Monkey Around

by Jadie Jang

  I turned around just in time to catch him disappearing into Ayo’s office. I was sure he’d seen me. I’d expected him to want to avoid me, but it stung anyway.

  “Was that Tez?” Baby asked. I hadn’t heard her come up to me. She’d taken off from work early when I texted her about the plaza encampment being raided and cleared, again, and we’d protested for a while before withdrawing with our contingent to Sanc-Ahh to rest and check our feeds for further instructions.

  I gave her a meaningful look.

  “I’m not gonna ask,” she said, “but Mai, you can tell me anything, and at some point I know you’re gonna wanna tell me what happened there.” She went back to sit down with Mari, Romeo, and Han.

  Yeah, right. Maybe.

  Tez stayed closeted with Ayo for no more than five minutes before he came back out, looking down, as if he thought he could erase me from his world as long as his eyes didn’t land on me.

  “Tez,” I said.

  He stopped. He stood for a moment, and I thought he might continue as if he hadn’t heard me. Instead, he stepped up to the bar, still without looking at me.

  “I thanked Ayo for her help,” he said. “I suppose you want thanks, too.”

  “No,” I said, suddenly snappish, “I got paid for my time.”

  “Okay,” he turned to go.

  “Tez,” I said. He stopped again. “Look at me.” He did, and his look was, for a moment, full of resentment. A familiar look, but one that I’d thought—hoped—I’d never see from him. But this one wasn’t resenting me for being strong, or fast, or smart—smarter, braver, more competent than he was. No, this one was resenting me for something I’d actually done to him.

  I’d do it again. It was the right thing to do and I was sure he knew it. But, god, he was right, too. It had been his choice to make and I’d made it for him. I’d overstepped, unequivocally. Maybe all those guys who resented me for being who I was had actually turned out to be right. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be loved.

  But then he took his look back in, like a breath, and composed himself. He was taking it on himself: everything I’d done, everything that had happened. Even though I’d forced his hand, he’d taken it on anyway. And he was trying to forgive me. Despite what Ayo had said about me, I knew that this was what made a true leader. Maybe it was time that I stopped thinking about myself and took a moment to try to save something for him.

  “This doesn’t mean you have to stop writing,” I said.

  He was surprised for a moment, but then he laughed, bitterly. It was the first ugly sound I’d ever heard come out of him.

  “You don’t get it, do you? I was writing again. I didn’t write anything for three years after my Mom died, and I thought I’d never write again, but then, things just settled down and I was able to pick up a pen again. I was figuring out a whole new way of writing, and it was hard, yeah, but I was figuring it out. And I didn’t tell anyone about it because … because it wasn’t quite there yet. But I was doing it …”

  “And now?”

  “Everything is different! Half the time, my mind doesn’t even recognize words. It’s this … connection, this new connection to this land here. It’s totally real. It’s not metaphorical, it’s not conceptual, it’s not verbal. I can’t break it down. The Bay is so complex, and so poisoned with … so many things. I can’t observe it. I have to be in it, work it, be poisoned by it. … I have no fucking idea what I’m doing and I have to do it, on top of the job and the kids, and the ‘hood. I’m exhausted and confused all the time. It’s like right after Mom died all over again, only a thousand times worse. I’m so overwhelmed I don’t even know if I want to write anymore.”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “Yes! … No. It’s, it’s just … I’m just … totally different. I never asked for this. I never knew it was possible to be like this. I don’t know. …”

  “Maybe you just have to get used to it.”

  He looked at me in disbelief, then barked out a laugh that was so uncatlike, I almost looked around to see if the sound had come from someone else.

  “You don’t get it,” he said again. “You don’t have to be responsible for anyone but yourself. You don’t understand.”

  And it was back, that flare of resentment in his face. But this time, it was matched by my own resentment. How dare he say that to me? He had no idea what a privilege it was to belong somewhere, to actually have people who knew you, and expected things from you, and depended on you. I’d had to create that for myself, and every moment it threatened to fall apart. But for him it was just a fact of life, as immutable as the wind.

  I started to say exactly that, I opened my mouth … and saw him brace himself for impact.

  I hesitated. He was taking this on as well; whatever I had to say, he’d take it on board and make it his responsibility.

  And didn’t I just decide not to make this about me? And what about my promise, to stand by him, to not leave him alone with this?

  I took a breath.

  “You’re right,” I said. “And forget what I said about writing.” His eyebrows went up, and, in spite of himself, his shoulders relaxed a bit. “I guess I just meant that you don’t have to lose yourself in all of this.”

  “How do you know?” he sounded … intent, as if he believed me.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but didn’t know what to say. The memory of that vision of the Bay, and of the world, was bright in my mind, but I still didn’t know how to describe it, how to explain to him what the Bay had shown to me— had promised me.

  I smiled ruefully. “I just … know. I guess you could say … I have faith.” And in that moment, I did have faith, in the Bay and its light buoying him up, but also faith in Tez himself. If anyone could do this …

  He sighed, turned, and left, so abruptly that my grin went empty in the space of a breath.

  “That was … kind,” Ayo said. I hadn’t seen her approach.

