How the Monkey Met the Clam

Short little story about an adventurous monkey named Berty and a haughty clam named Vishby

Berty the monkey had always been a very happy primate. He ate bananas, scrounged for grubs, and swung from tree to tree in his jungle; he was in the best shape of his life, and his tail curled very appealingly. There were some days, however, when he got a tingling feeling on the soles of his hairy feet and his tail twisted and turned in agitation. He wanted to see what was beyond the edge of the trees, smell something other than the regular everyday green scents of the trees in his home. The courage to actually do what he wanted was hard to gather, no matter how many times he tried, so he would merely stare at the very last line of trees on the days he felt restless and scamper from branch to branch, trying to make himself take the final leap to finally explore.

It came as a surprise to him, of course, when he heard a very curious sound on the other side of the screen of trees on one of his tingly days. It almost sounded like one of the little infant monkeys crying, but he knew that was impossible; all the young ones were safe and sound in the nests. Weren't they? 'Berty,' he told himself, 'If you don't do it today, you will be a coward for the rest of your life. And that's pretty short.' Taking a deep breath, he straightened his tail and launched himself out of his branch and landed on the soft ground beneath; he took off as soon as he felt the soil beneath his hands and feet, shooting through the final barrier of trees that had been taunting him for so long.

It was a curious sight to behold: a tiny monkey suddenly flying out of the foliage to land upon the sand on the other side. He would later brag that he had landed as gracefully as the sinewy snakes that slithered through the underbrush, but that was not the case. Berty landed face-first and tumbled bum over head until he came to rest at the bottom of a steep, sandy hill; he nearly landed himself in the water that was suddenly there. Scrabbling for purchase to keep his pelt dry (as wet fur was extremely uncomfortable and tended to stiffen) he righted himself and looked around for the sound that had lured him there in the first place. There was nothing really interesting there: only some soft yellow sand that his toes sank into, and the clear tropical sea water he had nearly taken a dip into. But there was no other creature.

'Looks like it was all in my head, after all,' he thought to himself. 'Best not tell anyone I let my imagination run away with me.' The females would not be as fond of him if they knew that Berty had started hearing things. He was about to turn tail and head back into his jungle when he noticed a dull gray thing sitting in the sand. It seemed to be wriggling in an attempt to get itself back into the water where it had obviously come from. Berty scooted closer to it and nudged it with his foot, ready to spring back if it proved to be something dangerous. "Watch it, Stinky!" Never mind  dangerous, the thing talked! The poor monkey had no idea what it was so he chittered at it 'I'm not stinky, you nasty little rock!' As Berty was deciding he wanted to go back home and forget his venture out had ever happened, the gray thing wiggled again and he heard a dry, gravelly voice come from it.

"I'm not a rock, you flea-infested primate! I'm a clam! And I'm cold, and dry, and miserable!" Curiosity got better of the monkey and he squatted on the sand, bringing his face nearer to the clam; his nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of the strange little thing that seemed to be capable of communicating with him. 'How do you know what I'm saying? I thought we were the only ones that spoke Monkey, and what are you doing on the sand?' The clam shivered slightly, and Berty realized that it had heaved a pitiful little sob accompanied by a sniff.

"I got washed up by the tide, the wretched little beast!" The clam began to wail, a reedy little sound that made Berty's ears hurt. It didn't tell the little monkey how it could understand what he was saying. 'Please stop screeching! I can get you back in the water, see?' So he picked up the clam in his right hand and started picking his way through the sand to the water's edge. 'My name is Berty by the way.' The clam seemed to be calming down, or maybe it was unconscious since it had quieted almost as soon as it had been picked up it had gone silent. "I'm Vishby." He was slightly startled when the clam spoke, right before it had been placed inside the water.

'Well, Vishby, maybe I'll come back and visit you some day when you're not getting washed onto the sand, we can hang out and play games if you want,' Berty wanted to giggle, but that would have been mean, considering what the poor clam had already gone through. "That sounds like fun," it was slightly garbled since Vishby was already in the water and starting to burrow itself into the sand to keep itself warm and moist. with a smile on his leathery face, the monkey trudged up the sandy hill and back into the cool shade of the trees he called home. He couldn't wait to tell his friends about his adventure rescuing a clam from becoming shriveled up by the sun. And, true to his wordk Berty returned and visited Vishby almost every day after that.

The two shared many more adventures after their first one, their next one involving a washed up human shoe. But that is a story for another time; until then, adieu!

Author's Note

Written as a sort of incentive for participation in my contest thread on Menewsha. I got inspired by the title I came up with for the contest, which is 'How the Monkey Met the Clam and Other Blurbs: A Weekly Contest Thread'

So there you have it. Comments?