//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 - Greetings // Story: Helper Monkey // by Moonton //------------------------------// It was a very impressive hit. The bamboo rod whistled as it swung through the air; and as it connected with the creature’s nose, it gave a loud, hollow “thwack”. Such was the force that the ape-thing ended up spinning away from the zebra and landing face down in the dirt with its hands covering its face. “Hah!” Zecora shouted, adrenalin rushing through her. Her satisfaction quickly drained away, though, as the creature just lay there. It didn’t yelp and try to run away, as other animals are wont to do when they’re beaten, nor did it attack. It just continued to cover its face, giving off gentle cries. Zecora worried, as she leaned in towards it. “It’s... sobbing? Oh dear, just what have I done?” “Hello?” she offered, pushing her hood back and taking a step closer. “Are… are you alright? I’m sorry; you gave me a fright.” At her voice it stopped crying and went stock-still; Zecora feared it was about to jump up and either run away or attack after all. After a few tense seconds, it mumbled something too quiet for her to hear. “Excuse me?” she said, leaning in. It mumbled slightly louder, “I said—” Zecora noted the deep voice. “Of course. Now I see. ‘It’ is most certainly a ‘he’.” “—‘You can talk? Were you talking to me?’ ” Zecora couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Of course she could talk. And besides, what would he have done if she’d said “no”? “Of course I can; what sort of question is that? And yes, I am,” she eventually spat. The creature fell silent again. After a few moments, he sighed and said, “Okay, sure, why not? It’s not the craziest thing I’ve seen so far.” With a pained grunt he rolled himself onto his back and pulled himself into a sitting position. The bottom half of his face was generously smeared with drying blood; thin trickles of crimson still dripped from both of his nostrils. With the creature in a sitting position, Zecora easily saw just how far his ribs protruded. Any bravado the zebra had felt from her powerful bamboo strike was long gone. More than anything, she felt pity with a generous heaping of guilt. “Ow! I think you broke my nose,” he remarked in a detached tone of voice, touching his face and wincing. She put sheepishly put her stick down and stepped closer. “Here, let me see. Perhaps I can help.” The creature snorted and turned away. “Suuure, let the crazy magical talking zebra that broke my nose closer! No way!” Zecora answered with a roll of her eyes, “Quit fussing and hold still. You whine like a whelp.” He snorted with false amusement again but didn’t turn away. With great care Zecora put a hoof on each side of his head, turning it this way and that to examine his nose from different angles. To her trained eye, it didn’t look as damaged as she’d feared. Giving a relieved sigh to herself, she said, “No need to fret; your nose is fine. It will soon feel much better, acquaintance of mine.” She tapped it gently. “Ow! Hey!” “Tsk-tsk. You complain more than a foal. The blow I dealt took little toll.” “Oh shut up! It still hurts!” the creature snapped, his patience beginning to wear thin. He gave an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is there any particular reason you jumped out of the bushes and hit me?” he asked through clenched teeth. “If you’ve come to rob me, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” “I’m not out to wildly roam but merely travelling to my new home,” she explained, raising a hoof in a placating gesture. “I heard a strange noise and came to see. Then I met you, and you met me.” “Hang on, why are you doing that?” the creature interrupted, lowering his hand to look at her. She tilted her head in puzzlement. “Doing what?” “You keep speaking in rhyme. Why do you do that?” “I don’t speak in rhyme. Name one I’ve said. Maybe I ought to reexamine your head...” “But you just—“ The creature raised his palms in front of himself in surrender. “You know what, never mind. Continue.” Zecora cocked an eyebrow again. ”This monkey-thing is quite strange indeed.” She forgave the interruption and cleared her throat. “Anyways, for hitting you, I am sorry. Could we begin anew? Hello, my name is Zecora, and who are you?” “I can’t remember.” “What?” The suddenness and unexpectedness of his reply made her blink. The emaciated stranger now looked anxious rather than annoyed, as if his