Ouha, King of the Apes

by Félicien Champsaur

  Orangs suspended from branches above the beauty, with one hand clenched or with their entire bodies thrust forward, testified to their wonder with onomatopoeias of evident admiration. Females, somewhat to the rear and the sides of the assembly of apes, displayed peevish and furious faces between the trunks and branches. By their mimes they expressed their amazement at a creature almost of their kind, but whose face and breast were white and pink, denuded of hair. They passed their hands over their brown faces, tugging the wisps of their fleeces, uttering cries. And incessantly, with repetitions of the name of Ouha, extensions of their spines and grotesque inclinations of their hilariously bestial heads, raising their arms in gestures of admiration, they murmured:

  “Bouff! Bouff! Bouff!”

  Mabel judged from the gestures accompanying that syllable that the orangs were definitely saying that she was beautiful

  Gamboling around, the frightful creatures, whose laughter displayed their ivory teeth and powerful monstrous jaws, began to dance sarabands of joy. The terrible Ouha, his club resting on his shoulder, occasionally place one of his hands on Mabel’s bare shoulder, scarcely protected by the thin shoulder-strap of her slip, as a sign of possession.

  He alone remained grave, his bald head streaked with severe and worrisome wrinkles, and let syllables fall from his lips that were doubtless orders, for Mabel Smith noticed, every time, the departure of an ape, the appearance of a newcomer or the almost-inarticulate reply of one of those surrounding them.

  Mabel Smith had recognized the little Dilou, but the latter did not appear to recognize here—or did not want to, perhaps out of respect for Lord Ouha. The young woman had reverted to the savage life; her hair tangled and stuffed with dry leaves, she directed a hateful stare at Mabel, sensing a rival.

  Dilou ground her teeth and displayed her closed fists, one by one, and her hands clawed with bitten and curved nails, chipped by bestial endeavors. She shouted angrily at the placid Ouha, who, with a mocking expression in his eyes and his lips parted by an indefinable smile, seemed disdainful, refusing to punish her with a scornful indulgence.

  Wearying of Dilou’s ill humor, however, he displayed Mabel to her and pronounced a few imperious syllables, pointing at the white woman and then the black woman.

  He had given an order.

  Dilou, like a submissive whipped dog, with the constrained expression and glowering gaze of a slave yielding to a stronger master, Dilou came toward the American woman and took one of her white hands; she placed it momentarily on her forehead, then crouched down at her feet, slightly behind Ouha and Mabel.

  Another woman was standing there sulkily, with no possibility of doubt, looking at the Orang with dull eyes. This one had the coppery skin of the native islanders, and the fine attributes of daughters of status. Like a Greek earthenware statuette, with slender legs and firm and delicate figure, her body silhouetted in a succession of graceful curves, her breasts young and meager, modeled in bronze-colored flesh, she was almost a child, barely nubile. Cold and dignified, with the impassive forehead of a proud slave, she looked Mabel Smith up and down, taking in every detail, and the American maid thought she saw a hint of pity in the young native’s gaze.

  An amazement, in which there as terror and also hope, at least of survival, gripped Mabel. What were these beings, she thought, who attached humans and kept women as slaves? Must she submit to such horror or die?

  “Dilou! Rava!”

  Thus the Orang, the King, designated with demonstrative gestures the young black woman and the silent Malay. With the master’s permission they went away, already savagely, to plunge into the forest. Dilou repeated her name, striking her breast to indicate and affirm her personality.

  Curiously, the apes surrounded their king’s beautiful captive. Their admiration and the covetous ardor of their pupils irritated Mabel, ashamed now of the human element of those simian gazes. By caressing themselves, the orangs translated their admiration for the forms they beheld; leaning back against tree-trunks or standing upright, the beasts allowed their disturbance to show, nodding their heads, their eyes half-closed, some sighing, risking gestures and becoming enraptured.

  One of those nearest to Ouha gradually came closer to her, seemingly watching for a moment when the abductor was not paying attention of Mabel. Emboldened, more audacious than the others, the orang extended one of its long dark arms, and suddenly placed his hand on the young woman’s flower, as if by way of a caress. Touched, she leapt backwards, drawing the revolver around which her fingers remained clasped with lightning rapidity, and shot the animal.

