I used to think blue was a pretty nice color. Eleven days out from Caruso’s island, where I had my previous adventure which I’m sure you’ve all read a few dozen times by now and maybe memorized as well, I decided that blue was the most boring color in the universe and points west. And of all the blues there were, the blue of the Pacific Ocean was the boringest.

I’d left the island atop a wooden door, which at least didn’t take in no water, since it didn’t have no sides to it. It didn’t take in no sharks neither, but not for lack of trying. There was one big one that I named Basil, who must have been tired of swimming, because he kept trying to hop onto the door, and didn’t seem to pay me no never-mind when I kept hitting him across the nose with my paddle. Finally he just kind of fell into step or whatever legless killer fish fall into and paced the door for a couple of days.

Eventually I spotted an island that had a bunch of canoes on the beach, so I headed toward shore, and Basil came in right alongside of me, and I could see a bunch of men staring at me, and when I got to within ten yards of shore they all cleared out, yelling and screaming, which I figured meant they hadn’t been staring at me after all, but were staring at Basil.

The door hit the beach, and I got up and walked straight ahead until I was standing firmly on the sand. Basil wriggled onto the door, guv me a grateful look–well, as grateful as a shark with an IQ in single digits can muster–and didn’t even try to bite my leg off when I walked over, put my foot on the edge of the door, and shoved it out to sea. Last I saw of Basil, he was sunning himself and looking like he was no more interested in hopping into the water than I was.

I was going to ask one of the natives if I could borrow a canoe, but none of ‘em would come near me, so I finally I just hollered out a thanks which sent most of ‘em scurrying inland, pushed a canoe off the beach and into the water, jumped in, and began paddling for all I was worth, just in case they changed their minds.

No one threw any spears nor shot any arrows at me, and finally I slowed my pace and just started drifting. After a week I was getting mighty sick of blue again, and I actually found myself missing Basil, who wasn’t much of a conversationalist but was a mighty good listener. Now and then some fish what wasn’t sharks would get a little too close, and I’d grab ‘em and toss ‘em into the far end of the canoe until they’d breathed their last. It didn’t take me long to decide that all this talk I’d heard in Japan about sushi was either malarky, or the reason the Japanese were such little folks, because take it from me, when you’ve et raw fish for two weeks running, even fried grasshoppers start looking mighty good to you.

Then one day I saw a patch of fog off in the distance, which wasn’t unusual, since the Pacific is loaded with fog. But this here patch didn’t move, and if there’s one thing the Pacific’s good at, it’s hurling fog and fishes and boats all the hell over, so I headed toward it just to see what made it different, and when I got there a few hours later what I found was a great big island hiding out in the middle of the fog. It had a mountain or two, and some rivers, and a ton of trees and bushes and other green stuff, and I figgered that maybe I wouldn’t have to settle for grasshoppers and sand crabs, that maybe I might actually find some meat on the island. I didn’t see no canoes nor any other boats, but that wasn’t surprising. I mean, hell, if you grew up on an island surrounded by fog, you’d probably think you were on the only land mass in the world.

I went ashore and pulled the canoe onto the sand, then dragged it over to some bushes and hid it under the branches. For a minute I thought I heard a river roaring, but it stopped right away and I figgered I was mistook, because rivers hardly ever roar just once on a whim and then shut up.

I decided to go inland and see what there was to see, which would hopefully include a bunch of four-legged critters with a death wish, since I didn’t figure to kill too much meat for the pot armed only with a canoe paddle. The further I walked the thicker the vegetation got, and then I thought I saw something moving in the distance, and I started walking toward it, and suddenly I wasn’t walking toward nothing so much as falling through space. I wondered if I’d discovered some tunnel that would take me all the way back to Moline, Illinois, which was where I grew up, or maybe smack dab in the middle of the Follies Bergere in Paris, but I only fell about thirty feet and landed with a thud.

I checked my arms and legs one by one and found they were all still working, and I was just about to open my eyes and try to figure out what the hell had happened when I heard a familiar voice saying, “Goddammit, Lucifer, what the hell are you doing in my trap?”

I looked up, and standing there at the edge of this great big hole in the ground, wearing his familiar khaki shorts and shirt and his monogrammed pith helmet, was Capturin’ Clyde Calhoun.

“Just what are you planning to trap?” I groaned. “A skyscraper with legs?”

“That’s closer than you think,” he said. “Here!” He tossed one end of a rope down to me. “Grab ahold of it, or maybe tie it around your waist, and we’ll pull you up.”

I latched onto it, and a minute later I started ascending, and in another half minute I was standing on solid ground again.

“Okay, boys,” said Clyde to four natives who were with him and had done all the pulling. “Cover the top of the damned thing again.”

They fell to work, and Clyde turned to me. “What in blazes are you doing here in the middle of the Pacific, Lucifer?” he said. “Last time I saw you we was dealing with the Jaguar Men in the Motto Grasso end of Brazil.”

