Stotts meanwhile sat in the chair, filling in some form on his Lenses about the day’s events. Not used to the Lenses, his eyes narrowed as he tried to click the checkboxes with his finger. He looked unhappy. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his prized project going.
When Goliath returned, sitting down beside her, she picked up one of his hands. He chewed, his expression internal with pleasure. His hand was heavy with muscle and bone.
She grasped his forearm and the back of his hand to swivel his wrist through its entire range of motion. Something inside made a grinding noise.
She said, You know what? I bet bonobo wrists are different.
Stotts looked up.
She said, They’re engineered for strength, for knuckle-walking and climbing trees. Not for flexibility and speed.
Stotts paused. She thought he’d understand this point instantly and congratulate her on the insight, but instead he responded in a quiet voice, We don’t discuss expectations in front of the subject.
Goliath didn’t seem particularly interested in the conversation. He’d finished eating the last gummy and was looking around for more.
She stood up to put more gummy bears in the metal box so he could try to earn the treat. She clarified, I’m not talking IQ. I’m talking physical capabilities.
Stotts said, Stop.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Goliath turn to look at Stotts’ tone.
I’m telling you, she said tying the rope around the box, His wrist can’t flick fast enough to knapp.
Stotts inhaled and said, Ma’am, it’s time to leave the room.
She looked. Distracted by how smart she felt, she hadn’t paid attention to Stotts. His expression serious.
Stotts stepped forward to place his hand on her arm, ready to march her from the room. However, as he touched her, Goliath stood up.
He seemed strangely bigger than before, his hair rising like a dog’s, transforming him into a creature she didn’t know. He weaved from side to side in warning, his face rigid, staring at Stotts.
The two humans went very still.
She said, Goliath, are you . . . are you protecting me?
He looked from Stotts to her. The expression in his brown eyes changed.
Oh my God, she said, That’s so sweet.
Stotts shot her a glance.
She added, Hey, but it’s alright. I’m fine.
Goliath studied her.
Really, she said, I want to go. I’ll be back in a minute.
Goliath stayed still.
I’m going to take Stotts with me. That alright with you?
Goliath glanced at Stotts, then back to her, his face less rigid.
So she took Stotts’ hand and eased him backward while opening the door. Stotts moved through it as smoothly as water and she followed, closing the door after her, leaving Goliath inside the room.
Wow, she said. Did you see that?
Stotts turned to her, You cannot discuss your expectations in front of them. Ever. It contaminates the research. Goliath understands English.
Frankie was amazed by what had happened. She said, Hey, talk nice to me. Remember, my boyfriend’s in there.
Perhaps Stotts was worried about the dust storm or about his family being so far away. He continued in a tone she hadn’t heard from him before, And manipulating his wrist is not proof.
She said, Oh, come on. You know he’s smart and strong enough to knapp. There has to be something stopping him.
He said, That’s your assumption. Science isn’t about assumptions.
She ignored him, thinking through the issue, You know, it makes me wonder if early humans managed to evolve large brains simply because our wrists could flick.
He coughed out, What?
She said, Come on. Our wrists must have given us a serious advantage. We could chuck rocks hard at other animals to chase them away from their own kill, then use the stone knives we’d made to slice off a really big chunk of meat. Getting access to all that food might have been how we managed to afford our calorie-hungry brains.
She looked in through the small window in the door. Goliath was sitting on the desk, very still, his eyes focused off into space. It looked almost as though he were wearing Lenses and watching a video.
Stotts said, Armchair theorizing is not science. The idea is you have to prove things.
Goliath sat there, hunched and intent, his brow furrowed.
She said, Perhaps instead of Homo sapiens, we should be called Nimblo wristus.
Nimblo . . . Stotts stuttered, Nimblo . . .
His tone was much worse. Only now did she turn and really look at Stotts. His face was tight and a little flushed. Startled, she remembered this was his prized study, that it must have taken him at least a year to raise the funding. She was suggesting the study had never had a chance of working.
Her stomach lurched and she changed the subject, Where do the bonobos stay?
Excuse me?
During the storm. Where do the bonobos stay?
He jerked his chin toward the enclosure and said, In there. Look, nimble wrists are not . . .
Where?
In the enclosure, like normal.
She said, I thought the dust was bad for them.
We shut the roof to the enclosure. Close the outside vents.
Is there enough food for them?
He waved his hand toward the kitchen, We’ve got lots of the 3-D food cartridges. Stop trying to distract . . .
Am I going to be in danger?
What? No.
What work do we have to do?
Care for them. That’s why I . . .
There was an explosive bang from inside the room.
Stotts and Frankie jerked around to look through the window in the door. Goliath was no longer on the desk, no longer visible. They scrambled to open the door, running into the room.
Damn, said Frankie.
Goliath had pulled the carpet back from the corner of the room, revealing the cement floor underneath. This cement now had a large impact mark on it, fragments of the shattered chert scattered all around. He must have hurled the chert at the cement.
Frankie asked, What is he . . .
Goliath was ambling around from one fragment to the next, picking each up to try the edges against his lip. His gait close to a swagger.
