The smell was unsettling: a combination of human and non-human, familiar and not. Frankie wondered how badly she smelled.
Rita who took care of the orangutans said, They probably sent out only one sand-plow.
Martin snorted, Or a teenager with a vacuum cleaner.
Rita said, A toddler and a dustpan.
Their laughter was pitched a little high.
When they stopped, the keeper spoke.
She said, It doesn’t matter. What’s important is we’ve emptied the local buildings of food and drink. The apes are dehydrated. We can’t transport enough supplies for them to stay here.
They all went still.
The keeper said, Since we can’t get water to them, we have to get them to the water.
How, asked Martin.
The keeper said, Release them.
A chickadee called, a whistled rising question. The call seemed more understandable than the words the keeper had spoken.
Martin and Frankie said simultaneously, What?
Rita said, You can’t . . . That’s not . . .
The keeper asked quietly, When’s the last time you saw one of them urinate?
The silence stretched out. They looked around the small circle, staring at one another.
Rita said, Help will arrive in a day or two.
The keeper said, Dehydration’s fast. It starts with the juveniles.
She spoke one sentence at a time, so they could absorb the meaning. She said, We have to release the apes while they are still strong enough to move on their own.
She said, We can’t carry them.
She said, You must lead them to water.
Martin asked, And what happens when the cleanup crews get here?
You help the crews recapture them.
You kidding? said Rita, That’s your plan?
The keeper asked, What’s yours?
Rita held her hands out and looked around, waiting for words to be dropped into her palms, an idea, a solution. She said, Look, the orangutans won’t stay together or follow anyone.
The keeper said, With them, you just open the door. They’ll leave on their own.
Rita stared at the keeper.
Martin said, The chimps can be dangerous. We can’t just release them.
The keeper said, The area’s been evacuated. There should be no people around for them to hurt. The only other choice is to let them die.
That last word, die, hung in the air for a while.
The keeper asked a little louder as though the problem might be with their hearing, Anyone have a better idea?
Looking around, Frankie saw not just their clothing and hair looked different, but their expressions also, their eyes big and focused far away. Like daguerreotypes of Sitting Bull and his war chiefs, they stared into the shutter of the future, all the rules changed.
The wind whistled by and some of the dust rose and twirled in the sun. She found herself watching the dust devils with attention, as though help might be buried nearby, about to be revealed by the wind.
They emerged from the other side of that silence as different people.
The chimps, said Stotts.
Yes, said the keeper.
He said, Give us a little time, to get the bonobos away. Give us a head start.
You’ll go with them?
Of course.
Martin looked back and forth between the two of them. He seemed at a loss. He asked, Where do we go?
The keeper looked around, searching the horizon, then jerked her chin to the right. She said, Head the chimps that way.
Martin looked in that direction, a blank expression on his face, and then back to the keeper.
Try, said the keeper, Try to head them that way. You’ve been with them for years. You can do it.
The keeper pointed to the left and said, Stotts, you lead the bonobos that way.
Stotts shook his head and instead pointed straight ahead. East, he said.
They all remembered his daughter. Frankie blinked at the illogic of this—that walking in the direction of Tess would speed up the time until he saw her next.
However the keeper looked serious as she said, Ok.
She pointed in a third direction, halfway between East and the chimps. She said, I’ll take the gorillas that way.
Rita said, Rescue will get here. Soon. I’ll wait for it.
The keeper watched Rita, her expression revealing nothing. She said, When people get here, tell them we’re out there. That we need help. Make them bring tranquilizer guns, not guns.
The keeper added, Please no guns.
Good luck, she said, To all of us.
*
Stotts was methodical about packing, considering every item, its weight and potential use. He chose the empty soda bottles, the lighter fluid, a small bottle of bleach, the remaining matches. He hefted the hibachi, then left it. He packed the blankets, then unpacked them, then packed them again. His eyes skittered over the tools in the closet, the pots in the pantry, searching for everything of value.
