Apeshit

by Bill Olver

  “You deserve a better name. Guenevere or Galena would have suited you perfectly,” said Boris, in a soft voice. Gee was delicately preening her tummy near the front of the exhibit. “Or, better, forget the first letter thing. They should have called you Anastasia.” The name evoked royalty and his own Russian ancestry. He took off his cap, rubbed his shining pate and returned his attention to sweeping. It was not his job to assign monikers to the mammals. His job was to clean up after them.

  “The messiest animals aren’t the ones inside the cages, but the ones standing upright on the outside,” he said with a wink toward Gee, as he shuffled past. She lifted her head, and flashed her ivory teeth, as if she, too, was amused by the sentiment. A throng of visitors hustled in the direction of Gee’s display, and Boris realized that Gee’s smile had been a threat display. She scurried to the back of her cage and crouched with her back to the audience.

  Boris remembered the anticipation he felt upon reading last month’s “Zoo Noos” bulletin. It said that the mountain gorilla’s delivery to her new home would be the morning of April 5th. Boris promptly circled the date in red on his kitchen calendar. He had just finished Dian Fossey’s book, Gorillas In the Mist. He enjoyed almost everything he read, but the books about these sleek African primates intrigued him. He needed to find a way onto day shift. After a night at the pub, Aaron, the first shift janitor, agreed to switch hours with him the week of the gorilla’s arrival. Boris didn’t normally care for the spike-haired lad, or the piles of dirt he left for Boris to clean on night shift, but the lad was quite agreeable once you got a coupla pints into him. Time passed as slowly as cold treacle as Boris waited for the big day to arrive.

  Boris recalled how bug-eyed he had been that first morning, with one eye on the empty, gray exhibit and another on his broom and dustpan. It was half past seven, several hours before opening, and he was happy he would not have to fight through the crowds to get his first glimpse of the mountain gorilla. His vigilance paid off as he watched the door at the back lift up. One small gorilla emerged from the dark hollow of the back quarters. Boris’ eyes kept wandering back to the now closed door, half expecting a companion to join her. She sat with her back against the back wall, arms encircling her plush body. Her crouching form was swallowed up by the enormous stone cage which was empty, save for a few trees, a bail of hay, a rubber tire and a streak of sunlight from the glass ceiling. The door opened again, and an aluminum tray containing something green, along with a few banana slices and stalks of celery, was set inside. Gee ignored it.

  For the first few days, Boris noticed that Gee rarely approached the front of her cage, and stayed hunched in one of the back corners during open hours. Boris found himself chastising children, and more than a few adults, who rapped their knuckles on the glass to get the Mountain Gorilla’s attention. He wished he could say something to the ones who contorted their faces or rudely thrust their tongues out at Gee, but he knew that making faces wasn’t against the rules. At least the other primates at the zoo had companions to distract them. The zoo currently had six Western Lowland Gorillas, but from what he had read, the two species did not interact well so Gee was given her own cage. Boris sighed. This little lady was given a life of solitary confinement. He knew what it meant to be alone.

  His reverie was disturbed by the monotonous bleeping of a golf cart rolling past. Boris was just sweeping up the last centimeter of frightful pink and blue fairy spittle when the zoo attendant settled onto the stool next to Gee’s exhibit. He had seen her there before and had heard that the saucy little minx was a student at the Royal Veterinary College. The girl reminded him of berries, sweet and ripe for the picking. Her blonde hair and perky B-cups pointed his way invitingly. He was focusing on her left breast, in particular, which bore the name, “Patrice,” when a pronounced throat clearing brought his attention back to her face. The girl smiled and blew him a kiss. Boris wished he was not retiring in a few weeks. He gave her a grin that was both wolfish and sheepish and smoothed down his spidery, silver uni-brow with one finger. He doffed his cap to her and began to empty trash cans. Boris listened to the monologue she gave twice each hour.