I told him about my adventures in Uruguay and Bolivia and Colombia and Peru and Chile, adding only a few poetic flourishes, and when I was done he just sighed deeply.

“So you got thrown off another continent,” he said.

“I chose to leave of my own free will,” I answered with all the dignity I could muster.

“What was the alternative?” said Clyde.

“Death by slow torture.”

“Sounds about right,” he allowed.

“Anyway, what are you doing here, Clyde?”

“Same as always,” he replied. “Bringing ‘em back.”

“Bringing ‘em back alive,” I said, completing his slogan for him.

“Well, them few what survive certainly gets brung back alive,” he agreed.

“What are you after that requires a thirty-foot-deep hole in the ground?” I asked.

“Kong,” he said.

“You want to repeat that?” I said.

“Kong.”

“I must have busted an eardrum when I fell,” I said. “It sounds for all the world like you keep saying kong.”

“That’s what I am saying.”

“I don’t want to seem overly critical, Clyde,” I said, “but I’ve been all the hell over five continents and a handful of islands, and I ain’t never run into a critter called a kong, and certainly not one that needs a hole in the ground the likes of this here one to hold it.”

“Kong ain’t a definition,” said Clyde. “It’s a name. Though I suppose it’s a definition, too, since as far as I can tell there’s only one of it.”

“So what is a Kong?” I asked.

“Kind of a monkey.” He spread his arms straight out. “A mighty big monkey.”

“Big enough to fill that hole you dug?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said.

“Told?” I repeated.

“Truth to tell, I been on this island for two weeks now, give or take a day, and I ain’t seen hide nor hair of it.”

“That’s an awful lot of hide and hair not to see,” I said. “Are you sure this here monkey really exists?”

“Absolutely,” said Clyde. “There’s a native village down the road a spell–or it would be, if there were any roads on this godforsaken island–and they’ve got walls thirty feet high to protect them from Kong. That’s why I made the pit thirty feet deep.”

“What does something that big eat?” I asked.

“I’m inclined to say: anything he wants,” answered Clyde. “But since he’s a monkey, he’s probably addicted to bananas.” He paused and frowned. “Once I capture him, I’ll probably need two ships to get him back to the states–one for him, and one for the bananas.”

“Maybe you should try baiting your pit with bananas,” I suggested.

Clyde shook his head. “There’s bananas all over the island,” he said. “We’re going to bait him with something he can’t get nowhere else.”

“What might that be?” I asked.

“Come on back to camp with me and I’ll show you,” he said, heading off into the bush. I fell into step behind him, and it wasn’t too long before we came to a clearing with a couple of tents and the remains of a big log fire.

“What do you think?” he said proudly. “All the comforts of home.”

Truth to tell, it was missing a couple of major comforts, like running water and electricity, but on the other hand it didn’t have no landlord demanding the overdue rent, so I figgered he was ahead on points.

“So what are you baiting this Kong with?” I asked, looking around.

“I ain’t actually seen the ceremony, but word has it that Kong is attracted to helpless naked islanders what gets strung up atop that thirty-foot wall,” said Clyde. “The village doubtless got its own bait, but I figured we can make our bait even more attractive to him by supplying it with a monkey mask.”

“Ain’t you gonna have to build a thirty-foot wall to stick it on?” I asked.

“I rented a stretch of their wall,” explained Clyde. “Okay, now you know the plan. Let me go get the bait.”

He walked over to the farther tent, stuck his nose up against the flap, and said, “Come on out, honey, and bring the mask with you.”

A minute later a beautiful lady emerged from the tent, stark naked except for a g-string and the gorilla mask she was wearing.

I took one look at her and said, “Hi, Rosepetal. I ain’t seen you since Cairo maybe a dozen years ago.”

“You know her?” said Clyde, surprised.

“Sure,” I said. “It’s Rosepetal Schultz.”

“How could you tell?” he persisted.

“I never forget a face,” I answered.

“Hello, Lucifer,” she said, removing the mask. “What are you doing in the Pacific?”

“Same as always,” I said.

“You’ve got that many armies after you?” she said.

“I meant that I’m bringing the Word of the Lord to all these illiterate heathen,” I told her. “Sounds like I’m just in time to give you a final blessing or two before you’re sacrificed to this here monkey.”

“Bless me some other time,” she said.

“You could die tonight at Kong’s hands or from some hideous tropical disease,” I pointed out. “You need a blessing now.”

She looked me right in the eye and said, “I’ve got a headache.” I was about to explain how you could overcome headaches, and especially that kind of headache, with will power, but her expression said that she was better equipped with won’t power. “Besides,” she added, “I’m not being sacrificed. I’m just attracting Kong until he falls into the pit or gets within range of Clyde’s rifle.”

“How did you hook up with Clyde?” I asked. “Last I saw of you, you and Friday were man and almost-wife and living happily ever after.”

