Chapter 11
For something to do, Monkley took care of the laundry. For a moment, he watched the sheets and clothes spin gently in the machine. Wearing clothes had been natural to him, never knowing anything different. But since taking up permanent residence in the base, shedding the unnecessary garments, he had no clothes to wash. He wondered why Andy still wore clothes. It was never cold inside the base. People were the most peculiar animals, sometimes. He liked Andy. Life had always been fun with Andy. Games. Stories. He liked it when Andy told him stories. Happy. Monkley happy.
He left the washing and looked for Andy. He found him at the compost heap, turning it over with a spade.
'Hi, pal. Keeping busy?'
'Story. Happy.'
'What, now?'
Monkley jumped up and down and did a back flip. 'Story, Happy.'
'Okay. Give me a minute.'
He squatted at the large pool side, splashed water over his face and cupped his hands to take a drink. Then he sat and Monkley joined him, wrapping his arm around him.
'Story. Yeah. It's been a while. Right. There once was a funny little guy called Monkley.'
Monkley clapped his hands and whooped. He loved stories about himself the most.
'And Monkley wanted a banana.'
'Banana.'
'A big banana. This big.' He stretched his arms wide.
'Banana big.'
'Very big. So big banana...'
'Banana big.'
'So big, Monkley couldn't carry it.'
'Monkley. Monkley.'
'Right. And a big banana. And Monkley...'
'Monkley.'
'He couldn't carry the banana, it was so big.'
'Big banana.'
'So, Monkley ate the big banana.'
'Oooh! Banana.'
'Yes.'
Monkley stretched his arms wide. 'Banana big.'
'Big banana.'
'Oooh!'
To Monkley, that was a great story. It had two of his favourite things in it. Himself, and a banana. Now, that's a story. He clapped his hands in appreciation. 'Happy.' With bananas on his mind, Monkley ran off into the jungle.
'Some people are easily pleased,' said Foreman.
Before he soaked in the small pool, Foreman checked on his “wine”. In a bucket with a mixture of fruit juices, turning into several pints of fermenting something. He had found a box of yeast for baking bread. Not the most ideal, true, but with luck, it would transform the brew into something drinkable. The bubbles rising to the surface were a positive sign something magical was going on. Covering the bucket up, it was time for his nightly smoke and dip in the small pool.