When Monkeys Go Bananas
“Baby girl come over here. I’m going to show you today’s plan of action.”
She wandered over to him where he leant out the window, with another of his constant mini joints curling up a small grey cloud. Flicking the ash off the end he turned around.
“Hey, you look nice,” and leaning over kissed her lightly on lips covered in brown anti-blister cream. “And you smell sexy, considering you have used my Brut,” as he lifted one of her sleeveless arms with its exposed armpit, licked the hair that shone and had been freshly combed, “and my splash-on. Not sure about the lipstick though.”
The fine, semi-transparent, shimmering, satin red top emphasised her braless breasts with their puppy noses sleeping.
“And matching skirt – very nice indeed.”
“Well it is your lip healing cream and you’re wearing it too, nah-nah-nah and,” she twirls and facing him again, triumphantly placed a red bonnet on her head and tied the strings in a bow. “Well you did ask me to dress up like this for you. I prefer it to the nun’s garments. Do have an African grass basket for me?”
“My little red riding hood, I love it and new peasant Nike shiny sneakers make a perfect match of creating pure innocence. Yes, I don’t, but Bertha, she who lives on the ground floor, has left one in the stair well with apples in it for anyone. They looking very sad now. I bin them. We take that and I have a white and red chequered tea towel you can arrange it in. Okay, see that roof down there,” pointing to the right. “That’s BBB, our first port of call.
Her eyes followed as he pointed left and ahead. “Then the path through the maize field, she started to giggle, he looked amusedly at her, “and up the stairs to the Inn canal.”
She interrupted starting to laugh, “And then you push me in! hah-hah-hah. And as for pure innocence! After what you did to me last night and a pentagram carved into my back for all,” tugging at her top, “for the whole world to see and being escorted by someone dressed as if he is about to go into battle in the Congo … you can’t make this up, hah-hah, where’s your machine gun?” She snorted, as she bent double, exposing a tempting prize of naked buttocks with a hint of an unwrapped McDonald’s hairy burger.
“I do have a weapon, but it is semi-automatic assault rifle. It’s in the BBB, I will show you when we go down. It caused a lot of trouble with the youth welfare office and Russians were involved.” Now Laughing with her, “from there we go left and follow it all the way to Mühldorf.” He looked carefully as he spoke the city’s name for the second time. There was no reaction. “And, I am not throwing you in the Inn. We are going shopping.”
Standing up and wide eyed, no longer laughing. “WHAT! Russians, guns, child protection…I don’t understand anything your saying. Can we go now, how far is it as my body will need pauses, I am sure you know why?”
She took the proffered tea towel and her mobile. He stuffed his handy in his pocket. With his hand, the right one, not the wrong one. Along with keys and a scuffed brown leather designer wallet, into various pockets of the dark military Bermuda length, camouflaged shorts.
“ I suppose we take the phones in case we get arrested. Especially dressed like this!” She observed, as they went down the marble toned, tiled steps.
“Anything can happen if we don’t break too many laws and it’s about a seven-kilometre walk.”
They went out the open ground floor, appreciating the warmth after the coolness of the stairwell. She looked at the large hut dominating the view just six paces away.
“That’s strange. I don’t recall seeing this. Rather hard to miss.”
“Most probably because your head was full of the expectations that awaited you. Now we start on the outside of BBB and its beer garden.”
She took in the just over half-sized goal post and same height wall, with a door, its six panes of glass covered on the inside with a black blanket. A window half the size of its entrance was also blacked out. Everything but the glass was painted in almost the exact tones as the outfit he was wearing.
“Why can’t I see inside? I guess you have another surprise planned for me.”
Tapping the side of his nose with an outstretched finger. “But of course, but that’s for after our next adventure.”
“ Sounds fine to me.” Looking at the wall. “The deco is brilliant. Did you do this all yourself ?” Gesticulating with an outstretched arm, “oh this is funny,” pointing at a pair of very rotten looking trainers screwed at almost eyelevel to the wall. Reading the sign that accompanied it, “wake up and smell my trainers.” Her voice was warming up as she observed with smiling lips the various posters large and small covering the wall.
“Ahh, I see Bingo-Bogo is here,” looking at the large promotional poster of the same named Adriano Celentano film.
“I did everything on my own, built it, painted it, decorated it and still have to make the T-shirt. I love doing it.”
She followed him to the back. Two covered, same sized windows close together, occupied the middle of same sized wall but painted in black gloss. On either side hung gardening tools, numbered and some designated PRIVATE in red felt pen on their handles.
“All well organised I see, what’s with the PRIVATE?”
“Oh, that’s from last summer when war broke out between Bertha and I over a cat a dog and a pile of shit. I tell you more later.”