She fussed with the bonobos, wrapping as much clothing as she could around their upper halves to keep them warm. There was an endless surprise at all of this, this new world she’d traveled to without moving at all.
Tooch stepped into Houdini’s lap to nurse. Since Id was curled up in Houdina’s lap, Tooch stepped onto her. She made a small groan but kept sleeping. He nursed from Houdina’s left breast and then the right, with Mama and Adele nearby watching. Houdina looked away from him, her face tight. She kept one hand on Id.
Stotts bungeed everything down, then pulled the sled forward a few feet to check the weight. Then removed a few items. He was a man who needed to be prepared. Frankie watched him.
He looked around again for what he might be missing. Their eyes met and locked. Partners on a high wire, the wind from the height tugging at her.
Someone thumped on the door to the offices. The keeper yelled through the door, Hurry. Martin needs to let the chimps out.
Stotts straightened and, pulling the sled, walked to the door to open it. The keeper led the way down the hall to the exit. He paced after her, the door open behind him, the sled bumping and scraping along the floor.
At the end of the hall, the keeper unlatched the front door and stepped outside, heading for her gorillas. Stotts followed her, leaving that door open also.
Frankie and the bonobos remained in the interaction area, peering down the hall to the bright outdoors. She gestured the bonobos forward, calling, It’s alright. Come on. We’re going to find something to drink. Some food. Drink. Come on.
She walked down the hall, following Stotts, stepping outside into the sunlight. The bonobos followed, one by one, pausing by the door, sniffing the air. Mama peered in every direction, then knuckled out cautiously.
Adele galloped past her, heading around the corner for the basketball court.
Adele, Frankie called, Adele!
The rest took that as the signal to scatter in every direction, scooting up the trees or pawing through the dust searching for flowers to eat.
Adele, called Frankie, Come. This way. Come.
From around the building came the thunk of a basketball hitting the backboard. Sweetie disappeared into the Snack Shack. Marge trotted over to the sign language kiosk to slap at the buttons.
Sweetie, we’re leaving, called Frankie, Marge, come. Let’s move move.
Stotts pulled the sled and Frankie grabbed Mama’s and Goliath’s hands and tugged them forward.
Come, please, she called looking back over her shoulder to see if the chimps’ door had opened yet. Please, she said, Please. Adele, we’re leaving.
Stotts dragged the sled along, parallel to the road, heading in the direction the keeper had pointed in. Frankie followed, walking backwards and calling.<
br />
It was like attempting a forced march with kittens. The bonobos had no concept of purpose or wasted time. They gamboled in every direction, thrilled and exploring. After 20 minutes, the only way Adele would leave the basketball court was if she got to carry the basketball, clutched to her chest, while she whined and stared back at the hoop.
Hearing the tension in Frankie’s voice, Sweetie followed, chirping, trying to make Frankie happy. Not used to distance, within a few hundred yards, most of the bonobos began to fall behind, peeping and shuffling through the dust. As they tired, they’d drop whatever toys they’d picked up—the basketball, a branch, a plastic bag—and walk on for a bit before starting to wail and knuckle back for the object. Frankie kept calling them and looking back at the door to the chimps’ building.
Houdina was the only one who didn’t run or play. She plodded on, head down and concentrated, following Stotts. Id was a small bump, tucked into her vest. Anytime Stotts stopped, Houdina sat down where she was and stared at the ground.
At one point Frankie turned back and saw the keeper stepping out with the gorillas, the silverback in front, the keeper’s hand on his shoulder, his wives and children clustered behind. They wore winter hats with pom-poms and short ponchos, probably made out of blankets. The silverback walked along, sniffing the air and peering about, the keeper beside him.
Next time Frankie looked back, she was far enough away that she believed the door to the orangutans’ building might be open, although she couldn’t see any of them moving about. These, the hermits of the great apes, would slip away one by one during the night.
