Rhapsody in Funk

Copyright 2006 by T.E. Healy

Wind me down grayness. Give me a dance. Let’s boogey!

There wasn’t any music, but Mongo swayed to the rhythm of the clouds. People who did not dig the rhythm gave Mongo a wide berth as they passed him on the sidewalk.

“Watch it freak,” said one man in a business-suit cocoon.

Mongo smiled a broad-toothed grin framed by simian fur.
“Have a nice day, brother!”

The man mumbled something about being “locked up” and scowled. Mongo continued his dance.
The rain began as all rain does, teasing slightly with hints of moisture. Mongo’s grin widened. He raised his face, dancing with the drizzle.

Tired of teasing, the sky opened up. Mongo chortled gleefully and danced seductively with the downpour. Around him blurry figures scurried for doorways with newspapers and briefcases held overhead.

Mongo doesy-doed with a lamppost in his best Gene Kelly style. As he swung around a large, beefy hand grabbed his collar.

“You been riding the Night Train fella?”

Mongo smiled passively. “I don’t ride trains often, though I did ride a tremendous train once while I was young. I much prefer walking...at least when I’m not dancing.”

“Don’t be smart, asshole. You been drinking -- Night Train, Mad Dog, Wild Irish Rose?

Mongo, who had never worshipped at the houses that dispensed cheap, fortified wines, scratched his head quizzically. “No friend, just enjoying the rain.”

The policeman stared at Mongo suspiciously as raindrops high-dived off his visor and bellyflopped into puddles in the gutter.

“Let’s see some I.D.”

Mongo nodded agreeably and reached into his jacket. The flinched and reached reflexively for his holster.

“Slowly,” he said menacingly.

Mongo smiled widely and carefully retrieved a leather pouch.

“It’s not dangerous at all, officer. It’s made from the skin of a hundred-year toad. They sleep for years under the parched beds of waterholes waiting for rain. I picked it up in Kathmandu.”

“The I.D.,” the cop said, motioning impatiently with his hand. Mongo fumbled in the pouch for a moment, pulled out a worn passport and handed it to the soggy officer.

“This all you got, no local I.D.?”

Mongo shrugged. “ A passport is much more romantic, don’t you think. A paper portal, a permit to travel across boundaries.”

The cop scrutinized the faded photo in the passport. Despite the young, beardless face, it was obviously Mongo. There was no mistaking the piano-key grin and the white-blonde hair.
The weathered pages of the passport had a contemporary art look. Each page overflowed with smeared and faded official stamps and seals in faded green, blues and reds.

“So what are you doing here,” the cop asked, handing the passport back to Mongo.

“Dancing,” Mongo said, softshoeing slightly as he accepted his passport and slid it back into its pouch.

The cop’s scowl deepened. He couldn’t smell any alchohol and Mongo’s dance steps were graceful, not sloppy drunk. Still, he debated calling Harborview. Let the shrinks give him the once over, he thought. Then he pictured the mountain of paperwork that always set off the equivalent of a Chinese New Year’s Day parade behind his eyeballs and grimaced.

“Find a dancehall,” the policeman said, dismissing Mongo with a wave of his nightstick, “In some other city.”

“When the music stops, I’ll leave town,” Mongo said with a smile and a small bow. “Until then officer, have a nice day.”

“Just move along and don’t block the sidewalk.”

Mongo nodded agreeably and began moving along, dancing as he went. His movements had a primitaive, tribal quality to them. His tall, lanky body jerked along as if guided by some virtuoso puppeteer catwalking high abo on ledges and building tops.

The wind but in and twirled Mongo effortlessly, turning him down a steep side street leading to the waterfront. Suddenly, the wind became winded and bowed out leaving the rain to finish the dance. Mongo pulled his battered hat cavalierly over one eye and Maurice Chevaliered a few steps before stopping under a street light for his big finale. A small sidestep, a little softshoe and Mongo slid down to one knee, face upraised and eyes shut. Pure pleasure poured from his pores as he lapped up the applause of the rain upon his face.

The applause stopped and Mongo opened one eye to see what had distracted his audience. The clouds hovered nervously along the skyline. A figure sat hunched upon a ledge six stories up. Mongo’s smile faded a bit.

“You friend, did you enjoy our dance?”

The figure stirred slightly but didn’t respond.

