*** Epiphany ***

Inspired by "Sultans of Swing", written by Mark Knopfler.

.

It was bucketing down and the sky was as dark as the end of Universe. Central Park was being filled with puddles and emptied of animals: some were hiding in the trunks of hollow trees and others had found a more interesting refuge inside the zoo. It was as if there, beside not having rain, time stopped.

Kowalski was watching through the periscope and taking note of what he was seeing. Squirrels, racoons, possums... they all running in the same direction.

"There must be an explanation for this," Skipper said.

"Someone is saying that there's a habitat where you can shelter from the bad weather and enjoy good music," Private said.

"A shelter, yes," Skipper said. "But... music? Here the only music we have is the lemurs', and it's horrible."

Kowalski nodded. Rico nodded too, not to look like the discordant note in the group.

"And the problems we've had with them due to their party spirit," Skipper reminded.

Kowalski started to turn pages in his notepad. "The tiresome circus melody, not respecting their neighbours' slumber, music at a volume which is a misdemeanour... but the worst thing was when they were making their own music."

They all nodded. Yes, they all preferred the music made by others.

"Well... the park animals are going towards the lemur habitat, precisely," Private said from the periscope.

The four penguins left the HQ towards the lemur habitat. Just in case.

.

Where were they? It wasn't only that they couldn't be seen, something normal with such a heavy rain. They weren't heard! Maybe the penguins were wrong.

"False alarm, gentlemen. If lemurs aren't implied, there's not inminent danger," Skipper said turning around.

Rico tapped his shoulder and pointed at the wooden hut.

Kowalski took his abacus. "If we consider the surface taken by the hut... no. It's impossible that inside there's space for three lemurs, six racoons, two otters, -"

"Two otters?" Skipper asked.

"Are you jealous, Skipper?" Kowalski asked.

"No, not jealous... not anymore." Actually, yes, quite a lot. Damned Antonio.

"Well, if you let me continue... according to my calculation, either Rico is mistaken or the hut is like Peppa Pig's house."

"Our HQ is like Peppa Pig's house too," Private concluded.

"It's an optical effect," Kowalski reminded him.

"Then, let's see what's happening," Skipper decided. And he opened the hut door.

.

Inside the hut, a torch hanging on the wall was giving some light. In effect, there wasn't space for so many animals and there weren't any there. Instead there was... a spiral stair. The penguins went down wondering what they would find and how it was possible that they didn't know it, if they controled all the zoo undersoil.

And what they saw and heard at the lower level left them with their beaks open.

A pub, the purest British Isles style. Wooden walls, floor, roof and furniture. Surely, the lemurs had asked for the beavers' help for doing that job... and the result was really good. Thay place was cozy. And music was pleasant. Quite loud, but good music after all.

The music... was it possible? On a little stage, in a corner, there were the three lemurs playing live. No! That couldn't be! They all remembered the last time they had heard them. They remembered Julien's out of tune shrieks, that guitar distorted until reaching the pain threshold, the unbearable squeak of Maurice's trumpet and the deranged and erratic thumping given by Mort to a poor drum set which hadn't been evil to him. They didn't interpret music, they perpetrated it.

But this was different. They had improved... a lot. Julien sang well and played better, and Maurice and Mort (who had exchanged the drum set for a Honky Tonk piano) were at his same level. A miracle had happened, at least. It was good music, and it transmitted emotions. Who could have imagined it? How had they learnt? How long had they been practicing? And why did they know nothing about it?

"Kowalski... do you recognize what they're playing?" Skipper asked.

"I'm not an expert on music, but I'd say it's jazz. Yes, I'm sure it's jazz. And, if we specify a bit more, I'd say it's Dixie native to Louisiana."

"Dixie?" Private asked.

"The name comes from the ten dollar bank notes in circulation there. In French, dix means ten. And Louisiana belonged to France till 1803, when -"

"Okay, professor Kowalski. Let's stop the masterclass at this point."

Kowalski crossed his flippers displeased. He hated being cut by Skipper.

The lemurs' mastery got to the point of making perfect improvisations. Pure Jazz. Even not being an expert on the style any listener would know, only by listening to them, everything needed to know. Real music takes you to another world, and the penguins were being carried away by it.

Kowalski couldn't help being more analytical than the others in his particular trip. While the others were simply in another existence level, he split the four instruments in his mind: voice, guitar, trumpet and piano.

Julien's voice, not being particularly technical, knew how to transmit. Julien had always been quite dramatic and he knew how to take advantage of that feature to apply it to his own voice and make lyrics more vivid. Concerning the guitar, quite modest and old, Julien made the most of it and imposed on music the tempo that the band needed. He, Julien. Who would have imagined it. And he was totally absorbed in his task, as in a trance. Rhythm was born in the guitar and it didn't die because it reached immortality in the listeners' ears.