Once they got out of sight of the Foundation, she exhaled in relief. She figured now the chimps wouldn’t know where they were. She took comfort in Stotts beside her.
However Stotts kept looking back, his eyes concerned. She turned each time he did, but saw no movement.
She knew in the jungle that chimps sometimes killed other animals: small deer or monkeys or other chimps. Now she began to wonder how they found their prey. Did they just stumble upon them or did they have a way of locating them?
After a time Stotts and she lost track of the road, buried somewhere under the dust. They just continued in what they hoped was a straight line with the bonobos trailing behind, peeping sadly.
*
Lucy was the one to find water. She raised her chin and froze, listening or perhaps smelling, then bolted through some bushes and down a small gully. A moment later they heard her splashing in. They all followed as fast as they could. Sliding down the gully, Frankie skidded into a mud flat, her shoes and the bottom of her pants instantly soaked.
Stotts trailed after them, calling, Wait, I brought bleach.
The mud made sucking noises. She struggled forward, trying to reach the water. She had to curl her toes, holding onto her shoes in the muck. Around her, the bonobos stood up on two legs. Moving forward, they leaned from side to side and yanked each leg out in turn. The clean water was just a few feet further, rippling over some rocks.
Stotts stood in the mud behind them, saying, Wait wait. We need to disinfect it first.
She didn’t stop moving toward the water.
Reaching the stream itself, the riverbed beneath her feet was muddy and bubbled with her movements, but in Frankie’s hand the water was clear. On the far side a red-winged blackbird took off, trilling.
He said, We put the water in a bottle, add a few drops and . . . Ahh crap.
The bonobos were bent over, slurping up long draughts of water, the front of their clothes soaked. Frankie drank the water in her hand. It tasted so sweet and cool in the throat that she crouched down, like the bonobos, to suck it straight from the stream. After drinking for a while, she paused, breathing, her eyes closed, feeling the water inside her. Then she drank more.
Stotts waded in deep enough to fill up the bottles he’d brought and add a few drops of bleach to each. He didn’t drink yet, his lips pressed together.
Houdina stayed in the river, drinking and drinking long after the others had finished. She gasped in between her gulps. Stotts splashed over to her and scooped the still-sleeping Id out of her vest, then handed her to Frankie. He said, We can give her water in a bit, once the bleach has had a chance to work.
Frankie tucked Id into her sweater and struggled out of the mud to the shore.
The bonobos climbed out too, one by one and huddled in close, their fur and clothes soaked. Frankie moved from bonobo to bonobo, pulling off any wet clothes and dropping them onto the ground. The bonobos shivered. Without their clothes, their fur wet, they looked so small—tiny gymnasts trembling in their tights.
She said, We need to warm them up.
Let’s move then, Stotts said.
He got up and started walking, pulling the sled now filled with bottles of water.
Please, signed Frankie and then made the bonobo begging gesture, her palm up and extended. She said, Please come.
She took Mama’s hand.
The bonobos, trembling, knuckled along, whining.
It began to drizzle. Like cats, the bonobos hunched their spines, picking their way forward through the rain.
Forty One
Two fields away, they came upon a barn and stepped cautiously inside, out of the rain. The space was dark and cavernous, the smell of hay and motor oil. The doors at the far end were open, motes floating in the light. In the center of the barn, a tractor lay on its side, half dismantled like a carcass.
As Frankie’s eyes adjusted, she saw a wall of tools and a work-table covered with glass jars full of neatly sorted screws, nuts and bolts. The bonobos wandered deeper into the barn. Frankie walked with them, watching in case they picked up anything dangerous.
Marge found a stall full of hay and burrowed into it, peeping happily. The others pressed in after her, cuddling in and warming up. From deep in the straw came the squeaks of some very startled mice.
