Pan Satyrus

by Richard Wormser

  General Maguire was in approved tropical gear; short sleeved worsted shirt, neat suntan trousers, and a snowy sun helmet with officer's insignia riveted or bolted to the front. His stars shone, one on each side of his open collar, and his ribbons were freshly ironed, all four rows of them.

  Pan reached up and fingered the right-side star, meditatively.

  "This animal is drunk!" General Maguire said.

  Pan plucked the star, tasted it with his ample lips, bit it in half and spat it out.

  General Wilfred (Billy) Maguire was a brave man. There was not an office in the Pentagon he was not willing to enter, requisition form in hand, and he had, at an earlier date, faced combat happily, knowing it was necessary for his record.

  He proved the value of West Point to the taxpayers now; he never took a backward step, though surely he was first of his class to have his insignia of rank severed by simian teeth.

  "Doctor, you're in charge here?" he asked.

  Dr. Bedoian said, "I am."

  "You were sent here to get a simple fact, a piece of information, out of this — this chimpanzee. Is this your way of getting it?"

  "It is, sir. Play on his confidence. Relax him."

  General Maguire blew his breath out. "You may be a civilian, doctor, but you are employed by the United States government. With which I am not entirely without influence."

  "That's terrible syntax," Pan Satyrus said. It was the first time he had spoken since the general had interrupted their happy evening.

  "What?" A thin man, General Maguire was not really in danger of an apoplectic stroke; he just looked like he was.

  "I had a keeper once who was studying English. Trying to improve his station in life, he called it. According to Fowler, that is terrible sentence construction you were using. I thought you were an Academy man, General."

  Pan reached out, gently, for the general's class ring. The general clenched his hands. "I am, sir."

  "You don't have to call me sir," Pan Satyrus said. "After all, I am just a simple civilian, non-taxpaying chimpanzee, aged seven and a half."

  The general sighed, and turned back to the doctor. "These. ladies. Are they cleared, and if so, what is their clearance?"

  Dr. Bedoian said, "Don't be silly, general. You can see what they are."

  What they were was huddled together, speechless, their innocent gaiety vanished. Belle was bent over, her hands on her knees, perhaps trying to conceal her bowleggedness. Flo was crying.

  "Sir, I relieve you," the general said.

  Dr. Bedoian held out his hand. "You know who gave me this assignment, General. I'd like to see some written orders before I surrender my patient to you."

  Where joy and hand races, drinking and mild lechery had filled the room, there now loomed nothing but an impasse. Born of the age-old impact of civilian on military, it grew like a thunderhead on the edge of the desert in August.

  And then it collapsed, as so many crises have, at the sound of a woman's voice.

  The woman was more than a woman; she was a lady. She was more than an ordinary lady; she was a general's lady. She was Mrs. Maguire.

  She entered in the full paraphenalia of her rank, simple silk dress, two strands of cultured pearls, heels high as a cadet's hopes. Her hair, done in the most current of fashions, was not obscured by a hat.

  And as she entered she cried, "Oh, where is that dear monkey! I could just kiss him for that marvellous flight today."

  At once all the previous occupants of the room-men, chimpanzee, general and the girls — became as one. For the girls, really, had been transmuted or, as nineteenth century English novels would say, de-sexed. They lived and had their joy in the world of men.

  They were much more at home with the general than with his wife. At her entrance, they attempted to cover their more salient points with their hands. A chimpanzee could have done it. They couldn't.

  Happy Bronstein had been very quiet since the entrance of the bestarred Maguire. But he broke radio silence now. "Take it easy, Pan," he said.

  Pan turned towards him and winked one eye. It had a monstrous effect, but it soothed Happy's apprehensions.

  And then Pan stepped forward, rolling on his bowed legs, his knuckles rapping the floor with every stride. He said, "My dear, I did it all for you. I knew I could never win you while I remained speechless; and so — I arranged for a miracle."

  With which he puckered up his long, long lips and headed them, direct as a well-aimed bullet — for the lips of the general's lady.

  She fled.

  Her husband went for his hip, but generals in tropical Class A uniforms do not wear sidearms. So he said that they had not heard the last of this, and followed his mate.

