900 Pound Gorilla

Percy Wingham wove drunkenly through his yard on his John Deere lawn tractor, running down the occasional shrub, intermittent lawn ornament, or one of the thousands of Titlist golf balls he’d hit off the roof of his carport while practicing his chipping. He didn’t even bother to glance over his shoulder now and again, as pieces of ceramic, hunks of aluminum, wedges of foliage and slices of golf ball skin were spit out the side of his riding mower, creating neat trails of mower discharge. The reason he hadn’t tried to avoid these objects is because, well, he couldn’t see them.

No, Percy wasn’t blind and no his eyes weren’t closed, he could see all right, although his vision might have been a little blurred by the half dozen or so Pabst Blue Ribbons he’d drunk as lunch. The reason he couldn’t see the many objects that littered his lawn was because they were buried in nearly three feet of Kentucky Blue grass, which had gone to seed, making his yard look like the prairie backdrop on a John Wayne movie set.

The retired city bus driver hadn’t mowed his grass since the previous September, it was now July, and might have left it grow until the end of time if he hadn’t been threatened with legal action by a coalition of concerned neighbors, led by the flamboyant and somewhat nosey, Reverend HQ McDuffy, who also happened to be the county’s premier real estate agent.

That Percy’s yard had gone to pot was in large part due to the death of his wife, Juanita, who died of lung cancer two years prior. He hadn’t seen the point of a well manicured lawn when the feelings inside him, especially those of loneliness and sadness had become so overwhelming, had grown so completely out of control, much as the Kentucky Blue grass of his own yard had, when no one was around to care for it anymore. But fearing the loss of his home he reluctantly complied with the neighborhood coalition’s wishes and fired up the John Deere.

The neighborhood coalition would be pleased that Percy was finally taking care of his lawn but it was only the first item on a growing list of complaints that they had received concerning his property. The house itself was also in great disrepair, the paint on the shutters had bubbled and was peeling off, the two windows on either side of the front door—broken by the snowballs of neighborhood hooligans—were covered over haphazardly with the lids of a rusty washer and dryer, the bricks at the top of the chimney—uprooted by the freezing water which had seeped between them—had caved in, some of the bricks falling onto the driveway below, and the shingles on the roof—over thirty years old—were cracked and brittle and slowly sliding out of place. There was also the matter of the swimming pool in the back yard which was empty, cracked and thick with weeds, cigarette butts, and empty beer cans. The driveway was likewise a mess, littered with two years worth of soggy newspapers which created a pulpy barricade that made it impossible for Percy to pull out of the garage with his red Cadillac Coupe DeVille. Not that it mattered much, for he hadn’t taken the Cadillac out since Juanita had died, preferring to order his food from take out joints, Swanson’s frozen delivery service, and Klinger’s grocery. Even his X585 4-Wheel-Drive John Deere lawn tractor with 25 hp, V-twin, liquid-cooled, 2-cylinder gasoline engine, which he now drove, once the envy of the neighborhood husbands, was rusty with disuse and burped up angry blue smoke as he drove it around the yard.

As Percy tilted his head back taking a long slug of Pabst Blue Ribbon he saw a clearing up ahead in the high grass.

“Damn,” Percy said, pushing down hard on the John Deer’s breaks and coming to a stop just inches from his open septic tank.

The previous spring a terrible stink consumed Percy’s property followed by a bubbling crude that wouldn’t make Percy rich but would have effectively ended any picnic set up down wind from it. When the neighborhood coalition had posted a complaint on his door ordering him to take care of his overflowing septic tank he called Burman’s Septic Service and had the septic tank sucked clean but having been stiffed by Percy seven years prior, over a disputed surcharge, Burman’s refused to place the cement lid back on the tank until he paid both his bills. Not one to back down, for Percy was a man of principal, even if his principals were influenced by alcohol and the fundamental belief that everyone owed him something, he rented a portable toilet from the parks and recreation center and did his business in that rather than stink up his septic tank and have to pay Burman’s Septic Service to put the lid back in place.

A year later Percy’s neighborhood, by order of city mandate, was hooked up to the city sewer system and Burman’s Septic Service effectively lost their leverage. Percy no longer required Burman’s services or the portable toilet he’d rented from the parks and recreation center. In Percy’s mind he’d outsmarted Burman’s Septic Service, even if the cost of renting his portable toilet had well exceeded what it would have cost to pay the original septic service bill.

