Pensacola Zoo

Part 3 - The Path to Monkey Salvation

But back to the Pensacola zoo...

My younger brother, Ray, and I were wandering through the place doing what unsupervised kids normally do in zoos, which is to say we were being thoroughly obnoxious. Ray'd annoyed me the entire day with his sass and back-talk and it was all I could do to keep from kicking his scrawny butt simply on general principle. We'd been through the habitats for elephants, zebras, alligators and boring small mammals and hadn't been impressed. But once in the monkey house we knew things would be different. It was humid and the faint odor of monkey piss and bamboo wafted through the air. The monkeys eyed us languidly when we walked in, but that was all about to change.  

Bored and eager to cause mischief, I grabbed Ray by the head and gave him a first-rate noogie. The monkeys perked up. They stopped grooming each other and their eyes grew wide. Encouraged, I upped the ante and gave Ray a rough push. The monkeys became more animated so I grabbed little brother by the shoulders and bounced him up and down. That was the magic button. I found the throttle and gave it the gas.  

The monkeys hooted and hollered and Ray became a willing victim. I grabbed him by the shoulders and arms and rocked him up and down violently. The hairy little beasts went crazy, howling and screeching and the decibel level increased exponentially. Some grabbed the bars and shook and rocked as if violence itself was the path to monkey salvation. Within a minute it became clear two of the monkeys were sexually aroused. Why two kids raising hell in their steamy little house would provoke such a response is a mystery only Darwin or Freud may be able to answer. But they started masturbating and that stopped us in our tracks. We stared awe struck, having no idea such a thing was possible.

And then egged them on again.  

The room spun out of control and the tourists shielded their kids from the growing pandemonium. It wasn't long before feces and monkey jism flew though the bars and landed on those souls unfortunate enough to be within range. I bounced Ray up and down until the zookeeper came into the room and screamed at us. 

"CEASE and DESIST," he roared over the madness. Then said it again and again.  

Pumped frantic with animal energy we flew out of the room and on to the hot sidewalk, hooting and hollering like the wild monkeys we'd become. Parents and kids cleared a wide path, certain we were devil-apes disguised as boys. Wide-eyed toddlers hid behind skirts and older kids shielded half-eaten cotton candy lest we snatch it from their grasp and scarf it down like so many bananas. We carried on for some time, laughing the whole afternoon. It was the best thing that happened all summer. 

Those monkeys didn't speak to me like other animals subsequently did. But in their raw and unfiltered actions they spoke to me in a more primitive and perhaps more important way. And reminded me of a little ditty by an old friend. 

                           "The boys I mean are not refined 

                           They go with girls who buck and bite 

                           But when they dance the mountains shake 

                          They masturbate with dynamite" 

                                                                            - ee cummings 

 You never know what's going to happen with animals. How and when they speak to you and what they might have to say when they do. For myself, I've learned never to underestimate the significance of an encounter with an animal. After all it takes one to know one.

Pensacola Zoo was conceived in collaboration with my friend, Wiley Barnard. It was published by the Sucarnochee Review, a literary journal in Alabama, in 2011.