She stared, understanding, Holy crap.
The third shard was sharp enough that he pulled it back fast from his lip, a small bead of blood welling. He threw a meaningful look at the two of them, then knuckled over to the metal box. Using this shard, he began to saw through the rope.
She repeated, Holy crap. He . . . He . . . .
No, said Stotts. Goliath, you can’t . . .
Goliath ignored them, half-grunting/half-humming to himself while he sawed, like a man on a quiet Sunday morning cooking breakfast. He was the only relaxed one in the room.
Stotts said, No. That’s . . . that’s cheating.
Goliath hummed, Hmm hmm.
Perhaps all the tension set Frankie off. A honk burst from her lips, the noise surprising. A second honk followed. She worked to smother the rising laughter and ended up snorting out her nose, a violently biological sound.
Stotts turned to stare at her.
The rope broke, and Goliath opened the box, pulling out the gummy bears. He sang a lilting two-tone chirp—the bonobo version of ta-da!
Feeling terrible for Stotts, she tried to stop, clamping her throat tight and stuffing her fist into her mouth. This seemed only to make the noise louder—grinding muscular sounds. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. Over time the need built up. Leaning against the wall, she slid down until she sat on the ground.
Goliath placed half the gummy bears in her other hand and rolled her fingers shut round th
e treats. He sat beside her, patting her head like a parent trying to quiet a child.
Frankie cradled the treats to her chest, grunting and honking in the most unattractive manner, her eyes watering and alarmed. There was the distinct possibility she might wet her pants. Goliath put the first gummy bear in his mouth and, closing his eyes, began to chew.
Stotts surveyed the room—the rock shards, the pulled-back rug, Goliath humming to himself, her snorting and rocking. He let his eyes rise to the enclosure window. Mama stood there, looking in, probably drawn over by the bang of the rock hitting the cement. A hairless skinny homunculus with a regal posture, she locked eyes with him.
Staring into her eyes, he forced himself to exhale, letting go of the air trapped inside of him. He leaned back against the wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the ground next to Frankie. With his head resting against the wall, he gave up.
With nothing else to offer him, Frankie held out a single gummy bear.
He took it, half whispering, My beautiful research.
Twenty Seven
By the time the afternoon rolled around, everyone was moving a lot faster, everyone that is but Frankie. She sat in the enclosure, observing the bonobos and occasionally turning to watch the keeper, Stotts and the two other staff-people half-jogging along the paths pushing handcarts full of supplies. Every once in awhile, one of them drove by in a forklift. The dust storm would hit late tonight.
The Foundation was closed, the highway empty enough now that every time a car drove by, Frankie looked up. Each one speeding along.
The bonobos seemed uneasy at all the changes. They peeped sadly to themselves and sniffed the air, standing up to look around.
Meanwhile Frankie concentrated on Lucy, whose tempera- ture had been elevated for a day. In the morning she had mated only with females. After lunch, while the others napped in the sun, she moved to the top of the climbing structure. Sweetie climbed after her, pausing occasionally to pick his teeth and look around at the others, checking they were sleeping. Lucy’s sexual swelling was large and pink. When he reached her, he began grooming her, running his hands over her, while she cuddled in close and then closer, staring into his eyes, then sitting in his lap. The mating itself was so fast that if Frankie had looked away for a few seconds she’d have missed it.
Lucy, who normally orgasmed with a high-pitched Ahuh huh huh, this time pressed her lips closed, making not a sound beyond the noise of her breath. Right afterward, she swiveled around fast to look at the other bonobos, the way a kid glances toward the mom to check if she heard the clink of the cookie jar.
Frankie stared. When Adele was ovulating, she’d also chosen Sweetie as the one to have silent sex with. Up until now Frankie hadn’t paid attention to him because he seemed to blend into the background, spending his time grooming the others or napping. She didn’t know what characteristics a bonobo female might find attractive. He was young and healthy and gentle. Physically, he didn’t appear that different from the others except his head and especially his eyes seemed one size too big for his body, as though a caricature artist had sketched him.
Above them, there was a click and then a slow whirr. The roof began sliding shut, glass panels clicking one by one into place, closing off the enclosure in preparation for the storm.
As the last panel slid into position, the ventilation clicked on with a soft whoosh, the warm re-circulated air pumping in. She figured she’d enjoy this storm, no tourists here to stare at her. She would sit inside the enclosure warm and happy, observing the bonobos, especially Sweetie, while the dust storm howled outside.
If she found the females mated with different males when ovulating, she could extend her work to the two remaining groups of captive bonobos: one in the San Diego Zoo and the other in Brussels. It would be a huge coup if she revealed a secret mating strategy of one of humanity’s closest relatives.
The keeper opened the door to the enclosure and beckoned to her.
What, asked Frankie.
The keeper said, Come.
I’m working here, said Frankie.
The keeper said, Come. You need to help.
The bonobos all turned to see why Frankie wasn’t obeying.
Hello, she said, I’m busy.
Mama’s mouth began to tighten. Marge and Adele sat up straighter at this sign of displeasure.