“That was before he sent for his four other wives,” she said bitterly. “I went back to the States, one thing led to another, and finally I met Clyde, who was kind enough to pay my bail.”

“So what’s the plan?” I said.

“I figger we’ll tie Rosepetal up atop the wall,” said Clyde, “and Kong won’t be able to keep away from a luscious morsel like her, so he’ll amble on over, and I’ll graze his skull with a couple of shots from Old Betsy here”–he held up his .550 Nitro Express–“and one way or another we’ll bring him back to civilization.”

“One way or another?” I repeated.

“Depends how thick a skull he’s got,” said Clyde.

“What if it’s so thick you can’t even knock him out?” I asked.

Clyde frowned. “Lucifer, don’t ask awkward hypotheticals like that in front of the bait here,” he said, nodding toward Rosepetal.

I could see his point, so I asked him what he’d been doing since we’d parted ways in the Motto Grasso.

“I took a quick trip to Africa, where I collected the most endangered antelope species in the world–the okapi.”

“I didn’t even know they were endangered,” I said.

“Well, they weren’t until I got there,” he said with more than a touch of pride. “Then I started hearing stories about Kong, so I talked the Bronx Zoo into commissioning his capture.”

“So you’re working for a zoo?” I said.

“For the moment,” answered Clyde.

“I don’t quite follow you,” I said.

“I got every confidence in my abilities–I’m Capturin’ Clyde, after all–but just in case this here oversized monkey don’t cotton to being captured, I also got a standing order for him, stuffed and mounted, from the Smithsonian.”

“Sounds like you got all the bases covered,” I said.

“He’s got everything covered but me,” complained Rosepetal. “I don’t know why I have to be 98 percent naked.”

“I ain’t never seen a naked woman that couldn’t attract everything alive and breathing for miles around,” responded Clyde.

“Right now all I’m attracting are some bugs,” she said, slapping at them.

“You see?” said Clyde. “And you’ll do the same to Kong.”

“He’s a monkey!” she said. “He won’t care if I’m wearing a blouse and some shorts.”

“The headman of the village tells me all his sacrifices are strung up naked,” said Clyde. “I ain’t one to break a run of luck.”

“For who?” she demanded. “The bait or the monkey?”

“Come on now, Rosepetal,” said Clyde. “We been through all this before. I’ll be right there hidden behind some bushes, sharing the danger with you.”

“Dressed or naked?” she asked.

“Leave us not be ridiculous,” said Clyde with dignity. “Anyway, once he’s captured and shipped back to the States, you’ll be famous as the woman what captured his savage heart.”

“That isn’t the kind of fame I’ve always envisioned for myself,” said Rosepetal.

Clyde frowned. “Why are women so fussy? Fame is fame. And if I have to put him out of his misery as he’s trying to carry you off into the jungle, we’ll be able to say that it was beauty that killed the beast.”

“Stupidest line I ever heard!” snapped Rosepetal.

“What do you think, Lucifer?” he asked.

“Maybe you should call your gun Beauty,” I suggested.

“How can such a small, out-of-the-way, fog-enshrouded island be populated by so many ingrates?” he muttered.

“To say nothing of unpaid ones,” said Rosepetal.

“I guv you a contract,” said Clyde irritably. “Everyone knows Capturin’ Clyde is a man of his word.”

“What if Kong shows up tonight and kills me before you get a chance to pay me?”

“Then I’ll take the money I would have paid you and buy you a funeral for the very same amount, minus shipping and handling costs,” said Clyde. “It’ll be one hell of a sendoff.”

“What good will that do me?” demanded Rosepetal.

“Well, when you get right down to it, what good will that money do you if I pay you now and Kong eats you tonight?”

“I thought he was a vegetarian,” said Rosepetal.

“Leave his religion out of it,” said Clyde.

She glared at him for a minute. “Friday’s looking better and better, four wives or not,” she said, and went back into her tent.

“She was such a friendly thing when I met her,” said Clyde. “If I live to be twenty-five, I ain’t ever gonna understand women.”

“Clyde,” I said, “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but you’ve damned near lapped twenty-five.”

“The hunting life keeps me young and vigorous,” he said. “And matching wits with fierce beasts of prey keep the brain sharp.”

“You really think so?” I asked.

“Absogoddamlutely,” he said with conviction. “You don’t see me being dumb enough to act as bait for a monkey that may or may not eat people and is only a couple of inches shorter than the Eiffel Tower.”

“I just wish there was some other way to do this,” I said, “something that didn’t endanger Rosepetal.”

“You ever see a woman as good-looking at Rosepetal?” he said.

I thunk back over my varied experiences around the globe with such world-class females as the Scorpion Lady and a few assorted high priestesses and white goddesses, and had to admit that I’d seen women every bit as beautiful as Rosepetal.

“You ever see anything remotely as awesome as Kong?” he asked.

“No, I suppose not,” I said.

“Well, there you have it,” said Clyde in conclusion. “Now let’s get some grub.”

