Douglas watched himself on the small screen watching Annie sign, “Teacher told me write.” He saw himself grin, eyes shift slightly toward the camera, but generally watching Annie. His name and “Orangutan Teacher” appeared on the screen. The scene made him uneasy.
“What made you send in Annie’s story for publication?” the reporter asked.
Douglas signed to Annie, she came to him for a hug, and turned a winsome face to the camera. “Our administrator, Dr. Morris, and I both read it. I commented that I thought it was as good as any kid’s story, so Dr. Morris said, ‘Send it in.’ The editor liked it.” Annie made a “pee” sign to Douglas.
Then, a shot of Dr. Morris in her office, a chimp on her lap, clapping her brown hands.
“Dr. Morris, your school was established five years ago by grants and government funding. What is your purpose here?”
“Well, in the last few decades, apes—mostly chimpanzees like Rose here—have been taught sign language experimentally. Mainly to prove that apes could indeed use language.” Rosie put the tip of her finger through the gold hoop in Dr. Morris’s ear. Dr. Morris took her hand away gently. “We were established with the idea of educating apes, a comparable education to the primary grades.” She looked at the chimp. “Or however far they will advance.”
“Your school has two orangutans and six chimpanzees. Are there differences in their learning?” the reporter asked.
Dr. Morris nodded emphatically. “Chimpanzees are very clever, but the orang has a different brain structure which allows for more abstract reasoning. Chimps learn many things quickly, orangs are slower. But the orangutan has the ability to learn in greater depth.”
Shot of Vernon swinging in the ropes in front of the school.
Assuming that Vernon is Annie, the reporter said, “Her teacher felt from the start that Annie was an especially promising student. The basic sentences that she types out on her typewriter are simple but original entertainment.”
Another shot of Annie at the typewriter.
“If you think this is just monkey business, you’d better think again. Tolstoy, watch out!”
Depressed by the lightness, brevity, and the stupid “monkey-business” remark, Douglas turned off the television.
He sat for a long time. Whenever Therese had gone to bed, she had left him silently. After half an hour of staring at the blank screen, he rewound his video-recorder and ran it soundlessly until Annie’s face appeared.
And then froze it. He could almost feel again the softness of her halo of red hair against his chin.
He couldn’t sleep.
Therese had rumpled her way out of the sheet and lay on her side, her back to him. He looked at the shape of her shoulder and back, downward to the dip of the waist, up the curve of her hip. Her buttocks were round ovals, one atop the other. Her skin was sleek and shiny in the filtered streetlight coming through the window. She smelled slightly of shampoo and even more slightly of female.
What he felt for her anyone would call “love,” when he thought of her generally. And yet, he found himself helplessly angry with her most of the time. When he thought he could amuse her, it would end with her feelings being hurt for some obscure reason. He heard cruel words come barging out of an otherwise gentle mouth. She took everything seriously; mishaps and misunderstandings occurred beyond his control, beyond his repair.
Under this satiny skin, she was troubled and tense. A lot of sensitivity and fear. He had stopped trying to gain access to what had been the happier parts of her person, not understanding where they had gone. He had stopped wanting to love her, but he didn’t not want to love her, either. It just didn’t seem to matter.
Sometimes, he thought, it would be easier to have someone like Annie for a wife.
Annie.
He loved her furry face. He loved the unconditional joy in her face when she saw him. It was always there. She was bright and warm and unafraid. She didn’t read things into what he said, but listened and talked with him. They were so natural together. Annie was so filled with vitality.
Douglas withdrew his hand from Therese, whose skin seemed a bare blister of dissatisfaction.
He lay on the floor of the apes’ playroom with the fan blowing across his chest. He held Annie’s report on Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers by diagonal corners to keep it from flapping.
Annie lazily swung from bars criss-crossing the ceiling.
“Paul wasn’t happy at work because the boss looked over his shoulder at his handwriting,” she had written. “But he was happy again later. His brother died and his mother was sad. Paul got sick. He was better and visited his friends again. His mother died and his friends didn’t tickle him anymore.”
Douglas looked over the top of the paper at Annie. True, it was the first time she’d read an “adult” novel, but he’d expected something better than this. He considered asking her if Vernon had written the report for her, but thought better of it.
“Annie,” he said, sitting up. “What do you think this book is really about?”
She swung down and landed on the sofa. “About man,” she said.
Douglas waited. There was no more. “But what about it? Why this man instead of another? What was special about him?”
Annie rubbed her hands together, answerless.
“What about his mother?”
“She help him,” Annie answered in a flurry of dark fingers. “Especially when he paint.”
Douglas frowned. He looked at the page again, disappointed.
“What do I do?” Annie asked, worried.
He tried to brighten up. “You did just fine. It was a hard book.”
“Annie smart,” the orang signed. “Annie smart.”
Douglas nodded. “I know.”
Annie rose, then stood on her legs, looking like a two-story fuzzy building, teetering from side to side. “Annie smart. Writer. Smart,” she signed. “Write book. Bestseller.”