“Wonderful night for dancing, care to join me,” Mongo called out innocently. The figure stood slowly, looked around and stepped off the ledge to join Mongo on the dance floor.
There was a grace in the step and subsequent dive. The form spread it’s arms and high-dived quite admirably towards Mongo. The wind laughed heartily at the new dancer and embraced the plummeting body, guiding it gently into a canvas awning that hung six-fee over the pavement. Mongo moved to the edge as the stunned diver bounced and flipped over into his waiting arms. Mongo laughed in delight as the weight tumbled him to the sidewalk.

“Outstanding,” he shouted from beneath the stunned body. The person groaned.

“I think I‘m going to be sick.”

“It’s the turbulence in your field of vibration built up while your body prepared for the jump,” Mongo’s muffled voice explained sympathetically. “It happens to everyone the first time.”

“I think it’s more likely the fifth of Tequila I was working on when I stepped out onto the ledge,” the man said with a moan as he rolled off Mongo and landed face up on the sidewalk.

Mongo sprang sprightly up with a chuckle. “I’ve got something that will help get rid of the queasiness,” he said reaching into a leather pouch that hung from his neck. He pulled an oblong object about the size of his thumb and began making concentric circles above the man’s stomach. The man sat up slowly, rubbing his head.

“Hey, I don’t feel sick any more. What did you do?”

“Quartz crystal,” Mongo said matter-of-factly. “I picked it up from a Yaqui shaman while visiting Mexico. It restores the rhythm of your aura. Your high-five knocked it out of kilter.”

“So did the Tequila,” the man said slowly shaking his head. “I guess I should thank you fro saving my life, thought I’m not sure why since the general purpose for jumping was to end it.”

Mongo laughted heartily and slapped his leg. “It was a marvelous jump.”

“Right,” the man muttered softly. “Just my luck. I try to end it all and I land on Mr. Looney Tunes.”

“No,” Mongo said extending his hand. “My name is Mongo.”

The man hesitated a moment and then shook the hand. “My name is Jones, T-A-O Jones. It’s pronounced Dow.”

Mongo’s smile faded and then returned. “The Tao. No wonder your dive was so graceful. I know Lao Tzu’s philosophy of the Tao well...simplicity and balance in all things. You are named after the Tao. That is a great honor.”

“Not much of an honor. My mother was a philosophy major and my father was a business major,” Jones said shaking his head. “They were sort of a living model of Yin and Yang. They thought my name was a wonderful joke.”

“I don’t understand,” Mongo said scratching his head. “What joke?”

“Tao Jones, Dow Jones,” Jones explained as Mongo stared at him blankly. “The stock market, Dow Jones Report, ticker tape, insider trading....”

Mongo nodded and smiled politely. “It is a good name, Tao. You carry it well.”

“You’ve been watching too many reruns of Kung Fu. What kind of name is Mongo?”

“It’s my name.”

“I know,” Tao replied, “No offense but it sounds like something you’d call an albino ape.”

Mongo fell over on the sidewalk roaring with laughter. He spun a 45 r.p.m. spin and lay on his back laughing.

“Was it something I said,” Jones asked.

Mongo stood up and bowed. “You do me a great honor,” he gasped. “Apes are admirable creatures. They live by the Tao and dance to its music.”

Jones shook his head and ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. He searched his body for broken bones and , finding none, slowly stood up.

“Well Mongo, other than messing up a $1500 suit that I didn’t much care for anyway, I seemed to have survived a fall from six stories. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a liquor store and try a higher floor. It’s been real.” Jones began walking. Mongo smiled, nodded and watched him shuffle off into the dark.

Jones stopped less than half a block away and looked over his shoulder. Mongo waved. Jones hesitated, and seemed to be debating something with himself. He finally turned and walked back to Mongo.

“There’s just one thing I want to ask you before I leave.”

Mongo nodded agreeably.

“Aren’t you the slightest bit curious about why I jumped off from a building wearing a European-designed suit and used you as a landing pad?”

Mongo’s grin widened. “Tao is what Tao is.”

“Clever,” Jones said. “I guess you’ve seen lot of suicides where you come from.”

Mongo looked confused. “What is suicide?”

“Suicide -- you know, when a person is disillusioned with the futility of life and choosed to end it.”

Mongo shook his head and his smile faded. “To try to end what isn’t seems more of a futile gesture than life.”

It was Jones’ turn to looke confused. “Are you saying I don’t exist so why try to kill myself?”
Mongo clapped his hands together joyfully. “Yes friend, Tao. The dance is the only reality.”
Jones looked at Mongo intently and then shook his head. “I could use a drink, would you care to join me?”