“Suits me fine,” I said, “just so long as it didn’t begin life covered with scales and has at least a nodding acquaintance with a frying pan.”

Just then a couple of natives wearing naught but loincloths broke into the clearing and raced up to Clyde.

“He comes! He comes!” shouted one of them.

“Finally!” said Clyde excitedly. “How soon?”

The second native looked at his wristwatch. “It will take him twenty minutes to get down the rest of the mountain.”

“We’ll be there in ten,” said Clyde.

He tossed ‘em each a quarter, and they then retreated back into the bush.

“Did I see right?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Clyde. “What do you think you saw?”

“An illiterate native wearing a Rolex,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Clyde. “It’s all that’s left of the last group that tried to capture Kong.” He turned to the tent. “Hey, Rosepetal–shake a leg! We’re off to meet Kong.”

Rosepetal came out of the tent and stood there, hands on hips. “You paid them,” she said accusingly.

“So I did,” he said with a sigh. “When you’re right, you’re right.” He pulled a dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to her. “A down payment.”

She took it, and suddenly looked annoyed. “All I’m wearing is a g-string,” she said irritably. “Where do you think I can put it?”

He took the bill back. “I’ll hold it for you until we see if you survive the evening. Now grab your mask and let’s go.”

A minute later we were tromping through the bush, and five minutes after that we came to this big wooden fence that was maybe thirty feet high and built in a square that was maybe a hundred feet on a side.

“Open up!” yelled Clyde. “It’s me!”

“Advance and be recognized, Me,” said a heavily-accented voice.

“Goddamn it, I’m Capturin’ Clyde, and you got ten seconds to open the gate or you can stick your own woman up there for Kong to eat or do whatever crimes against God and Nature he does to them!”

“I will not be rushed,” said the voice. “Make it twelve seconds.”

“Ten!” yelled Clyde.

“Split the difference–eleven.”

“We been arguing for more than thirty seconds!” yelled Clyde. “Now let me the hell in!”

Finally a small door in the wall opened, and the three of us passed into the village. A middle-aged native with a pot belly and a crown studded with sea shells was standing there waiting for us.

“Everything ready?” asked Clyde.

“Yes,” said the man.

“Say hello to Lucifer and Rosepetal,” said Clyde. “This here feller with the crown is Chief Mpuji.”

“It is nice to meet you, Lucifer,” said Mpuji. He turned to Rosepetal and solemnly offered her his hand. “It was nice knowing you, Rosepetal.”

“Let’s go,” said Clyde, starting to climb some wooden stairs leading to the top of the wall. “Time’s a-wastin’.”

We followed him, and when we got to the top, we found ourselves facing a pair of sturdy posts maybe eight feet apart, each with a short rope attached to it.

“Come on over, Rosepetal,” said Clyde. “This is where we’ll tie you up.”

“Just a minute!” she replied. “Nobody said anything about tying me up!”

“It’s just so’s he’ll think you’re totally helpless,” explained Clyde.

“He’ll be right, damn it!” snapped Rosepetal.

“Not to worry,” said Clyde. “I’ll be right here, kneeling down behind one of these posts and lining the critter up in my sights.”

Before she could answer, Mpuji spoke up.

“Your fears are groundless, Miss Rosepetal,” he said. “No one is tying you up between those two posts.”

“Well, I’m glad someone is thinking of my safety,” said Rosepetal.

Mpuji pointed to two posts about fifty feet down the length of the wall. “That is where you’ll be tied.” He turned to Clyde. “These posts are reserved for the village’s sacrifice.”

“You ain’t gonna use ‘em tonight, are you?” demanded Clyde.

“We need rain, good fishing, and less scorpions,” explained Mpuji. “If you cannot guarantee them, we’ll make a sacrifice to Kong.”

“What the hell,” said Clyde. “It ain’t as if there’s another wall in these here parts.” He started walking to the posts Mpuji had indicated. “C’mon, Rosepetal–and put the mask on.”

“Three years of modern dance for this!” she muttered, but she fell into step behind him.

While Clyde was tying the ropes to her outstretched arms, a lovely young girl, every bit as naked as Rosepetal, climbed the stairs and took up the same position while Mpuji affixed the ropes to her wrists.

“I’m gonna walk to the corner of the wall with old Betsy here,” said Clyde, patting his rifle, “and kneel down behind that support post there so as not to distract Kong. You just stand there looking naked and helpless.”

“As opposed to what?” asked Rosepetal bitterly.

I decided I didn’t want to be standing next to either lady, just in case Kong was a bit nearsighted, so I walked along the wall until I was halfway between them. As I came to a stop, I heard a roar that didn’t sound very river-like, and then I heard something that sounded like a ton of bricks hitting the ground, and I could feel the whole wall shake, and then I heard it again, and again, and each time I heard it, it was a little closer, and finally I saw a couple of trees go flying, and then this enormous ape broke into the clear, and it was evident that Clyde hadn’t dug his pit deep enough.

