Half Brother

by Kenneth Oppel

  “Sure,” I said, trying to sound all casual. Jennifer had never invited me to her house before, and I felt a rush of excitement. “Who’s coming?”

  “Not me,” said Hugh. “I’ve got rugby practice.”

  “Yes, we all know you have rugby practice,” Jennifer said, rolling her eyes. Hugh had just been promoted to the grade nine A team. And he’d been working it into conversation quite a bit.

  “You sticking around?” Hugh asked Kelly.

  Her mouth turned down at the corners. “To watch you practise? It’s kind of muddy out there.”

  “Nice team spirit,” said Jennifer. Kelly gave her a sour smile. “I’ve got piano,” said Shannon.

  “Oh, right,” said Jennifer, like it had slipped her mind. “And Jane’s got a doctor’s appointment, right?” Mono, I thought hopefully.

  “Oh well,” Jennifer said, with a careless shrug. She looked from Hugh to me, then brushed my hand. “Looks like it’s just us, then.”

  The Godwins lived really close to the school, and I walked home with David and Jennifer.

  The last two periods had passed in a blur. It was like the teachers were speaking in a variety of different languages, only some of which existed on Earth. I had no idea what we covered. All I could think was: Jennifer has invited me over to her house.

  She knew Hugh couldn’t come. She knew Jane couldn’t come. I was pretty sure she knew Shannon couldn’t come either, because Shannon always had piano lessons after school on Thursday.

  So really she was inviting just me.

  Her father would not be home yet. Her mother was out playing golf until six. Yes, David would be there, but he said he had a ton of homework, so maybe he’d disappear to his room to work.

  We walked down the shady streets, talking about the glam rock scene in the U.K., and Evel Knievel trying to jump his car across Snake River Canyon.

  “Hasn’t he already broken every bone in his body?” Jennifer said.

  “Except his neck,” I said.

  “Actually, I think he broke his neck once,” said David. “This time he’s got a jet engine to help him make the jump.”

  “The guy’s nuts,” I said. But if Jennifer had been waiting on the other side of Snake River Canyon, I would’ve done it.

  David let us into the house. I called Mom and told her I was over at the Godwin’s and would catch the bus home later.

  We hung around the kitchen a bit, getting drinks and toasting Pop-Tarts. Then we went down to the rec room. David clicked on the TV and we all slumped in a row on the chesterfield. We caught the tail end of Happy Days, and then The Flintstones came on.

  David sighed and stood up. “As much as I’d like to watch cartoons with you kids,” he said, “I’ve got an essay on fascism to write.” He trudged upstairs.

  We were alone. Sitting side by side on the sofa. I tried to think up lines from my logbook, but couldn’t.

  “You want me to change the channel?” Jennifer asked.

  “Absolutely not,” I said. The dominant male took charge. “I love The Flintstones.”

  “Really? Me too!”

  “I had a crush on Betty when I was younger,” I admitted. She looked at me, lips parted in surprise. “You’re kidding.” “No. She’s a fox. I like her cave dress, too. Have you noticed she never changes it? Same one every episode.”

  Jennifer wrinkled her nose. “I’d never thought of that.” “Come on,” I said, “be honest. You probably had a thing for Barney.”

  She gasped in outrage. “I never had a thing for Barney!” “Okay, he is a bit short. How about Fred, then?” She was laughing pretty hard. “You are such a weirdo! Did you a have thing for Wilma too?” “Nope. Just Betty. I like brunettes.”

  She was still laughing when I kissed her, but then her mouth relaxed into mine and we turned towards each other on the chesterfield. Fred Flintstone was shouting, “Yabba-dabba do!” At first she tasted like cherry Pop-Tart but as we kept kissing, I stopped noticing. I felt like some desert wanderer who’d finally reached a well. My hands grazed her cheeks, her hair. She had both hands around my neck. When my tongue touched hers, I wanted more—wanted everything about her.

  She pulled back and, for the first time, I felt I could really look at her—without having to worry about being rude, or her friends noticing. The freckles across her nose made her more beautiful. Her mouth looked swollen and delicious.