So, when Percy happened upon the open septic tank in his front yard while mowing the grass it didn’t surprise him, what surprised him was the nine hundred pound gorilla at the bottom doing pushups.

The gorilla didn’t startle Percy, he’d been desensitized of surprise during the second world war, when he’d fought for the Army in the European Theater against Hitler’s aggression. In comparison to seeing your best friend’s head blown off my a mortar round, a gorilla in a septic tank was no big deal, at least that’s the way Percy saw it.

Without any sign of emotion he turned off the John Deere, drained the last of his Pabst Blue Ribbon and dismounted the green lawn tractor. More than anything he was annoyed to have to stop his mowing, the Phillies were playing the Pirates that evening and he’d planned to chill a twelve pack of Pabst and watch them on the satellite dish, which was also in disrepair, leaning like a wilted flower, and buried under a bevy of creeping ivy, but still mostly functional.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Percy said.

The gorilla gave Percy the finger.

It occurred to Percy that the gorilla trapped in his septic tank might be one of the educated gorillas he’d seen on the Discovery Channel, a gorilla that was taught sign language and had good table manners. For a moment he thought about inviting it into the house for dinner and he just might have if he were a little drunker.

“I can’t fiddle around with this monkey now,” Percy thought, “If I do I’ll miss the game.

“Oorrrrrrrrrrahhhhhhhhhh,” the gorilla shrieked.

“Sorry old fella, I have a date with a twelve pack of Pabst and nine sweaty guys in tight polyester uniforms.”

Without anymore thought on the matter Percy mounted his John Deere and drove it to the front door of his house. Inside he called Klinger’s Grocery and ordered four dozen bananas, six bags of trail mix, and a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. He wasn’t quite sure what gorillas ate but didn’t have time to research the matter since game time was drawing near.

That night Percy watched the Phillies lose eight to three while the gorilla ate his bananas and trail mix, disregarding the yogurt covered almonds, tossing them up and out of the septic tank. After the game Percy slept passed out on his La-Z-Boy while gorilla slept in a nest he made out of the grill cover and lawn trimmings Percy had thrown down to him.

The next morning Percy called over his neighbor George Stamm and the two stood at the edge of the septic tank drinking glasses of George’s hangover remedy, which he called the morning clam. It was a mixture of three cups Mott’s Clamato juice, one raw egg, a shot of Worcestershire sauce, three drops of Tabasco sauce, a dash of lemon juice, a pinch of pepper and salt and two shots of Absolut. That this “hangover remedy” was very similar to a Bloody Mary didn’t matter to Percy because coupled with six or so ibuprofen it always seemed to roll back the waves of nausea and stomp out the fire of any headache.

“What’s a nine hundred pound gorilla doing in your septic tank?” George asked.

“Anything he damn well wants,” Percy said, peering over the edge of the septic tank, being careful not to get too close to the edge for fear he might slip and end up in the gorilla’s grasp.

On the ground next to the open septic tank lay the Pabst Blue Ribbon can that Percy had been drinking out of when he discovered the gorilla. Seeing the empty can George picked it up, crushed it on his forehead and threw it at the gorilla hitting him on the nose. The gorilla smiled but the look in his eyes said, “Just wait.”

“I could get my deer rifle,” George said.

“No, we don’t want to shoot it. It might’ve escaped from a zoo,” Percy said.

“Escaped from a zoo? There’s not a zoo within in one hundred miles of this place. If you ask me-“

“I didn’t,” Percy said, taking a pack of Kool’s from the breast pocket of his red and blue flannel shirt and offering one to George. “But if I had I’d tell you that gorillas aren’t native to North America, and that the only way it could’ve gotten here was if it escaped from a zoo or maybe a laboratory.”

“Maybe,” George said, taking a cigarette and sticking it in his mouth. He claimed to only smoke when he drank and since he drank pretty much nonstop Percy thought it was ridiculous that he claimed to be a part time smoker.

“Well he was educated somewhere, he gave me the finger,” Percy said.

