BRONZE MONKEY GODDESS

by

Martin K. Bayne

"Tamam," her mother knocked lightly on her daughter's bedroom door, "the concert begins in five hours. We must begin dressing. I'm leaving some manaquish bil-za'atar and yogurt outside your door."

But Tamam Halakla stood in front of the mirror and unbuttoned the thin, cotton camisole she always wore under her shirt. She was not in the mood for the warm flat bread and yogurt. "The afternoon sun is a bronze monkey goddess," she sang quietly. She knew the danger of the monkey, of calling the Indian playwright back from the grave--even for a moment. She knew her mind should be one with the Koran. Every molecule of her body and mind should be contiguous with the Holy Word of Allah. There should be no room for monkeys today.

And yet...

She blushed with arousal at the sight of her nipples. At seventeen, her body was smooth and nut-colored, her breasts glistened with the sweat of the monkey.

"Tamam, you should be in the bath by now," she heard her mother say.

She gazed out her bedroom window at the streets of Bethlehem below her, suddenly feeling ambivalent about her parents. She feared the ping-pong game of death and brutality would soak the ground with blood for centuries to come. And perhaps heaven would be the only place left for lovers to make love.

But tonight's concert was designed to lift her spirits and sooth her soul--at least that was her mother’s message. An arrangement had been made for her to meet a number of influential military officers. Initially, she was repulsed and frightened by the idea of what she was required to do. She had known this moment was virtually inevitable, but the thought of making this transition at such a young age made her bitter.

"Yes, it will be difficult at first," her parents said, "but see it through and it will bring you great happiness."

Over time, she accepted the idea. She began to understand the ways of the world, the Middle Eastern traditions and rituals. She realized that being a woman always called for personal sacrifice. One cannot always have the perfect life. She now accepted this.

As the concert drew closer she became fascinated with the idea of meeting the different officers. She fantasized about them often, and let the anonymous faces swathed in darkness, reach down to her in sleep. Each time the dream was the same: they were making love in heaven. Tamam could not think of a more beautiful place to be than heaven.

She bathed slowly, turning her hips seductively in the warm, perfumed water. She could hear the drone of the sewing machine in her mother’s room, as the dress alterations were completed.

She allowed her mother to pin her hair up off her shoulders, and help her dress. They looked through misted eyes at each other.

"Oh, Tamam, you look lovely. Come let us have a look at you." Her father stood in the doorway, nodding approvingly. The three stood together in silence.

"No," Tamam said, "you promised, no fussing over me. Come on, I'm a big girl."

The concert, held in a public park near a large military base, was a rousing success. Tamam felt splendid in her silk with the music spinning in her head.

During intermission, one of the group, a three-star general caught her eye. She brazenly stared back at him until he approached her. It was crowded, but she liked it that way.

"You're quite beautiful," he said, shouting over the crowd, "what's your name?"

"Tamam. Shall we make heavenly love together?"

"Well, I must say, you don't waste any time, do you? Are you in the chorus?"

She saw the brilliance of the bronze monkey goddess begin to rise above the crowd, six aisles away, where she had left her bag. People and color and form melded in the panic.

As the fireball approached, she smelled the stench of fear and heard the screams. The heat seemed to consume the very air, and all around there was nothing but flame. The General’s wide eyes, filled with terror, were locked onto her smiling face.

"No, not the chorus," she said, as the first golden flame licked her flesh, "I'm the martyr."

§ § §

Martin Bayne, neither self-described apprentice or journeyman, will tell you he simply likes to write. "No, not writer, muse or author," he will repeat, "just like writin'."

"Eclectic," he offers when asked about his 'background.' But he takes his silver shovel and digs through layers of past to uncover a Zen Buddhist priest, molecular biologist, corporate CEO, and eldercare advocate.

Bronze Monkey Goddess is his first piece of published fiction, to which Bayne adds, "you don't say?" Martin can be reached via email at:mkbayne@alum.mit.edu.

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