Douglas made a mistake. He laughed. Not as simple as a human laughing at another, this was an act of aggression. His bared teeth and uncontrolled guff-guff struck out at Annie. He tried to stop.
She made a gulping sound and galloped out of the room.
“Wait, Annie!” He chased after her.
By the time he got outside she was far ahead. He stopped running when his chest hurt and trotted slowly though the weeds toward her. She sat forlornly far away and watched him come.
When he was near, she signed, “hug,” three times.
Douglas collapsed, panting, his throat raw. “Annie, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it.” He put his arms around her.
She held onto him.
“I love you, Annie. I love you so much I don’t want ever to hurt you. Ever, ever, ever. I want to be with you all the time. Yes, you’re smart and talented and good.” He kissed her tough face.
Whether forgotten or forgiven, the hurt of his laughter was gone from her eyes. She held him tighter, making a soft sound in her throat, a sound for him.
They lay together in the crackling yellow weeds, clinging. Douglas felt his love physically growing for her. More passionately than ever before in his life, he wanted to make love to her. He touched her. He felt that she understood what she wanted, that her breath on his neck was anticipation. A consummation as he’d never imagined, the joining of their species in language and body. Not dumb animal-banging but mutual love … He climbed over her and hugged her back.
Annie went rigid when he entered her.
Slowly, she rolled away from him, but he held onto her. “No.” A horrible grimace came across her face that raised the hairs on the back of Douglas’s neck. “Not you,” she said.
She’s going to kill me, he thought.
His passion declined; Annie disentangled herself and walked away.
He sat for a moment, stunned at what he’d done, stunned at what had happened, wondering what he would do the rest of his life with the memory of it. Then he zipped up his pants.
Staring at
his dinner plate, he thought, it’s just the same as if I had been rejected by a woman. I’m not the kind that goes for bestiality. I’m not some farm boy who can’t find someplace to put it.
His hands could still remember the matted feel of her fur; tucked in his groin was the memory of being in an alien place. It had made him throw up out in the field that afternoon, and after that he’d come straight home. He hadn’t even said good-night to the orangs.
“What’s the matter?” Therese asked.
He shrugged.
She half-rose out of her chair to kiss him on the temple. “You don’t have a fever, do you?”
“No.”
“Can I do something to make you feel better?” Her hand slid along his thigh.
He stood up. “Stop it.”
She sat still. “Are you in love with another woman?”
Why can’t she just leave me alone? “No. I have a lot on my mind. There’s a lot going on.”
“It never was like this, even when you were working on your thesis.”
“Therese,” he said, with what he felt was undeserved patience, “just leave me alone. It doesn’t help with you at me all the time.”
“But I’m scared, I don’t know what to do. You act like you don’t want me around.”
“All you do is criticize me.” He stood and took his dishes to the sink.
Slowly, she trailed after him, carrying her plate. “I’m just trying to understand. It’s my life, too.”
He said nothing and she walked away as if someone had told her not to leave footsteps.
In the bathroom, he stripped and stood under the shower a long time. He imagined that Annie’s smell clung to him. He felt that Therese could smell it on him.
What have I done, what have I done …
And when he came out of the shower, Therese was gone.
He had considered calling in sick, but he knew that it would be just as miserable to stay around the house and think about Annie, think about Therese, and worse, to think about himself.
He dressed for work, but couldn’t eat breakfast. Realizing that his pain showed, he straightened his shoulders, but found them drooping again as he got out of the car at work.
With some fear, he came through the office. The secretary greeted him with rolled eyes. “Someone’s given out our number again,” she said as the phone buzzed. Another line was on hold. “This morning there was a man standing at the window watching me until Gramps kicked him off the property.”
Douglas shook his head in sympathy with her and approached the orang’s door. He felt nauseated again.
Vernon sat at the typewriter, most likely composing captions for his photo album. He didn’t get up to greet Douglas, but gave him an evaluative stare.
Douglas patted his shoulder. “Working?” he asked.
“Like dog,” Vernon said, and resumed typing.
Annie sat outside on the back porch. Douglas opened the door and stood beside her. She looked up at him, but—like Vernon—made no move toward the customary hug. The morning was still cool, the shadow of the building still long in front of them. Douglas sat down.
“Annie,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again. You see, I felt …” He stopped. It wasn’t any easier than it had been to talk to Oona, or Wendy, or Shelley, or Therese … . He realized that he didn’t understand her any more than he’d understood them. Why had she rejected him? What was she thinking? What would happen from now on? Would they be friends again?
“Oh, hell,” he said. He stood. “It won’t happen again.”
Annie gazed away into the trees.
He felt strained all over, especially in his throat. He stood by her for a long time.
“I don’t want write stories,” she signed.
Douglas stared at her. “Why?”
“Don’t want.” She seemed to shrug.
Douglas wondered what had happened to the confident ape who’d planned to write a bestseller the day before. “Is that because of me?”
She didn’t answer.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Do you want to write it down for me? Could you explain it that way?”