  At the sound of the detonation, the frightened apes dispersed, recoiling, to say the least—save for Ouha, whose eyes went from Mabel’s living fragility to the inert mass of the orangutan. Sentences composed of veritable words, curt and monosyllabic, a terrified chatter, filled the corner of the forest where the orangs lived. Ouha, meanwhile, turned over the stiff cadaver with vitreous eyes. Frightened, the horde howled, with threatening gestures. Covering Mabel with his body, Ouha drove away the boldest with a terrible sweep of his scepter-club, picked Mabel up by the waist and carried her off.

  The apes prodded the cadaver, putting their fingers into the hole in the skull, with whistles of terror and plaints—testimony of fury, fear and mourning.

  XXX. The Magical Jewel

  Once back in the cave, Ouha made Mabel understand that she had nothing to fear, but, designating the revolver, he demanded to see the weapon. The young woman hesitated. To refuse, however, might be dangerous. To kill Ouha, as she had indiscreetly slain the orangutan, would be very risky. Besides which, it is very rare that an anthropoid can be killed by a single shot, and the instantaneous death of the lubricious individual could be considered a miracle.

  Kill Ouha? She would do better to blow her own brains out, for the entire horde of male and female orangs would be against her. Mabel turned her back and rapidly removed the five remaining cartridges, which she shoved into her cleavage; then, turning round, she handed the pistol to the quadrumane.

  Ouha turned the weapon over and over, aiming it has he had seen others do, put his finger on the trigger, seemingly amused by the repeated click of the hammer. Afterwards, disappointed by the lack of any result, he handed the weapon back to the young woman.

  Having slipped a bullet into the chamber with the skill of a conjuror, she immediately fired at a calabash, which exploded into smithereens. Ouha jumped. Nonplussed, contemplating Mabel, he seemed to be asking her for an explanation, and by means of a very expressive mime, the American virgin explained to him very carefully that the weapon could only be utilized by her.

  After a few minutes of profound meditation, Ouha reached out his hand again, demanding the revolver. There was no means of refusing. Ouha took the weapon and made as if to leave.

  Then, for the first time, Mabel dared to seize him by the arm, and, with the other hand, grabbed the revolver. The ape held on to it, though, and, pulling free, made it understood that he feared that the young woman might hurt herself with the dangerous implement. Mabel dared not insist; not having the requisite strength, she resolved to employ cunning.

  Inviting Ouha to sit down beside her, she offered him bananas, of which the orangutan was fond, and to whom dining together seemed a great favor. Mabel was counting on the probability that Ouha would make use of both hands to eat, and, in consequence, set the gun down beside him; it would then only be a matter of making him forget it.

  What a disappointment! As if it were the most natural thing in the world, the orang gripped the revolver with one of his feet. Then he peeled his banana tranquilly. Mabel was obliged to play her part, and, in order to deceive the ape with regard to the importance she attached to the murderous jewel, she prolonged the meal and made Ouha understand that she would be glad to have, once again, the society of the chimpanzee, the worldly clown. The anthropoid understood and went out to seek his confidant and friend.

  He soon returned, accompanied by Ko-Zu and his four wive
s—Dilou, Rava and the two spouses of his own species.

  XXXI. A Marvelous Concert

  Ouha sat down first, and invited his guests to take their places. Mabel, slightly nonplussed, resigned herself to the role of hostess, circulating fruits and grilled breadfruit. Dilou and Rava seemed delighted by the reception, and struck up a conversation with Mabel that was a triumph of polyglotry.

  Only the two orangutans seemed put out, for Ouha and Ko-Zu made it their duty to give them a lesson in good manners and etiquette. One of them, Ma-Ma, having taken it into her head to search for her body-lice, received a scolding from the master, who remonstrated with her. Always keeping one eye on Ko-Zu, Ouha never missed any of his gestures, and copied them immediately.