  “Your lip gloss is definitely smushed,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Oh well.”

  We talked for a bit, and then we heard David coming downstairs, already tired of fascism and wanting to watch I Dream of Jeannie.

  Next week, on Tuesday, I signed myself out of school early and took the bus to the university campus. I was worried I’d run into Dad, or even Mom, so I kept an eye out as I made my way to the Tenney Auditorium. Peter was waiting for me in the lobby and we went in to get seats.

  It was a pretty upsetting talk. The guy’s name was William Eckler and he showed slides of all sorts of tests being done on animals. Mostly they were small animals like mice and rats and rabbits. He was very calm and matter-of-fact. He said a lot of the time the tests were for things like makeup, and not medicines that might cure people.

  “But even if they were,” he said, “should we be torturing animals so we can heal humans? Is that fair?”

  I guess I’d always assumed humans were more important than animals. We killed and ate animals all the time—unless you were vegetarian, which I wasn’t—so it seemed hypocritical to start worrying about animals’ feelings or how we treated them. I found it hard to worry too much about a rat or a mouse.

  At the end of his talk, Eckler showed a movie of the inside of a medical research facility. It was called the Thurston Foundation. The movie had no sound and it was black and white. The picture was all shaky, like they’d smuggled a hidden camera inside, and filmed in a hurry.

  I saw rows and rows of cages filled with all sorts of animals. The camera got in really close to one of the cages, and inside was a chimpanzee. He was little, maybe three months old, and much skinnier than Zan was at that age. It looked like some of his hair had fallen out. He was rocking back and forth really fast, his huge eyes blank.

  I felt my stomach start churning, and was glad when the film ended.

  “Scientists like experimenting on chimps,” said Eckler. “They’re the closest species to us on the planet, so they think if a drug works on them, it’ll work on us. That little cage you saw is called an isolette. It’s so small the animal can hardly turn around and it’s kept in strict isolation. The animals have usually been injected with some kind of virus so scientists can test a new drug or vaccine. They might not develop any symptoms, or they might get really sick. Sometimes they die. Now, that little chimp you just saw—you lock up a living creature, especially one as smart as a chimp, and it suffers not just physically, but psychologically. It was hugging and rocking itself for some kind of stimulation. Chimps are very social. They need company.”

  I’d read that too. Something like: “One chimp is no chimp.”

  There were some pamphlets you could take at the end, and I shoved some into my knapsack.

  Peter walked with me to the bus stop. I kept thinking of that little face behind the bars of the cage.

  “Zan has a way better life than that,” I said.

  “He sure does,” Peter agreed.

  It was strange, but the talk actually made me feel better about Zan. We were worried about strapping him into a chair—but in the lab they were locking them in boxes and poking them with needles and giving them diseases.

  “That lab they showed,” I said. “Was that the kind of place Zan was born?”

  Peter shook his head. “Borroway’s not a biomedical facility,” he said. “They’re Air Force. They don’t do medical tests, not exactly. Just stuff to see how chimps will react to certain conditions.”

  “Like that rocket-sled test you told me about.”

  “Right. So maybe it’s no
t so different.”

  “It was a good thing we rescued him, then,” I said.

  Peter shrugged. “Well, he was taken from his own mother when he was eight days old.”

  “I know that,” I said, “but if he’d stayed at the base, he might’ve ended up dead in some experiment.”

  “Yep.”

  “So we rescued him, really,” I said.

  “He’s still a prisoner, though,” Peter said. “Zan’s just lucky his prison guards are nice.”

  “I’m not one of his prison guards,” I said, annoyed. “He’s more like my brother.”

  Peter just looked at me. “People don’t usually get paid for playing with their little brothers.”

  A few weeks ago I’d told him I was getting paid for my shifts with Zan, and now I wished I hadn’t.

  “Kids get paid for babysitting their little brothers and sisters,” I said, using Mom’s argument. “Anyway,” I added after a few seconds, “you don’t work for free.”

  Peter chuckled. “Nope. I’ve gotta pay my way through school.”

