The Year's Greatest Science Fiction & Fantasy 6 - [Anthology]

by Edited By Judith Merril

  She was in none of them; but his friend, Zum, remembered that right after lunch she had gone down the north slope of the mountain toward Lake Kivu looking for cypress resin. J. G. sighed. Lotus had always had a sweet tooth. He thanked Zum and headed down the mountain in search of his splendid wife.

  The next morning the storm had passed on, and J. G. had found no trace of Lotus. He came back to the plateau and found that she had not returned. He sighed again as he realized he would have to keep on looking for Lotus; because it was the only logical thing to do. He missed her.

  He methodically covered every foot of the mountain down to the lake. This was not as difficult as it might seem; because, even on a hillside covered with obstructions, J. G. could move at a speed of twenty-five miles per hour without exerting himself.

  When he had searched above the lake, he searched the mountain between the lake and the forests. Then he searched through the forests and crossed the river and searched the grass lands beyond the river and the dry plains beyond the grass lands. Finally he came to the end of the dry plains and faced the ocean. As he wandered along the beach, he came-upon a sign—footprints in the sand: Lad]/ Gorilla footprints, Lotus’s footprints.

  J. G. raced along the beach, following the footprints southward until they disappeared in the surf. He went several miles down the beach but the footprints did not reappear. He came back to the point where they vanished and sat down.

  He wondered if Lotus could have wandered into the water and drowned; but he doubted it, as she was an excellent swimmer. He wondered what to do next. He missed Lotus very much. He also missed his supper. And his breakfast. And lunch.

  For the first time in his life, J. G. was unhappy. It required great concentration on his part, because it isn’t easy to be unhappy when you have such a tiny brain.

  Just then the Explorer came out of a clump of cane onto the beach, accompanied by four Sailors. When they saw J. G., they all took several steps backwards rapidly. Then they stopped; and the Explorer, after a long pause, whistled softly to himself and took several steps forward.

  J. G. nodded politely and looked away. He assumed the Explorer and his friends were suffering from malnutrition and eczema, and he didn’t want to embarrass them by staring.

  The Explorer, seemingly against the wishes of his companions, who began backing farther away, advanced cautiously toward J. G. and offered him a banana. J. G. took it and thanked him.

  The Explorer then made sounds and gestures which indicated that he wanted J. G. to accompany him, and J. G. did. He went, first, because it would have been impolite not to; and, second, because to find Lotus he had to go some place; and, third, because the Explorer kept giving him bananas.

  After they had walked north on the beach for a half a mile, they came to an inlet where the Explorer’s ship was anchored. J. G., who now considered the Explorer an old and trusted friend, allowed himself to be rowed out and taken on board and so, unwittingly, began his strange adventure.

  * * * *

  2

  Although his curiosity was aroused, J. G. did not have time to properly examine the ship or its fittings. The Explorer insisted on showing him, at once, to a small cabin below decks. The cabin had an iron-barred door and no window. When he had bolted the door, the Explorer stepped back, exhaled loudly and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Then he shouted several times down the passageway.

  J. G. had already realized that the Explorer and his companions used a language that was different from his own. He had tried to communicate with them, but they neither answered nor, in fact, seemed to notice his questions; so, when a very Old Man finally came limping down the passageway, J. G. listened attentively to the loud, angry things the Explorer said to the Old Man and made a note of the exact words he used. A retentive and accurate memory is one of the few advantages of having a small and unconvoluted brain.

  Later the Old Man returned alone with some bananas and plantain leaves and dropped them through the bars into J. G.’s cabin.

  J. G. addressed the Old Man, using the exact words he had heard the Explorer use.

  The Old Man dropped the box he was carrying and glared at J. G. “The same to you!” he shouted.

  J. G. said, “The same to you!”

  “Oh yeh?” said the Old Man.

  “Oh yeh?” said J. G.

  “Humphf!” said the Old Man.

  “Humphf!” said J. G.

  The Old Man glared at him again and started to leave. Then he turned and scratched his head. “God amighty,” he said. “A talkin’ ape.”

  “God amighty,” J. G. said. “A talkin’ ape.”

  The Old Man studied him, open-mouthed, for a while and then cleared his throat and said, “Hello.”

  J. G. cleared his throat and said. “Hello.”

  The Old Man then carefully pointed to J. G. and said, “You.”

  J. G. pointed himself and said, “You.”

  “No, no,” the Old Man said, shaking his head. He pointed to himself and said, “Me,” and to J. G. again and said, “You.”

  J. G. understood. He pointed to himself and said, “Me,” and to the Old Man and said, “You.”

  The Old Man broke into a long cackling laugh. He taught J. G. a few more words and then limped back on deck. From then on, whenever he brought J. G. food, he taught him more words.

  J. G. saw immediately that the construction and grammar of this new language were similar to that used by the Silver Gorillas. By the end of the week, he had enough vocabulary to carry on limited conversations with the Old Man; and when, a few days later, the Explorer came to his cabin, he was able to thank him for his kindness and assistance in helping him in his search for his beautiful wife, Lotus.