“I don’t think giving the finger is necessarily an indicator of higher learning, but I see what you’re getting at. You think someone taught him to give the finger.”

“I’m sure of it. That finger didn’t just pop up by accident. The movement was deliberate, crisp, and precise,” Percy said, inhaling deeply on his cigarette.

Both men stood a while longer watching the gorilla watching them drink beer.

That night, after a Swanson’s Hungry-Man Turkey dinner, a slice of Pepperidge Farms Frozen Walnut Layer cake, and four cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, Percy went up in the attic and found the cardboard box with the G World Book Encyclopedia in it and looked up Gorilla. Through his attic research Percy was able to identify the gorilla in his septic tank as a male mountain gorilla, or silverback by which they were commonly known because of the silver streak of hair they develop on their backs. He learned that that they enjoyed munching herbs, vines, leaves, roots, fruits, shrubs, bamboo shoots and occasionally a fist full or two of grubs. Reading further he discovered that they are nomadic, diurnal, and build nests of leaves in which they sleep in at night but what really caught Percy’s eye was the description of their size. Normal mountain gorillas didn’t usually weigh more than four hundred pounds at tops, and although he didn’t have a scale to weigh the beast on Percy was pretty sure the gorilla trapped in his septic tank was close to nine hundred pounds.

Wanting to further his gorilla education Percy found his way to the library the next day where the librarian issued him his own library card and taught him how to access the library’s vast store of microfiche. It was while reading about Koko, a lowland gorilla that was able to learn sign language, mastering over 2000 words, that Percy, suspecting his gorilla to be already somewhat educated, decided to try to teach him sign language. “After all,” Percy thought, “he has the rudiments of communication down,” which Percy found evident by the gorilla’s ability to flip him the bird.

The gorilla took to the sign language with surprising rapidity and the two communicated back and forth, discussing such things as the weather and whether green bananas were better than brown bananas, the gorilla chose the former, Percy the latter. Communicating with the gorilla via sign language was great fun for Percy but after a while the gorilla began to withdraw, only then communicating with the sign for loneliness. It soon dawned on Percy that a septic tank was no place for a gorilla, that a body that big, and a mind that developed, needed stimulation, new experiences, and new challenges. He might have released the silverback posthaste, if he was drunk enough, and if a tiny voice of reason, that of his beloved dead wife Juanita, hadn’t asked him if it was wise to unleash a 900 hundred pound gorilla in a residential area.

After considerable thought Percy decided that the best way to find out the gorilla’s intentions was to simply ask him and so through sign language he put the question to the silverback. The gorilla relayed to Percy that he wanted to be friends and then almost bashfully he crossed both hands over his heart, which in sign language means love. This was good enough for Percy who always took a man by his word, or in this case a gorilla and although he wasn’t quite sure about the implications of a gorilla’s love he was willing to take the chance that it was platonic.

At first Percy tried to pull the gorilla out of the septic tank by tying a bull rope on the back of his John Deere but he found that the lawn tractor lacked sufficient horsepower to pull the oversized primate from the septic tank. So, he borrowed George’s aluminum extension ladder and lowered it into the septic tank. Lickety-split the gorilla scaled the ladder, the aluminum rungs bending under his extreme weight like licorice whips.

When the gorillas feet touched the grass Percy half expected it to take off into the wooded area behind his house, but to his surprise the gorilla instead extended his hand. Cautiously, Percy took the gorillas hand and shook. The gorilla, overcome with gratitude, embraced him, crushing his reading glasses, which were in the breast pocket of his favorite Hawaiian shirt.

After some small talk, by means of sign language, Percy invited the gorilla into his home where they shared a dinner of bananas and trail mix. It was the beginning of what would become a beautiful friendship.

Percy named the gorilla Carlton, after his all time favorite Phillie’s southpaw Steve Carlton, and soon they became inseparable…not that they ever left the house or surrounding lot but still they enjoyed each other’s company.

At night they would watch Phillie’s games on the satellite dish and Percy would sit in Carlton’s lap drinking Pabst. Carlton was more comfortable than the love seat Percy and his wife Juanita used to watch the games on and besides he hadn’t been able to bring himself to use the love seat since she’d died, which still held the imprint of her sizeable rear end.

