goob

                                                    To Count or Not to Count
                                                       By Derick Walburger

       When one thinks of a caveman in the age of rockets and nuclear fission, words such as smart, genius, and common sense don't generally apply. Goob was a caveman. He lived just over eighty thousand years ago, and these words most definitely should not be associated with him. Goob was not very bright at all, but he did make a fantastic discovery.
       Goob liked to wander around and hunt by himself. In a time of ferocious saber-tooth tigers and overprotective woolly mammoth mothers, this was not the safest practice, but in Goob's defense, he did not possess the intelligence to know any better.
One chilly day of solitary exploring led Goob towards a curious rock formation not too far from his clan's new residence. Goob liked rocks. He enjoyed throwing rocks, smashing things with rocks, and pushing large rocks off cliffs to hear them explode when they smacked the bottom. Not much of a hobby by today's standards, but Goob was only a caveman. What do you expect?
       Goob clumped merrily along, and became increasingly more excited as he approached his destination. Time had eroded away at the stone formation leaving the strangest, most marvelous pillars jutting from the barren ground. Goob wondered at what sort of fantastic noise he could make if he could somehow make one of the rock giants fall over. A brief period of vain grunting and shoving convinced the caveman that toppling one of the pillars was not at all feasible. He gave up, and contented himself to stroll amongst the stone fingers, gaping open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the way they brushed the sky.
       Smack. Goob sat down hard, and his face went numb on one side. He shook his head and something rattled, no, throbbed. Rubbing his sloped brow, the caveman reopened his eyes, which had closed to contain the pain. At first, he saw only blurred stars, but eventually his vision cleared revealing the cause of his suffering: another pillar jutting towards the heavens right in front of him. He had no idea how something so big could have gotten there without him seeing it. He silently cursed the mischievous gods who were constantly playing tricks like this on him.
       Goob felt a little tired--and a little woozy, so he decided to rest right where he was. He shifted himself, placed his back against the rock that had knocked him down, and tried to take in the immensity of his new favorite place.
       As he surveyed the scene, something weird caught his eye. Off to the right, illuminated perfectly in the mid-afternoon sun . . . was a giant hand! Goob panicked. He bolted in the first convenient direction. The rocks had risen against him, he thought wildly. He risked a backwards glance and at that moment realized his folly. That second look combined with his rock expertise illuminated exactly what he was seeing. It only looked like a hand. Five stone fingers jutted from a rugged stone base in the shape of a palm. Goob abandoned all thoughts of flight and stopped to stare instead. The sight solicited an "oooo" from the simple cave-dweller. He stood in awe of the monstrous earth-carved wonder.
       Goob goggled at the spectacle for a good hour, transfixed by nature's magnificent sculpture carved in his favorite medium: rock. At one point, as we all would have done, caveman or not, Goob spread his own thick-fingered hand against the backdrop, comparing flesh with stone. This marked the turning point in Goob's pathetic life.
Each of the caveman's stubby fingers covered exactly the same number of pillars. No light went on, no trumpets sounded, but the experience left a mark on Goob's mind that could never be erased.
       It was during the trek back home later that day that Goob first realized the full implications of his discovery--or that he had discovered anything at all.
       Goob glimpsed a herd of wild horses off in the distance. Goob loved horses. They were too fast too catch, this he knew from painful experience, but he still liked watching the graceful animals. That's when it happened. Several of the horses grazed apart from the others. Not fully realizing what he was doing, Goob brought a grimy hand before his face, and squinting, lined up each animal with one of his own digits.
       If you have ever seen a caveman really excited, which you probably haven't unless you're eighty thousand years old, you know how scary the situation can be. There was a lot of grunting, jumping, and general running around. Goob had experienced his first real idea and didn't know how to handle it. (It is possible to witness the same sort of unbridled enthusiasm at many of this nation's universities. Frightening.)
       Goob had to tell someone of his discovery. His wife would do nicely. (Wife might not actually be the right word for their relationship. Marriage as an institution would not come along until much later. Basically, she wouldn't run away when he got too close, and this fits the definition of a wife close enough.) The caveman stumbled home as fast as his hairy legs would carry him.
       Goob plummeted into the cave as though chased by a pack of hungry hyenas. He startled his wife nearly to death--his not hers. The surprised cavewoman nearly cracked Goob's head open with the shinbone she had been gnawing on. Luckily she recognized the over-enthusiastic brute at the last minute.
       "Ungh?" she asked in her sternest grunt.
       The frown creasing his wife's face and the menacing way that she still brandished the bone calmed the caveman considerably. He sucked wind for several moments, and then he tried to outline his invention. It didn't go over well.
       Goob used a sophisticated series of whistles, grunts, hand gestures, and facial expressions to get his point across. His wife just stared at him, a look of pity deep in her eyes. Goob started getting frustrated. His wife started getting mad. She obviously believed that Goob had lost his already tenuous grip on reality. Goob would have given up, as he usually did when things got too tough, but this idea was too important.
       The caveman searched frantically for another method of explanation. His eyes skipped across the cave until they came to rest on some large tubers his wife must have gathered earlier that day. He darted across the room and grabbed the still muddy roots. He came back, and after prying the bone from his wife's crushing grip, shoved the slimy tubers into the bewildered woman's arms. He smiled. She didn't. The menacing scowl on her face could have petrified a tree.
       Goob backed up a few steps, and nervously attempted to duplicate his fantastic discovery. He brought his quivering hand up to his face, trying to line up his fingers with the muddy vegetables. His heart skipped a beat. Things didn't line up; too many fingers. It was adapt or perish, so Goob took a bold leap into the unknown. He folded the excess digits out of the way against his palm. Perfect. He beamed triumphantly as he held forth the number two.
       Blinded by his own success, Goob didn't recognize his danger until it was too late. The heavy tubers smashed together--or would have if Goob's head weren't in the way. The caveman collapsed to the floor unconscious. Divorce was just as ugly in prehistoric times as it is today. The woman stomped out of the cave intent on finding a less excitable and more mentally stable companion.