  When the Explorer discovered that J. G. could speak, he was extraordinarily pleased. After conversing with him for a half an hour, he announced that he was going to take an interest in J. G.’s education. He assured J. G. that, if he applied himself, the two of them could “clean up.”

  During the ensuing days, he showed J. G. how to eat with a knife and fork; taught him to say “Yes sir” and “No sir”; lent him his dictionary; and allowed him to look through his telescope. He also taught him to play Pittsburgh Rummy.

  The Explorer seemed to get huge enjoyment out of the games that they played together every evening.

  “In spite of the fact that you’re an ugly, murderous beast, I must admit you’re good company,” he would say, dealing himself a card from the bottom of the pack. “I knock with two.”

  The Explorer won every game because he cheated. Whenever he won, he would laugh and take a drink of rum and slap J. G. on the back and give him a banana and say what a good sort he was in spite of being a bloodthirsty monster. At one point J. G. had tried to explain that he was herbivorous and never ate meat; but the Explorer was busy arranging the cards under the table so he could deal himself four queens and did not hear.

  Of course, J. G. realized all along that the Explorer was dealing the cards in a peculiar fashion and was adding the score up incorrectly (an excellent grasp of arithmetic is another advantage of having a tiny brain); but he reasoned that he was at fault and, being stupid, had failed to understand the rules. He wanted very much to please his new friend; so he noticed carefully the way the Explorer played and began to play that way himself, dealing cards from the bottom, hiding other cards in his fur and adding the score up incorrectly. As he had a Reflex-Reaction-Time of 9.6, he was much better at it than the Explorer and immediately won three games in a row.

  When J. G. won the first game, the Explorer scowled and became silent.

  When he won the second game, the Explorer said J. G. was an ugly, ignorant brute and failed to add that he was also a good fellow.

  When J. G. won the third game, the Explorer stood up, knocked over the table, shouted that he was a cheat and a thief, took his dictionary, gathered up all the bananas, and left, slamming and locking the door.

  J. G. did not see the Explorer for the rest
of the trip. He didn’t see any more bananas either.

  Two days later the ship docked and two Sailors came down to J. G.’s cabin. One of them carried an iron collar with a length of heavy chain attached to it.

  “Cap’n says ... we should put this ... uh ... chain on you and bring you on deck,” he said. “Sir,” he added quickly, as J. G. raised his three hundred and fifty-four pounds from the floor.

  J. G. was overjoyed to find he had not been abandoned. He said he would be glad to oblige. He took the collar and fitted it around his neck.

  The Sailor mopped his brow with his sleeve. “Whatta ya know?” he said.

  “It’s like the Cap’n says,” said the other Sailor. “He’s too stupid to make trouble. He’s big outside but he ain’t got no proper brain at all.”

  J. G. hung his head in shame and moved sadly out into the companionway.

  “Whatta ya know?” said the first Sailor. “Come on, hurry up. Move along,” he shouted all at once. He gave J. G. a shove.

  “Snap it up, snap it up,” yelled the other Sailor, hitting J. G. across the back with the free end of the chain.

  J. G. swung quickly up the ship’s ladder and came out on deck entirely unprepared for his first view of the Jungle. It was there, just at the other end of a long pier.

  It was big. Steel and concrete towers rose in disordered splendor toward the sky. Across the water came the sweaty, sooty, smoggy scent of the Jungle and the screech and scrape, the clatter and clank, the rumble, the rattle, the roar of the Jungle. J. G. was so startled he turned and would have gone back down into the ship; but the Sailors jerked on the chain and pulled him toward the stern, where the Explorer stood savagely chewing on a long black cigar.

  J. G. wished that he and the Explorer could be friends again. He smiled broadly and nodded to show that he meant no harm. The Explorer jumped back. “None of that,” he said. “Hold him, Men.” J. G. looked at the deck and felt unhappy.

  “I’m going to tell you something for your own good,” said the Explorer. “People out there,” he indicated the Jungle, “won’t be as easy with you as me. You’ll have to get over your bad temper, learn some manners and Keep Your Place.”

  J. G. nodded dumbly.

  “Treat your Betters with respect. Do what you’re told. Don’t talk back. Be satisfied with what you get, and maybe you’ll get along. That’s How Things Are.”

  J. G. thought about this and then asked exactly how were things?

  “Don’t talk back!” yelled the Explorer, hurling his cigar to the deck and stamping on it. “Chain him to the stanchion. I’m going ashore.”

  The Sailors chained J. G. to the stanchion and left him. He lay on the deck thinking. He wondered if his beautiful wife, Lotus, were somewhere in the Jungle. And if she were would he ever be able to find her? Would he ever be able to get back home himself? He wished he knew How Things Were. After a while he bit through the chain and stood by the rail looking out across the water.

