Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 67

Suddenly a velvet voice breathed in his ear, “Silly Monkey… What you are doing here? Do you really think
that when you find your simian friends… you will be happy?”
Monkey whirled around to face his invisible foe, “Of course I’ll be happy! What do you mean by that?!”
But she was gone.
In the distance, Monkey heard a cock crowing, welcoming the dawn.
******
Monkey raised his goblet to the walls of the vast, empty cavern. His shadows flickered on the torchlit
surfaces of the unoccupied tables and chairs. “Bottle number 53!” he sang. Spilling the wine all over his fur
and clothes, he stumbled and laughed out loud, calling out to no one in particular, “Isn’t this fun?!!” His
voice echoed around the lonely halls. Waves of fatigue finally overcame him and he slumped into a drunken
heap.
He did not know how long he had slept for, but when Monkey finally stirred, he sensed that he was not
alone. Raising his throbbing head, he faced his visitor - a kindly-looking old lady who greeted him with a
pleasant smile.
“You again…” he murmured, reaching for his cudgel. “Now you are dressed up in the skin of the girl’s
mother.... I thought I killed you too…” Planting his foot firmly against the cavern floor he snarled, “No
matter. I am quite prepared to kill you again!”
The old woman smiled and patted the seat next to her, “Come sit down, dearie, and tell Aunty what’s been
troubling you. I thought you told me that you were going to have a grand, drunken celebration with your
loyal subjects?” She chuckled in a conspiratorial fashion, “I see you are already very drunk, but where’s the
rest of the party?”
Monkey snorted in annoyance, gesturing at the dark, barren halls, “Well, clearly there is nobody here or else
there would a party!” He sat down again and reached for a flagon of wine next to him. “But,” Monkey
smiled as he opened it and inhaled its heady fumes, “I can drink enough for everybody!”
“So where are your monkeys, Monkey?” the old woman persisted. “How awful it would be if something
had happened to them...” Stroking her wrinkled chin thoughtfully, she said, “I wonder what made them
leave your precious cave?... Poor lost little Monkey all alone… I wonder what or who is going to make you
happy now?”
“Enough!” Monkey struck out at her. But she disappeared, leaving those parting words lingering in the air.
Something akin to fear took hold of Monkey’s heart. Soaring out of the cave, he tore across Flower Fruit
Mountain, calling the names of his faithful friends of old. Once again, he heard no response. He flew to the
foothills of the mountain and continued calling until he eventually reached the villages on the plains far
below. He landed when he heard two high-pitched voices calling, “Master! Master!”
“Topsy!” Monkey cried out joyfully. “What happened to all the hair at the top of your head? We must call
you Baldy now!” he shouted, chortling gleefully at the sight of of his long-lost friend. A young monkey
stood beside Topsy, holding up the aged simian.
“Your Majesty!” old Topsy croaked in a quavering voice, “It has been over 500 years since you left. We all
thought you were dead!” The frail, old monkey leaned heavily on his younger companion. His expression
turned sorrowful as he said, “In your absence, your loyal servants have been decimated, and we are now on
the brink of extinction. Even our best fighters from the good old days, Boggo, Mugsy, Tin-Ear, even Fluffy
have been taken...” The hoary grey monkey’s tears fell as grief overcame his words.