With the bonobos pulling the straw in around them like blankets, getting comfortable, Frankie searched deeper in the barn for dry clothes and especially shoes. Walking, her sneakers made squelchy noises, her toes numb from the cold. She peeked into a doorway where the only light came from a small dusty window. Clicking on her headlamp, she saw boxes, filing cabinets and beat-up furniture. With a few minutes of searching, next to a 20-gallon container of fungicide and a child’s plastic bouncy horse, she found a box filled with sweatshirts, all extra large and neon green, ConAgra embroidered over the heart.
She carried the carton over to the bonobos and waded into the straw to dress them one by one. They chirped and patted the soft material, then buried themselves deeper into the hay to nap.
When she turned around, Stotts was wearing a pair of rain pants, bright yellow and with an elastic waist. He handed her the matching jacket and boots.
Best I could find, he said and headed toward the front of the barn.
She stepped back into the office to shuck off her wet pants, shoes and socks and pulled the raincoat on, buttoning it. It reached her knees. Walking in the oversized boots, she had to slide her feet forward as though skating.
When she came out, he was in the doorway to the barn, breaking up a small table to make a fire, a bushel of potatoes beside him.
Seeing her in the raincoat, her bare legs and oversized boots beneath, he said, You look like Paddington Bear.
She said, I was thinking more of a flasher.
He piled the wood on the dirt floor away from anything flammable, then stuffed hay beneath. He snapped a match against its box and held it to the straw. The flames climbed quickly. Frankie and he dragged an old radiator as close to the fire as possible, then wrung their socks and pants out and draped them on the radiator, propping their shoes in front. Wearing the raincoat and pants, they both rustled like shower curtains.
Stotts took several water bottles off the sled and handed the baby bottle to her. He s
aid, The bleach must have worked by now. The water should be safe.
He sat down and closed his eyes, drinking water in long gulps.
Frankie sat beside him and pulled Id out of her sweater. Id didn’t wake easily and her mouth felt dry. Frankie squeezed drops from the bottle’s nipple into Id’s mouth.
Id woke up and began to nurse, gulping down the water as quickly as she could. Soon she was shivering from the chill of the water, so Frankie tucked her back into her sweater.
Meanwhile Stotts began to cook the potatoes by dumping them into a dog’s metal bowl that he shoved into the fire. He stirred the potatoes with a stick whenever they began to burn. Outside the rain came down harder, occasionally a sheet of mud hissed off the roof to thump onto the ground. Frankie and Stotts huddled close to the fire, blinking in the heat.
The smell of the cooking potatoes gradually woke the bonobos, who knuckled over, covered in hay and whining. When Frankie pulled the potatoes off the fire, the bonobos reached for each other with more intensity than normal, perhaps happy they weren’t thirsty or shivering.
Stotts looked down at his hands, his face intent with his effort to keep his eyes away. Frankie, on the other hand, stared. At this moment, sitting near him, the mating of beetles would have drawn her attention.
Marge was the first to throw back her head to cry, Ahh huh huh. Since she wasn’t ovulating, her climax was loud and obvious. The details of her desire programmed to toggle back and forth from public sex to private sex, depending on what would serve the best interests of her offspring.
The illogic of human sex struck Frankie. Unlike other animals, human couples were so secretive and took a sweaty long time to finish—dangerous to do with the children running around free and predators potentially nearby. There had to be a reason.
She imagined a hairless version of Marge stepping into a bar, wearing a dress and heels, eyeing the options. She saw her dating and then marrying. Later on, when Marge was ovulating, it was possible she’d look around again.
As a human, any time Marge had sex, with her husband or someone else, the act would be clandestine, doused with attachment hormones, but this time for the couple alone. Women (the same as female bonobos) were physically persuading the male to protect any potential offspring. Since the work of raising children was such an endurance event—two grueling decades of work shouldered by the couple alone—it made sense that this physical persuasion, this nomination of the dad, was extra long and intense. How else could the bond last? And given the difficulty and duration of parenting, the woman might need to nominate more than one dad. A dad for genetics, a dad for resources, perhaps a back-up dad just in case.
Theory of Bastards Page 29