  * * * *

  3

  When the Explorer returned to the ship, he was accompanied by Quimble, the Professor. Quimble was a small man with a wrinkled suit and face who wore spectacles attached to his coat by a black ribbon and socks that did not match. He walked around J. G., patted him on the back, smiled at him, felt his head and murmured “Excellent” four times. He then reached a financial agreement with the Explorer and invited J. G. to be his house guest. He extended a banana along with the invitation and J. G. accepted both readily.

  J. G. was actually glad to leave the ship and go with Quimble, who seemed much friendlier than the Explorer; but when they reached the end of the pier and he saw the hundreds of Jungle Creatures hurrying in all directions at once, each seemingly impelled by some private crisis, he had a moment’s doubt. However, he followed Quimble into the crowd and was relieved to find that, as long as he remembered not to walk round-shouldered, no one paid the slightest attention to him.

  Quimble lived in a clearing in the Jungle called the Campus. The Jungle Creatures sent their Young to the Campus to be taught How to Get Along in the World. The ones who were not able to learn How to Get Along in the World remained on the Campus, became Professors and taught other younger creatures How to Get Along in the World. It was a remarkable system and very effective, in that it invariably produced a surplus of Professors.

  Quimble showed J. G. to a room in the basement of his home, which he called his laboratory, and brought him a crate of vegetables for supper. J. G. was grateful and determined to find out How Things Were so he wouldn’t displease Quimble and lose his friendship, as he had the Explorer’s.

  Like the Explorer, Quimble also had games he wanted to play with J. G.; only his games involved round holes, square pegs, mazes, and ink blots, and were called Tests.

  “I shall use your reactions to establish final proof for my theory, the Quimble Theory,” he said. “By observing and confining myself only to factual evidence, I shall be able to arrive at an irreversible and inflexible conclusion. That is the Scientific Method.”

  J. G. was quite impressed. He asked Quimble what his Theory was.

  Quimble’s thin face broke into a wide smile. It was the first time anyone had ever asked him this. He hurried over to J. G. and patted his head. “I am explaining it in a three-hundred-thousand-word paper,” he said confidentially, “which will be titled, The Opposed Thumb—the Principal Reason that Man is Superior to the Apes.”

  J. G. looked at his thumb and asked what it was opposed to.

  “Nothing,” said Quimble, rubbing his hands together. “You see it is much too high up on the forearm. It is not opposite the fingers and is, therefore, incapable of grasping; as is my thumb, for instance.”

  J. G. looked at Quimble’s thumb.

  “Ah,” said Quimble. “It’s too bad you are merely an un-evolved brute. I could explain it clearly if you could talk.”

  J. G. thought about this for a while and then cautiously asked why he was not able to talk.

  “Because you are a Gorilla, and it has been observed that Gorillas cannot speak, and what has once been proven is fact. That is the Scientific Method,” Quimble said.

  J. G. asked if this was How Things Were and Quimble said, “Of course, of course, of course.” But he had lost interest in the conversation and was busy measuring J. G.’s feet. Before evolving his Theory, Quimble had devoted thirty years to a study of the psychology of Mice. He had constructed a complicated maze and would release mice at one end and see how long it took them to reach the cheese which he placed at the other end. As they became more adept at negotiating the maze, he introduced discouraging features such as metal plates, which gave them shocks, and barriers to climb. Later he tested their determination by striking at them with a sawed-off broom handle as they attempted to reach the food. He didn’t learn much, but he got rid of a surprising number of mice; for which he received an Award from the Rockefeller Institute.

  The next day Quimble began giving J. G. a series of tests, which, remembering his experience with the Explorer, J. G. made sure that Quimble won. After every test Quimble appeared highly gratified. He would chuckle, take a drink of celery tonic and give J. G. a banana. Then he would gather up his notes and go upstairs, leaving J. G. alone.

  During these periods when he was left alone, J. G. made a tremendous advance in his education. He learned to read. Once he had mastered the basic technique, he found that he was able to assimilate a great deal of information—an entire book, in fact—in a surprisingly short time. This was, no doubt, due to the fact that his small brain was so empty it offered no resistance to outside ideas. Of the number of books Quimble had lying about the laboratory, J. G. found that he enjoyed the ones on mathematics best; and, by the time Quimble announced that the Tests were completed, he had re-read Principia Mathematica four times with increasing pleasure.

  Quimble had transcribed the results of his tests in a large ledger. Under the heading, “Positive and Final Proof for the Quimble Theory,” he had writt
en:

  At last I can say without fear of contradiction that the Quimble Theory is correct in all respects. With Subjects non-opposed thumb, it is impossible for him to manipulate or even pick up a simple device such as a cigarette lighter, or an automatic rifle. This precludes any possibility of his species ever developing civilization or culture on the high level made possible by Man’s opposed thumb.

  The non-opposed thumb even makes it impossible for Subject to adjust to civilization as it is now established. When given at random a camera, a drill press and a typewriter, he was forced to operate all three devices with his feet. Under ordinary non-test conditions he would be wearing shoes and would therefore be completely helpless.

  q. e. d.