  “Welcome to London Zoo. Gee is a five-year-old female Gorilla beringei beringei or Mountain Gorilla. She comes to us from the Virunga Mountain Range in Uganda, East Africa. She is just over one meter tall and weighs nearly 65 kilos. At maturity, Gee will weigh approximately 130 kilos. Though Mountain Gorillas are extremely powerful, they are very gentle and social animals.” Boris chuckled to himself when Gee seized that particular moment to hurl her food tray against the back wall. The round metal tray clattered to the floor and spun on its edges for what seemed like ages. Banana slices rolled in every direction like tiny wagon wheels. Patrice paused, smiling, and then continued, “Due to deforestation and poaching, Gorilla populations are facing a rapid decline throughout the world, and Mountain Gorillas are dwindling the fastest, with only seven-hundred remaining.” Patrice paused to take a sip of Irn-Bru and then stood up, mic in hand, walking toward one of the last groups of zoo patrons.

  Boris groaned at the sight of a toddler dragging yet another pink and blue elephant. She waddled toward the exhibit with her mother in hot pursuit. “Kitty!” Boris’ heart melted when he heard the child’s adorably mistaken moniker for Gee. The little girl’s eyes were fastened on Gee as she tried to climb up onto the shelf that ran around the exhibit. Her mother pulled her away. Boris felt sorry for the little girl until she emitted an ear-splitting wail. Then the child’s mother gripped her hand and hurried toward the exit. A trail of pink and blue glitter was left behind like breadcrumbs. Boris grumbled and reached for his broom and dustpan.

  Patrice ended her oratory by waving the fan of colorful literature toward the backs of departing patrons, and then sighed heavily, returning to pack up her station. As she did, Boris got the inside scoop about Gee. According to Patrice, poachers slaughtered Gee’s entire family. Many days later, wildlife researchers found the orphan gorilla nesting only a few meters from the site of the grisly murders. “Murders” was the exact word the girl used. She obviously felt strongly about the welfare of animals. A wave of guilt hit him. In future, he would make a concerted effort not to ogle the girl’s chest and bottom. He said goodbye to Patrice and started to pack up his janitor’s cart. He glanced at his furry spectator again and smiled.

  “How are you, luv?” Gee saw him standing next to the glass, paused and then lumbered closer. She sniffed a spot that was about a meter from the periphery of her cage and then planted herself with grace on the floor. She watched Boris. Boris watched her. There was something significant in her caramel-colored eyes. But Boris couldn’t say exactly what it was. Something meaningful. Something clever. Gee leaned closer toward him, looking more intently into his eyes. It was impossible not to recognize high intelligence when it presented itself, and it lived in this animal. “Are you lonely, little girl? Miss your mummy?”

  The knowledge of Gee’s history stirred pictures in his head. A jade green forest. A waterfall spilling from a chocolate brown mountainside. A dozen or more inky, plush creatures tumbling and frolicking together. His heart went out to her as she sat all alone in her cage. Boris pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. Sometimes he hated this job, he thought, as he wheeled his cart into the janitor’s closet. As his retirement approached, he found himself becoming quite misty-eyed at the silliest things. Retirement was a good thing. It would mean he’d have all the time in the world to read.

  Boris, a closet librarian, read everything he could get his hands on. But Boris didn’t share his bibliophile habits with anyone, especially at work. In fact, except to the zoo’s feathered or furred residents, he spoke only a few words to anyone. Boris sometimes wondered if his love of words was the reason he expended them so sparingly and only on the most worthy ears. He made an occasional stop at the pub, but not for the social aspect. Like any man, he enjoyed a pint or two. But after downing his ale, Boris was quickly out the door again
.

  The next day was Saturday, and Boris was having a lovely dream about bashing in pink and blue elephant heads when the phone rang. He stumbled into the living room and knocked over a huge stack of books before grabbing the receiver. The man from London Zoo personnel sounded quite desperate.

  “Aaron just rung us. Says he has the influenza and is quite incapacitated. We’ll need you to come in and cover his shift. Can you do a double?”

  What a cock-and-bull story, Boris seethed, on his way back into work. Aaron was a blithering idiot. Everyone at the zoo knew the wanker wasn’t sick. He had been flapping his cakehole all week about the lunch date he had on Friday with a lingerie model named Trixie whom he intended to shag. Apparently lunch turned into dinner, and the date concluded as expected.