While the games were in progress Percy would drink Pabst and bitch at the umpires while Carlton groomed him, looking for bugs and other edible tidbits on the sides of Percy’s nearly bald head, which is the only place he still had tufts of kinky gray hair.

Being a giving person Percy tried to share his love of Pabst Blue Ribbon with Carlton but when he pushed a can of his favorite beer to the gorilla’s muscular lips he batted it away. This hurt Percy’s feelings and not until he’d read more about mountain gorillas in the World Book Encyclopedia did he learn that they don’t drink like a human might by sticking their head down to the source of water our by cupping their hand and spooning it into their mouth, but when they do drink which is rare for they get most of the liquids they need from the plants in their diet, they soak the fur on the back of their hands in a puddle or stream and suck the liquid out. To Percy this explained Carlton’s aversion to the cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. So, that night, instead of offering Carlton a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon Percy poured a good four ounces of the beer on the back of the gorilla’s furry hand and immediately and greedily Carlton sucked up every last drop of the intoxicating nectar.

From then on, while watching Phillie’s games Percy would pour beer on the back of Carlton’s hands and the two would get drunk watching their favorite baseball team. He also taught Carlton to crush Pabst Blue Ribbon cans between his massive pectoral muscles and to burp on command. All evolutionary differences considered, the two were as close as man and primate can be.

Percy still loved his dead wife Juanita but now thought of her less and less since he had his new companion Carlton. Life again took on meaning for Percy, the unruly feelings of loneliness and sadness disappeared. He started to take care of his home again, mowed the grass regularly, stripped and painted the shutters, fixed the cracks in the swimming pool and filled it, and cleaned up the small mountain of soggy newspapers that had collected in his driveway. And although he was retired and didn’t need the money he took a part time job at a Tyler’s Fruit Stand on Route 322.

Instead of receiving his paycheck in cash like the other employees Percy, per his request, was paid in fresh produce, all of which he gave to Carlton. Every day after work Carlton eagerly awaited Percy’s return, sitting on the front stoop, roaring and pounding his chest when he heard the bad muffler of Percy’s Coup De Ville approaching. How he loved fresh produce.

The neighborhood coalition, having caught wind of a mountain gorilla living in their neighborhood took a vote on whether a primate of such size should be allowed to reside amongst them. That the gorilla won the right to stay in a lopsided 8-1 vote didn’t surprise most on the coalition panel, it did however anger the Reverend HQ McDuffy, who saw the gorillas presence possibly driving down real estate prices, which would cut into his commissions. Those that stuck up for the gorilla thought he didn’t seem like the violent type, but none the less warned their children to stay clear of Carlton for he was in the habit of flipping off cars that drove by the house and parents knew this couldn’t be a good influence.

But the Reverend HQ McDuffy wasn’t the only one in the neighborhood that was bothered by the gorilla’s presence, George Stramm, didn’t want Carlton around either. That Percy seemed to have a new best friend didn’t sit well with his former best friend. The two no longer shared a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon on Saturday afternoons or drank while watching the Phillies, or chased away the previous night’s hangover while drinking morning clams and bullshitting on George’s deck. For the demise of their friendship George blamed Carlton and decided something had to be done to win back Percy’s friendship. He came up with a very devious plan.

One day while Percy was out working at Tyler’s Fruit Stand on Route 322, George came over to Percy’s house and found Carlton dusting Percy’s dead wife’s collection of over three hundred Hummels. That George didn’t particularly care for Carlton didn’t keep him from admiring the gorilla’s fine motor skills. The feather duster pinched between his huge index finger and thumb looked almost too small to be real.

“Hey there big guy,” George said, trying to imitate Percy’s deep and raspy voice.

Carlton didn’t turn away from dusting the Hummels but grunted in recognition.

“You like bananas don’t you big guy?”

Now George had Carlton’s attention, the word banana had gotten it. Carlton turned and their stood Percy, or rather what looked like Percy. Carlton was confused.

George was wearing a paper mask with Percy’s likeness on it, which he’d made by blowing up their championship bowling team photo on a wide format copier down at Kinkos. Something wasn’t quite right, Carlton could tell. He slowly turned his massive head, reaching out to touch the mask but George pulled away.