Mongo nodded vigorously.

“Okay, then,” Jones said. “Any place in particular you hang out?”

Mongo laughed deeply and pointed north. “Since beginning this dance, I have spent most of my time north of the city. We could go anyplace you would like friend Tao.”

Jones looked at Mongo’s old-fashioned wool jacket draped over an African shirt tucked into faded Levi’s. Sure, he thought. We’ll walk right into the Boardroom at the Met Grill, order a couple of Scotch-on-the-rocks and talk about pork futures.

“Let’s just walk down to the waterfront and see what jumps out at us,” he said. Mongo jumped up in the air and Watusied down the sidewalk, stopping briefly to make sure Jones was following. Something about the lanky man’s energy was infectious. Jones almost felt like cutting-the-rug himself. He began a few shuffling dance steps, caught himself and looked sheepishly over his shoulder.

“Jesus, he thought, first I jump off a building and next I’m mamboing my way down the street with a man called Mongo. He sighed deeply and breathed in a mouthful of alt air mixed with creosote. What the hell, he thought. I haven’t felt this good in months.

Ahead of him Mongo waltzed gracefully to a stop in front of a thatched barfront and stared mesmerized at a neon light outline of a palm tree replete with a small radiating monkey tossing coconuts into the wind. The name of the bar blinked hypnotically on and off -- Tradewinds...Tradewinds...

“This is the place friend Tao,” Mongo exclaimed. “It looks like a truly marvelous place.” There was such a look of innocent joy in his face as he stared open-mouthed at the blinking sign that Jones laughed.

“What the hell,” he said. “If I survived a six-story jump, I can survive this place.” He held open the door and motioned for Mongo to stop in. Reluctantly, Mongo pulled himself away from the neo sign and shuffled in the Tradewinds.

The Tradewinds was a theme bar gone bad. The walls were thatched with smoke-stained palm fronds. Shabby nets adorned with seashells hung from the ceiling looking as if each had just been dredged through the mucky floor of the Puget Sound. Jones looked down expecting to see sand on the floor. He was slightly disappointed to find stained linoleum with a faded pebble pattern instead.

“Where shall we sit, friend Tao?”

Jones looked around the dimly lit room and motioned towards a bamboo bar with a thatched-hut roof. “It would be a sin to sit anywhere but at the bar.”

Mongo followed him puppydog-like to the bar. A bored bartender in a dirty t-shirt and sailor’s cap slapped soggy napkins down in front of them. “What will it be, mateys?”

Jones looked at the man in disgust.

“I have to say that. The manager says it contributes to the amb...amb...amb...”

“Ambience,” Jones volunteered.

“Yeah, so what’ll it be mateys,” the bartender said a little louder, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Cuervo with a beer back,” Jones answered quickly. The bartender looked impatiently at Mongo who was staring around the room.

“Just bring him a banana daiquiri,” Jones said. The bartender rolled his eyes and muttered an obscenity under his breath before turning to prepare the drinks. Jones turned and surveyed the surroundings himself. A couple of ancient codgers nursed beers at the end of the bar, cackling back and forth.

Figures huddled in dark booths around the dimly lit room. A greasy copy of Elvis-the-fat-years leaned over a jukebox and punched buttons viciously with a pudgy finger. His Levis hung precariously low.

One of the old tipplers at the bar nudged his crony, “Looks likea full moon...” His friend’s raspy laughter quickly changed into a flailing phlegm-filled fit of coughing, causing him to spill his beer.

“Damn it, Banana Jack,” the old man sputtered. “Looks what you made me did.” He seemed close to tears as he tried sopping up the suds with his soggy cocktail napkin, wringing it out into his glass.

Banana Jack, who obviously got his nickname from his penchant for yellow shirts and shoes, cackled loudly. “Wasn’t my fault Rollo, you’s drunk is all.”

Rollo reached for Banana Jack’s beer but the old man quickly guzzled it before his companion could suggest they share.

“Both of you old farts better cool it before I tosses ya out into the rain,” the bartender snarled out of the side of his mouth as he slapped Jones and Mongo’s drinks down on the bar.

Jones motioned to the bartender. “Set the gentlemen at the end of the bar up with another round on me before they damage each other.” The bartender scowled and drew two draft beers and smacked them down in front of Banana Jack and Rollo. They latched on to the beers, raised them to Jones in a salute of teary-eyed gratitude and resumed their cackling.

