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i've always wondered
why my mom hated monkeys. my brother's stuffed monkey never got washed
like the other stuffed animals or the cloth dolls did. the dolls
& animals would be bobbing around in the soapy grey-brown waves in
that old white washing machine. the kind with the wringer & the
red emergency release turn-lever on top. they would wash for 20 minutes,
then she would pull out the thin red knob on the side & the churning
action of the washer would stop & the wringer would start turning.
one by one, the toys would go through the wringer. soggy wet, plump,
and heavy with water they would go into the wringer. water would
squish out, hissing, whoosh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h! she would hand them
to me when they were devoid of water. they would be a little flat
& damp, but they would be clean! a little bang & thump before
they were hung up in the sunshine & they would be back to their old
forms. sometimes button eyes would shatter in the wringer.
SNAP! & pieces of plastic would fly in all directions.
needless to say, none of our stuffed animals had their original eyes.
i remember replacing the eyes on a stuffed dog with buttons taken from
a military uniform. the dog's eyes had silver wheat sheaves &
arrows clutched in an eagle's talons for pupils. once, i brought
the grimy brown monkey, dug from under the bed, to the washing machine
after the wash had started. "how 'bout this one mommy?" i remember
asking. she didn't say anything at first, then she said, "it's too
late, the wash is already almost done." something in her voice &
the way she looked at that stuffed monkey made me not want to ask her again.
when I was six & in first grade
at school, i brought home some library books. one of the books just
happened to be curious george. i showed my mom the books & we
started reading them. when we got to the curious george book, she
suddenly needed to clean the rabbit hutches. she never had time to
read that curious george book with me. there was always dinner to
cook, chickens to feed, dogs & cats to feed. i turned that book
back into the library & never brought home another curious george book
again. sure i would read them, but i just never brought them home.
when i was eight i went to albuquerque
with my cousins. my cousins wanted to take me to the zoo. we
went to the rio grande zoo & saw the tiger, the giraffe, rode the camel,
and we saw the monkeys. my crazy older cousin threw a peanut at the
gorilla, even though the sign said, "DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS". the
gorilla picked up the peanut & threw it back, hitting my cousin on
the forehead! when i got home, i told my mom & dad about my adventure.
my dad laughed & laughed about the gorilla incident. my mom kinda
shuddered & said, "i don't like monkeys. monkeys are dirty."
then she told me a story about the trader at the trading post where she
grew up that used to have a monkey in the store. & how that monkey
used to swing from the beams & rafters. & while it was swinging,
probably imagining that it was in the lush green canopy of a jungle &
not on the rez surrounded by juniper & sage brush, it would urinate.
she told me that there would be monkey pee all over the canned goods &
other food stuffs, and this is why she didn't like monkeys.
in high school we were studying
darwin's theories. my parents always liked to hear about stuff that
i learned in school. so while we were cruising to cortez one day,
in the old dark green GMC, i started telling her what i learned about the
origin of species. after i was all done. it was quiet.
usually she would have questions or make some comments. this time
there was just heavy silence. i started wondering if this was the
monkey thing again. since the story included monkeys, maybe she didn't
really like it. then she started talking, but not about monkeys.
she told me about when she first went to school. she was sent to
a boarding school in Nevada, & the school officials told her that if
she ran away, she would be eaten by the mountain lions that lived around
the school. she told me how they burned all her clothes & cut
off all her hair because they thought she might have lice. they took
away the mocassins that her nalii hastiin had made for her & gave her
stiff black lace up boots. she told me about having to clean &
clean & clean because she accidentally said something in navajo.
then she told me about learning about darwin & his ideas in one of
her classes. & the teacher told them that according to darwin's
theories, indians were lower in the evolutionary chain than white people.
the teacher told these indian children, homesick children, that they had
just evolved from monkeys. the teacher told them that they must give
up their language & culture & take on the white culture so they
could evolve.
now i know why my mom doesn't like
monkeys.
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