“Banana?” George said.

. That George’s voice was coming from what looked like Percy’s face was secondary to the fact that Carlton might soon be munching on his favorite food, so he ignored the incongruity.

“If you follow me,” George said beckoning Carlton outside, “I’ll show you the bananas.”

In all likelihood Carlton probably only understood one word that George had uttered, that being the word banana, the name of his favorite food, but this was more than enough impetus to capture the heavily muscled primate’s interest and so he followed George as he lead him out to the septic tank

“The bananas are down there,” George said, beckoning Carlton a little closer to the open septic tank.

“Oorrrahhhhh,” Carlton replied, edging closer.

When Carlton was teetering on the edge, looking into the dark septic tank for the bananas that were promised him, George pulled a syringe full of Acetyl Promazine from his camouflage hunting vest. His wife was a veterinarian’s assistant, and had swiped a vile of the animal tranquilizer for him when he said he was going to take care of the pit bull that kept stealing their morning newspaper. She knew nothing about George’s plan for Carlton.

“The bananas are right there,” George said, pointing.

Carlton was breathing hard, the air coming out of his quarter sized nose holes sounded to George like the gas powered generator he took on camping trips.

Very quickly George plunged the syringe at Carlton’s arm just as the massive beast made a sudden and unexpected turn, the needle stuck right in the center of Carlton’s nipple.

“Bullseye,” George cried, as he drained the large gauge needle into Carlton’s pectoral muscle.

For a moment the silverback, didn’t realize he’d been stuck by the needle but as George persisted in pushing the liquid into his nipple, a sharp pain radiated from through his chest and up his neck.

“Oooh, Oooh, rahhhhhhhhhhh,” Carlton cried.

Now greatly angered, for it doesn’t take much to piss off a nine hundred pound gorilla, Carlton seized George by the neck and might have snapped it like a dry spaghetti noodle if the Acetyl Promazine hadn’t taken affect at that very moment. The gorilla’s entire body suddenly went limp, he slumped over onto the ground, and with just the slightest kick from George he went tumbling into the septic tank.

It was George’s plan to inject Carlton with enough of the tranquilizer to kill him and seeing the massive beast lying at the bottom of the septic tank with his eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth gaping open, he was sure he’d done the job. Hastily he kicked lawn trimmings into the septic tank until Carlton was covered and then sneaked back to his house.

That night, when Percy returned from the fruit stand, he was beside himself with grief to find Carlton gone. He searched everywhere, even looking in the septic tank, but he didn’t see the 900 pound silverback because he was lying unconscious at the bottom, covered in a thick blanket of lawn trimmings. Dejected, Percy took three of his dead wife’s valium, and went to bed.

For weeks there had been a drought in Central Pennsylvania and there wasn’t enough moisture in a square foot of Percy’s lawn to put a match out but that night the rains returned, overflowing birdbaths, sating gullies with debris, flooding drainpipes, and swamping dry lawns. When the rain finally subsided a bit, around three Am, Percy awoke to the frenzied hoots and chest beating of Carlton, which echoed hauntingly from within the septic tank.

“Carlton,” Percy cried rising from bed, “I’m coming.”

During the night the septic tank had begun to fill with water and had awoken the gorilla, who hadn’t been killed after all.

Following the increasing frenzied hoots Percy found Carlton in the septic tank splashing madly in the water which was rising quickly. Percy hurriedly retrieved George’s aluminum ladder from the garage and placed it in the septic tank so his gorilla friend could climb to safety.

“How did you get down there buddy?” Percy asked in sign language. He remembered reading that gorillas couldn’t swim and avoided water, even shallow streams at all costs. He knew his friend must be scared beyond belief.

Scaling the ladder four rungs at a time Carlton raced up and out of the septic tank. He stood menacingly over Percy…Percy coward…snot flew out of Carlton’s flaring nostrils…Percy shook…hot gusts of sour breath hissed from between Carlton’s clenched teeth…Percy whimpered…”Oohrahhhhhhh,” Carlton screamed…”Holy fuck,” Percy said.