  In response to a general demand, the chimpanzee was obliged to fetch his mandolin and mime one of his great numbers. Then Dilou, accompanied by the artiste Ko-Zu, sang a nursery rhyme that had remained in her memory. Rava, not wanting to be outdone by Dilou, began a long Malaysian chant, which she accompanied with wooden castanets. In their turn, the two she-apes gave voice to lugubrious groans accompanied by a jazz band of thumps on the breast. It was quite a concert.

  The American woman, who enjoyed all kinds of eccentricity, did not want to seem incapable in the eyes of the apes. She took the mandolin from Ko-Zu, which she knew how to play well enough, and played a prelude of brilliant pizzicato. Then she launched into a song from an American operetta, which she sang with such gusto and expertise that it was a veritable triumph. Her guests were under her spell; Dilou and Rava had eyes moist with emotion, and the four apes were rubbing their breasts frantically.

  As Mabel’s vibrant voice had been heard outside, the entire tribe had gathered around the opening of the cave. All the orangutans, attentive and breathless, gave voice to a dull rumble when the young woman’s voice died away, and that exterior thunder attracted Ouha’s attention. He turned round furiously.

  After that, there could be no tranquility in his realm without all the curious and loquacious coming to listen at the door. Mabel intervened and made him understand that she wanted to be everyone’s friend, and that those brave individuals had a right to play their part in the celebration.

  The monarch seemed to yield to her reasoning. Picking up the scraps of the feast by the handful, he threw them majestically to his subjects, who fought over them.

  Mabel Smith wanted to see what ascendancy she might obtain over the apes by means of art.

  She plucked the mandolin from Ko-Zu’s hands again and, advancing to the threshold, she started to sing a brisk and cheerful American melody at the top of her voice, whose chorus was:

  In every good girl,

  Even the most genteel

  There’s something wicked.

  The crowd of apes drew back as she walked toward them, singing. They seemed subject to a strange impression, in which fear and admiration were mingled. Evidently, this creature, apparently so frail, whose mouth sent them sounds simultaneously so powerful and harmonious, seemed to them to be a divinity by whom they were dazzled.

  XXXII. Her Majesty the Queen

  Meanwhile, Ouha and the others, in order of precedence, emerged from the cave, and the four apes, in imitation of Ko-Zu, mimed the chorus. Having recovered from their stupor, the orangutans were confronted by the white woman, their king and the other three apes of his court, rolling their bewildered eyes and frantically plucking phantom instruments. In their turn, they opened gaping mouths to imitate the magician, who, slightly vexed by that unexpected effect, stopped singing.

  Immediately, the mute choir ceased its grimacing. Ouha, drawing nearer to her, placed his enormous hands on Mabel’s head. He seemed to be saying to his subjects: “This woman, this marvelous songbird, is mine, Ouha’s, and mine alone! Woe to anyone who touches her! She is mine, Ouha’s! She is your queen!”

  The gesture had been accompanied by a few guttural syllables. The whole was understood by the apes, who filed in front of the group, howling:

  “Ouha! Ouha! Ouha!”

  They all made their breasts resound with formidable blows of their fists.

  When that ceremony was concluded, Ouha, with his arms extended, went through the forest in order to make Mabel understand that the kingdom was his, and that henceforth, Mabel might enjoy it freely.

  Even carried out by apes, that kind of recognition of power did not lack grandeur. Mabel was a sacred queen, and without taking account of it, she was flattered thereby.

  From that day on, she was able to go out, to come and go as she pleased. In addition, she made Ouha understand that it was not prudent to leave her unarmed, and the condescending monarch returned her revolver: the magical jewel.

  XXXIII. His Harem

  As the king, the undisputed leader, by virtue of his brutal muscular strength and near-human intelligence, Ouha, like any polygamous sovereign of a primitive civilization, possessed his harem.

  As ambitious petty kings of an age to take a wife strive for an alliance with a powerful family, some dynasty in the shadow of which they might increase their influence and the size of their domain, Ouha, the great orangutan, disdainful of vague females, had coveted women and he had gladly, on occasions propitious for abduction, captured Dilou and Rava in order to possess them—and finally, Mabel. His power was displayed by such conquests, which raised him above his race.

