by MJ Walker
Edward the pin monkey had never been the best traveller. Whenever he’d journeyed upon a horse-drawn cart or wagon, he was prone to vomiting a little pile of sick into his small hands, which he then flicked away, wiped upon his red waistcoat or ate a second time. The irony of a circus animal feeling this way was not lost on either him or his human handlers, who chided and taunted him for it.
Now he could feel his tummy rumbling, as he held tight to the bars at the front of the puzzle box. His motion sickness was made worse by the blackness. He’d often heard the Ring Master say that animals were better moved unsighted. But he knew it to be a lie. He tried to wretch but he’d eaten too little for any sick to come up. He coughed and cleared his throat which had become hoarse with his screaming. He wretched again producing a slice of coconut in a pool of green bile. He threw it against the side of the box not caring if it was to slide under his bottom and stick to his fur.
He ran his hands along the sides of the puzzle box, its floor and ceiling and every bar. But without being able to see, he couldn’t find a way out. He tried calling to Lord Morgan, chattering sweetly in a bid to draw the human in, to seduce him and make him remove the veil and open the cage. At that point Edward planned to leap out, scratch Lord Morgan’s face and dance over the human’s shoulder to freedom.
But on it went, Edward feeling the rocking and rolling of his cage, the sound of the horses’ hooves below hurting his dysfunctional ears.
Finally, the motion of the carriage stopped. He felt the cage move in the hands of his captor and heard the sound of human feet crunching upon gravel, then the hinges of a door swing open. He heard Lord Morgan’s shoes clap upon a smooth solid floor, a key turning in locks and another door opening. The cage shuddered, placed on a flat surface.
Edward grabbed at the bars and steeled himself to spit at Lord Morgan the moment the human peered into the cage. But soon the monkey’s arms weakened. Nothing happened, bar the sound of leather squeaking. Then he heard the professor talking to himself, and to someone else.
“Well well, what a day,” Lord Morgan sighed. “There was me thinking we were nearly done. And I go and find a performing monkey. What do you think Charles? Shall I finish off my cannon? Or test the monkey?”
It fell quiet again. Then the sound of a jar lid turning and popping open.
“Here you are Charles. Come on boy. Yes. There you are. You like nibbling carrot don’t you? So shall we test the monkey?”
Edward could hear Lord Morgan walking around now, in no particular direction.
“But my cannon is almost done. What if I test the monkey and he surprises me? What if he’s so much better than you Charles? What if he reveals a flaw with the cannon? What then eh? But that is the point of science. Test, test and test again. Seek out the truth. Yes, let’s test the monkey and find out the truth. If that means I need to change my cannon, then so be it.”
Suddenly Lord Morgan ripped the veil from the puzzle box. The light from a glass standing lamp battled the sunshine entering through a closed window. Edward raised an arm to shield his eyes. He pulled the red hat off his head and held it over his face, as if he was a poorly trained gentleman attempting grace.
He peeked out to see Lord Morgan sitting in a leather chair, hunching over a big book on his desk.
“Let’s get to the nub of it, shall we Charles?” said Lord Morgan, stroking his beard. “When we do these experiments, as you know full well, the key point is this. When we watch this monkey, when we study him, we must remember...”
Edward again retreated behind his hat as Lord Morgan lifted the book and began to read out loud.
“...In no case may we interpret an action as the outcome of the exercise of a higher psychical faculty, if it can be interpreted as the outcome of one which stands lower in the psychological scale,” said Lord Morgan.
Despite his poor hearing, Edward registered every word. However, he didn’t understand their meaning. Yet, as if to drive the point home, Lord Morgan repeated them, more loudly.
“In no case may we interpret an action as the outcome of the exercise of a higher psychical faculty, if it can be interpreted as the outcome of one which stands lower in the psychological scale!”
Edward lowered his hat. The professor closed his book, nodded in agreement with himself, and looked straight at the monkey. Edward hadn’t been this scared since he’d been pulled from his mother’s chest for the final time. Lord Morgan stood and walked towards Edward. But he paused. He reached down to a glass jar of cut carrots on the same desk as Edward’s cage. He took out a rectangular orange stick and carried it to another box. In it was a white rabbit with wet, pink eyes. Lord Morgan pushed the carrot through the bars of the rabbit’s cage.