       Goob came to with a monster of a headache. He couldn't quite remember who, where, or even what he was. After several minuets of lying there, rubbing his throbbing ears it started coming back to him. He groaned as he opened his eyes to look for his wife. He was not surprised when he didn't find her.
       The sun hurt his eyes as Goob stumbled from his natural home in the cliff face that morning. He wasn't as excited about his new ability to count as he had been the day before, but the need to share his idea prodded him toward his next destination.
       He crawled up the rough shale to the entrance of a large cavern not far from his own rocky dwelling. He didn't know if his friend was home, but he wasn't going to go in to find out. Snort (the noise one would make when referring to him) had a rather short fuse, and an intense dislike for uninvited guests, even if it was his best friend Goob.
       Goob tried to sound friendly as he cupped his hands and let forth a barbaric scream. The sound of the yelp echoed deeply into the cave. Snort bounded out seconds later, a killer glint in his eye and his best club in his hands. Goob turned to run, but slipped on the shale. He fell painfully to one knee. He winced as Snort reached him before he could scramble to his feet. Goob covered his head with his arms and hoped for a quick death.
       Luckily, Snort recognized the cowering figure an instant before his tree-trunk club made a mess of his best buddy. Goob howled in bitter anguish as Snort scooped him up into a friendly bear hug. The terrified caveman screamed and kicked until finally he realized that he wasn't being murdered. Snort gave his friend one last enthusiastic shake before putting him down.
       They both stood there awkwardly for some time, kicking rocks and making noncommittal noises before Goob got up the nerve to tell Snort why he was there. He remembered the disaster with his wife and didn't want to mess up again.
       Goob tried to explain his new abilities to Snort, but language failed him again. Snort was easily the densest member of the clan--both in muscles and lack of brains.
       He felt wary of trying another demonstration, but there was no other way Snort was going to get it. He had Snort sit on the ground while he looked about vainly for visual aides. Nothing. The only things he could see were rocks, and he simply didn't have that many fingers. He scratched his head in confusion, looked at Snort, and shrugged. Snort started getting restless. He had a very short attention span.
       When it came to him, Goob jumped two feet straight in the air. Snort shot to his feet, grabbed his club, and looked vainly for danger. Goob tried to calm him down, but he was too hyper himself to succeed fully. He did have the other caveman's attention, so he began his counting presentation.
       Goob held up his hand. He added new flairs of showmanship this time to better drive home his point. He fluttered his fingers, which inspired an approving grunt from his captivated audience. Goob's hopes soared at his initial success. It was at this point he made his mistake.
       A flash of brilliance had inspired Goob to count Snort. It really was a good idea by caveman standards, if only he had used the right finger. You might be surprised at how long certain obscene gestures have been around. Goob lined up his pal and folded all his other fingers tightly against his palm as he had done before. He smiled and nodded as he brandished forth the number one in the form of his middle finger.
       Snort smiled along with his friend at first until his tiny brain started to process the image. Darkness washed across his features, leaving Goob to grin alone like an idiot. Snort's eyes burned suddenly red as his short fuse ignited the explosion. Wham!
       Goob tumbled down the steep shale slope head over heels. He did not pass out this time, but his jaw felt crooked for some reason. It didn't take long for his brain to start registering the pain. He stumbled off clutching his abused head tightly. Snort hurled insults from the cave mouth as Goob ran away. The irate Neanderthal held up proudly his own version of the number one as he cursed his former friend.
       Discouraged and beaten, Goob dragged himself up a narrow chimney in the cliff face to the only place where he might feel better. He made it too the top with some effort. His head pulsed even more painfully from the exertion, but he hardly noticed; his pride hurt worse. Goob hauled himself to a familiar rock and sat with his head in his hands sobbing. He had something marvelous to share with the world, but even the people he was closest to wouldn't listen.
       Eventually he quit blubbering and tried to console himself in the incredible view offered from his perch atop the cliff. A soft smile invaded his gloom as he gazed over fields of boulders made tiny with distance, but it just wasn't the same today after all that had happened.
       He turned in another direction to see if he could see the stone hand off in the distance, but something even more interesting caught his eye. He couldn't believe it at first. He snarled and bore his yellow teeth. All of his concerns evaporated with this new threat. He lined the intruders up with a hand, more out of instinct than intelligence, found there were too many, and brought the other hand to bear. He folded a thumb in and scrambled for home.
       Tired and bloodied, Goob hurtled into camp, creating no small stir. He had fallen numerous times getting there, the task made more difficult since he had to keep the proper number of fingers ready, so he wouldn't lose count. A good number of the tribe had been huddled around a fire when Goob made his startling entrance.   Now, they danced threateningly around Goob, demanding to know what was wrong.
       Goob made one sound that sent everyone into chuckles. Good's clan was at war with another tribe that lived in the same general area. Maybe war isn't the right word since the battles were generally lopsided. This other tribe still hadn't discovered fire or the use of weapons, making them less than worthy opponents. The name given to their adversaries showed the general lack of respect amongst Goob's clansmen. It was the sound of a rather disgusting but strangely humorous bodily function.
       Despite the lingering giggles, the chief recognized that something would have to be done about the invaders, but that presented a problem. If he took too few men, the intruders might actually win. This was unacceptable. If he took too many men, which was generally the case since everyone enjoyed a good skull bashing, they would win, but the victory would lose all its appeal. Everyone would have to walk home and listen to the few who actually got to crack some heads brag about their victory. This most often caused hurt feelings, and sometimes developed into full-scale brawls. The chief looked perplexed. Goob had the answer.
       Goob held up his nine fingers and started jabbering excitedly. The crowd held up their hands and shook their heads in frustration. More than one started to get that same expression that Snort and Goob's wife got right before they tore into him. Luckily for Goob, he took control of the situation before they put him out of his misery. He pushed several warriors into a group, the chief among them, and lined them up. There were too many bodies for the amount of fingers, so Goob thinned the ranks and counted again. One more found himself rejected, the rest Goob herded off in the direction he had just come. The group straggled along reluctantly at first, but soon trudged off after their animated guide. Warm hands caressed clubs as the clansmen realized that the trip wouldn't be a total loss. Even if they never found any enemies, at least they would get to beat Goob senseless.

