The barber’s monkey sharpened his claws steeled his will and looked up at his Lord and Master. The man sharpened his silver blade, dipped his hand in the soap and began to shave.
And the monkey tipped back his head, exposing the tender whiskers on his monkey skin
and bade the master, Lord make me look just like him.
The human beast took the bread straight from the tree, he looked at his Lord and master and said. You look something like me.
Man begged his master for a companion, a sweet meat, a treat from the Garden, and his master made him sleep, and presented him
The woman saw they were made in the image of their master and she desired…more..
She ate the fruit of the tree and said
Master, we are just like you
And so sin began
The barber’s monkey contemplated his predicament, and his semi shorn face. The barber was gentle and kind;
He fed him
He loved him
He let him sit at his table. But he was not like his master, even with his new Chinese suit and smooth monkey skin. Master, he signed, though he was Monkey and could cry not. I am NOT like him!
The man adjusted his photo of Charles Darwin on the mantlepiece and said, “dont cry son, let me finish the other side.”
And the Monkey looked to the God of Monkey’s and all small things and God gave him tears to cry.
The Barber’s monkey was closer to God in that second than his master was.
And God became Angry.
Because God, you know, doesn’t like his creation to suffer.
And God looked to Eve
The daughters of Eve were adorning their hair
Shaving their monkeys
Dressing their dogs up as Angels for Satan’s holiday
And putting on the airs and graces of the graceless Jezabel
There were good women trying to be bad and bad girls trying to be good, and few of them had enough clothes on
Jus’ tryin’ to get back to the garden, they reasoned. But the snake he laughed and turned them over to sin and suffering.
“Adam,” said God, “don’t you start sniggering. You are not better. Man, you had better start digging if’n you want to be eatin’.
The Barber’s monkey looked in the mirror, looked at his Lord and master and back to the mirror
Your master lied, he wanted to tell the Barber, as Charles Darwin smiled down upon him. But instead he picked at the gravel in the wall, admired the terracotta pots and hugs of oil and looked to the heavens. The barber gave the monkey a splash of burning aftershave and carefully shaved smooth the hairs round the monkey’s nose and lips. The monkey flinched as the innervated hairs were cut. “Hey, I need these my good Man,” he said.
“Im sorry,” God replied
This man is a fool. Not enough Bible. Too much school
And the monkey, being a good servant, wanted to bite his master, but knowing which hand fed him, bit him not. This was a very clever monkey.
Cleverer than a lot of hair cutters, dog groomers and nail painters, cleverer than a lot of scientists, artists and Priests of the Roman Catholic Church, who secretly sinfully pet pictures of Darwin and dent the resurrection on Christ, but that’s another song.
God sat in the Garden. His errant children so learned they were given over to monkey barbering and magickal realism, and he sighed.
“I tried to tell ’em”
An Angel flew over, bowed down on one knee.
God, said the Angel…can I go get that monkey? He’s so cute in his sailors hat and Chinese suit.
And God sighed so loud that the whole world shook in fear and terror
Nevermind, said the Angel….
and went off to find a Jew’s harp and a safety pin…I heard some folk singers know where’s it’s at, Adonai..Ill go get my hat.
So this is how it was that the Monkey got to see the face of God. Shaved, barbered, soaped and distraught, full of the knowledge of things monkeys don’t need to be taught by barbers.
The Barber died in an earthquake. Biggest one there ever was
It shook the trees right out of their roots and the sea out of it’s bed. Shook his soul right out of his body, so they said.
Shook him until he was dead, alongside his Monkey. The monkey received relief from his suffering. The barber did not.
Charles Darwin’s photo sat on the mantlepiece, upside down as a page from a Bible fluttered in through a window, picked up by a whirlwind.
Do not tempt the Lord, your God, it read
A troop of Macaques marched in, took the body of the faithful monkey and his Barber friend. Carried them out to the Jungle.
The Barber was covered with leaves and stones and pecked by vultures….left amongst his own.
And there was no rejoicing in Heaven for Barbers that day.
Nor did the Monkey start to pray.
But the Angel made his way to NYC, bought himself a guitar and a pick and began to play…