  Dilou had rapidly adapted, among the anthropoids, to an existence little different from that of her ancestors: eating, drinking, singing song, running, being beaten, submitting to the caresses of the strongest. The difference between the gestures and the primitive language of her ancestors in a remote area of the Gabon and those of her abductors was not, after all, very obvious.

  Her grandfather, a redoubtable leader, had spent his days in front of the royal hut, in blissful idleness, eating fruits and bloody flesh, or crouched down, nodding his head to the sound of flutes. At solemn feasts he walked coiffed in an old red kepi that a European had given him, holding, like Ouha, a blunderbuss in the guise of a scepter. For the idols, blood was shed on the sand in front of his hut; captives or subjects were sacrificed, according to the whim of the sluggish monarch, cruel at times. By night, obscene sarabands were danced, rounds and mimes of coarse amour, and warrior scenes that often terminated in blows and blood.

  As for Rava, since an enormous hairy hand, a gag of oboe and sinew over her bruised lips, had choked off her desperate cry for help, she had found herself, astonished to be alive, surrounded by gray, brown and black muzzles, grimacing around her. And as she had circled the cave in which the supreme orangutan had imprisoned her from dawn till dusk, like a captive wild beast, Ouha, without coming in, had obsessed her with the nightmare of his flame-like eyes and his ashen face, framed by the abrupt sides of the vent in the rock.

  Female jailers had guarded her, until the moment when the monster chased them away with blows of his hairy hands; and on the third evening, Ouha had thrown the young Malay woman violently to the ground, and she had submitted passively to his embrace. Since then, like a resigned slave, for whom all resistance is futile, Rava allowed herself to be taken at the conqueror’s whim, without pleasure, in spite of the monster’s gentleness, fearful of hurting his preferred captive and seeing her languish and die.

  Rava no longer pushed Ouha away, merely retaining a dull hatred of her possessor, of the implacable lubricity of that formidable male, that hairy tyrant against whom her weakness could not prevail.

  Twice, deceived by momentary solitude, when she believed the entire tribe to be distantly dispersed, Rava had attempted to escape. Recaptured and beaten, however, imprisoned and fed exclusively on a few fruits and water, without offering a glimpse of a tear, superb in the dignity of defeat, she had submitted once again to the vile caress. Now that all hope of flight was gone, and, judging her tamed, the apes left her free to wander, she exercised her ingenuity to make her miserable existence tolerable. She wove loincloths with lianas, primitive garment to protect her nudity, not so mu
ch from gazes as the thorns and sharp twigs of the forest. Then she used the same ingenuity in making snares to catch birds or snakes, or designed to catch little rodents and other forest game by the neck or the paw, in order to nourish herself on them.

  She also hollowed out calabashes in order to collect palm-wine and preserve aromatics; since her childhood among her own people Rava had known the art of extracting from plants the pigments with which the natives painted their bodies—the blues and reds with which they heightened their eyelids or decorated their arms, faces and torsos with cabalistic signs and tribal badges. She thought that, by doing that, she would not lose status in her own eyes and would prove her femininity.

  Long deprived of customary nourishment, Rava had searched in vain for a means of making a fire to cook her prey, but she eventually found flints, and discovered flammable essences in the woods. The first time that branches set in a hole in a rock had caught fire at Rava’s hands, the horrified male and female orangutans had fled with cries of unprecedented terror, gesticulating furiously. Only Ouha, after the initial alarm, had dared to come back and prowl in a feline fashion around the fire where, against a red and gold background, exulting in her victory, a prideful silhouette was freely displayed, a statue of living bronze: Rava.

  Then again, the slender and lovely statuette, so fine, had been obliged to fight to conciliate the jealous Dilou. By virtue of the Malay’s feminine concerns, her distance, and her visible disgust for her hairy lover, the black woman had calmed down, certain that no rivalry would come from the Malay woman and that she did not wish, in any way, to separate her from Ouha.