  “So only I shouldn’t get paid?” I said.

  Peter smiled apologetically. “Hey, I’m sorry, man. I know you love him. I love him too. My head’s just full of this stuff and … I’m just thinking out loud. Forget it, okay?”

  “Okay.” I couldn’t really get mad at Peter; I liked him too much, and he was always kind to me.

  We reached the bus stop and I could see my bus coming from down the street.

  “Do you think Zan should have some chimp friends?” I said.

  Peter laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure your dad would be thrilled to have another one in the house. That’s not the main thing I worry about,” he said. “You know what I worry about? What’s going to happen to Zan when this experiment’s over?”

  All the way home, I mulled over what Peter had said.

  I’d never really thought about an afterwards with Zan. When a baby arrived at your house all tiny and wrapped up, and you bottle-fed him and took care of him, you assumed he was part of the family and there to stay. That’s what I’d thought. And that’s sure what Zan thought: we were his family.

  I’d never had a pet. But it seemed like when people brought home a puppy or kitten, it stayed with them until it died. And Zan was so much more than a pet. You couldn’t send him away just because the experiment was over.

  I had to change buses at Cordova Plaza. As I waited I could see the Bank of Montreal, where I’d been depositing all the money from my shifts with Zan. I wondered if I should go and take it all out and give it back, and make a little speech about how I didn’t want to be a prison guard any more.

  But I was selfish. I liked having my own money. I could buy stuff for Jennifer, and take her out someday, when she was allowed. Which was three years away. In the meantime, I was saving up for a new camera.

  But I started thinking maybe I should be saving up for something else.

  Maybe I should be saving up so I could take care of Zan.

  THIRTEEN

  KILLER CHIMP

  Tonight was one of our dinners without Zan, so Dad was in a pretty good mood. It was certainly calmer without Zan, but the room felt empty to me. Right now the high chair was in his playroom, where he’d been fed by the students. Occasionally I heard a faint pant-hoot from his suite, and it made me sad. I picked at my food. It took me until dessert before I could bring myself to ask the question.

  “What’ll happen to Zan when the project’s over?”

  I was looking at Mom, and saw her eyes go to Dad, so I knew this was something they’d already talked about. She was worried how I’d react. Dad must’ve planned something; he was such a planner.

  “The project was designed to go on for years and years, Ben,” Mom said. “Indefinitely, really.”

  “Okay,” I said. Indefinitely was good. It was practically forever. “But what if you don’t get the grant.”

  “Very, very unlikely,” said Dad.

  “Just say. What if you have to end the experiment?”

  Dad was about to speak, but Mom talked first.

  “This is a groundbreaking experiment, Ben. The whole world’s watching. No one wants it to end.”

  “Absolutely,” said Dad. “As long as Zan can keep learning, the project will go on.”

  I let out a breath. I felt a lot better and suddenly wanted another helping of dessert. Maybe I’d been worrying about nothing. Zan had been in Time magazine. He was famous. The first chimp to talk. As long as we kept teaching him, he’d keep learning. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  I woke up the next day with my throat hot and gummy, and by the time I got home from school I felt really lousy. I didn’t sleep very well that night, and in my head was this movie about Zan in a hotel, and no one was very happy to see him. It just went on and on, keeping me twitching and turning, trying to get comfortable in bed. When I woke up, I was parched and my throat crackled with pain.

  “Stay home and rest,” Mom said. “I’ve got to give a tutorial this morning, but I’ll be back by noon.”

  Before she left, she brought me lots of orange juice, and a piece of toast and peanut butter, which I choked down. Then I took some Aspirin and slept a bit more. I dreamed upsetting sounds, and when I woke, I still heard them. Zan was having a temper tantrum in his suite. I looked at my clock. Ten. School time for him. I wondered if he was strapped into the learning chair.

  I threw on my dressing gown and went out into the hall. Zan was shrieking and hooting. I heard a man speak sharply to him, but Zan kept it up. He didn’t sound just upset—he sounded terrified. I sat at the top of the stairs. I’d never heard him like this before, and it made me queasy.