“You are a good man, Tao,” Mongo said. Jones turned with a start. Mongo was staring at him intently.

“I just wanted a little peace and quiet,” Jones said with a shrug. He grasped the shot glass of tequila expertly between his thumb and forefinger and tossed it back. He let out a slight hiss as the liquor sizzled down his throat. “Try your daiquiri,” he said hoarsely.

Mongo obediently picked up his drink. His eyes sparkled as he flicked the little plastic monkey hanging by its tail off the side of the glass. He sniffed the drink and then stuck the tip of his tongue into the frothy top. A look of pure plesure flowed across his face and he tipped the glass and drained it in one tremendous gulp. Jones stared at him open-mouthed.

“One normally sips a daiquiri.”

“It was like drinking a banana,” Mongo said innocently. “May I have another?”

“Bartender, another round,” Jones said.

The bartender turned to his blender and mumbled some more unintelligible obscenities about “fru-fru drinks” and the ancestry of the people who drink them.

“Now Tao, tell me of your dance.”

“I don’t dance,” Jones said with a shrug.

“The dance is all there is my friend,” Mongo said. “We are all part of it.”

Jones eyed his shot glass with one bloodshot eye and shook his head. “You remind me of my mother. Everything had to have some cosmic significance. Everything was a lesson. Can’t we just live or die without meaning? Does there have to be a purpose?”

Mongo grinned slyly. “To live is the purpose.”

Jones shook his head and tipped back the last of his schooner of beer. It didn’t help. Mongo’s words still bounced about too clearly in his brain.

“Okay, then my dance has no rhythm,” Jones said softly. “I wanted to be a librarian. Libraries are nice and quiet. Nothing to do but look things up all day. My father goaded me into becoming a stockbroker. I hate the hours. I don’t even like money. I don’t have a life. I’m out of touch and out of sync.

“It’s the same with my private life. I’ve tried so many partners Mongo and none of them hear the same music. If I hear classical, they hear hevy metal. My jazz clashes with their easy listening. It never fails.

“God, I’ve tried though. I want to hear the same music. I want to synchronize the steps. I want to dance. I just don’t feel it.”

“To dance requires no partner,” Mongo said.

The jukebox suddenly blared into life as the fat Elvis clone finished his slections and shuffled off to a booth and grabbed a remarkable look-alike for the late Mama Cass. The larger-than-life counterfeit rock-and-roll stars waddled out onto a small dance floor and began shaking to the beat of the real Elvis singing, “Don’t be Cruel.”

Rock-and-roll heaven, Jones thought. He looked at Mongo. The hairy young man looked possessed. He slid effortlessly across the room to the small dance floor and began moving to the beat. His graceful and slightly obscene movements would have awed the King himself. The fat couple stood back and clapped to the beat, giving Mongo more room.

Even Banana Jack and Rollo turned and stared with blurred eyes at the exhibition. Mongo’s eyes were shut. He seemed suspended upon his toes as his body shook in a divinely choreographed number. His lip raised on one side in perfect Elvis style. The record ended and quickly changed to “Hound Dog” then “Blue Suede Shoes” and finally “Love Me Tender.” Mongo made a smooth transition into all of the songs. The entire bar watched in awe. The large couple joined in on the slow song as Mongo swayed seductively. And as the last haunting notes reverberated though the bar, Mongo bowed fully and floated back to his seat where his daiquiri waited.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the place. Rollo and Banana Jack leaned on each other and wept. Elvis II and the Return-of-Momma Cass waddled off to their booth to blubber in each other’s ample arms. Even the bartender had to wipe away a few stray tears with his bar rag.

“That was nice, Mongo,” Jones said softly.

Mongo nodded modestly and drained his daiquiri. The bartender refilled the glass before Jones could raise his finger to signal.

“The dance is the natural thing to do,” Mongo said happily. “Not to dance is more difficult. Why do you not want to dance, Tao?”

Jones tipped back his third Tequila and shook his head wearily. “I haven’t heard the music for so long, Mongo.”

Mongo leaped to his feet and clapped his hands. “Come with me Tao and I will show you something that will help.”

"Where?”

"North,” Mongo said, punctuating the direction with a pointing finger. He pulled Jones to his feet and began dragging him from the bar. Jones barely had time to reach into his coat and toss several bills on the bar before Mongo had pulle dhim out the door. The entire bar gave them a standing ovations as they left.