  It was a rainy and especially harrowing day at the zoo. He had to mop and remop the entrance. And the loo suffered from numerous clogs. The last of the zoo patrons left, and Boris had just enough time to grab a bag of crisps from the employee vending machine before heading back for his second shift.

  The night was blissful and uneventful. The animals were given their evening meal and safely locked away in the back areas by 7 PM. This gave the cleaning crews a chance to go into the front areas and sanitize them. As Boris passed the gorilla section, he noticed that Gee was still out in her main area. It was half past eight. Odd, he thought. She saw him and immediately repositioned herself only inches from the glass and then pressed her long, black palm against the surface. It was such a human gesture. The gesture of a loved one saying goodbye from a departing train window. She held it there for a few minutes, looking intently at Boris. He sat down on the ledge next to the glass.

  “Hello, little girl. How would you like to come home with me tonight? I’ll share what’s left of that delicious steak and kidney pie that Mrs. Beastly baked for me.” The gorilla yawned but kept her hand against the glass. “What? Not a meat lover? Ah, yes, I forgot. You’re a strict vegetarian. Well, then, perhaps I could whip you up a mean bowl of banana porridge. Would you fancy that?” Boris didn’t know why he was so talkative whenever he was with the animals. Somebody had to do the talking, he guessed. Gee leaned her shoulder against the glass, her eyes alert and poised on him. He could see a few fine silver hairs that intertwined with the dark ones along her coal black body. Premature aging from all the trauma, he surmised.

  Boris noted how few lines crisscrossed the palm of her hand and wondered why he had always assumed that a gorilla’s skin was leathery. Up close, it looked butter soft. He lifted his hand and placed it on the opposite side of hers. He pressed his shoulder on the glass, too, and rested his head on it, watching her. And then he was close enough to see the vertical trails of misery that darkened Gee’s cheeks. Boris went rigid. He had always been able to ignore the emotional aspect of caring for caged animals, but the urge to smash the glass and set her free was hard to resist. The poor thing needed love and companionship. If she were a human child, she would barely be out of nappies.

  “I wish I could help you, luv. I really do. If it were up—” A sound interrupted him, and Boris turned to see the security door to the back area swing closed. Had someone been standing there all this time? He hoped it wasn’t anyone important, but jumped up to get back to work, just in case. Then he noticed the door at the back of Gee’s cage slide open and a tray of food was slid inside. Gee ignored it, pressing her face against the glass. Boris headed to the next exhibit to clean, hoping his absence would encourage her to eat.

  Boris and Gee developed the routine of old friends. Every evening he took his dinner break beside Gee’s cage. He was enchanted the first time she picked up her tray from its place near the back wall. He expected her to throw it again. Instead, she pushed it or carried it, albeit a bit awkwardly, across the cage and set it down on the floor by the window. Sometimes a few bits of celery fell off, and she knuckle-walked back to retrieve them. Gee, apparently, preferred to eat in the company of others, and Boris had become her chosen dinner partner. Boris wondered how she did at breakfast when he wasn’t there, and he worried a little. But her fur gleamed, and her eyes were bright. She was the picture of health, as far as he could see. They would eat, and Boris would tell her all about his day.

  He told Gee about Mrs. Beastly’s latest home-baked treats or the long wait at the tube station or about the people he saw in the queue waiting for the train. He described the catered press party that the zoo had to promote the new Siberian tiger exhibit and what a gala event it was. Gee casually emptied her tray like she always did and sat listening. Or at least, it seemed like she was listening as Boris began to tell her about the amazing book he had just started.

  “It’s about meteors, you see…they’re up there,” he said, pointing toward the glass ceiling of her cage. Her eyes followed his finger, and she pressed herself closer to him and lay down. She often fell asleep next to him, and Boris wondered how long she stayed in the front after he left. She was gone when he returned to clean her cage toward the end of his shift. He always saved her cage for last. It seemed the zookeepers were letting her have more freedom, allowing her more time to acclimate to both the front and back sections of her cage. It gave them more time together.