answer had worried him as much as it had confused her. “I can’t, um, remember my name,” he said, staring at the ground with his hands on his knees, “or how I got here, actually. Every time I try and think to before, everything gets all… hazy… and my head starts to hurt.” The pity Zecora felt for the creature increased, along with her sympathy. “Oh, my. Such a shame, to not remember your own name,” she said to him, placing a comforting hoof on his shoulder. “May I ask—since there’s little around but grass and peat—whatever have you been finding to eat?” “Oh, you know,” the creature mumbled in what he probably hoped was nonchalance but sounded more pained than anything, “moss, mostly. Hasn’t killed me yet so it’s probably good for me, right?” He then gestured an arm vaguely in the direction of some boulders which had ragged, puke-green moss clinging to their sides. This sight was the last straw for Zecora. She knew that if the creature kept eating nothing but lichen, he’d soon starve. The rocks themselves probably contained more calories. They certainly contained more minerals. So, she had an idea. “That is it. I’ve heard enough,” she declared. “It’s clear living out here is far too rough. I beg of you please, come stay with me.” The creature looked up at her, with many emotions battling on his features. There was confusion at her offer, hesitation and worry (she had hit him with a stick, after all; and he still had his own blood on his face) but there was also a hint of hope. “As what?” he asked carefully. “As a pet?” “As an assistant,” Zecora reassured him, with another pat on his shoulder. “Goodness knows the help I’ll need. And you, of course, will have to feed. We both know there’s nothing here, so please—if you would—come with me, my dear.” The creature still seemed unsure. “I don’t know,” he muttered, looking down again. “Thanks, but I don’t know if I’ll be suitable enough to repay you.” His words cemented the zebra’s decision further. She could already see him being an ideal helper (he was quite tall, had opposable thumbs, and looked as if he could be quite strong if he put on some weight), she was certain of it. Even when obviously starving, he had refused her aid, thinking himself unworthy. That sort of modest ethic Zecora heavily respected, so she decided to pull out the big guns. She reached into her cloak and pulled out a large, ripe-looking peach. The creature’s eyes immediately flicked up and locked onto it. “A pity, if our choices could not be wed,” she said offhandedly, struggling to not smile as the creature’s eyes stayed glued to the fruit as the hoof holding it moved. “I’d get my help, and you’d get fed.” She then bit into it, deliberately letting the juices flow down her face and drip onto the ground. He whimpered softly at the sight, and it was nearly impossible for Zecora not to chuckle. “But you’ve made your choice,” she said with a heavy, theatrical sigh. “You’ve said ‘no deal’.” She finished the peach off in another few bites and then turned around. “I’ll take my leave.” She grabbed her stick and started to walk back to her cart, only looking back to gesture towards the mossy rocks. “Enjoy your meal.” Zecora hadn’t taken a half-dozen steps before he called out, “Okay, okay, wait for me!” “By the spirits, he can eat!” Once they had both reached her cart, Zecora started passing various foods to the creature. He devoured his way through two whole bunches of bananas, a bag of maize bread, and four gourds filled with water. She felt the need to snap something along the lines of “Not so quick, or you’ll be sick!” but decided to hold her tongue for the time being. Finally, he seemed sated and leaned back against the wood with a happy sigh. Zecora chuckled at the sight. “Feeling better?” she asked as she hitched herself. The creature looked and her and gave her a large, genuine smile. “Very much so, Miss Zecora. Thank you.” He began to move forward to walk beside her but stopped as the zebra pointed a hoof. “In the cart.” “No, no, it’s fine,” he protested. “You’ve been kind enough.” “Despite first impressions,” the zebra countered with a smile, “I do in fact have a heart. So please, rest awhile; sit in the cart.” The creature opened his mouth to say something but decided to relent and clambered in. Once they had started moving, it only took a few minutes for the gentle rocking to lull him to sleep. Zecora couldn’t help but chuckle again, especially as he started to loudly snore.