CHUMPO'S RISE TO POWER

The old chief dies...

Chumpo was basking in the sun.

Other male monkeys were off foraging whilst their little females took care of their nippers and generally tidied up their nests. Someone had to do it and the males certainly were not inclined to, least of all Chumpo.

“What are you doing?” asked a youngster in a harsh voice that was trying to be guttural when he saw the older monkey with his eyes closed. “Are you dying?”

Chumpo’s eyes sprung open and he kicked out towards the youngster, barely missing

“I am not!” he grunted back, “I am talking to the gods.”

“Without making a sound?” risked the squeaking nipper, taking a step back, towards, he hoped, safer territory.

“I am debating,” grunted Chumpo, “it’s what we clever monkeys do.”

“What about?” asked the nipper, quite oblivious to the fact that Chumpo was displaying signs of dangerous irritability.

“The Bossmonk will die soon, and I am discussing with the gods who should replace him,” snarled Chumpo, “now bugger off before I slap you about a bit.”

And the youngster stuck his tongue out and ran off.

It had been perfectly true what Chumpo had said to the young one. The Bossmonk was on his way out. There could be no doubt about it: his breathing rattled like one of those savage snakes on an attack, his face beneath what had become quite a sparse coating of hair had about it a grey pallor and he was pissing and fouling his nest so often his female had given up cleaning it.

And Chumpo fancied the job as Bossmonk because it normally entailed doing nothing and issuing orders that others simply had to obey … or else. That kind of employment was right up his trail.

Barely half an hour had passed, though, readers, you must understand that neither hours nor halves of them meant a blind thing to the monkey tribe to which he belonged, when the word came out that the Bossmonk was being prepared for supper despite the fact that his dead flesh was turning an ugly shade of green. But he had a large family and they had never had quite enough to feed them, not after they had fed the deceased and offered a little to Chumpo. So the newly dead made a change, improving their diet considerably.

It was time for him to put his case as potential tribal chief to one and all. He knew the importance of getting in first and wrong-footing any who might be foolish enough to go up against him because he knew full well that he had the gods on his side, and if he didn’t actually believe that it didn’t stop others from being convinced. He found the late Chimpo’s gods very useful indeed.

A crowd soon gathered about the central tree at his command, his own family and many others jostling impatiently together. A great deal of breeding had gone on in the community of monkeys, largely as a consequence of his own fertility, and many were the other males crooning at offspring that had been wickedly and almost anonymously sired by him.

“We are here to mourn the Bossmonk,” he began, finding the right grunts and guttural squeaks far from easy to enunciate, but somehow managing. “But he is no more and we must look for a replacement, and who would be better in the role than me? It is known that besides being the cleverest member of this tribe I am also the bravest and noblest and beyond all doubt the most capable at all things.”

He didn’t know what noblest meant, but he implied it anyway. He had never been frightened of talking gibberish if it helped his corner.

He looked around at the hairy faces all gazing up at him. In some he saw doubt, in others something closely related to worship, and in a few he detected utter dislike.

“Our kin have been falling ill,” he said, knowing that was always true. The elderly did fall ill and soon after sickening they fell off the perch. It was part of the pattern of life. It had always been thus.

“I want to stop that, if you choose me as your Bossmonk,” he grated, “I want to guarantee you better health, and at no cost to yourselves. Everyone knows how my grandfather discovered the gods...”

“Here we go, you and your bleeding gods,” protested one monkey, a tough looking little character with an oversized collection of genitals swinging before him. Chumpo didn’t like him or any of his family, especially the males who shared his physical superabundance.

“I have communed with the gods,” he nodded, happy that nobody could have the vaguest idea what communed actually meant. “I am good at that,” he added, “for wasn’t it me who warned you of the other tribes far off in the forest, with squint-eyed males ready to deflower your b*****s and steal your nests?”

He hadn’t mentioned squint-eyed before, but they didn’t remember exactly what he had mentioned and accepted his new and rather unpleasant description without question.

“The gods and I will do everything we can to help you with the things you do in your lives. If you choose me as Bossmonk there will be more than one harvest time a year...”

The word harvest was new to them, largely because he’d just made it up. But, most of them thought, come to think of it that they could do with more abundant crops, and if that meant what they thought it meant, all well and good. Maybe this Chumpo might be just the fellow they wanted to lead them through life.

“And there are herbs out there that will help your infants with their teething and sinus problems...”

What on Earth is sinus? thought most of his audience.

“You will be guided to find the best cures for what ails you, and therefore you will all have a long life, guaranteed,” he murmured.

“How can you?” asked the over-endowed male, sneering. He was known as Longchimp, for obvious reasons

“The gods have assured me,” replied Chumpo, “they know things that are beyond your understanding despite the length of your old monkey!” He knew he shouldn't have risen to abuse the other, but he was frustrated. Why didn’t everyone believe him?

“Liar!” scoffed Longchimp, “there are no gods!”

“I tell you,” he said, desperately, and he added “if what I say doesn’t come to pass and you don’t enter a period of good health then I will bury myself in the Earth and happily lie dead in it, and you can choose another!”

There was a long silence, and then, suddenly, one voice said “Long live Bossmonk Chumpo!” and the cry was carried on and on until there could be no doubt about what the tribe intended.

Chumpo was leader of the pack!

“Bah,” snorted Longchimp, and he went back to his nest, his genitalia swinging insultingly at Chumpo as he went.

© Peter Rogerson 01.11.19