       Hoots and hollers echoed off the rock walls as the party returned later that evening. Goob's back glowed red from all the congratulations he had received from his clansmen. Goob had been the only one not to see some action, having forgotten to minus one from his count to include himself. He didn't mind at all. He was the hero.
       Goob tripped his way home through the dark late that night, full of enough meat and praise to last a year. He wasn't surprised to see the soft glow of a fire emanating from his cave. As he entered, his wife, as usual, lay curled up next to the dying flames sleeping peacefully. She might get really mad sometimes, but she always came back. Goob lay down next to her. He would let the others tell her tomorrow about his success. It was easier--and safer--that way.

       Goob woke up early that next morning. He groaned as he rolled onto his back.. He had an egg sized bump protruding from his forehead, innumerable cuts and bruises, and his jaw popped painfully when he tried to open his mouth. He welcomed all these wounds gratefully. They meant that he hadn't dreamt it all.
       He exited the cave, leaving his wife to sleep, and climbed back up to his perch on the cliff. He still wanted to see if he could catch a glimpse of the stone hand from up top.
He strained his eyes as hard as he could, but he couldn't see anything like the giant hand. He tried quench his disappointment with the success of counting.
       It didn't take long until he found some prime counting material. Off in the distance approached a bunch of perfectly spaced dots. He assumed they were animals since they kept getting bigger, but he still couldn't make them out.
       Goob stuck up one hand, quickly ran out of fingers, so brought up the other. Then he ran into a problem: too many dots. The way he was sitting afforded the answer. Goob had never really noticed how many toes he had before. He leaned back awkwardly and lined some more up. Goob still balanced precariously when the first dot came into focus. Excitement wasn't his first reaction this time, nor his second. Shock developed into terror. A whole pack of saber-toothed tigers were coming his way, fast. There is a time for counting and a time to get the heck out of there. Luckily, Goob was scared enough to make the distinction.

                                                             -The End-