***

The bus driver looked relieved when Mongo and Jones got off somewhere near the end of the line (and his shift). Mongo had moonwalked and pranced up and down the aisle to a silent tune much of the trip while Jones slept fitfully in a back seat. Mongo dragged him out of his seat abruptly and out the door. It whooshed closed trapping a portion of Jones’ $1500 suit in its jaws. Before he could protest the driver pulled away, taking his sleeve and leaving behind an obnoxious cloud of bus fart.

“Damn,” cursed Jones. “ Did you see that? The suit survives a six-story dive off a building only to be chewed up by a city bus. And they wonder why people drive alone.”

Mong looked at him carefully and then ripped off the other sleeve. “There,” he said. “Balance is restored.”

Jones stared at him in disbelief. “Thanks, I was concerned about appearing disheveled.”

Mongo nodded agreeably and grabbed his arm. “Come friend Tao. The music...” He dashed on leaving Jones shaking his head and trying to get his bearings. He stared at this watch. It was close to midnight. He looked around. Mongo heeted from up ahead and waved frantically. Jones muttered and began following.

There were trees everywhere. They swayed rhythmically -- seductively. Jones miles. “Every littel breeze seems to whisper Louise as it flows through the trees...,” he sang softly. His body began to move involuntarily to the beat.

He heard clapping and stopped abruptly. Mongo was staring at him intently with his smile fully extended. “Good, friend Tao, you are joining the dance again.”

“What,” Jones protested. “ I was just thinking about an old song...” his voice tapered off as he looked up into the tree tops, still undulating. He shook his head. “Weren’t you taking me somewhere?”

Mongo hooted and hit the ground with his right knuckl. “Yes, come!” He pivoted gracefully around and disappeared into the night. Jones hesitated and then followed.

He felt exhilarated as he moved through the damp darkness. I should be freezing, he thought, but I feel great. Maybe I should jump out of buildings more often.
Suddenly he smashed into Mongo and fell into a large bush.

“We have to stop for a moment,” Mongo said softly.

“I got that impression,” came Jones muffled reply from the bush. He untangled himself from the branches and stumbled to his feet.

“What’s the matter..,” he began and then saw the 10-foot tall chain-link fence topped with some sinister looking barbed wire. “You brought me out here to look at a fence?” Jones asked with a note of disappointment in his voice.

Mongo shook his head and pointed thought the fence. Jones peered through the chain-link but all he could make out were more trees. “That’s nice,” he said without much conviction.

“The dance,” Mongo said, still pointing. Abruptly, he swung up into a large tree that stood next to the fence. The movement was effortless, accomplished in one fluid motion. Jone looked up incredulously.

“What are you doing?”

“We are joining the dance,” Mongo replied, reaching his long arm down to Jones.

“You expect me to come up there?”

“Yes,” came the reply. And before it could register completely in Jones’ brain, Mongo had gripped his arm and hoisted him to the branch he was perched upon. The tree rocked gently in welcome.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Jones warned.

“Just breath in the music and feel the closeness of the dance,” Mongo said, matter-of-factly.

Jones gulped in air and looked up at the swaying branches. This isn’t that bad, he thought as his pounding heart began to apply the brakes. “Now what?”

Mongo pointed across the fence again. from their lofty viewpoint, Jones could make out a few lights and some building.

“Okay,” Jones said. “So we’re still not over the fence.”

“Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on please,” Mongo said. The limb rocked in the wind and Jones grabbed Mongo to steady himself. Mongo immediately leapt off the branch hooting happily. Jones joined in with a few involuntary hoots of his own. He clamped his eyes tightly shut as their bodies plummeted for an agonizingly long moment and he waited for the impact. Instead their descent stopped and he felt an odd sensation of being lifted upward.

The motion stopped, but he still clung tightly to Mongo. “We must hurry,” Mongo said softly as he pried Jones’ fingers from around his neck. Jones opened one eye and looked cautiously around. They were still in a tree, but this time on the opposite side of the fence. He gasped as he calculated the distance between the tree they’d been in and the tree they sat in now.

“You...you jjjumped acccrosss ccarrying mmee?” he stammered.

Mongo nodded cheerfully and slid gracefully down to the ground. He reached up to help Jones.
“Can’t I just sit here for awhile?”

“The dance waits.”