  Happy Bronstein went and closed the door after the single star was out of sight. Ape Bates let his breath out, whistling. Flo stopped crying, and slowly the girls let their hands drop to their sides.

  But Dr. Bedoian said, "That magic is out of the night,'' and went to get his jacket and his wallet. He paid the girls off generously — government money— and they dressed silently and were gone.

  There were several pints of gin left. Pan Satyrus opened one, took a brief swallow, and put it down again.

  "You can't get high twice in a night," Ape Bates said. "Nobody can."

  "We were having a good time," Pan said. "An innocent good rime. Well, almost innocent. Why should anyone want to spoil it?"

  "Welcome to the human race," Dr. Bedoian said.

  Then they went to bed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Anthropoid apes can become literally bored to death.

  King Solomon's Ring Konrad Z. Lorenz, 1952

  Morning brought Mr. MacMahon and his merry men from Naval Intelligence, NASA security, the FBI and kindred organizations. It is only in the works of youthful poets that dawn brings harbingers of happiness.

  Mr. MacMahon brought an official document.

  Happy Bronstein, who had answered the door — he had slept on the couch in the sample room, Ape and Dr. Bedoian had had the beds, and Pan Satyrus had contented himself with an overstuffed chair — went and got Dr. Bedoian, as required by their visitor.

  Dr. Bedoian accepted the document in silence; in silence he read it. Then he looked at the FBI agent There was no special expression on Mr. MacMahon's face; duty was duty to him, and no more.

  "An hour," Dr. Bedoian said.

  I'll lay transportation on," said Mr. MacMahon, thus betraying previous service in England or with British officers.

  "Do so," said Dr. Bedoian.

  Ape said, "Happy, get on the horn. Razor, toothbrushes, clean socks — I wear thirteen — clean skivvies, and can they wash and dry our uniforms in a half an hour." He looked at Dr. Bedoian apologetically. "We came ashore in what we was wearin'. We wanta look like man o' war's men."

  Happy made no move to phone. "What's the poop, doc?" he asked. "We gotta stand a court?"

  "The brass — the very highest brass — wants to meet Pan at noon, up the coast." He held out the orders. Happy took them, whistled, and handed the sheet to Ape. Ape took it and whistled, more slowly. He said, "Belay them orders, Happy." He went to the phone himself, put in a long distance call. "Gimme Chief Sadowski," he said, after barking various extension numbers at various people. "Pipe it to his quarters, he ain't on deck yet. Chief Bates callin'." He held the phone dreamily away, stared at it. "Ski, this is Ape. Now get this, an' get it right, or your old lady hears about Singapore, an' this time I ain't just yappin'. Class A tropical uniform for me, about an inch bigger in the waist than last time I saw you. Yeah, and I made E-9, get the stripes right. Okay, an* a suit of whites for a Radioman First, about five nine, a hunnered-eighty. Got it? Yeah, an' a suit of civilians, tropical weight, anything in a nice light color, about five-ten — whatya weight, doc?"

  Dr. Bedoian stared. "I take a forty, regular," he said.

  "He takes a forty regular. Good quality, we'll pay yuh when we see yuh. How you been, Ski? You made E-8? I always knew there
was a future in the Navy." He cleared his throat. "Well be at your place in two hours, no more'n three. Right."

  He hung up. "Ski'll come through. Wisht I had my ribbons, but we can pick some up at the PX there. Okay, Happy, the horn. Add shoe polish to the order. Brown for the doc."

  Pan Satyrus was huddled in his big chair, caressing the thumbs of his feet. "They don't feel any different," he said. "I'd hate it if they'd turn human, like my tongue has. If this is the way people feel in the morning, chimpanzees ought to be grateful every day of their lives."

  "Well get some cold orange juice into you, perhaps some aspirin, and you'll feel better," Dr. Bedoian said. "You have a hangover."

  "I've heard of them," Pan Satyrus said. "Keepers talk of nothing else on Sunday morning… I wish I'd gone on just hearing about them."

  "It creates a problem," Dr. Bedoian said. "The chimpanzee reaction to aspirin is quite different from the human. Which are you?"

  "My toes are still chimpanzee," Pan Satyrus said, "but my head and stomach feel different than they ever have before. But I suppose that's the hangover. I don't think my body has retrogressed. Or devoluted. Or whatever it is."