“There you are Charles. Now you watch this monkey, you hear? You might learn a thing or two.”
The rabbit drew back its ears, laying them flat along its shoulders as the carrot tumbled on to the floor of its box. It tried to hop to the rear wall but there was no space to hop into. Lord Morgan moved to Edward.
“Let’s first undo this padlock,” he said. “No hang on, let’s get rid of this first, lest it distract him.”
He then pulled a penknife from his pocket. He opened the blade. This was it, thought Edward. The end.
Lord Morgan steered the blade between the bars and skewered a piece of celery still drying in Edward’s cage. He dragged it out and tossed it on the floor. He flicked the blade back into the body of the knife and fished out a key, which he turned in the padlock.
“But first this,” said the professor.
He moved a lever on the top of the puzzle box, one that Edward hadn’t noticed before. The walls of the box shifted a little, resetting themselves. He then pulled away the padlock.
“Let’s see if he can free himself, eh Charles?”
Edward had been trying to do just that since he’d been imprisoned. But this felt different. There was something about the way Lord Morgan walked backwards. The human appeared to be giving the monkey, which remained confined in the same cage, more room to work. The professor didn’t take his eyes off his subject. Edward realised that Lord Morgan was challenging him.
Edward lunged at the cage door, expecting it to fly open. His small frame bounced off the wooden struts, bruising his elbow. Lord Morgan smirked.
“Well Charles. Ten seconds. It took him ten seconds to understand there is a puzzle. It took you ten hours,” he said to the rabbit.
“Now what is he going to do to solve it?”
Edward sat, watching Lord Morgan flick back his hair. Edward mimicked his captor. The monkey ran his tiny hand across his own head of black hair, frazzled and free from his hat.
Edward had been challenged before. Once as a young monkey while still in the company of his mother. She had been sold on by her handler in Porto. At eight years of age, she was coming to the end of her useful life for him. She had grown out of playing with tourists and had started to pull at their lapels and purses. She had become pregnant by a younger, male tufted capuchin her handler had bought to replace her. So Edward’s mother was sold to a traveller who crossed the sea and sold her again to a fair atop the white cliffs of Dover.
There Edward was born and it was there he was first challenged to solve a puzzle. His mother’s owner, an aged ex-serviceman who had lost a foot many decades earlier during the Crimean War, pulled him from his mother’s teat and put him in a shoebox. The man closed the lid and watched, to humour himself and to see what the infant monkey would do. At just a few months of age, Edward rose to the challenge by pushing off the top to the box, freeing himself.
The Ring Master from Whyte and Wingate’s Big Top posed the second challenge. Soon after the circus left the southeast, to cross England in search of new riches, the Ring Master had invited Edward on to his dining table in his wagon. He swigged at a bottle of brandy as the wagons rolled west, and then explained to the monkey, in sober terms despite his drunken state, how Edward’s mother had died that morning.
&nbs
p; The Ring Master was challenging Edward to understand him. He spoke quietly and slowly. He even gesticulated, using his hands to describe how Edward’s mother had died, sticking out his tongue for effect. But the real challenge was for Edward to not cry. For him to sit there impassive and not scratch at his fur and wail.
He passed that test. He never gave the Ring Master the satisfaction of knowing that he understood every word that he had been told. Instead, learning he was orphaned, he resolved to make the circus his new family. He started to plan how he might acquire his own circus one day and when he did, no animals would be sold on once they had forgotten how to do their tricks.
And now he was being confronted by another human, this one a supposed Lord, a professor, a man of science who was inviting Edward to free himself from a wooden prison that had been purposely constructed to confine and frustrate.