“No,” she signed, “can’t explain. Don’t want.”
He signed. “What do you want?”
“Sit tree. Eat bananas, chocolate. Drink brandy.” She looked at him seriously. “Sit tree. Day, day, day, week, month, year.”
Christ almighty, he thought, she’s having a goddamned existential crisis. All the years of education. All the accomplishments. All the hopes of an entire field of primatology. All shot to hell because of a moody ape. It can’t just be me. This would have happened sooner or later, but maybe … He thought of all the effort he would have to make to repair their relationship. It made him tired.
“Annie, why don’t we just ease up a little on your work. You can rest. Today. You can go sit in the tree all of today and I’ll bring you a glass of wine.”
She shrugged again.
Oh, I’ve botched it, he thought. What an idiot. He felt a pain coming back, a pain like poison, without a focal point but shooting through his heart and hands, making him dizzy and short of breath.
At least she doesn’t hate me, he thought, squatting to touch her hand.
She bared her teeth.
Douglas froze. She slid away from him and headed for the trees.
He sat alone at home and watched the newscast. In a small midwestern town they burned the issues of the magazine with Annie’s story in it.
A heavy woman in a windbreaker was interviewed with the bonfire in the background. “I don’t want my children reading things that weren’t even written by humans. I have human children and this godless ape is not going to tell its stories to them.”
A quick interview with Dr. Morris, who looked even more tired and introverted than usual. “The story is a very innocent tale, told by an innocent personality. Annie is not a beast. I really don’t think she has any ability for, or intention of, corruption …”
He turned the television off. He picked up the phone and dialed one of Therese’s friends. “Jan, have you heard from Therese yet?”
“No, sure haven’t.”
“Well, let me know, okay?”
“Sure.”
He thought vaguely about trying to catch her at work, but he left earlier in the morning and came home later in the evening than she did.
Looking at her picture on the wall, he thought of when they had first met, first lived together. There had been a time when he’d loved her so much he’d been bursting with it. Now he felt empty, but curious about where she was. He didn’t want her to hate him, but he still didn’t know if he could talk to her about what had happened. The idea that she would sit and listen to him didn’t seem realistic.
Even Annie wouldn’t listen to him anymore.
He was alone. He’d done a big, dumb, terrible thing and wished he hadn’t. It would have been different if Annie had reciprocated, if somehow they could have become lovers. Then it would have been them against the world, a new kind of relationship. The first intelligent interspecial love affair …
But Annie didn’t seem any different than Therese, after all. Annie was no child. She’d given him all those signals, flirting, then not carrying through. Acting like he’d raped her or something. She didn’t really have any more interest in him than Dr. Morris would in Vernon. I couldn’t have misunderstood, could I? he wondered.
He was alone. And without Annie’s consent, he was just a jerk who’d screwed an ape.
“I made a mistake,” he said aloud to Therese’s picture. “So let’s forget it.”
But even he couldn’t forget.
“Dr. Morris wants to see you,” the secretary said as he came in.
“Okay.” He changed course for the administrative office. He whistled In the past few days, Annie had been cool, but he felt that everything would settle down eventually. He felt better. Wondering what horrors or marvels Dr. Morris had to share with him, he knock
ed at her door and peered through the glass window. Probably another magazine burning, he thought.
She signaled him to come in. “Hello, Douglas.”
Annie, he thought, something’s happened.
He stood until she motioned him to sit down. She looked at his face several seconds. “This is difficult for me,” she said.
She’s discovered me, he thought. But he put that aside, figuring it was a paranoia that made him worry. There’s no way. No way. I have to calm down or I’ll show it.
She held up a photograph.
There it was—a dispassionate and cold document of that one moment in his life. She held it up to him like an accusation. It shocked him as if it hadn’t been himself.
Defiance forced him to stare at the picture instead of looking for compassion in Dr. Morris’s eyes. He knew exactly where the picture had come from.
Vernon and his new telephoto lens.
He imagined the image of his act rising up in a tray of chemicals. Slowly, he looked away from it. Dr. Morris could not know how he had changed since that moment. He could make no protest or denial.
“I have no choice,” Dr. Morris said flatly. “I’d always thought that even if you weren’t good with people, at least you worked well with the apes. Thank God Henry, who does Vernon’s darkroom work, has promised not to say anything.”
Douglas was rising from the chair. He wanted to tear the picture out of her hands because she still held it up to him. He didn’t want to see it. He wanted her to ask him if he had changed, that it would never happen again, that he understood he’d been wrong.
But her eyes were flat and shuttered against him. “We’ll send your things,” she said.
He paused at his car and saw two big red shapes—one coppery orange, one chocolate red—sitting in the trees. Vernon bellowed out a groan that ended with an alien burbling. It was a wild sound full of the jungle and steaming rain.
Douglas watched Annie scratch herself and look toward chimps walking the land beyond their boundary fence. As she started to turn her gaze his direction, he ducked into his car.
Year's Best Science Fiction 01 # 1984 Page 49