“Shoot him now!” screamed Rosepetal.

“That’s good!” said Clyde encouragingly. “Keep yelling and attracting his attention. If he walks up to the other girl, you’ll be in my line of fire.”

Kong took a few more steps.

“I want a raise!” yelled Rosepetal.

“Good, good,” said Clyde, his rifle trained on Kong. “Move your legs and shake a little bit too.”

“If we get out of this alive, it’s going to be a race between Kong and me to see who can kill you first!” snapped Rosepetal.

Kong stopped about seventy feet from the wall. We could hear his breathing as he looked from one sacrifice to the other.

“He’s making up his mind,” said Clyde. “Wiggle a little.”

Kong threw back his head and roared. Two of my fillings fell out. Rosepetal threw back her head and screamed. I lost another filling.

Kong took a couple of steps forward and roared again, and Rosepetal screamed again. I noticed that the girl Mpuji had trussed up wasn’t making a sound, so I told her that if she was holding herself back out of consideration for me she could go ahead and scream her head off, that I was just about out of fillings anyway.

“Why bother?” she said in bored tones. “Kong has no interest in me.”

“He sounds mighty interested to me,” I said. “Or at least energetic.”

She shook her head. “This is the fifth time I have been offered for sacrifice. He never accepts me.”

I was going to comfort her by telling her that she was a beautiful young lady and not to feel bad and I was sure Kong was going to run off with her this time, when Kong’s roar got a little louder and Rosepetal’s screaming got a little more frantic and I turned and saw that he was standing right at the wall now.

“Shoot him!” she screamed.

“Damned gun’s jammed,” said Clyde. “Give me a minute.”

“I haven’t got a minute!” she yelled as Kong leaned over until his face was almost touching her, and took a couple of sniffs that were so powerful it pulled the monkey mask right off her.

“Just stay calm,” said Clyde, working on his rifle.

“Lucifer!” she cried. “Do something!”

“Happy to,” I said. “Got any suggestions?”

She started screaming again, but it was difficult to make out any of the words except for “idiot” and “con man” and “imbecile.”

Kong sniffed her one last time–this time the g-string came flying off and shot up his nostril, and he sneezed, and suddenly Rosepetal was dripping wet, and she’d stopped cursing at Clyde and started in on Kong. He made a face that was probably like the one I made every time I had to eat raw fish on my way here from Caruso’s island, and he moved over to where the local girl was trussed up, took one sniff, and made the same face again.

“I don’t think he wants neither of ‘em, Clyde,” I said.

“What kind of fifty-foot-tall pree-vert are we dealing with here?” he said. Then he added, “Okay, Betsy’s working again. Stand clear, Rosepetal.”

“How?” she demanded.

“I don’t know. Kind of scrunch yourself up. You’re right in the line of fire.”

“I hate you!” she yelled.

Kong looked at her curiously.

“I hate you too!” she hollered.

“Try to calm down and think peaceful, pleasant thoughts,” I said.

“I hate all men!” she screamed.

Kong was still staring at her, so I looked at him and said, “You got to forgive her. She’s a little overwrought, being tied up and naked and totally at your mercy.”

Suddenly he looked at me, and it was like he’d noticed me for the very first time. He took a step over and shoved his face right up to me.

“Of course,” I said, “if you really want her…”

He took a great big sniff, practically pulling me off the wall.

“Clyde!” I said kind of desperately. “I don’t hear no shots.”

“Rosepetal’s in the way,” he said.

“So move,” I said.

“I don’t want to attract his attention,” said Clyde. “What if he takes exception to my presence. Let’s be reasonable, Lucifer. You ain’t got no gun.”

At that instant I decided that Rosepetal had been too all-inclusive, that unlike her I didn’t hate all men, just one man in particular.

A huge hand that must have measured ten feet from top to bottom, or side-to-side, or however you measure gigantic hands, reached out and grabbed me and held me up in front of his face, and suddenly I couldn’t see nothing but the whites of his teeth.

“Clyde!” I yelled. “Rosepetal ain’t in the way no more, and if you’re ever gonna shoot, this would be a pretty good time!”

“Now you’re in the way!” he yelled back.

“Lucifer!” cried Rosepetal. “I think he’s smiling!”

Suddenly a tongue the size of a Shetland pony darted out of his mouth and licked me top to bottom. I was about to tell him to stop, that I wasn’t no popsicle, when I realized that he’d never heard a sophisticated term like that and wouldn’t know what it meant.

“Lemme go, damn it!” I yelled. “Look at all them gorgeous naked women we staked out for you!”

He actually did look at Rosepetal and the other girl, then wrinkled his nose and made a face, and went back to smiling at me.

“Clyde, you don’t have to kill him!” I yelled. “Just wing him a little.”

“You got to give me some time, Lucifer,” said Clyde. “My sights are calibrated to where Rosepetal’s tied up.”