Edward immediately knew where to start. The lever pulled by Lord Morgan must be connected to something else. Just as the watch chains in the punters’ pockets were linked to their watches, which in turn pulled at their little bags of money. Edward sat up. He didn’t yet move for the lever. He needed to think more. He chattered to the human, distracting Lord Morgan as he tilted his head, searching for a link between the lever outside of the box and the walls within. But the walls were smooth, beautifully crafted from hard mahogany. Then Edward thought to look at the floor, at where the dried celery had been. He noticed a tiny piece of wood sticking out at an angle, a pedal. He didn’t press it yet. He stood up in the cage and pretended to shake the bars, baring his teeth. As he did so, he slid his foot along from the pedal. His sensitive toes followed a groove that ended at the wall. Standing, his bushy head brushing the ceiling, Edward realised the groove reappeared above him, and within sat a cable. He had worked out the connections. Now he had to time his moment.
Lord Morgan took off his jacket and set a mechanical clock next to the cage. He pulled up a wooden chair in front of Edward, threw his jacket over the back and flipped open a notebook.
“Two minutes in and the monkey has made no attempt to find a way out,” he said out loud.
He licked at a pencil and wrote his words in his book. He sighed.
“What’s the record Charles?” he asked the rabbit, who didn’t reply. “Thirty eight minutes. Yes, that was it,” he answered himself. “Old Audrey’s cat did it in thirty eight minutes. I had starved it though,” he said, as an afterthought. “With enough practice, a rat will do it in forty.”
Edward imagined all the animals that had once been locked in this cage. How they would have scratched at the wood or tried to gnaw their way out. He waited for Lord Morgan to again write in his notebook. The moment he saw the pencil committed to paper, he struck. He danced to the side, his waistcoat flapping. He stamped upon the pedal and felt the release of tension. He heard the grind of a cable moving and the rising of a wooden lever above his head. The walls shuddered and the door to the cage dropped a millimetre. He threw his body at it.
His light skeleton bounced off the struts and he collapsed to the floor, his ribs as sore as his elbow. Distraught, he didn’t understand. He’d worked it all out. Within minutes he’d planned and executed his escape. But the door hadn’t opened.
“Ah!” cried Lord Morgan.
He leaped from his chair and came straight at Edward, leaning in til Edward could have grabbed at the professor’s beard. He raised his hand and brought it down upon the mechanical clock, stopping it.
“Four minutes! I don’t believe it Charles! This chap has done it in four minutes!”
Edward felt even more upset and confused. How could he have done it, if he wasn’t free?
Then he watched as Lord Morgan tapped at the latch still across the outside of the door. The professor had played the monkey. There never was an escape. The cage had been double-locked. Lord Morgan had offered Edward an escape route, the option to use the pedal to pull at the lever, resetting the box and releasing the door. But only to study his thought process. As an experiment to see if the monkey could plot his way out, or whether he’d stumble upon the pedal via a process of trial and error.
The professor reset the lever and the puzzle box arranged itself. He then feigned to flick the outer latch open. Edward immediately stamped on the pedal and pushed at the door.
“Four seconds! Four seconds Charles!” exclaimed Lord Morgan. “This isn’t trial and error. He understands how the puzzle box works!”
The professor skipped as only a man approaching his sixth decade can; heavy and short, but full of pent up joy and wonder.
“Hang on you both. I need to get this down.”
Lord Morgan had begun to address as one Charles the docile rabbit and Edward the angry monkey. As the audience to his own show, even though they were the performing animals.
With his pencil he scribbled with fervour in his journal. He wrote and he rewrote, adding lines and crossing them out. He took his journal and held it out in front, examining his own words, before bringing it back close to his belly, setting it upon his lap and writing some more. He did this for much of the afternoon as Edward, frightened and frustrated, fell asleep in the puzzle box, his body leaning against the wooden struts, crumpling his hat.
Eventually Edward was woken by Lord Morgan’s cries. He heard the human say:
“In no case may we interpret an action as the outcome of the exercise of a higher psychical faculty... That is true Charles, that is true. But what now of the next part... if it can be interpreted as the outcome of one which stands lower in the psychological scale?”
Edward opened his eyes to see Lord Morgan pacing his laboratory.
