The storytelling ape, despite being born and raised in Guatemala and possessing perfect eyesight, affected a pair of large horn-rimmed glasses and an upper class London accent.

In his immense paws he held a book; of course he did, he was the storytelling ape, and what sort of storyteller would he be without a book? It was more of a tome, really; in fact, this was typed on the cover in big embossed letters. It said: "The Tome of a Thousand Stories and One Question"

He read to the children. He read to them the six hundredth story, about the duck and what he taught the farmer. He read to them the 49 th story, about seven princes who had forgotten which of them was supposed to marry the princess, and then he had to explain to them about incest. He read to the story of the applejack cider which exploded in your belly, and the story of the perfect note which migrated from song to song in search of a home.

After each story, the children clamoured, shrieked, made a mess, as children are wont to do. They demanded to know what the question was. The storytelling ape smiled a kindly grizzled ape smile, his lips pursed.

He told them the fifth story and the seven hundredth story. He told them the story of the two fair maids and the pine tree. He told them the story of Bertie, the invisible tango dancer. He was a really good storyteller, which made sense, since he was the storytelling ape.

And after each story, the children demanded to know what the question was.

He looked at the clock, which showed two past three. He pursed his lips, which made them giggle. He told them the story of the radio which refused to play country music. He told them the story of the man who lost the cork for his wine bottle. He told them the story of the boy who decided to become a balloon.

When he finished, it was five past four, and the children were due to be picked up soon. They whined. They nagged. They demanded to know what the question was.

The storytelling ape shrugged a simian shrug, and put away the book, patting it softly in affection. He said;

"The question is;"

The children quieted.

The storytelling ape stopped for dramatic effect, staring through his glasses comically at the children, who giggled. He smiled again.

"The question is;

"Who the fuck lets a man-eating ape tell their children stories?"

And then he ate them.