Iwatayama Monkey Park , Arashiyama
The monkey lay under a tree on top of the mountain, afraid that he was losing his grip. He had been thinking about something important all morning, but his ideas had evaporated in the midday sun. Absently, he watched a butterfly dance past on the breeze. He felt sure he hadn't always been so forgetful, that once his mind was razor-sharp. Annoyed, he slapped the ground. The park was peaceful. Around him, other monkeys sat lethargically. Their minds were like polished blades. Feeling sorry for himself, he bowed his head and nodded off.
Before long he was disturbed by the hushed chatter of a young couple. They were standing quite close when the woman's camera shutter clicked loudly, snapping him awake. He flashed his teeth, and then turned his back on them.
Lazily, he ambled towards a metal slide, not far from the top of the mountain. Children often played in the area below but today it was empty. He paused at the top, annoyed that he was still unable to recover his train of thought. Abruptly, he realized there was a time when he hadn't always been so inclined to forget things. When I was younger, I'm sure my mind was sharp, thought the monkey. He put one foot timidly onto the slide and pulled it back. Then, he sat down on the hot metal. It was shiny and smooth, like a blade. The monkey felt unhappy.
From the top, it looked a long way down. He knew it was better to go down it on his belly. Was that right? Maybe he should go down on his back. He stood there feeling foolish and then decided it would probably be better to get off the slide completely. He hauled himself over the edge and sat sadly at the top of the steps. Had he always been so forgetful? The monkey wasn't sure. It occurred to him that there was once a time when his mind was keen. Like a blade. He scratched his head and looked at the ground.
Gradually, over the course of the afternoon, his thoughts trickled back to him. First, he remembered a grey sky. Under it, he recalled a muddy monkey who waved his arms around as he spoke. He said that he had traveled down the mountain. When the muddy monkey reached the bottom, he found a boundary with net walls stretching up to the treetops. Then, he described a mysterious wooden hut, guarded by an old man. Whenever a person passed the hut, the man stopped them and spoke gruffly through thick glass. After that, the person would hand him a shiny, round, golden chip, before moving on. For the first time during his tale, the muddy monkey paused, sucking in a deep breath. I don't know what it means, he said, but I think it could be important. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and ran, leaving grubby footprints on the hard wooden roof.
The muddy monkey's story left him with a good deal of questions. Who was the old man? Was he a monkey? If he wasn't a monkey, why did he live on a mountain amongst monkeys? That was odd. The gold chips were significant, too. Why was the old man collecting them? They were probably valuable, or tasty. With all those chips, he must be powerful. Why should the old man have all the chips to himself? Gradually, the monkey realized that he was onto something. There were enough monkeys living on this mountain - short monkeys, muddy monkeys, old monkeys, young monkeys, short monkeys, and old monkeys. Their minds were sharp as blades. If they formed some kind of a group, they could take the hut by force and get hold of the chips for themselves! Excitedly, the monkey sat down. Assuming that the old man really liked his chips, he would do anything to get them back and therefore, if the old man was powerful the monkeys could bargain. Even if the chips were worth nothing, they could still eat them. It was a perfect plan.
Now that he had fully gathered his thoughts, he realized that he urgently needed to assemble his group and start organizing the mission. There wasn't a moment to lose. He looked around, but he was alone. The monkey rubbed the back of his neck; the sun had made his head throb. Closing his eyes made him feel good. Lying down felt even better. The grass formed a rough blanket under his wiry body - a short nap would be the perfect tonic for his thumping headache. He could put the plan into action as soon as he woke up. After all, there wasn't a moment to lose.
When he came to, it was getting dark. In the distance a motorbike growled somewhere on the mountain. Dazed, he lay still, a foggily remembered dream swimming just within reach. The monkey picked up a stone and put it in his mouth, thoughtfully. Slowly, the details returned to him. He had been dreaming about a pie, a significant pie. He wanted a piece - he hadn't eaten anything for hours. The monkey stared up at the sky. A solitary star shone through the early evening clouds. He couldn't remember where the pie was or who it belonged to. How was he going to get it? What kind of pie? He didn't know. He struck the ground in frustration. His mind used to be sharp. Still, he was fairly sure that somewhere, there really was a pie. The nap had refreshed him. The park was quiet and dark, the night cool. After a while, he got up and walked forwards, up the steps and over to the wooden hut. It was deserted. Beyond the railing the moon hung low, the twinkling lights of the city stretching out towards the mountains. His dream had disappeared, swallowed up in the mists of his memory. He swung up onto a wooden bench and sat down, feeling calm. The monkey scratched his head then decided that he wasn't hungry any more. He closed his eyes.
Iwatayama Monkey Park , one of Japan 's foremost tourist attractions is in Arashiyama. To get there, take the Hankyu line and change at Katsura. When you arrive at Arashiyama, head north towards the river. At the river, turn right, walk along the bank and cross the road. The park is a few minutes past the bridge. Look for the cartoons of monkeys. Click on the following link if you want more monkey photographs. www.wrotniak.net/gallery/monkeys-02/