“How do I interpret the actions of this monkey? In that puzzle box, he knows what he is doing. He solved the problem I posed him. But not by accident. No, how could he? He did it so quickly. He is a monkey yes. They are more intelligent than the other animals I have tested. But even if that first attempt had been luck, how can I explain the second? How can I explain how this circus monkey could try, in just a few seconds, to free himself from a puzzle box? Perhaps my cannon is broken? This calls for tea. And more experiments Charles.”
The rabbit didn’t move in its cage. It had fallen asleep just as Edward had woken. Bored, with nothing to excite it apart from a piece of wilted lettuce, it had buried its soft nose into its forepaws. Now its body gently heaved, breathing the only action available to it. Lord Morgan left the room, to return ten minutes later with a silver tray, teapot and china cup, and freshly cooked biscuits. Edward could smell the baker’s chocolate and vanilla. He was hungry, but had decided not to take any food Lord Morgan might offer.
Lord Morgan settled into his chair and stared out of the window at the fading light. He became lost in his thoughts. Edward watched him, trying to work out what kind of human he was.
Could Lord Morgan be like the Ring Master, a man who cared for his animals but who wasn’t afraid to cage and whip them, who made them work for their supper, who would willingly pull their teeth and claws and who would think nothing of taking a stick to their bodies if it improved his circus and made for a better show? How then to explain his relationship with Tony the terrier, who seemed well kept and in awe of his owner?
Or could Lord Morgan be like Charity, the clairvoyant woman, who took a passing interest in the animals, offering pats and treats until they annoyed her, when she’d show them the back of her hand, and slap them?
Or like the circus boys, who fed and watered the animals, checking for wounds and inside their ears? But who did little else?
No, thought Edward. He remembered the time that Lord Morgan had visited the Ring Master in his wagon, describing himself as a professor of all animals. How Lord Morgan was particularly interested in whether certain animals had extraordinary abilities, what tricks they could learn and how they did so. How he’d wanted to visit Whyte and Wingate’s Big Top, have the Ring Master arrange the most amazing, the most intricate, the most daredevil show he could.
How Lord Morgan w
ould watch each animal with great interest, take notes, and give them marks for intellect and artistry. And how if the Ring Master could put on a show, and let him study it, Lord Morgan could, in return, make the Ring Master’s circus famous.
For he was building a giant cannon, that could only be operated by the cleverest animals in the whole world. He was forging the cannon back at his castle and if the animals put on a big enough show, he would give the cannon to the circus.
And here was this man, now sitting in front of Edward, testing him, giving him marks for his intellect. And because of Edward’s performance in the cage, Lord Morgan now thought his cannon might be broken.
Edward didn’t know what to think. Did it mean he was too clever to fire this giant cannon? Or not clever enough?
“Another experiment,” the professor suddenly said. “But which? Yes, let’s see how he does with the four-storey problem. Now where are those crates?”
Lord Morgan started to rummage around his laboratory. On the floor were variously shaped and sized cages. Some made from metal, others wood, some large enough to hold a shepherd dog, others just a water vole or black rat. Hanging from the cages were iron chains, cuffs, collars and padlocks. Upon a long bench, topped by what appeared to be a well worn butcher’s block, was a full dissecting kit, containing sharpened scalpels with differing lengths of blade, some metal pickers and probes, a small glass mirror and a bag of nails.
The more Edward looked, the more he realised the room was a more complete version of Lord Morgan’s study in his big, dark house. More books and journals filled the shelves, reams of the professor’s writings on a desk, certificates and accolades hanging from the walls. There was a plant in this room, an exotic eucalyptus imported from across the globe. But it stood in dry soil, lifeless in the shade of a corner.
The professor selected a cage half his own height. Pulling it from under the others, he stood it upright. It was a simple cage, much like a lobster pot. Edward scanned it for intricacies, but there were none. Just six sides of mesh tied around a box made of metal supports. On the top was an opening, six inches square. Lord Morgan dragged it towards the bench on which Edward was imprisoned, the metal scratching the floorboards. He then set off to the far corner of the room, to a pile of cigar boxes and wooden crates that had once held tomatoes and apples. He sorted them, comparing their dimensions. He threw four across the floor.
