops, a hotel chain, a budget airline, a TV production company, four cruise ships and the pride of the brand an exclusive adventure tour company. He had been married six times and kept a shark pool of divorce lawyers well fed. His one child, Gertie Button, was the progeny of his second marriage to a Mayfair nail therapist. Gertie aged 42 years was an enthusiastic and unsuccessful entrepreneur. She had the advantage of having a doting and ultra-rich father who reluctantly paid for whatever was her latest madcap scheme. Amongst her more exotic adventures was the establishment of a dwarf waiter hire company called MiniDinni. This was received with considerable anger from disabled action groups and ‘woke’ politicians. The plan was always destined for failure as, at many of the grander dinner parties at refurbished ancestral piles, dinner tables were too high for the dwarves. The only people who actually supported the plan were the ‘Little People’ who were eager for the work and suggested that they be provided with elevator shoes.

Button himself lived in a castle in Buckinghamshire. It was a new building. It replaced ancient rubble that was protected virtuously by the National Trust. The castle burned to the ground in mysterious circumstances. Jimmy subsequently received planning consents. He engaged a gloriously camp French architect to build an exact replica of Versailles with one caveat, that it be painted pink. The castle known modestly as Button Hall was the object of much derision from the wide boys and dilettantes who now constituted the neighbourhood. On the other hand, busloads of ancient cockneys would visit as part of Bingo Bus days. They would stand at the gates, which were guarded by two rampant lions, and gawk at the mansion. Occasionally they got a glimpse of Lord Button and this brought forth an enthusiastic burst of clapping. Button also owned a 5th Avenue Penthouse, a townhouse in Knightsbridge and an island in the Grand Bahamas. There were rumours about Button, there were always rumours, but none seemed to stick. There was a company in Luxembourg which hit the wall, the unexplained death of a number of enemies, a missing mistress and an ongoing fight with internal revenue. They all just seemed grist to the mill.

Philby was relieved when Lord Button stood his ground. He also did not want the endeavour to end. Tad did not even like the late Milo