“What do the monkeys steal?” he called ahead.
“You will see!”
Say what?
“What do you mean?!”
“Monkeys any time now!”
Monkeys any time now. Neal stopped for a second to break a dead branch of bamboo and strip it down into a walking stick. Then he remembered that he had a gun and felt a little foolish. I wonder if the monkeys understand what a gun is? he wondered.
They didn’t.
It was three switchbacks later when about half a dozen monkeys came scrambling down through the bamboo and blocked the path in front of them. They were about the size of cocker spaniels and had a good sense of terrain, because they plopped themselves just where the path took a wicked outside curve over a deep canyon. Two of the monkeys stayed in the bamboo on the uphill side to block that escape. The monkeys looked for all the world like a hairy street gang extorting passersby on their turf. The head monkey wasn’t One Fang, because he had two very large, healthy incisors that he displayed in a a growl of anger and arrogance.
He got angrier when Li Lan whacked him in the legs with her walking stick. He leaped in the air, snarling and snapping, and rushed toward her legs. She stepped back and swung at him again, missing him by an inch as he somersaulted backward. Another monkey rushed at her from the side. Neal couldn’t swing at it with his stick without hitting Li, so he kicked at the monkey, which retreated up the path and hunched into a threatening crouch. The rest of the monkeys contributed screams and howls of intimidation and hilarity and waited for the next round.
Neal pulled the pistol from his waistband. He leveled it at the lead monkey, who sat staring at it curiously and issued a low growl. He might not have recognized a gun, but he knew a threat when he saw one. He started to back away, still growling. His gang followed him as he scrambled back up the hill into the bamboo.
Neal pulled the pistol up and blew into the barrel before sticking it back in his pants.
Li didn’t get it.
“You’ll be okay now, ma‘am,” Neal said, “as long as I’ve got this here Winchester.”
Then a small stone hit him in the side of the head. This was followed by a barrage of rocks, sticks, nuts, and fruit that followed Neal and Li as they retreated about fifty feet down the path.
Son of a bitch, Neal thought. The bastards understand firepower.
Sure enough, four monkeys were still launching missiles while their comrades hustled around the hillside collecting ammunition. Neal picked up a handful of small, sharp stones and flung them toward the monkey battery on the hillsides. He found the resulting cries of indignation extremely satisfactory, especially when his adversaries retreated up the hill.
Joe Graham is wrong, Neal thought. I can outsmart an ape.
He found this wasn’t exactly true, however, when it became apparent that all the monkeys had done was set their blockade up on the next switchback. Two of the largest were sitting in the middle of the path, grinning with immense glee while their supporting troops crouched in the bamboo, ammunition already at hand-or paw.
“Uh, how many switchbacks are there?” Neal asked, aware that this could go on all day.
“Many.”
“What do the monkeys want?” Maybe it would be easier to pay the toll and get on with it.
“Food.”
“Do we have any?”
“No.”
“Right. I’m going to shoot one.”
“No!”
“We could collect the reward.”
“For a live monkey only.”
“We don’t have time to fuck around here, Li.”
She looked at him curiously and with a trace of indignation until he realized that she hadn’t understood the idiom.
“I mean we have to get going.”
The monkeys, fully aware of the humans’ hesitation, sensed victory and inched closer. Great grimaces of dominance spread across their faces and they scratched vigorously.
“You may not shoot them,” Li said firmly.
Besides, Neal thought, I probably couldn’t hit one anyway. And they are kind of cute, in a repulsive sort of way. He drew the gun anyway and pointed it at the leader. The leader didn’t show any signs of intimidation this time, unless rubbing one’s genitals could be interpreted as a sign of terror. Then he shot back, so to speak, with a stream of urine.
“That does it,” Neal said. “Can you stand them off for a few minutes?
“I think so.”
Neal retreated down to the edge of the last curve and then headed up the hill through the bamboo. He scratched his way up to the next level of the path until he was looking down at the monkeys. He gathered up rocks, sticks, and fruits and then headed down toward the spot where the monkey gang was in its standoff with Li Lan. He snuck from tree to tree, being as quiet as a city-bred klutz can be in a bamboo jungle, until he stood about twenty feet above the gang.
He took a Ron Guidry windup and launched a rock at the leader, scoring a strike on its haunches. The monkey yelped more with surprise than with pain and turned to see where the rock had come from. Neal then threw as many of his missiles as he could get off, and screamed obscenities.
The startled monkeys froze on the path and glared up at him. For one ugly moment, Neal thought they were going to charge him, but his last pitch was a wicked curve with a bamboo stick that hit the leader in the left shoulder.
The leader turned tail and the monkeys ran, downhill this time, and Li Lan scurried up the path to Neal.
Neal waited for her praise and gratitude.
“I perhaps should have told you about the snakes.”
“Snakes?”
“Poisonous snakes, yes.”
“Yes, you perhaps should have told me about them.”
She nodded solemnly. “There are many poisonous snakes in the bamboo forests here.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Shall we continue?”
She started up the switchback. Neal picked up some stones and put them in his pockets in case the monkeys tried to gain the upper hand on them again.
He shouldn’t have worried. No monkey on earth was ambitious enough to tackle the next few switchbacks, which were made up of narrow stone steps that rose at an impossible grade up to the very edge of the mountain. It seemed like some endless torture of running up stadium steps, prescribed by some goofy, sadistic Chinese football coach.
Neal knew that the top of each stairway had to be-had to be-the last, but each time he reached a landing it was only a prelude to the next zigzagging staircase. His thighs and calves strained and ached, and his lungs started to struggle for air.
In addition to the exertion, there was the bonus of fear. They were walking along the edge of the mountain, on the rim of steep cliffs and deep chasms, on stone steps that were a thousand years old. The steps were gullied and chipped, and where water ran down from uphill, they were slippery as well. Most of the trail wasn’t that dangerous, and a fall would have been broken quickly by the thick bamboo, but other spots offered the prospect of a dramatic free fall into jagged rocks, rushing streams, and waterfalls. It was a painter’s dream, no question, but a nightmare for Neal Carey, who was afraid of heights.
So he was exhausted, hungry, aching, and nauseated with fear when the trail finally leveled out before narrowing into an arched stone bridge.
“The Bridge of Deliverance!” Li announced over the roar of a huge waterfall above them.
“Why is it called that?!” Neal shouted, praying that the answer didn’t involve an albino boy and a banjo.
“Here, all fatigue disappears, because the sound of the rushing water is so beautiful! Sit and listen!”
She crossed the bridge to a small level spot and scooped some stones from a pool in the river. She came back and handed the stones to Neal.
“These are stones from the Great Lake above, and they have great medicinal qualities! You boil them in water and drink the water and you will never have a heart attack!”
“You’d better keep them on hand.”