  “It wasn’t anywhere near enough.”

  “Well, nothing you could say will fix things. He’s got a lot on his plate right now. Give him time. He’ll figure it out.” And she went back into her office.

  Scarcely had Ayo disappeared through the door, when I heard the bell ring again, causing a slight fizz of electricity to shoot through me. It was Todd, who had missed all the excitement at Occupy. Never rains; pours.

  As usual, he was both unwelcome and welcome. Someday soon I was going to have to examine the fact that I resented him for standing in the doorway to the space in my head that Tez occupied, but that day was not today.

  He made a beeline for me, his goofy masking grin spreading across his face and wiping out the faint impression of anxiety I thought I’d seen.

  “Hey Monkey-Girl. How’s tricks? I heard things got a little dicey today.”

  “Hey Foxy-Boy. We’re just licking our wounds. How’s your, uh, family emergency?”

  “Oh, ongoing,” he said evading my look. He looked off into the distance to let me know that was all he was gonna say on that topic. Then he looked back. “So, do you wanna have a little impromptu meeting about that article?”

  “Good idea. Are we going to meet our deadline?”

  “Honestly? I don’t think so, unless you can help me focus. There’s enough here to fill a book. I’m not sure how we’re supposed to narrow this down to 1500 words or less.”

  “Yeah. Why don’t you make it more literary, more critical? You know, like talk about the place shapeshifters have in Asian cultures and what fills that spot in American culture, and then how anime and urban fantasy and film/tv have sort of taken over hitting that spot with the death of traditional storytelling, epics, and theater. And you can just pick a few creatures to illustrate it. Or something.”

  “I think I’ve got a post on my blog that I can adapt.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was riffing off of.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll check it out when I get home, to see if I can make something of it.”

  �
��Cool. … I’ll give you a week to get me a rough draft.”

  We sat there for a moment.

  “Is that our meeting, then?” he asked.

  “Um, unless there’s anything else?”

  “Not on my end. You?” he charmed his grin back up. “Anything on your mind?”

  “Uh … well …” I thought … and then immediately decided to go for it. An Asian shapeshifter with a seemingly encyclopedic knowledge of Asian mythological creatures? I’d never had such a good chance. I looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Well, actually, maybe you can help me with something different.”

  “Hit me.”

  He knew I was … something. He’d seen it all. But somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words “I don’t know what I am, can you tell me?” My old, practiced lie just flowed out of me like a river.

  “Well, I’m kind of writing something. Like fiction, like a novel, or maybe it’ll turn into a screenplay.”

  “Really?”

  “… And well, um, I have this character who has these magic powers, and I’ve written a lot of scenes with her using them and it’s important to the integrity of the piece that she maintains this particular set of magic powers.”

  “Okay …”

  “But now I really wanna make her into an actual mythical creature that actually exists in an actual mythology.”

  “That’s three ‘actuals’.”

  “That’s two ‘actuals’ and an ‘actually.’ And shut up.”

  He shut up.

  “So … I’m wondering if there’s a mythical creature that has this particular set of magical powers.”

  I looked at him. He stayed shut, watching me intently.

  “Um, so there’s shapeshifting, of course. Into animals: primarily a monkey, but any animal, really. And into objects as well.” He gave me an extremely dry look. “And going invisible. And she can also shape-shift her … um … hairs. Each individual hair can become whatever she wants. And she can put them back on her head and body.”

  I checked him out to see how he was taking this. He hadn’t changed posture or his “shut up” expression, his arms loosely crossed, his heels hooked on the foot rest of the stool making his knees splay out, one knee, as always, jiggling slightly. His eyes had started to feel like drills into my head.

  “Okay, and um … there’s super strength, of course, and super speed. And she can open any lock, but needs tools to do it. And … um …there’s this thing with her being able to tell when someone is being deceptive because her eyes start to burn. And … like, she can travel on clouds …”

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “Um … for now,” I said. “She might develop new ones as I keep … writing.”

  He killed me softly with his stupid gaze some more. I was quivering inside, but also starting to get angry.

  “Well?” I finally demanded. “Have you heard of a creature in mythology that does all that or not?”

  He sighed.

  “You are so. Full. Of shit,” he said.

  Succinct.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t know what you are?”

  “Why, exactly, would I have told anyone that?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Maya, there isn’t exactly a creature in mythology with those abilities.”

  I let go the breath I’d been holding. Of course not. “Nevermind.”

  “Hold on. There is, however, a fictional character with those powers, one based on a lot of different myths.” He paused, presumably for effect.

  “Who?” I almost shrieked.

  “Well, Sun Goku— er, Sun Wukong. The Monkey King.”

  “Monkey …? Who? What?”

  “Well, he’s a— actually, there’s some debate as to what his mythological origins might be, but he’s definitely a fictional character—”

  “From what?!”

  “It’s this Chinese novel from the Ming Dynasty— have you really not heard of the Monkey King? And you with all his powers? Is your Google finger broken?”

  I didn’t know whether to bash my head into the counter or snatch him bald. I took a deep breath.

  “No.” I said as calmly as I could manage, “What’s the novel?”