Jones reluctantly swung down and landed in Mongo’s waiting arms.
“if you ever decide you’d like a career Mongo, you can always become a trapeze artist.”
Mongo nodded politely and dashed off into the underbrush. Jones breathed a heavy sigh and followed. There had better be a good band at this party, Jones thought.

***

“What’s that God-awful smell," Jones asked.

“Buffalo,” Mong said, sniffing the air serenely.

“Buffalo?”

“Yes friend, Tao, a large shaggy-maned wild ox with short horns and heavy forequarters with a large muscular hump.”

“I know what buffalo are,” Jones whispered. “Why are we smelling them?”

“We are in their compound,” Mongo replied calmly.

“Wha...?” Jones looked frantically around and noticed that the large dark masses he had thought were bushes were now snorting at him. “Why are we standing in the middle of a field of buffalo?”
“I thought it wise not to disturb the elephants,” Mongo said. “They do not take well to visitors at odd hours.”

“Elephants? Wait a minute...” It finally dawned on Jones where he was. “This is the Woodland Park Zoo...I’m standing in a field of bison at the Woodland Park Zoo at..,” he looked at his watch, “two in the morning.”

He felt something nudge his shoulder, turned around and found himself nose to muzzle with a large and very disgruntled-looking bison. The shaggy animal made some loud snorting sounds and butted Jones with it’s head.

“He said that it is rude to come into someone’s home and complain about the smell,” Mongo interpreted.

“He says?”

Jones sat down, cradled his head to his arms and began rocking slowly. The buffalo made some more snorting sounds and then grunted smugly.

“Now he says that perhaps you shouldn’t sit where you are sitting friend Tao,” Mongo said.

“Why not?”

“You are sitting in a fresh deposit of buffalo dung.”

Jones said up quickly. “Oh, shit...”

“Precisely,” Mongo said.

The buffalo bellowed mournfully.

“He said he is sorry, but they weren’t expecting visitors.”

Jones nodded feebly.

“Come friend Tao, the dance...” Mongo waved goodbye to the buffalo, grabbed Jones’ arm and pulled him forward. The buffalo turned away, snorting gently to himself about how rude humans were.

Mongo and Jones came to a gate at the edge of the buffalo compoiund and walked out into the zoo grounds.”

“You were just joking back there weren’t you, Mongo?”

“Joking about what, Tao?”

“About talking to the buffalo.”

“Actually the buffalo was talking to you,” Mongo said. “I merely interpreted because you have not yet learned to listen.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Jones said softly.

Mongo stopped and grasped Jones by the shoulders and gazed deep into his eyes. “It isn’t a matter of understanding, it’s a matter of accepting.”
Mongo continued to stare intently into Jones’ eyes. He flet something click inside and a wave of emotion washed over him.

“Come, “ Mongo said. “It is not much farther.” Jones followed timidly. Overhead the clouds parted and the full moon shown down, washing the path in front of them in a pale glow. A timber wolf howled from his concrete den across the zoo. Jones felt an overwhelming desire to join him.

“Go ahead, Tao,” Mongo said gently. “Free yourself to dance.”

Bathed in the seductive light, Tao Jones, former stockbroker, howled. Th timber wolf echoed him and a chorus of coyotes joined in as back up. Jones forgot about his $1500 suit and his stock options. He forgot the years languished on lost love. He even forgot his graceful dive off a building earlier that evening. All that mattered was the moon and his voice raised in tribute. Finally the cloud curtain closed and Jones stopped in mid-howl.He looked around startled as if he’d just woken from a dream.

Mongo sat on his haunches studying Jones. “That was wonderful music Tao,” he said softly.

“Thanks.”

Mongo rose and Jones followed. Within a couple of minutes Mongo stopped. He stood before a concrete trench that separated a jungle habitat from a viewing platform.

“Hop on my back,” Mongo said. Without hesitation, Jones jumped piggyback on the lanky man’s shoulders. Mongo stepped back a few feet and than ran a few steps and hurdled the trench. Jones closed his eyes and muffled a scream. He flet the jarring impact as they touched down on the other side. Still he kept his eyes tightly clamped shut.

Jones felt strong arms lifting him from Mongo’s shoulders. He reached out and touched on of the arms and felt thick, course hair. He opened one eye and looked directly into the face of a huge, grinning gorilla.

“Mmmmonnnggggooo!”

“It is all right, Tao,” Jones turned frantically. Mongo was surrounded by four gorillas of various sizes. All were watching Jones with obvious amusement. The large gorilla that had helped him off Mongo’s back sidled up to Jones and draped a huge arm around his shoulders.

