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A LITTLE STORY I MADE UP


"Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and that moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo..."
Wait, that's James Joyce. Ha ha. Do you see what kind of weird stuff we have to read in English class? So anyway, I'm not James Joyce, nor do I think that I'm James Joyce. So I'll be myself, and write a little ad-libbed story about monkeys and banana farmers.



Pepe and the God of the Aztecs

Pepe was a banana farmer

Once, in the peaceful little town of Aracataca, Colombia, there lived a simple banana-picker named Pepe. Since he was simple, he was also simple-minded, having not gone to school past the second grade. Even amongst the banana-pickers, he was whispered to be unusually slow--"Bobosito," they called him. "Little Stupid Man."

But Pepe's luck would change.

For one day, out of the tangled depths of the jungle, there came a mysterious and ancient presence, and it swung imperiously through the trees, landing on Pepe's doorstep. Pepe heard an odd noise, so he looked out the door.

"Why, it's a monkey!" he said--in Spanish, of course. He went to his closet and removed a machete, intending to behead the strange creature. They were pesky little things, after all, always eating up all the bananas. But before Pepe took a swing at the primate's head, the latter spoke up.

The Monkey

"Please do not kill me," the monkey said, in a very proper English accent. Pepe, in shock, dropped the machete on his foot, and blood spilled upon the floor.

"Oh, no!" Screamed Pepe, forgetting, in his momentary anguish, that he was speaking to a monkey. "Look what you just did!" Insane with bewilderment and pain, he ran about the hut, looking for something with which he could assuage his suffering. At this point, the monkey, smiling a big monkey smile, called Pepe over to where it stood. The banana-picker obeyed, not knowing what else to do.

"Close your eyes," said the monkey. Pepe did. And while the poor, simple man had his eyes closed, the monkey put its paw on the wound, and the blood stopped flowing; the pain was gone.

Pepe was flabbergasted and amazed. "Who are you?" He asked the monkey.

The Aracatacan jungle

"I am..." The monkey hesitated, trying to think of the best possible ploy to fool this simple banana picker. "I am Quetzalcoatl, the great white god of the Aztecs," He said, knowing very well that the Aztecs had reigned in Mexico, and not in Colombia. "I am back, and I have chosen you as my helper. At my side, you will be worshipped as a god! You will be revered! And..." The monkey glanced at Pepe, who was devouring his words with the utmost belief. "And, I can make your brain grow! You will die a wise old man, and you will know and understand EVERYTHING.

"All you have to do is this: take me in, and let me use your body as a vessel to rule my country, and eventually, the world. What do you have to lose?"

"Yes," Thought Pepe, "what DO I have to lose?" So he agreed to the monkey's conditions, and became its "hallowed helper". He didn't really know the meaning of the first word, but it sounded good. And plus, this was Quetzalcoatl, the great god of the Aztecs!

What Pepe didn't know was this: his monkey was a big fat liar. He was no Quetzalcoatl; he was only Dionysus, the Greek god of wine, banished forever to a monkey's body for trying to rival Zeus as the ruler of Mt. Olympus. And his scheme was this: he was going to use the banana picker's body, for if he couldn't rule Mt. Olympus, then he could definitely make slaves of all free men! And if Pepe were persecuted for this mischief, then Dionysus could always arrange to take another body. Wasn't it great to be immortal?

And so on it went, this horrible charade. Every day, Dionysus would take over Pepe's poor, innocent body, and would wander, far and wide, spreading propaganda, converting like mad. And Pepe remained oblivious, always thinking about the monkey's promise that Pepe would be powerful and respected.

But one day, when Dionysus had remained in his monkey form and was sleeping peacefully underneath a tree, an incredible golden bird flew out of the North and perched on Pepe's shoulder. Pepe, who had grown quite accustomed to hearing animals talk, was unsurprised when the bird whispered these words in his ear: "I need to talk to you!"

So they went into the grass hut, and the great bird told him a story that left Pepe both shocked and relieved.

When Dionysus, the monkey, came back into the hut, Pepe told him to look outside; he thought he had seen a large golden bird. Dionysus, afraid that this bird may try to inform his vessel of the truth, ran outside, in a panic. Finding nothing, he returned to the little house, muttering to himself.

And when he walked through the door, he saw this: Pepe, smiling, standing beside a giant bird. The bird, triumphant, held an open cage in its talons as it hovered silently above the ground.

Dionysus tried to run, but it was too late. The bird had already swung by him, and the god of wine was knocked into the little cage, flailing. Pepe stood outside and watched as the real Quetzalcoatl, winged and proud, flew off into the clouds. And Dionysus, the liar, the traitor, clung defeatedly to the bars, dreading his next banishment. "It will probably be into the body of a sponge," he soliloquized. "Or a sea urchin."

Pepe, standing wistfully outside his little hut, was no smarter than he had been before, and still as simple. The other workers would still call him "Bobosito," as they always had. "But," he thought, "It really isn't so bad being a banana picker."

The sky fell dark, and the light went dim. And thousands of simple men in this simple little town contemplated the quiet dignity of yet another Aracatacan sunset.

Quetzalcoatl




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