“More later? Am I staying all summer? From what I am gathering bit by bit about you it will be a very long set of stories you will be telling me.
She continued to follow him around the corner and stepping back observed the beautiful ochre wall with dark green roofing batons dividing the whole into squares the same size of two more windows. Each square exhibiting large signs in glistening varnished hard wood. Each endowed with logos, one even curved outwards with two plastic bananas in their exposed skins ordain it among stencilled motives of entwined monkeys.
“She read out the large wording in dark yellow. “Wall of…she stumbled, in…famommmy?
“Its ‘Infamy’. Famous people or events for the very wrong reasons.” The whole wall is like a history lesson we never stop repeating.”
“But what does ‘When Monkeys go Bananas’ mean? Her English coping.
“Monkeys and bananas are recognised emblems and literal expressions in many languages to describe as - stupid, mad, deranged, brainless… a bit like the scammers on dating sites.”
“Okay, I get the idea, go on.”
“So, on this wall are pictures and descriptions of a double adjective for is that not the ultimate when a monkey, such as in this picture,” he points to a black man with an Adolf Hitler moustache shaking his fist in anger, “that individual insane mother fucker is Robert Mugabe. The late President of Zimbabwe.”
“Your former home.”
“Correct. He went bananas and totally treated the land and people as his own crib and once in power lost the plot and threw all his toys out of his cot. He was handed on a plate, after a bloody war costing the lives off thousands, what was called the jewel of Africa and turned it into a basket case.”
“Ugh-huh. I know nothing about this except what you told me when I looked at some of your blog postings. Only a few though.”
“Now these here,” pointing to three pictures in laminate to protect them from the weather. “They are fading now, and I will replace them soon. These are three scenarios where an insane monkey led mad bananas to get slaughtered. Pointing to the top one and moving down, Charge of the Light brigade,” he moves his finger down, “Custer’s Last Stand and finally, this is Shangani Patrol. Notice the similarities in these painted scenarios?”
“The outnumbered monkeys are getting slaughtered by other mad monkeys and all bananas? Enough, I didn’t come here for a history lesson no matter how interesting. I want my history of the last few hours to be repeated on a written page one day.”
“Fair enough but before we turn the corner would you be so kind as to bend over, hold onto the tree in front of you, spread and let me have a few short pumps as thanks for the tour.”
Quickly she looked about. Observing that no one can see them she obliged and as she flicked her skirt up, “you still havn’t shown me the front but you can have some of my rear but no monkey going banans please. Just 40 strokes. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
He dropped on to his knees and unzipping himself pulled the already swelling tommy gun out and with a quick, swift twist of the wrist had it ready to go. Sniffing appreciatively, he licked her tuppence and standing again pulled her cheeks apart, entered her greedy hole and immediately started to hump, slapping her quivering bum orbs till they glowed like twinned dwarf stars expanding plasma into the cosmos. She had to hold on tight, the tree being shaken now so hard that a clinging monkey would have been scared witless of falling out, as he pounded as hard as could.
As shaken off leaves from the poor confused tree, who had done nothing more than be there at the wrong place at the right time, fell on the rosy red cheeks, “and thirty-nine (hump), and forty.”
She pulled away, stood and pushing her squirt down, turned the corner. “Wow, this really is the best for last.” She spotted a large grill of a half oil barrel mounted in a large black metal table. Are we grilling later? Please say yes, it’s a fab day.”
With his pistol once again in its holster. “Of course, we will. We are going shopping for everything we need to grill.”
Making a small skip, she clapped her hands in delight. A brown double door placed in the middle took up a third of the last wall painted in the reverse colours of the East facing one. Its edge to the ground covered like all of them in matching painted double fisted sized, river carved pebbles.
Snapping herself out of her study of the décor. “Let’s go, its 1.00 pm according to that clock, if it works, as that one says it’s a quarter to five.”
He looked up at the blazing sun, shading his eyes with a peaked hand, in the cloudless sky. “Its 3.00pm. Time to go.”
“Oh, but of course, I forgot your alter ego is Crocodile Dundee. I liked that film. Lead the way soldier. Will you protect me from them when they try to ravage me on the way?” She cutely curtsied, flashing a tiny hint of what the crocodiles would be after.
“Never fear my maiden fair, my combat Swiss army knife will keep the slavering jaws of lust away from what belongs to me.”
Stopping to collect the basket, Bertha had obtained for 50cents from a charity shop (there is only one in Töging, where migrants are not allowed in if they didn’t have a special pass, like he had), and tossing the apples in the compost bin, they walked down the path, through the garden gate leading to the road.