The keeper beckoned impatiently and Marge and Adele got to their feet, their hair beginning to rise.
So Frankie climbed down and followed the keeper. She couldn’t afford right now to have Mama bar her from the enclosure.
The keeper held the door for her and then marched off down the hall, leading the way. Frankie got a little ahead of her and walked backward so the keeper could read her lips as she said, Look, I do research here. It’s important.
The keeper raised her brows, not slowing down at all.
Frankie said, I’m studying how they evolve.
The keeper answered, If they don’t have food and water, they won’t survive. You need to help.
Frankie tilted her head, trying to figure out how to argue with that. In the end, she stopped walking backward and just followed the keeper outside and over to the orangutans’ building.
The man who cared for the chimps was just backing up a forklift, having dumped many bales of hay and some pumpkins across the ground beside the side entrance. The forklift drove off down the path, while the keeper grabbed a nearby wheelbarrow and rolled it over to the pile.
While she heaved the first bale into her wheelbarrow, she jerked her chin at the other wheelbarrow. She said, Come on. We have to get these inside where the dust won’t bury them.
Frankie looked at the bales and pumpkins and said, They need all this?
She had to wave her arms to catch the keeper’s attention and then repeat her statement.
The keeper watched her lips and answered, Eight adults, eight pounds of food each a day. Three bales of hay a night for sleeping in. 10 days til people return after the storm. Help out.
She said, I’m not strong.
You know how to use a forklift?
No.
Then this is the best you can do. Get moving. We have to finish before dark. We have three other enclosures.
Frankie considered the pile in front of her, then the enclosure. She caught a glimpse of one of the orangutans shifting deeper into the trees—red hair and a knuckled hand. She retrieved the wheelbarrow.
By this point in her recovery, she was allowed to lift anything she normally could—the recuperative magic of modern nanogels—but physical labor was not something she’d ever spent much time doing. She figured the bales of hay might be lighter so she reached down to pick one up. Hefting, she grunted with surprise, then let go of it and selected a small pumpkin instead.
After loading her wheelbarrow half full of pumpkins, she tried rolling it forward. It wobbled from side to side. She followed the keeper, concentrating, bumping the wheelbarrow over the threshold and down the hall to dump the contents into the office designated as a temporary storage area. Twice over the next few minutes, attempting the turn into the office, she lost control and the wheelbarrow tumbled, spilling all the pumpkins. The keeper glanced at her as she weaved her much more heavily loaded wheelbarrow smoothly past Frankie’s mess.
As they were finishing up, the keeper rolled one last load into the orangutans’ sleeping chamber. Frankie set her empty wheelbarrow down and followed behind, curious, pausing in the doorway. With a fast twist of her arms, the keeper dumped her load of pumpkins across the floor. The pumpkins thudded onto the ground and spun away from each other among the hammocks and piles of straw. The keeper stepped out, clanked shut the metal door to the chamber and pressed the button to roll open the gate to the enclosure so the orangutans could enter.
Frankie stared out into the enclosure.
From somewhere out there, one
of the orangutans made a noise between a fake laugh and the sound of wood creaking. She could see nothing move.
The keeper walked away, saying, They won’t enter until you’re left. Come on. The chimps are next.
With a backward glance, Frankie followed, pushing her empty wheelbarrow.
Next to the chimps’ enclosure, Frankie rolled her wheelbarrow up to the pile of hay and pumpkins and paused there for a moment, one hand to the small of her back. At first glance through the plexiglass, the chimps seemed so familiar—their size and movements and the color of their hair. Part of the reason that bonobos hadn’t been discovered for so long was everyone just assumed they were chimps. Located in the same region of central Africa with only a river between the two species, for decades any differences had been attributed to individual personalities.
She continued picking up only the lightest pumpkins, putting them into her barrow one at a time, using her legs to heft as much as she could. Wheeling the pumpkins into the building, Frankie found the hallway smelled of the chimps, musky with sweat, the odor of a locker room crossed with a kennel. Because their diet included meat, there were overtones of human sewage.
Once they’d moved everything inside, Frankie followed the keeper out of the building. She eyed a male sitting in the enclosure, his back to her. He could have been a disheveled and more muscular Goliath. Feeling her looking at him, he turned.
It was like mistaking a stranger in a crowd for a friend.
Or perhaps it was more like visiting the friend in an institution—the body there, but the friend gone. His eyes were small beneath his brow; they glittered.
The keeper strode on ahead of her, heading down the path toward the gorillas. Frankie followed as quickly as she could, away from the chimps.
The gorillas were impressive. Even though she’d been at the Foundation for weeks now, she hadn’t taken time to really look at any of the other apes. Each gorilla sat there with the presence of a giant, of a mountain, most of them chomping through something that looked like celery, grinding through it like a horse. They watched the women approach without comment, until the keeper reached down to pick the first pumpkin up and drop it into the wheelbarrow. Then they grunted with excitement and knuckled over to the closed gate that led to the sleeping chamber, waiting to be let in.
Theory of Bastards Page 20