“Just shoot!” I hollered as Kong’s tongue reached out and drenched me again. “I can’t be fifty feet from you!”

“Yeah,” he replied, “but I can’t mark up his face. It looks like I’m gonna have to follow him to his lair and kill him there. You know how taxidermists hate a messed-up face.”

“His or mine?” I said as Kong’s tongue practically took my nose off.

“Oh, stop your whining, Lucifer,” said Clyde irritably. “It’s obvious he ain’t gonna kill you. Not right away, anyhow.”

Kong tightened his grip on me, pushed his face right up to Rosepetal, and guv her the loudest, wettest raspberry on record. Well, the loudest and wettest on record until he did the same thing to the other girl about ten seconds later. Then, still hanging on to me, he turned and headed back to the jungle at the foot of the mountain.

“Thanks a heap, Clyde!” I yelled bitterly.

“I think I figured it out, Lucifer!” he yelled back. “Kong ain’t a he, he’s a she–or it’s a she, or…but you get the point!”

“Suddenly you got compunctions about shooting a female?” I snapped.

“You ain’t in no immediate danger,” said Clyde. “I think she’s in love with you.”

I couldn’t see how being crushed to her breast for one reason rather than another was any better, but before I could tell him that we were out of earshot, and a minute later we entered the jungle.

I kept trying to figger out how to speak to a thirty-ton gorilla what had a crush on me, and finally I cleared my throat and said, “Uh… Darling?”

Kong held me up to her nose and sniffed.

“Honeybunch,” I said, “I love you with a mad and undying passion, but could you maybe put me down, pretty please? I tremble at your touch, but it’s a mighty tight touch and I’m having trouble breathing.”

Kong just stared at me, and I went through the motions of choking and dying, and finally she must have figgered out what I was trying to impart to her, because she set me down on the branch of a tree, and just sat down next to it and smiled at me again, while I tried not to notice just how toothy a smile it was.

The branch was about twenty-five feet above the ground, and there wasn’t nothing in between except an awful lot of air, so I hugged the trunk of the tree even tighter than Kong had been hugging me, and tried to figger out what to do next.

“So,” I said in my friendliest voice, “have you lived here long?”

She just sat there and smiled at me.

“Cat got your tongue?” I said. “Which reminds me: have they got any big cats, like lions or tigers, on this here island, and if so, do they maybe eat giant gorillas?”

Kong roared, the jungle came live with terrified squawking, and two birds that were on a branch above me fainted and fell to the ground.

“What I meant to say was gorgeous, sexy, feminine giant gorillas,” I amended.

She reached out her hand and kind of petted me with a callused forefinger.

“You know,” I said, shooting her what I thunk was a friendly smile, “I’d really feel a lot more secure on the ground.”

She grabbed a weird tropical fruit off another tree and handed it to me.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Miss Kong, ma’am,” I said. “But I’d really like to set my feet on some terra firma.”

She picked up a breadfruit and handed it to me.

“I appreciate that, I truly do,” I said. “But this branch is starting to creak, and besides this is more than I can eat.”

She responded by picking up still more fruit and handing it to me. I was about to tell her that I’d lost my appetite when the branch broke under the weight of all that fruit, and I started plunging downward, which in my broad experience is the very worst direction to plunge when you start from a height of more than twenty feet.

As it turned out I needn’t have worried overmuch, because she caught me in a huge hand, cuddled me against her cheek, and then cleaned me off with her tongue.

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, ma’am,” I said, “but when’s the last time you stopped in at your local barbershop for a shave?”

A bunch of giant gorilla drool started rolling down my face and chest, and I tried to wipe it off with my forearm, which was just about as wet as the rest of me, and suddenly she saw what I was doing and held me up to her mouth, took a deep breath, and blew on me, which dried me off right quick but made me feel like I was stuck in the middle of a wind tunnel what was suffering from halitosis.

Then she set me down on the ground and sat with her back propped up against a huge tree and grinned kind of stupidly and just watched me. I figgered she wanted me to amuse her, so I broke into a chorus of “Home on the Range” and followed it up with one of the racier stanzas of “The Ring-Dang-Do,” just in case she was one of the more liberated gorillas, and when that didn’t get no reaction from her I done a little jig I learned from some sailors in a waterfront bar in Amsterdam.

Suddenly I heard a “Psst!” which I was sure hadn’t come from her, and I was almost as certain didn’t come from me neither, and then Rosepetal’s voice whispered, “Back up to this bush, Lucifer.”

I done what she told me, but I did it in rhythm while still dancing the jig, since I figgered Kong was probably jealous as all get-out, me being the incredibly handsome buck that I am, and when I’d gotten right in front of the bush where Rosepetal was hiding, I whispered, “Where the hell are Clyde and his gun?”

“He says since you’re getting along so well with Kong, he’s going to try to bring her back alive,” answered Rosepetal. “So he’s back in camp, planning how to do it.”

