One Way To Mars

Chapter 11

For something to do, Monkley tookcare of the laundry. For a moment, he watched the sheets and clothesspin gently in the machine. Wearing clothes had been natural to him,never knowing anything different. But since taking up permanentresidence in the base, shedding the unnecessary garments, he had noclothes to wash. He wondered why Andy still wore clothes. It wasnever cold inside the base. People were the most peculiar animals,sometimes. He liked Andy. Life had always been fun with Andy. Games.Stories. He liked it when Andy told him stories. Happy. Monkleyhappy.

He left the washing and lookedfor Andy. He found him at the compost heap, turning it over with aspade.

'Hi, pal. Keeping busy?'

'Story. Happy.'

'What, now?'

Monkley jumped up and down anddid a back flip. 'Story, Happy.'

'Okay. Give me a minute.'

He squatted at the large poolside, splashed water over his face and cupped his hands to take adrink. Then he sat and Monkley joined him, wrapping his arm aroundhim.

'Story. Yeah. It's been a while.Right. There once was a funny little guy called Monkley.'

Monkley clapped his hands andwhooped. He loved stories about himself the most.

'And Monkley wanted a banana.'

'Banana.'

'A big banana. This big.' Hestretched his arms wide.

'Banana big.'

'Very big. So big banana...'

'Banana big.'

'So big, Monkley couldn't carryit.'

'Monkley. Monkley.'

'Right. And a big banana. AndMonkley...'

'Monkley.'

'He couldn't carry the banana, itwas so big.'

'Big banana.'

'So, Monkley ate the big banana.'

'Oooh! Banana.'

'Yes.'

Monkley stretched his arms wide.'Banana big.'

'Big banana.'

'Oooh!'

To Monkley, that was a greatstory. It had two of his favourite things in it. Himself, and abanana. Now, that's a story. He clapped his hands in appreciation.'Happy.' With bananas on his mind, Monkley ran off into the jungle.

'Some people are easily pleased,'said Foreman.

Before he soaked in the smallpool, Foreman checked on his “wine”. In a bucket with a mixtureof fruit juices, turning into several pints of fermenting something.He had found a box of yeast for baking bread. Not the most ideal,true, but with luck, it would transform the brew into somethingdrinkable. The bubbles rising to the surface were a positive signsomething magical was going on. Covering the bucket up, it was timefor his nightly smoke and dip in the small pool.