  Dad had always told me not to interfere with the students. So I sat, praying for Zan’s crying to stop. The sound was like a gripping pain in my chest, and it made me want to cry.

  It didn’t stop.

  I counted to ten and it didn’t stop.

  I counted to twenty and it didn’t stop.

  I ran downstairs, the sounds getting louder as I neared the kitchen. I unlocked the door to Zan’s suite and went into the playroom.

  Ryan Cross and Susan Wilkes were with Zan, and looked over at me in surprise.

  Zan was buckled into the learning chair, struggling and screaming. It smelled bad in the room, like he’d had a big poo. When he caught sight of me he became even more frantic.

  “Let him out,” I said.

  “He had three warnings,” said Ryan calmly. Susan looked kind of stunned, just watching the whole scene.

  “He’s too upset!” I said.

  “He’s only been in there five minutes,” Ryan replied, checking his watch and making a note on his clipboard. “Also, Ben, this is not your shift.”

  He reminded me so much of my father just then. “Let him out,” I said again.

  “He’s always like this for the first little bit,” said Ryan. “Then he quiets down.”

  “It’s always this bad?” I demanded.

  Ryan shrugged. “We’re just following your father’s protocol, little man.”

  Had Zan been crying like this every day? I was usually at school, but Mom worked from home most of the time. She would’ve heard. She hadn’t said anything about this. Didn’t it bother her?

  I walked towards the chair. Ryan put out his hand to stop me, but I pushed past and started undoing the buckles.

  Zan was so upset he lunged at my hands as if he wanted to bite me. Maybe he thought I was going to tighten the straps or something.

  “Zan,” I said calmly, “I’m going to take you out.”

  Out, I signed for him, over and over again until he calmed down a little and began to sign back to me—out, out—and hoot eagerly.

  “Your Dad’s not going to be happy about this,” Ryan said. “Too bad.”

  Zan sprang out of the chair into my arms and wouldn’t let go of my neck. He was kissing my cheek over and over again and signing kiss and hug and go out.

  “Enough is
enough!” Ryan snapped. He stepped forward and put out his hands to take Zan from me.

  Zan bit him. Hard.

  “Shit!” bellowed Ryan, pulling his hand away. Zan’s baby teeth had come in long ago and they were sharp. Blood welled from Ryan’s third finger. It looked bad.

  “You’re going to need stitches,” said Susan, her face pale. “I can drive you to the hospital.”

  Ryan grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped it tight around his finger. He swallowed. “Goddamn monkey,” he muttered.

  “You okay with Zan alone?” Susan asked me.

  “Yeah, fine,” I said, even though I felt kind of woozy, and my throat was ragingly sore.

  “Probably a good idea to call your dad,” she said. “Tell him I’m taking Ryan to the emergency room at the Jubilee.”

  I was glad to see them both go. Ryan deserved what he got, but there was going to be a lot of trouble. I sighed and, with Zan still hugging me tight, I went to the phone to call Dad.

  Dad was frighteningly calm when I told him. He just wanted the facts. He asked if I was okay, told me to take care of Zan, then hung up to drive to the hospital.

  When Mom got home at noon, I told her everything. She didn’t say very much either, but she looked worried. Zan was good as gold over lunch. He knew he’d done something very bad and was trying to make up for it by being extra obedient, and making his signs very, very clearly.

  At around three o’clock Dad came home and called me downstairs. I was still in my pyjamas, feeling rotten. Mom and Dad were waiting for me in the living room. Zan was out back with the new shift of students.

  “Ben, you have created a huge amount of trouble,” Dad said.

  “Me?” I exclaimed. “What about Ryan?”

  “Ryan said Zan was starting to calm down when you barged in and got him all riled up.”

  “That’s a lie!” I said. “Zan was screaming. You could hear him all over the house. He woke me up.”

  “How many times have I told you not to interfere?” Dad demanded.

  I looked at Mom. “I’d never heard him sound so upset!”

  “It wasn’t your responsibility, Ben.” Dad told me.