“Time to mull it over, macaques-chan,” Shiza decreed.
Snowflakes twirled, pine needles twitched and the moon hung
low in the heavens. The night would be long. This decision required complex
deliberations. The evidence presented issues encompassing ethics and culture.
It was serious monkey business.
Miza, Miki, Maza nodded their furry heads in unison, bowed
low to each other before scampering to their respective boughs above the
steaming waters to consider the conundrum.
What is the right thing to do when the wrong thing is done
for the right reasons?
The Japanese macaques, Miza, Miki, Maza and their mate Shiza
had been friends for as long as they could recall. Shiza was not as famous as
the other three but was, none the less, always included in grand deliberations
and all parties. No Shiza, no shenanigans they all agreed. So when Shiza asked
the essential question the other three were more cautious with their replies.
Of course Shiza always asked the essential question – for him, doing was more
important than thinking about action.
“What shall we do? A crime has been committed. We must, in
all conscience, act now,’ Shiza said.
“I didn’t exactly hear
the crime,” muttered Miza.
“I didn’t exactly see
the crime,” whispered Miki.
“I didn’t exactly speak
to any evil doers directly,” spluttered Maza.
“That’s the bog standard reply you always give...hear no,
see no, speak no. So clichéd! Heard the one about brass monkeys?” shouted
Shiza.
“There’s no need to be coarse,” they chanted in unison.
“I want us to do something,” said Shiza.
“Well first you must hear the facts,” Miza said.
“Secondly, you must know all the players,” said Miki.
“Only then can you give a fair answer on what has happened
to who and why,” explained Maza. “Those gaigin
have wise words that advise all it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to
look the other way.”
“Humph and hittigans...you’ll be praising organ grinders
next! Never mind the foreigners, give me the facts in sequence,” said Shiza.
And so three, little, Japanese macaques, global stars with
their collective proverb, told the tale of the tripod-legged, Netherland, dwarf
rabbit and the stolen kumquat.
“Shall I start?” asked Miza.
“Don’t you always?” replied Shiza with a shrug.
The three little monkeys shook their head as if to say, “so
harsh!”
Shiza took note, zipped his monkey mouth and sat back to
listen.
“Konijn-san,” began Miza, “was a rabbit, of the dwarf kind,
from that low-lying country in Europe famous for...err...”
“Cheese and clogs,” suggested Maza.
“Really?” asked Shiza.
“Who cares about clogs?”
Miki replied scratching his armpit. “Keep up and get on with the story.
We’re not trying for literary fiction here. Keep to the facts.”
Chastened, Miza continued, “Unfortunately the rabbit had
only three legs. It was born that way. Not an auspicious start in life we can
agree.’
All the monkeys nodded. They were known for being clever and
quick-witted, enthusiastic and innovative. Whereas rabbits were rather quiet
and scholarly...a bit boring by monkey standards.
“Konijn-san led a sad and lonely life. To be different meant
to be shunned. No one wanted to hop around with a tripod rabbit.”
The monkeys nodded again. Too true for macaques as well. In
their world the biggest monkey thumped the smaller ones. Showing respect to the
boss was THE rule. Survival was dependent upon subservience...unless you were
famous of course. That gave you some freedom to be cheeky and ignore the
boss...some of the time at least. Miza, Miki, Maza and their mate Shiza hung
around together as much as possible. Numbers gave clout. They didn’t need to
thump...often...to maintain their status quo as international
known-abouts...even if it was minor league. It was enough to whisper into
another macaque ear, “Do that again banana brain and we’ll turn into your worst
nightmare of a monkey’s uncle.” However, they found the odd thump also went
down well...as a reminder. But hey...that’s what monkeys do.
Crippled Konijn-san was very hungry. Carrots, yellow
vegetables and greens in general were in short supply. No invitations to rabbit
rendezvous were forthcoming thus there was no hope of sustenance. Drastic
measures were needed. What options does a rabbit have in these circumstances?
Self-reflection on evil ways was not a consideration. Theft was a blinding
glimpse of the obvious.
With his tummy rumbling, Konijn-san dreamed of orange trees,
lots of them, laden with large fruits dangling ready for him to pluck, peel and
stuff into his mouth. He imagined the juice running down his fluffy, white
face, the exquisite stickiness that he could re-visit and lick for hours after.
Except he was in the Jigokudani Valley. Not one orange tree had ever grown
here. And as he lay exhausted and delirious...a pot containing a small tree
blooming with orange kumquats...like a mirage to a thirsty gaigin...rose before
his tiny rabbit eyes.
“Yes,” he said to the stars above, “I may not be in the
Sahara but...”
And up he hopped and headed to downtown Nagano station.
There he found the traditional, earthenware bowl that he remembered from days
past. It housed a bonsai kumquat...in full bloom...thirteen perfect, orange
fruits. Konijn-san would live. He was tempted to eat the lot, there and then.
But rabbits are well regarded for their innate gentleness and honesty. So
despite temptation, he decided to take ten and leave three. He gobbled three straight
away, not bothering to peel them. He could have cried with joy...the texture,
the tartness, the succulence. Not only did he have food, it was his favourite
colour – orange, uplifting and rejuvenating. All would be well in his world.
The quandary was how to transport the other seven for a solo
midnight feast. Konijn-san decided to hide them temporarily behind the bowl
whilst he searched for something suitable in which to wrap his stash. He placed
them carefully out of sight but before he could begin his search for an
abandoned paper packet or discarded newspaper, a three-legged crow surprised
him.
