Chapter the 3rd
Monkeys: Kindness in Another’s Trouble
Question not, but live and labour
Till yon goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
Seeking help from none;
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another’s trouble,
Courage in your own.
“Man’s Testament”
Adam Lindsay Gordon
> thought Lieutenant Melville as he rested in the stifling heat and reeking stench. It was midafternoon, barely three hours after their battle. He was on the Pier, leaning back against the Keel. From here he could observe the east side of their beached cutter, and the odd behavior of Midshipman Aquinar.
> replied Swish-tail, >
The tap to their water barrel was above and slightly to the other side of where Aquinar was crawling. So the little middy couldn’t be after their precious supply of water, which was barely enough to last another few weeks with careful rationing.
After the punishment Melville had administered to him for wasting water, and the boy’s sincere repentance and remorse, Melville felt certain that young Midshipman Garth Aquinar would never again waste a drop of water. The day that the boy had spent without water was hard, but in the end it taught him a lesson that every sailor must learn. In the end it would be good for him. That is, if they lived through this. If their long overdue mothership ever came to rescue them.
Four times now Aquinar had made his little trip. His sailcloth pants and white cotton shirt made Melville think of the little middy as a dirty white moth, flitting quickly from the woods to the bones of the cutter. Then he moved slowly, ever so slowly back to the trees, like a grubby white inchworm.
Except for his one embarrassing slash on the buttock, Melville hadn’t been hit in the battle, even though he was in the thick of it throughout. Yet his body ached from exertion, as though he’d been used as a punching bag by a whole family of six-legged apes. As though papa, mama, and little baby ape had all given him six licks each.
What does it matter what some little boy is doing? thought Melville. We are going to die here. Our linkup with Kestrel is over a week late. We’re almost out of water. Over a third of my company is dead or wounded.
> replied Swish-tail, indignantly. Melville hadn’t meant to communicate that thought to his Ship, but when they were in physical contact like this he couldn’t help but share his thoughts. > she added, with the pure, strong faith of a child in its parent. He felt the simple confidence of his Ship flowing through him, strengthening him
Like the boy he was watching, Melville had an irrepressible, cheerful spirit. He possessed a few gifts that were unfolding in a satisfying manner. The voice of command and authority, something that many leaders never develop, was coming early for him. He had a knack for poetry that often provided the right Words at the moment of truth, and he had the ability to communicate them well. He was a natural at tactics and military history, and he was very good with a sword and a pistol. But perhaps his most important gift was his ability to live intensely in the present.
Most people live their lives in anticipation and dread of the future. Or they desperately cling to the past. They spend most of their energy thinking and worrying about what happens next or what just happened. The only time they really deal with what is happening now, is when they look back on it. And because of this, most people learn how to fear, dreading the future instead of living in the present.
Perhaps it was because he wasn’t like this, because he lived so intensely in the present, that Melville was generally fearless. It was really nothing special. Most dogs can do it. That’s why they’re usually happy, and often so full of joy and glee. They never had to deal with the whole human angst business. Melville felt that people could learn a lot from dogs. They seemed to have things better worked out, dogs.
So it was that Melville didn’t need hope, as long as despair could be postponed. Like little Aquinar he was ever curious, and usually able to find the energy to satisfy that curiosity. Swish-tail’s encouragement was all he needed to indulge his curiosity and postpone his despair. And so he resolved to solve this mystery. In doing so he was to witness something near unto a miracle, and open a door that would save their lives and turn the tide of future events, both great and small.
The little company slept, as best they could, through the stifling dry heat of midafternoon. The boy was in the bowels of the cutter. Melville knew from past observation that he would stay there for quite a long time, so he took this opportunity to move to a better position to observe the boy’s movement. The slender young lieutenant was sitting cross-legged and he rose straight up, scissoring his legs up with the unthinking ease of youth. Then he moved into the trees to get a better view. Except for the pickets and the medical personnel, Melville and Aquinar were the only ones who moved amidst the gray boles of the emerald green trees.
From here Melville could only see the boy’s back, as he returned from the cutter. He appeared to be walking with great care, and then he disappeared into the woods. Minutes later he came running out to the cutter again, scrambling over the heap of apes that Petreckski had shot, oblivious to the stench and heat, to enter into the narrow gap on the east side.
Again Melville moved to another tree, where he could see the little middy’s destination. Again, with a slow, careful stride, the boy returned to the woods. This time Melville could see that he held his cupped right hand tight against his belly, apparently to stabilize it. Finally it dawned upon him that the boy had water in his hand. A few, a precious few drops of water.
Melville understood where the water must have come from. There’s always a little natural seepage from between the slats of a ship’s wooden water barrel. Their crash landing on this world probably had sprung the joints of the barrel even further. The boy crawled under the back end of the barrel, and carefully, patiently caught the slow drops as they fell.
Precious few drops, but enough, perhaps, to moisten the lips of an injured man. Melville thought of their wounded, sweltering in the heat, and he felt a slow anger begin to burn within. But he didn’t interfere just yet. He wanted to see what this young miscreant, this insect, this worm was doing with the water.
As he leaned around the tree to observe the middy’s final destination, Melville was suddenly stunned by what he saw. A small opening, a gray bowl formed by the great trunks of several trees was now exposed to his view. Within that bowl were dozens, no, scores of little fawn-colored, eight-legged spider monkeys. They clung from the trees, they rested on the ground, and they observed from the branches above. Now that he looked more closely, Melville saw that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands more watching from the branches high above.
He remembered how those spider monkeys had dealt with the apes that trespassed into their territory. He remembered the apes’ body parts raining down from the trees and he suddenly felt fear for the little midshipman, for Aquinar now knelt in the midst of this furry brown throng.
But the little monkeys didn’t threaten him. They didn’t even move as the boy knelt down beside a tiny, dappled brown spider monkey. They simply watched, with rapt attention.
Melville moved closer. Mesmerized, he stumbled to the edge of the bowl. He could see that the baby monkey, little bigger than the palm of his hand, lay helpless on the ground, panting with dehydration. With a great effort the little head, no bigger than a baby’s fist, raised up to slowly lap the precious drops cupped in the boy’s hand. When every drop of moisture was licked from his hand the boy stood carefully up, and came face to face with the lieutenant.
His little eyes began to fill with tears. “I . . . I wasn’t wasting it, sir. Honest, I wasn’t. They,” here he gestured at the many monkeys who solemnly watched from within arm’s reach, ” . . . they’re our friends. They helped us. Lots of them died to help us. I know how it feels to be thirsty, sir, and now . . . now he’s dying . . . an’ . . . and he needs our help.”
The lieutenant had trouble finding words and his throat grew tight. “Very well,” he croaked, nodding. “Carry on.” He stepped carefully back to let the boy pass.