The Fear of Monkeys - The Best E-Zine on the Web for Politically Conscious WritingThe Tufted Gray Langur - Issue Forty-Six
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Vervet Monkey from Christiano Artuso The Tufted Gray Langur is an Old World monkey who live in India and Sri Lanka; they are partially arboreal, semi-terrestrial and diurnal in habit. Although principally vegetarians, and eat fruits and seeds (such as Nelumbo nucifera seeds), especially drier fibrous fruits, they also eat insects. Evergreen leaves are eaten when others foods are less abundant and bark is only eaten when nothing else is available. Their diet is high in strychnine, so they commonly ingest the gum of the Sterculia urens to counteract the effects. In the Sri Lankan subspecies, their dorsal area gray to brownish gray in color, getting darker with the age. Underneath they are light grayish with short whitish beard and sideburns. The hairs of the crown form a distinct pointed tuft or crest, that meets at a central point, giving them their name. Hands and feet are same color as limbs. Males are larger than females and the average adult weighs 12.8 kg with a head-to-body length of 61.1 cm. The Indian subspecies is somewhat larger bodied than the Sri Lankan which typically weigh between 6.8 and 13.4 kg. Despite its somewhat slighter size there, they are the largest native primate on Sri Lanka. They mainly stay in their territories in troops of about 20 to 50 individuals. Large troops are led by both large male-female combinations, whereas small troops are governed by an alpha male. Females quickly attain their heat and mate with new alpha male, even when they are not ready for the reproduction in the natural estrous cycle. They give birth to a single offspring or rarely twins, after a 6 months of gestation period. After birth, offspring is attach to the mother about 3 months with all the nourishment and other protection. Sub adult males and other males usually spend the time with searching for foods, rivals with neighbouring alpha males, and protecting the troop. Females spend the time with feeding the young, grooming them, and even play with the young. They communicate with many different ways such as barks, grunts, whoops, whistles and howls. The cough like voice is used for giving tension, and whistling for the contact loss with the troop. The tufted gray langur monkey's superior eyesight and ability to sit atop high trees allows it to spot predators such as leopards, black eagles, tigers, dholes, gray wolves, mugger crocodiles, and occasionally the Indian rock python. They will often sit next to herds of the spotted deer and notify them when a predator is approaching. Additionally, they will often drop fruit from tall trees, which the spotted deer will then feed on. In return, the deer's excellent sense of smell allows it to detect predators early on and warn that something may be approaching. They are listed as a "Near Threatened" species, due to decline of populations in recent years. Hunting and habitat destruction also affect for the declining of the species. Some people also fond of eating them in some parts of Sri Lanka. Very few occasions are recorded of being captured for pets. Numerous conservations projects are undertaken in both Sri Lankan and Indian forests and sanctuaries.

   


Nothing Like You

by

Tim Law

I'm just like them, those lucky ones who stare at a screen all day, picture coming to them from some drone flying way up high in the sky. I'm one of those with an ear piece crackling away, waiting for the single moment when I'm told to stand down, or to pull the trigger. Unlike them though, I'm on the ground, dropped off by an unmarked van, black, in the middle of nowhere, no screen for me. I'm the one wedged uncomfortably in the branches of that tree, or fourteen stories up in that abandoned building, or half buried under a bush, dirt filling each and every orifice. I wear my suit, of course I do. I couldn't do what I do without it. I blend in, I don't move, I don't sleep; no rest for the wicked, they say.

But I don't truly believe that what I do is wicked. Neither do I care if the people I've killed are wicked or not. I used to shoot rabbits for my dad on his farm. Rabbits are not wicked, rabbits are just rabbits. I don't know why, but I kind of feel the same way about people as I do about rabbits. It made it easier to pull the trigger way back then on the farm, with a bouncing bunny in my sights, and I guess it makes things easier for me now to think like that. I compartmentalize, I get to think of it as just doing my job. In that way I guess I'm like everybody else, it's my way to earn a crust, working for the man.

I'm pretty lucky that I've got a partner that isn't too curious, they let me live my life, just like I'm happy to let them live theirs. They don't seem to mind that I go away sometimes, they don't mind either that I may never come back. Best of all they don't ask too many questions; in fact they don't ask any at all. I think they realized pretty early on that if they asked the wrong questions I'd have to tell them everything. Then I'd need to explain about the tube that leads to that mushed up slop, sweet and sour, tasteless wet. That's what they make you live on for days during the training, I guess that's why I can't eat soup. I'd need to tell my partner about the box that holds about three days' worth of shit, and that one time I had to somehow make it last for five. Then there's the filter system that turns urine into u-wine, nah, that one I made up for a laugh. It'd be an awesome idea though, something they could invent in the lab and then forget to test before they sent it into the field. You've got to find the laughs where and when you can, else you'd go bonkers. I'd need to tell my partner all about that time I was half way up a sycamore in full summer splendor, and a little shepherd boy came past with his flock of mangy looking sheep. He would have been maybe eight at the most and he had an AK-47 slung across his back. He stopped to take a leak, I could have sworn he was going to look up into the branches and spot me, surely he sensed I was there. As I was hit with the stench of his hot stream I made sure I didn't gag. Just in case though I eased my pistol free of its holster. I knew that the safety was off, we get taught to always have our weapon ready. If I'd panicked and pulled the trigger at that moment, then I would have scattered the sheep. There would have been people all over that field in next to no time. A day later I got the call, I was good to go; I'd swear that the target looked exactly like that shepherd boy.

Yeah, I've killed kids, killed women too, men in suits, men in rags; in my line of work you just do what you're told to do. It doesn't pay to question orders. Questions lead to doubt and hesitation, that leads to delay, and with what I do and why it's done, well, delay always leads to failure and failure is not an option. Do you think those who stare at the screens all day ask the question when an order comes in? Of course they don't. They just push that button and watch as things go boom. When I shoot I don't hear boom, I don't hear anything at all. I fire on command, silent but deadly, check, confirm, and then I wait. You don't run, rabbits run, and rabbits get shot. No, you wait, you wait for the van, you wait for extraction. You hide somewhere that you cannot be found, and you only come out when the time is right.

Then you go home to hide again. I've got a cabin in the woods, near a lake. I don't like fishing and I don't like swimming. In fact, I don't really like water much at all. What I do like is hunting, and near my cabin in the woods there is some of the best hunting, the animals like the water, they need it to survive.

I don't get to see my mom or my dad much, not since they lost the farm. I never wanted to be a farmer anyway so dad and I agree it was no great loss. Now I'm just like my dad, happy with the quiet life. I get called up when I'm needed, otherwise I get left alone. One day there will be no more wars. I've got a feeling though that that day will only come when there are no more people, and that's a long way away. Plenty of work for me coming up I guess. Between now and then, I'll just keep hunting rabbits.

Tim Law heralds from a little town in Southern Australia where he lives with his wife three kids, and a herd of cats. He strongly believes in questioning everything, and hates just how political everyday life has become.
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