The panic and fear—the adrenaline rush—the grogginess from the tranquilizer—confusion—the anger—more adrenaline—the humiliation—more anger—more adrenaline—more anger—these emotions swirling up into a volatile cocktail mixing with an overpowering charge of testosterone. “Was that Percy that pushed me into the well?” the silverback might have wondered, but of course this is only speculation, for although the silverback might be conscious, a primitive thinker, not acting purely on instinct, its thoughts certainly couldn’t be as pure as man’s…or could they? At any rate it didn’t matter for emotion was the mad dictator that would rule this day, not reason.

With a slash of his mighty forearm Carlton toppled Percy knocking him into the septic tank, where he landed with a splash, cracking his head on the cement wall and then sinking below the surface. Still angry beyond reason, Carlton picked up the cement top of the septic tank and dropped it into place, effectively sealing it, and then he ran off into the rainy night.

In his home George waited throughout the night for Percy to come and tell him that Carlton was gone and that he needed him to help hunt for his lost gorilla (this of course was all part of his plan). George figured that they’d hunt for the gorilla together, share a few beers, and when Carlton couldn’t be found things would eventually go back to the way they’d been, that once again he and Percy would share cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon late into the night, but Percy never came. By the next morning George realized something must have gone wrong with his plan and was putting on his goulashes, for the rains had once again begun to fall, when he suffered a major heart attack. George died on the way to the hospital but not before, while taking in his last breath, raising his arm and give the paramedic the middle finger.

George was laid to rest in Holy Oak Cemetery, which due to a strike of city workers, just after his funeral, wasn’t maintained and the grass above his grave grew to astounding lengths. The grass around Percy’s house and over the septic tank also grew to astounding lengths for no one was there to care for it either. The neighborhood coalition posted a notice on Percy’s door, warning him that action would be taken if he didn’t mow his grass, but of course no one responded and as time passed more and more notices were put on the door, until it was completely covered. Once the door was covered, overgrown with notices, approximately a year later, the Reverend HQ McDuff was caught in a religious money laundering scheme and the coalition disbanded for good and no one placed anymore notices on Percy’s front door.

It was later rumored that Percy had taken Carlton to Florida, and then soon after the rumor had circulated people in the neighborhood stopped wondering what had happened to the elderly widower and his pet gorilla. .

The newspaper boy continued to deliver the newspaper, Percy had won a lifetime subscription at the fireman’s carnival, and since Percy wasn’t around to collect them the papers continued to pile up in the driveway until the whole left side of the house was buried.

Eventually Percy’s home was taken over by crack addicts and a few years after that the city condemned it and slated it for demolition. While the crew was bulldozing the house down one of the front end loaders drove over the septic tank and cement lid cracked away. No one thought much of it until the next day.

“Hey boss come over here quick,” said a frantic workman nicknamed Curly. He was standing at the edge of the septic tank peering down in.

“Would you look at that. I wonder what he’s doing in there,” the foreman, Al Myers said approaching the septic tank.

“Anything he damn well wants to,” Curly said..

“Well, someone’s got to get him out of there,” Al said, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his Levis.

At the bottom of the septic tank, doing push ups over top of a human skeleton was a 900 pound gorilla.

“Here monkey, monkey, monkey,” Curly called out.

The gorilla calmly lifted his massive arm skyward and up popped his middle finger.

“That gorilla just flipped me off,” Curly said.

“That looks like an educated gorilla to me,” Al said. For a while Curly and AL stood watching the gorilla watch them and then Al looked at his Casio wrist watch. “Well, we’ve got to quit monkeying around,” ha ha “this lot needs to be cleared by tomorrow. I’ll call the Humane Society after we’re finished here.”

Curly finished off his can of Mountain Dew, crushed it between his palms and threw it at the gorilla. It hit him in the forehead. The gorilla didn’t move a muscle but smiled and gave Curly a look that said, “Just wait.” Curly hurried back to work.

That two gorillas would fall in the same septic tank in central Pennsylvania is unlikely, that the second gorilla would flip people off is even more unlikely, but what was really weird was that the gorilla was wearing a Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap and holding a 16 oz. can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Yeah, sure stranger things have happened but not many of them in the same neighborhood and even fewer in the same septic tank. And if there was to be a moral to this tale it would probably be that a wise man always pays his bills, because really none of this might have happened if George would’ve paid to have the lid to his septic tank put back in place.