Rabbits and crows are not naturally friends. And Konijn-san
had never, ever seen a crow with three legs before except on the T-shirts worn by the Japanese national soccer team
during their recent visit to the hot springs. He wasn’t sure whether to growl
or run. In the interests of kumquats and banquets, he affected a bravado
he did not feel and thumped his single, hind leg.
“Stone the crows, what have we here, a bunny minus a limb?
You born that way Bobtail or have a run in with a train?”
Affronted by the bird’s bluntness, he replied softly, “My
name is Konijn-san.”
The bird was not impressed.
“I’m the son of the great Yata-garasu. You must have heard of him?”
Konijn-san shook his head.
“That’s the trouble with the youth of today. Know nothing
about the history of our illustrious past. I blame the parents and the teachers
and the politicians and the...”
“I’m sure you’re correct,” Konijn-san agreed, worried that
his stash might be discovered by this garrulous bird brain, “but I am just
passing by to collect my take-away dinner.”
“You planning to eat all those kumquats yourself? I saw you
stuff three already. Ever thought of sharing with a feathered friend?”
“I’m very hungry,” said Konijn-san, his ears twitching in
pleasure at the F word. Never before had any living creature suggested they
would be his friend. What should he do? His front paw trembled with excitement
as he contemplated his next move.
The bird look bored.
“Perhaps I could give
you one? We rabbits are kind and generous when we can be.”
“My need is greater than yours,” said the bird.
“How long since you have eaten?” asked Konijn-san. Food was
precious but so was an offer of friendship.
“What’s that got to do with the price of rice?”
“I’m very, very hungry. I haven’t eaten for many moons,”
replied Konijn-san.
“I’m not planning to eat those orange bits. I’m going to
trade them and do something good with the proceeds. So my need is nobler than
your greed.”
“Theft for selfish gain?” asked Konijn-san, unsure of the
bird’s motive.
“My grandmother, who is very, very old, needs my help. That
is not being selfish. I plan to exchange the fruit for an old kimono. The silk
is so very soft. For an old bird like my esteemed grandmother it will provide a
very comfortable and warm lining for her nest... for the rest of her days.”
Konijn-san could not argue with that. Yata-garasu was a learned son of a famous elder who
was trying to help someone frailer than a hungry, tripod rabbit like himself. In any case he didn’t want to fight a big bird
with a very pointed beak. Such a pursuit would not end well...for a rabbit. He
offered the spoils to the bird, with a deep bow.
Yata-garasu couldn’t
believe his good fortune. He thought he might have to wrestle the fruits from
the odd looking rabbit. Such a strategy would not end well...for a
bird...because bird lore warned of rabbits with their big teeth and mean right
jabs.
As the bird flew off he
couldn’t help but be moved by the creature’s generosity. Not wanting to display
any sentimentality he winked and dropped two of the kumquat cargo back to Konijn-san. The rabbit saluted. The
bird dipped a wing. Realpolitik in action...a result for both.
Konijn-san hopped away juggling the fruit between his three
legs. It was not easy and sometime between there and home one rolled away. The
rabbit did not want to stop and search in the dark. Too many predators might be
lurking. And there was one thing tastier than hot bunny and that was hot bob
tail in a piquant fruit sauce. He gave a silent wish that whoever found the
lone kumquat would use it wisely.
“That’s the story,” finished Miza.
“They’re the players,” agreed Miki.
“And you, Shiza, are the macaque amongst us who collected
the kumquat,” said Maza.
“I didn’t steal it,” argued Shiza, “I found it. I did no evil.”
“Nor did I hear
any evil...in the first animal, so to speak,” added Miza.
“Speaking is my prerogative,” said Maza, “I didn’t hear any
of the players speak any evil.”
“And none of us saw any evil, did we?” asked Miki.
Nevertheless four macaques
had to consider what is the right
thing to do when the wrong thing is done for the right reasons. Saro Kuso they
termed it. After some hours, the mystic monkeys re-convened. Consensus was
reached. The gravity of the decision was acknowledged.
“A rabbit’s got to do what a rabbit’s got to do,” Miza
pronounced.
“Just like a macaque. Konijn-san used the kumquat to save
his life,” said Miki.
“The bird bargained with the rabbit for a higher cause,”
added Maza, “no crime in that.”
“Finders keepers in my case. No case of evil to be
answered,” Shiza said.
“Saro Kuso!” they chorused and high-fived their furry paws.
“On that decree I suggest we adjourn to the hot springs to
relax,” said Shiza. “Snow monkeys we are. Mulled sake wine we have...made with
one kumquat, whose provenance is accounted for. No further evidence submitted,
case closed. You never monkey with the truth. Kampai tomodachi!”
About the author
Dr Dianne Stadhams has had two plays developed
with Bristol Old Vic, two novels shortlisted for global competitions and a
young adult novel accepted for publication. In July 2020 she was to be artistic
director and writer of a community play in Cornwall, involving over 300
players, entitled Home Stone...until
Covid-19 derailed the project. In development are a third novel, an illustrated
volume of haiku, a film and Home
Stone 2021. A collection of illustrated short stories, Links, is available through Amazon. For further information: www.stadhams.com
Japanese: Saro = Ape, Kuso = Shit