  But that time was bittersweet, because April 30th was approaching fast. Thirty-seven years at London Zoo. Yes, he was quite ready to say goodbye to the mop and broom forever. He planned to celebrate his retirement by not cleaning his own flat for a month. He would read a book a day, sleep in every morning and eat whenever he chose. And he wouldn’t step foot in the tube station again, except maybe to visit Gee. The child gorilla was the first thing he thought about every day when he awoke. He couldn’t wait to get into work so he could check on her. What a charmer she is, that Gee. It would never be the same, coming as a regular zoo visitor, fighting to see her between bobbing heads…and who knew if she would even come close to the glass again with all the screaming children and cameras flashing at her?

  ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

  A bluetit pried a thistle seed from the tube feeder that hung outside Boris’ second story flat. The two-note call of her mate reminded Boris of a squeaky swingset laden with child. Boris put down another book he had lost interest in reading and sipped his Rosy Lee tea. Enchanted Seas should have been fascinating stuff. But his heart felt like a teacup without a saucer. One could still have tea without it, but it just wasn’t the same. There wasn’t that satisfying chink of the spoon hitting the plate or the fragile resting place between sips. It had been over a month since he retired from the zoo. And he felt listless for the first time in ages. He had been so busy wading through his retirement and pension paperwork, he had not been back for a visit. Perhaps it was for the better, he thought, make a clean break of it.

  He spotted the Cancun brochure that was wedged between the Evening Standard and the book about Mayan culture that he had finally finished. The bottom half of the brochure had turquoise water framed by tropical fuchsia flowers and said: TO PARADISE. He knew the top half said: ESCAPE. A place in the sun to sip a fruity drink and smoke an imported cigar. An all-inclusive week in Cancun was exactly what he needed. He had invested his money wisely, so there was nothing stopping him. He had no children, no nieces, no nephews, no worries.

  Boris picked up the brochure and stared at it. The sound of honking from the street below penetrated his reverie, and he peered out the window. A decrepit plaid-trousered codger inched a metal zimmer across the intersection. He stopped to rest frequently. The sound of horns screeched from beneath slick silver bonnets of cars, driven by slick young executives, impatient to reach their slick offices. The old man stopped, his mouth hanging open. That will soon be me, Boris thought with a grimace. And then the phone rang.

  “Mr. Freeman? I hope I’m not bothering you.” The caller identified himself as Ian MacDowell, the head veterinarian at the zoo. The man’s lilting Irish brogue was thick, and Boris wondered if he misunderstood the title. Why is he calling me?

  “No, of course not. W
hat can I do for you, Mr. MacDowell?” Boris tried to sound casual, as if men of such caliber called him every day.

  “It’s our Mountain Gorilla, you see. She’s gone off her food, and will drink very little water. Frankly, we’re concerned. She’s become quite lethargic. And then there’s the lowland gorilla that we brought in for company. We thought perhaps a younger gorilla would be a suitable companion, but she completely terrorized Gertrude.” He sounded quite deflated, even for an Irishman, Boris thought.

  Did the man say Gee is not eating? Boris felt a lump growing in his throat. “I’d like to help, but…You do know that I worked for the janitorial department, don’t you?” Boris wondered if there had been some mix up in the personnel files.

  “Yes, of course. Let me explain, Mr. Freeman. I’ve been told how close you and our gorilla were and—”

  “Her name is Gee,” Boris couldn’t resist. The “our gorilla” was beginning to get to him.

  “Oh, yes. Gee. Of course you would be on a first name basis.” He chuckled, and Boris did not join him, nor did he see the humor, so the man continued. “Well, one of my assistants, in primates, Patrice Matthews, has told me how much Gee has taken to you, and was doing quite well until you left. Miss Matthews said that our gorilla, uh, Gee, became quite agitated when you didn’t show up for work at the usual time. She tried to console her, but then they had to restrain her for a few days for fear that she’d hurt herself.”

  “Is she alright? How bad is it?” Boris asked in a hushed voice.

  “Mr. Freeman, she’s not doing well. Indeed, we have to take whatever measures are necessary to ensure that this animal’s, er, depression, is lifted so she can make a full recovery. I realize you are no longer employed with us, but the fact of the matter is that this animal is in decline. Would you consider coming back on a part-time basis as a partial caretaker with Gee? If it works out, I assure you we can pay you well.”