“He sent you here alone?” I asked.

“He figures that Kong isn’t interested in another woman,” she said.

I looked at Kong, who was maybe twenty feet high sitting down, and looked like she could juggle a trio of elephants, and I said, “What do you mean, another woman?”

“Anyway,” said Rosepetal, “he says to just keep her amused while he gets a good night’s sleep, and he’ll think about how to capture her in the morning, after he’s had his breakfast and when he’s fresh and alert.”

“You got a piece of paper?” I asked.

“Lucifer, I’m stark staring naked,” she said. “I don’t even have my mask or my g-string anymore.”

“Well, when you get to camp, I want you to find a pen and a piece of paper.”

“All right,” she said. “What then?”

“I want you to write Lucifer Jones’s Last Will and Testament at the top,” I said, “and then write ‘Capturin’ Clyde Calhoun’ right under that.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, and I could almost hear her frown.

“I ain’t done,” I said. “Then I want you to cross his name out.”

“And then what?”

“That’s all.”

“So much for Clyde,” she said. “Now what about–?”

I’ll never know who she was going to ask about next, because just at that very second we heard a roar, louder than any we’d heard all night, and as I looked up the mountain I could see trees crashing and falling right and left as if something even bigger than Kong was pushing them over in a rage.

Kong got to her feet, reached over, and lifted me up.

“Good-bye, Lucifer,” said Rosepetal’s voice. “It was occasionally very nice knowing you.”

And then she was gone, but the roars were getting louder and louder, and more and more trees was getting flung out of something’s path. Kong looked nervous, and then she started matching whatever it was roar for roar, and suddenly she seemed to remember that she was still holding me, and she stuck me on a branch, stared at me, and moved me to a leafier one where it was harder to see me.

“Let me guess,” I said to her. “It’s Mister Kong, and he’s the jealous type, right?”

She stared at me, and I could see she was wondering if she could stuff me in her mouth and swallow me before her husband arrived, and I thunk she was just about to try it when he broke cover and stared at her with bloodshot little eyes. Well, little given the size of his head; actually they were about the size and weight of a pair of bowling balls.

He pointed at me and growled something, and she shook her head and kind of whined and whimpered, and it looked for all the world like she was telling him that I had partooken of a little carnal knowledge against her will. He looked at me, and came as close to laughing as I ever seen a gorilla come, and then he pulled up a tree by its roots and kind of shook it threateningly, and suddenly that did it, and in about a quarter of a second she stopped being wronged and innocent and she launched herself at him and gave him the thrashing of his life, and finally he took off up the mountain like a bat out of hell, yelping and yowling every step of the way.

I just knew what was going to come next, and I had no intention of spending the night with a thirty-ton lady gorilla. I climbed down off the tree and hid in the bushes, and decided that she’d figger I was making my way back to the village or maybe Clyde’s camp, while the one place she’d never think of looking for me was up the mountain with her husband, so that’s the direction I headed.

I caught up with him just after sunrise, and truth to tell he wasn’t a bad guy once you got past the fact that he wasn’t much smarter than a sea slug and hygiene wasn’t real high on his list of priorities. He guv me to understand that whatever happened wasn’t my fault, that he’d known Mrs. Kong was the flighty sort when he’d married her, but since she was the only giant female gorilla on the island he’d learned to put up with her little peccadilloes. Truth to tell, I was glad Rosepetal had high-tailed it back to camp, because if he’d seen her with me, I’m sure he’d have offered to trade Mrs. Kong for her, even-up.

We spent a few days together, both of us afraid to come back down the mountain and run into Mrs. Kong. Then one morning I saw Clyde trudging up the mountain and approaching us, accompanied by Rosepetal, who was wearing an oversized pair of khaki shorts and a blouse that could have held two of her.

“Good morning, Lucifer,” he said. “You seem to have made a friend.”

“He’s really pretty nice,” I replied. “He’s just getting over a bad marriage.”

“That wife of his done took an instant dislike to me,” said Clyde. “I’ve had to flee for my life a couple of times already. Truth to tell, I don’t think I’m ever gonna get her off this island.” He stared at my companion. “Whereas this fellow, he’s the king of all he surveys. A much more impressive attraction. Maybe I’ll take him back instead. Even his name sounds like show biz: King Kong.”

“She’s Kong, not him,” I said.

“A minor detail,” said Clyde.

“Kong ain’t his name,” I persisted.

“A feature attraction named King Adelbert couldn’t draw flies at a watermelon party,” said Clyde. “From this day forward he’s King Kong.”

Which is how he got his name.

“So how do you think you’re going to get him down the mountain?” I asked.

“That’s what I brung Rosepetal for,” answered Clyde. “Rosie honey, if Lucifer and I hum ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’ do you think you could do a kootch dance to it?”

“Absolutely not!” she said.

“How about ‘Nearer My God to Thee’?” he asked.

“No!”