“Welcome to Woodland Park Zoo, my name is Kali, but many call me Bobo.”

Jones stared at the gorilla in astonishment.

“I realize Bobo is not a very dignified name, but it is the name the zoo keepers seem comfortable using,” Bobo said. “I’d prefer Kali, though.” She reached out a large hand and shook Jones’ hand vigorously.

“Would you like something to eat?” Shiva continued. “I’m afraid all I can offer you is some fruit, mainly overripe bananas.”

Jones shook his head slightly.
“Excuse me,” he said to Bobo, “Mongo, could I speak to you a moment?”

“Yes friend Tao.”
Jones pulled Mongo away from the group of gorillas who were whispering and laughing amongst one another.

“Mongo, that gorilla spoke to me.”

“Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you first, that was rude of me.”

“Mongo,” she spoke English.

“Yes, Kali speaks many languages.”

“What is going on here Mongo?”

Mongo spread his arms wide. “This is the dance, good Tao!”

“Mongo, we are in a zoo for Christ’s sake, and so far a buffalo and a gorilla have spoken to me.”
Mongo nodded vigorously.

“This cannot logically happen,” Jones said. His voice was taking on a high-pitched tone. “I can deal with the buffalo snorting at me, but I find it hard to accept a gorilla offering me a banana in much better English than I use.

“It’s bad enough that I messed up a suicide tonight, lost both sleeves of my suite and sat in buffalo shit. Wait a minute...I didn’t mess up the suicide, did I?”

Mongo looked at him blankly.

“Come on Mongo, level with me. I’m dead aren’t I? This is hell. Oh God, I committed a sin and I’m curse to live in a zoo with talking animals.” Jones collapsed on the ground sobbing.

Mongo leaned down and stroked his head. “You are not dead, Tao,” he said soothingly. “You’ve just never been aware of it before.”

Jones looked up, “ But gorillas can’t speak English, can they?”

“We can do anything.”

“We?”

Mongo stood up and twirled. The movement was so quick he appeared to blur momentarily. Jones blinked as Mongo spun to a stop. He stared dumbfounded at the figure before him, with long muscular simian arms, thick white fur and an unmistakable piano-key grin.

“You’re a gorilla...how?”

“I was born a gorilla,” Mongo said matter-of-factly.

“But...but you acted...act so human.”

Mongo winced. “There is only one difference between humans and us friend Tao.”

“What?”

“We are not afraid to dance,” Mongo replied.

Jones shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“It is really not that complicated. Darwin’s theories of evolution are fairly accurate. You evolved outwardly and we evolved inwardly.

“While you tax your brains with original sin, we party in paradise. We know what can not be known, therefore we are what can not be! Come and dance friend Tao.”

Jones rose slowly to his feet and took Mongo’s large hand. Mongo pulled him to the waiting circle of gorillas and they began dancing. Mongo swung his long hairy arms freely and rolled playfully on the ground. The other gorillas joined him.

“Can all of you do what you do Mongo?”

“We all dance.”

“But why, Mongo?”

“Why what, friend Tao?”

“Why, if you can do anything, be anywhere, do you stay in the zoo?”

“Free bananas,” Mongo replied.

“That’s it?” Jones looked disappointed.

Mongo laughed. “We stay, we go....wherever the dance takes us. The fences and the walls here are limits others create. The same is true for you.”

Jones laughed. “You mean I can be a gorilla too?”

Mongo shrugged. “The form means little, but we are the best dancers.”

Jones looked down at the remains of his $1500 suit. He reached into his pocket and pulled out cell phone. He threw it into the air.

“Ahhh, what the hell, what do I do?”

“Dance,” Mongo said.

Jones shut his eyes and began to twirl. The world blinked out momentarily. He felt an electric jolt and new strength surged through his body. As his dance wound down, he slowly opened his eyes. The gorillas were seated around him in a circle. Jones shook one hairy hand at them and shouted gleefully, “Let’s boogey.”

The gorillas laughed as Jones peeled off the remnants of his $1500 suite and did a neat bacward flip on his now ample haunches.

Kali pulled Mongo aside. “He dances well Mongo. One would think he was born a gorilla.”

Mongo smiled widely and picked at the fur on his broad chest. “We are all born to dance, Kali,” he said proudly. “Tao was just waiting for someone to ask him.”

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