Isobel & the
Bonobo
by M. J. Nicholls
When Isobel
walked out on me, taking the quadriplegic bonobo
with her, I thought she would never return. I was
plagued by visions of furtive banana peeling in
the afternoon, monkey lovers scrabbling up trees
and chasing squirrels, transgender apes nibbling
on salted nuts as the barrier between simian and
human sexuality was erased. I called Girlfriend
Direct.
“Excuse
me. This Isobel you sent me – she walked out
and took my bonobo with her,” I said.
“Yeah,
that’s common. Our contractors are partial
to pygmy chimps. Sorry – no refunds.”
Irateness
consumed me. I ate this irateness with peeved
chips and vexed beans (with a side helping of
livid ketchup) and got to work on grouping
various species together according to their shin
size. The idea was to create a harmonious
Darwinian shin unity, and hopefully win Isobel
back when she realised I was shinnier than that
crippled bonobo.
I started with
the gnats – nature’s Jacques Tati. At
first, I found their wibbly-wobbly knees rather
amusing (chuckles such as ha-ha-ha-ha
and ho-ho-ho-ho left my mouth) but then
I realised something – these gnats were
proficient slapstick performers. The gnat I
captured was Chaplinesque in his ability to bend
backwards and time his falls in such a natural
way that unstoppable laughter was the only result
of his insectean antics. I auditioned another
nine gnats for a production of The Great
Dictator.
After nine
months rehearsal, three months spent working on
the choreography, another five months to raise
support funds, I was ready to take the production
to Isobel. She was living out in the Copper Belt
with the bonobo, hunting requiem sharks that had
emigrated from the sea to the desert. I rang her
doorbell and the bonobo answered.
“Oh
– you,” he said, puffing on a stogey.
“Isobel’s in the kitchen.”
I found her by
the breadbin filleting a Greek orphan. No words
could convey my passion for this £3.67 woman (plus
£2.90 P&P), so I let the gnats work their
magic legs. Isobel put down her carving knives
and watched with that detached rapture women who
can’t take anything seriously have when they
know something wonderful and important is taking
place, and want to appear respectful despite
their frivolousness.
Afterwards,
she applauded, ran up to the lead gnat, snogged
his antennae off and eloped with him to Juarez. I
hunched back into the sitting room, goggled my
eyes at the bonobo and asked: “Wanna defy
evolution?”
“OK,
mister,” he said, showcasing his bum.
|