  He somersaulted over the back of the chair and shuffled into the bathroom. They heard a deep sigh of relief. "Not a hair missing from my face," he said. "I'm glad. I don't want to be human."

  "Aren't you curious about our orders?" Dr. Bedoian asked.

  Pan Satyrus shuffled back into the room, carrying a dry towel with which he was giving himself a vigorous rubdown. "I presume from the reaction we are going to meet some very important men. I have met some very important men. Scientists and generals, admirals and senators. Which are these?" "Political figures," Dr. Bedoian said. "Statesmen." "Your disclosure has done nothing for my hangover," Pan Satyrus said. "Absolutely nothing." He tossed the towel in a corner, and began combing his coat with his fingernails. "Have any of you been to Africa?"

  "Capetown," Happy said. "Port Said. Nothing in between."

  "Do you realize I have never seen chimpanzees living in a state of natural chimpanzeeship?" Pan Satyrus said, "It comes over me when I am melancholy, as at present. Do you think if I tell these people what they want to know that they'd take me back to Equatorial Africa? That's where we came from, you know. Perhaps my father is still there."

  "Who was your father?" Dr. Bedoian asked.

  "I don't know, really. My mother was pregnant when they — captured her. She never liked to talk about the old days, in the jungle. Chimpanzees can't stand much unhappiness, you know."

  "Better lay off the gin, then," Ape advised. "Try rum."

  Pan Satyrus said, "Isn't there a word, teetotaller? It is what I feel like becoming."

  "Never swear off while you got a hangover," Happy said.

  The breakfast and the shaving gear arrived then.

  They went north in three cars, the security men riding in front of and behind them, civilian and military police clearing the way. There was a slight argument with Mr. MacMahon about stopping at Ski's base to pick up the clean clothes, but in the argument the security men forgot to watch Pan Satyrus, who again captured Mr. Crawford.

  The pleas of his colleague moved Mr. MacMahon's heart, and he agreed that he could stop if Pan promised not to get out of the car at the Naval Base.

  So it was still short of noon when they went, sirens screaming, between lines of plainclothes men and up to the portico of a very, very private house. Dr. Bedoian, in his new, government-bought, suit was drowsing beside the driver. He woke up and got out first.

  General Maguire was coming down the steps of the private house. He was in full Class A this time instead of tropical Class A. "I am to take Mem in," he said. "In fact, my orders are, I am to consider myself Mem's aide-de-camp."

  Pan Satyrus said, "Don't call me by that ridiculous name."

  "But it is your name. If you could see the mornning papers, you'd know, we've really pulled a scoop! What we did yesterday is on all the front pages, we have never had such good publicity. You can't change your name now."

  "I see you have two stars again," Pan said. He reached a hand out.

  General Maguire jumped back. "After your — when you come out again, the reporters want to see you."

  "Kissing your wife?"

  "Mrs. Maguire has gone north to consult her physician in Baltimore. Please, won't you cooperate? My whole career depends on it."

  Pan sat down on the crushed shell driveway. He picked up a handful of shell, tasted it, spat it out. "Oily," he said. "Yet, I felt a desire for oyster shell. Calcium deficiency, doctor?"

  Dr. Bedoian said, "I'll make a note of it. Maybe well try calcium gluconate. It tastes like candy, Pan."

  General Maguire said, "It — he — seems to respond to you, doctor. Won't you please reason with him? If anything goes wrong in the next hour or so, I'll be a colonel on the retired list."

  Dr. Bedoian shrugged.

  "Tell me, General," Pan asked, "would you be able to eat any more if you had two stars on each shoulder instead of one? Would you be able to drink more and have a smaller hangover? Could you have two young wives instead of one old one?"

  "By God, I wish I had you in the Army for a few days, Mem," Maguire answered.

  'The name is Pan Satyrus. Mr. Satyrus except to my friends."

  The general clenched his teeth. Through his slit lips he said, "All right, then. Mr. Satyrus. But come along. You can't keep men like this waiting. Nobody ever has."

  "I'm not somebody. I am a simple chimpanzee."

  "Yes, sir. You are a simple chimpanzee."

  "And last night you would have shot me if you had had a gun on."