  “Oh,” he said. “It’s called Journey to the West.”

  MAYA MACQUEEN'S BESTIARY

  From my own personal notes on the supernats I’ve encountered and/or heard about second-hand.

  YMMV.

  Aswang: Tree-dwelling Filipino vampiric shapeshifters, who infiltrate human communities by taking on the shape of an attractive woman and marrying a human man. They suck their husband’s blood if none other is readily available, but prefer to use the husband as cover while spreading the blood-suckage around. They have an especial predilection for unborn fetuses and newborn babies, and also eat corpses. They have two other forms: a dog form, and a segmented, winged form, in which they separate the winged top section from the legs to fly around looking for victims, much like the Enterprise D with its saucer section and star-drive section, except way less cool.

  Aziza: Beneficent fairies from Benin, these critters are little and hairy and live in anthills and silk cotton trees. They hang out in forests when young, helping hunters and gifting people with fire. As they get older, though, they withdraw and hide, or go traveling, much like human retirees. Being fae-flaky, long-lived, and highly adaptable, they generally have a poor sense of time and space, and should not be referred to when you are lost, or taking a history test.

  Bajang: Malay shapeshifting weasel-weres (not really! They look like weasels but are really a sort of civet, which is another type of animal entirely. I just like calling them weasels because, well, the shoe fits.) Legend says that men who say the proper incantations over the newly buried body of a stillborn child can acquire a bajang of their very own. Bajang then use their magic to curse their master’s enemies, causing convulsions, unconsciousness or delirium. In exchange, its master feeds it eggs and milk and keeps it in a bamboo tube. It’ll attack anyone it’s ordered to, but particularly likes babies and small children. Nasty.

  Bouda: Ethiopian were-hyenas. The term “buda” actually refers to the ability to cast the evil eye, and folks with buda were believed to be empowered by envy to shapeshift into hyena form so as to attack and kill those they envied without being able to be identified. This is hogwash, of course; “buda” was almost always attributed to outsiders, especially Jews. Bouda are an actual supernatural race of shapeshifters, like werewolves, that can be created from humans. Now, exactly how a bouda is created is a secret closely held by these giggling mofos, and yes, they do have a strong tendency towards both envy and jealousy. Do not date a bouda unless you wanna date their whole pack.

  “Chinese Monkey Shifter”: Me, basically. I might be the only extant specimen, if there is such a species. Some kind of shapeshifter, with monkey as the default form—or perhaps human is the default form and monkey is the animal form. Very strong and fast—more powerful than the generality of supernats living on the Earthly plane; can change shape into pretty much anything or anyone—although specific people are more difficult and require more concentration; and can clone self using body hairs, or turn body hairs into any object. Natural martial arts skills only enhanced by training; almost unbeatable in a fair fight. Can detect deceit, transformation, artistry through burning in the eyes, and call down clouds and ride them, super fast. Vulnerable to smoke, contempt, and accusations of inauthenticity.

  Churel: Indian spirit of a woman who died either pregnant, in childbirth, or by ill treatment at the hands of her in-laws. She comes back as a pretty little girl dressed all in white and seduces men away to have their life essences sucked out entirely, which is appropriate for men who can be seduced by little girls, ew! If she died of mistreatment she comes back to avenge herself on her male in-laws, starting with the youngest first. Very effective assassins. Can be identified by their backward-turned feet.

  Harimau Jadian: Malaysian/Indonesian were
-tiger, a species born to it. Unlike most were-tigers, these are benevolent, and task themselves with protecting crops from marauding pigs and protecting their communities from outsiders. The Japanese know: they were always getting attacked by strangely intelligent tigers during WWII. Dudes get pretty beasty, though, and don’t recognize their friends when in tiger form, so you have to call them by name. Don’t cross these dudes: tigers. ‘Nuff said.

  Kitsune: Tricksters, Japanese fox “spirits,” are actually just foxes that attain magical powers by living to one hundred years old. Can cast tremendous illusions and shapeshift into any form they like, but usually stick to beautiful women (to lure men,) or objects (to pull pranks.) There are temple foxes, who serve the god Inari as messengers, and field foxes, who serve the god Foolishness as cattle prods. Both have kitsunebi, foxfire, which they cast from the tips of their tails, but only field foxes use it to lead travelers astray. Even field kitsune can be benevolent, but are just as likely to cast an illusion to make you eat shit, fall into a ditch and break your neck, or leave your family for three weeks, thinking you’ve lived with a beautiful new wife for twenty years. High-larious. Speaking of, kitsune frequently outsmart themselves by falling in love with their marks, and staying with them and having children. The children tend to be very talented, but have no magic.

  Loogaroo: French West Indian vampiric shapeshifter, that looks like an old woman during the day, but at night sheds her skin (which she puts into a mortar) and flies around as a ball of flame (so, basically a Caribbean Baba Yaga.) They can enter a house through any type of hole or crack and suck blood from their victims’ extremities, leaving bruises. If they take too much, the victim dies and becomes one of them. Ayo claims they evolved through indigenous and African magic and culture from French werewolves, but I dunno …