“Well damn it, them’s the only two songs I know,” said Clyde. “How about you, Lucifer?”

“Hell, I know lots of songs,” I said.

“Well, hum one with a beat so’s she can shimmy to it.”

Which is how I came to be humming “When the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano” while Rosepetal Schultz shook and shimmied for a forty-ton ape atop a mountain on a fog-covered island in the middle of the Pacific. Just in case anyone was wondering.

Problem was, it didn’t do no good. King Kong watched attentively for maybe a minute, and then went back to gorging himself on bananas.

“That’s that,” said Clyde unhappily. “He must have left his libido in his other pants. Let’s go back to camp and see if we can’t come up with some other plan to entice him down off this here mountain.”

So the three of us began walking, and damned if King Kong didn’t fall into step behind us.

“I guess it gets lonely up here,” remarked Rosepetal.

“Actually, there ain’t nothing wrong with a little loneliness when the alternative is keeping house with Mrs. Kong,” said Clyde.

He was still following us half an hour later, and Clyde announced that we weren’t heading to his camp after all, but were going straight to the ship he’d parked just beyond the coral reef as long as King Kong was in a traveling mood.

“Just where is this here ship bound for?” I asked.

“New York City!” enthused Clyde. “This is gonna be Madison Square Garden’s greatest display ever.” He paused, and then said, “Well, except for the rasslin’ match between the Butcher of Belgrade and Victor the Vampire.”

“I’ll walk down to the shore with you, but I ain’t getting in that boat,” I said.

“You sure?” replied Clyde. “You’ll get three squares a day, and a free trip to the land of your birth.”

“There’s a reason why I ain’t in the land of my birth right now,” I said.

“I forgot,” said Clyde. “You can’t go back to North America, can you?”

“How about South America?” asked Rosepetal.

“Nope,” I said.

“Or Europe or Asia or Africa?” she said.

“Afraid not,” I said. “And you can add Easter Island and Hawaii to the list.”

“Well, on the plus side,” said Clyde, “you sure have seen a lot of the world.”

“What’s left?” asked Rosepetal.

“I’m making my way to Australia,” I answered. “Due to a series of misunderstandings, it’s the only major land mass I ain’t been asked to leave and never come back.”

“Really?” she said. “The only one?”

“Bringing the Word of the Lord to the godless heathen of the world is a rough and tumble sport,” I said. “It ain’t for sissies.”

“There’s always Antarctica,” said Clyde.

“It’s my considered opinion that mighty few seals and polar bears are in serious need of salvation,” I said.

We made it to the bottom of the mountain, made a wide circle around Mrs. Kong’s living room, and soon we were at the seashore, where a beat-up cargo ship was parked about a quarter mile out to sea.

“Does he swim?” asked Clyde.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Do forty-ton monkeys swim?”

“Well, he’d better,” said Clyde. “The boat can’t get no closer without running onto the reef. Now, we already proved we can’t lure him anywhere with Rosepetal, which shows his brain ain’t no bigger than a normal monkey’s, and I sure as hell can’t carry enough bananas to make it all the way out to the boat before he eats ‘em all.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’d like to get Mrs. Kong and bring her down to the shore here? There ain’t no doubt in my mind that one look at her and he’ll outswim Johnny Weismuller and Buster Crabbe.”

I looked at the boat, and then the water, and then King Kong, and then the boat again, and finally I said, “You’re looking at this all wrong, Clyde. Why can’t the boat get any closer?”

“It’ll shred its bottom on the coral reef,” he said. “I already told you that, Lucifer.”

“How deep is the water before you get to the end of the reef?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Fifteen feet, maybe twenty,”

“And how tall is King Kong?”

“Son of a bitch!” exclaimed Clyde. “He don’t have to swim. He can just walk to the boat!”

Which is just what he did. The last I saw of Clyde and Rosepetal, they were on the ship, throwing bunches of bananas into the space they’d cleared out in the cargo hold for King Kong and then stepping aside as he dove in after them.

As for me, I wandered back to the village, offered to absolve Mpuji of any mortal sins he’d committed in the past month in exchange for any meal what didn’t have no fruit in it. I sought out the young lady who’d been trussed up and offered to give her a blessing, but she figured since Mrs. Kong had turned her down she was already blessed.

I hung around for another week, and then decided it was time to continue making my way to Australia. I absolved Mpuji of a few more sins in exchange for a month’s supply of food for my canoe, and headed due west. After I’d busted through the fog and paddled a few miles I was joined by my old friend Basil, who’d lost his door somewhere along the way and was back to swimming again. He paced the canoe for a couple of days while I pulled out my well-worn copy of the Good Book, skipped the part about Jonah so as not to give him any ideas above his station, and read some of the racier psalms at him.

So I was on my way to Australia and its picturesque Outfront, and things couldn’t have been pleasanter–but as you’ll see, it just goes to show what an ironic sense of humor the Good Lord can display when the mood takes Him.