  "Forget last night, Mr. Satyrus. Last night you had a good time, and I had a horrible one."

  "You're learning,*' Pan said. He stretched his arms to their full lengths and pulled up his legs, so he could swing on his knuckles. "I'm cramped from riding in the car," he explained. "Okay, pal. The doctor walks with me, Chief Bates and Radioman Bronstein fall in behind, and you can bring up the rear, Maguire."

  "That isn't military," the general screamed. Then he got control of himself again. "AH right, sir. As you say, Mr. Satyrus."

  Pan Satyrus gave his gruesome laugh. I'm looking forward to seeing those papers. I must be the biggest thing since the Twist."

  General Maguire said, "The man who wrote the Twist already has a new dance out called the Chimpango." He swallowed, and added, "Sir."

  "Then let us chimpango, by all means," Pan said. I'll tell you something, General. I'm really very easy to get along with. All chimpanzees are, given a chance to be natural. And I'll tell you something else; Mrs. Maguire can come back. I don't really have designs on her."

  And so they left the crushed-shell driveway, and went up the steps, and past the Marine guards — who presented arms, and were saluted in turn by Pan Satyrus — and into the cool interior of the house.

  Here a suave version of a security man stopped them, and said, politely, "I'll have to ask for your identification, gentlemen."

  General Maguire snapped out a gold-edged, plasticine-covered I.D. card. Ape and Happy got theirs out only a little slower. Dr. Bedoian produced his NASA pass.

  Pan Satyrus swung on his knuckles, and said, "I left mine in my other pants."

  The security man said, "But you're not wearing any. Oh."

  "Then I guess this interview's off," Pan said. "Doctor, do you think we could get to Canaveral by—"

  "I was ordered to bring him here!" General Maguire said. His voice bleated; it was still martial, but pretty much that of a martial goat.

  The security man said, "My orders; nobody in without I.D."

  Happy Bronstein looked even happier than usual, Ape Bates even more gorilla-like.

  General Maguire said, "Surely, you recognize this — this Mr. Satyrus."

  "Does he?" Pan Satyrus said. "Do you? I am a male chimpanzee, seven and a half years old. Maybe Dr. Bedoian could tell me from any other male chimpanzee, my age, in good he
alth. But I doubt if anybody else could."

  "You are the meanest person I ever met, Pan," Dr. Bedoian said.

  "I am not a person. I am a chimpanzee. We don't mind trouble. We like it."

  "Trouble for other people?"

  "No, Aram, not necessarily. Just trouble. Nobody ever handled a ten-year-old chimp, did they? Not in the movies, or on the stage, or in a strait jacket in a capsule. It can't be done. Because chimps like trouble."

  "Damn it," General Maguire said, "we can't stand here like a bunch of quartermaster sergeants. I'll vouch for this — this—"

  "Chimpanzee," Pan said. "Pongina. Great ape. Pan Satyrus."

  "I'll vouch for him," said the voice of the military goat.

  The security man stepped aside.

  Ape Bates said to Happy, "I think they're making a mistake. Pan's up to something." His lips did not move as he said it.

  Another security man opened the door, and there was the Great Man, Number I, facing them.

  He was seated behind a light table, leaning back in a rocking chair. And he was not alone. With him was a governor, another great man.

  Pan Satyrus swung forward, using his arms as crutches, flew through the air, and landed on a corner of the table. It was better built than it looked; it did not creak, just swayed a little.

  General Maguire came to attention, and said, "Mission completed, sir."

  The Great Man said, "So I see. Introduce us, general."

  "Sir-"

  "It isn't necessary," Pan said. "I call myself Pan Satyrus. As college men, you both know — I am sure— that this is the proper scientific name for my species. The only species of chimpanzee there is, in fact, though there are two species of orangs and two of gorilla. And I know who you both are. I've seen your faces dozens of times."

  The Governor had charm, almost as much as Number One. He leaned forward. "How interesting. Where did you see our faces?"

  "On the floor of the Primate House," Pan said. "You'd be surprised how many newspapers there are there, on Sunday night, when the keepers finally run the crowd out. Crumpled newspapers, mustard-stained newspapers, walked-on newspapers. Filthy, and all of them — or nearly all — with one of your two faces on them."