Maurice, with his trumpet, said everything. It was joy, sorrow, fury, control, ecstasy. Everything was locked inside that instrument and seemed to go out as bubbles, bursting into indescribable emotions. You couldn't know what any of them would bring. Maurice wasn't the king's selfless servant anymore: he was at a different level, and music was what gave him the air to breathe and the motivation to go ahead.

Mort was the master of an old piano which looked enormous for him: he reached some notes jumping from his stool. But he knew how to pull out the precise sound in every moment and, contrary to what could be expected, he was the one giving orders to the rest of the band. The boss, the bigwig. Music had reversed roles and the small mouse lemur was a great improviser on stage.

.

When a song ended and instead clappings and whistlings were heard... it was as falling suddenly at the end of an astral trip. Oh, well... there weren't many people, but it wasn't easy either to distinguish them under the dim light. Was that one Marlene? And the one with her was...? Don't think, Skipper! Had the Rat King really gone there? Weren't there quarrels, really?

And then Mama Duck's children appeared. How much they had grown up!

"Have we really come here, Eggy?" Samuel asked.

"J.J., if you please. And yes, we've come here to see King Julien."

"Come on!" Ramona protested. "That's a wet fish! They're playing things of last century... with instruments of the Stone Age!"

"Don't overdo it," J.J protested.

Bradley didn't even talk. He just hissed with his wings crossed. He was the group's blasé, and that was preferable to be all day complaining as the others did. He was looking at the others sideways: he had matured before; his siblings, however, were just brats.

"Let's go out of here!" Ramona said turning around.

"Why?" J.J. asked indignant.

"Because you're the only one who wants to be here!" Samuel shouted at him. "You have made us come here because you're Julien's favorite! And you have seen him! He's here making some music only liked by oldies! Do you like it, really?"

"Well..." J.J. didn't know what to say, it was difficult to catch the jazz train at the drop of a hat. "I don't know, honestly... I think it's -"

"Right then, you don't like it, we leave," Ramona said grabbing his wing.

"But I -"

Ramona intervened again. "Eggy! They have a trumpet! Like the soldiers in march-past! And the piano is like the ones in black and white movies! Do you know what you have if you mix both things?"

"What?" J.J. asked.

"A documentary from the year dot!"

"You're a bunch of ignorants," Bradley intervened. "This is jazz, creole."

"The smart ass has talked," Samuel replied. "This is rock and roll."

Bradley laughed. "Whatever you say. Now you're the music expert. You always make a gaffe because you're a dumb who never understands anything. This is jazz, period."

"Yes, it's jazz and jazz is a bore," Ramona sentenced. "We two are leaving," she said giving Samuel her wing. "Do what you want."

"But Julien..." J.J. tried to argue.

"Well, you've seen him and he's seen you. He has greeted you. Fulfilled. Tell him later that you're very sorry, but you're young and you like other things."

J.J. looked at his friend for the last time and followed Ramona. When they were going up the stairs, Bradley followed them grumbling. He didn't feel like arriving home later than the rest and being scolded.

The penguins were very near... and Private had heard all the conversation. How disappointing... Adolescence was terrible for them. He almost wanted to cry.

.

It was very late and the three musicians needed a rest. The small pub audience needed it too, but they were really enjoying. Maurice left his trumpet and rang a little bell.

"We're finishing! The last song and we'll close!"

A weak "ooooh" was heard. They all were tired. Julien took Maurice's microphone.

"Thank you all for coming and especially to the ones who hadn't come to see the kingy king of music. The last one is dedicated to the grumpy penguin, the know-it-all, the crazy and the radical."

And he left the stage and hugged the penguins.

"What type of dedication was that?" Skipper whispered to him.

"A king's one, or an emperor's, or a sultan's, or -" Julien defended.

"Yes, yes," Skipper cut him. "I didn't expect this from you."

Kowalski nodded. Rico took Julien's crown and dishevelled him with his flipper. Only Private didn't react, he was still sad after having discovered that the ducklings had changed.

"Come here next Friday, we'll dedicate you the concert," Julien said smiling and turning around. "Maurice, I have a task for you. I want a turban, in Madagascar I was the king and here I'm a sultan. The grumpy penguin has given me the idea."

"Your Majesty, the penguins have names," Maurice protested.

Julien said nothing and played the last song's first chords.

.

After the concert had finished, the public left. The lemurs went up the stairs before the penguins, who were the last ones to leave the pub. A deaf buzzing had invaded their earholes and their eyelids were heavy. The aftermath had the flavor of an epiphany, and the four penguins were thoughtful: they had discovered how things had changed, unnoticed for them. Everything had changed... except Julien.