by Greg Keyes
Except pain.
Maurice ate with a deliberation that was hard to understand, as if each taste of the food was important to him. As if getting it into his belly quickly so that no one else could take it wasn’t the main objective.
Maurice noticed Koba watching, and offered him a finger full.
Try.
Koba took the durian doubtfully and placed it into his mouth. It smelled bad. To his surprise, however, the taste was good. A little like a rotten banana.
I see you remembering, Maurice said. Eyes go funny. You shake.
This happens to you? Koba wanted to know.
To me, yes. To all of the apes that breathed Caesar’s mist.
The mist makes us remember?
Makes us smarter, Maurice said. Being smarter makes us remember.
Koba thought about that for a moment. He had known something else was happening to him, without being able to say what it was. Smarter? For him, that word had to do with learning tricks, or using sign. And now that he thought about it, he was using sign differently than he used to. Better.
Not true of big caterpillars, he told Maurice.
Big caterpillars?
From zoo.
Maurice’s throat suddenly swelled. Koba wasn’t sure what it meant. But it felt dangerous, and he skipped back a bit.
Don’t call them that! Maurice said. They are apes, like you, like me. Not as smart maybe, not know sign maybe, but still apes. Apes together—strong. Like Caesar says.
Koba gaped, taken aback by the usually gentle ape’s show of anger. The big caterpillars were apes?
But of course they were. They just hadn’t been taught sign like he had. But they could learn it, as he had. Now that it was pointed out to him, it seemed so obvious, and he felt stupid for not understanding earlier.
Apes together strong, he signed, feeling a sort of heat go through him. He remembered riding on top of a rolling machine as they approached the big bridge, Koba side by side with Caesar, Maurice, and Buck—the gorilla who died saving them all from Jacobs. He remembered that feeling. Together.
Caesar says this? he asked. Why?
Because it’s true, Maurice replied.
Yes, Koba said. Caesar is right. I understand now.
He wasn’t sure he did, but the concept left him almost gasping. It wasn’t just about respect for Caesar, loyalty to Caesar—it was about respect and loyalty to all apes. Even the ones who couldn’t sign.
All of his life he had felt almost as if he had a weight on one side of him that made him walk crooked. That weight was all of the things humans had done to him, and the hatred that came from that. For the first time in his life, he suddenly felt the possibility of a burden on his other side, too—one that would balance him, let him walk straight.
Even the possibility felt good.
What do you remember? he asked Maurice.
I was circus ape, Maurice said. I did tricks.
I did tricks, Koba said. Not for circus. For little pictures.
Not understand.
Koba tried to explain. After a while, Maurice scratched his head.
We had little screens in our prison, he said. Had small humans. Sometimes apes. Maybe I saw you.
Why did they do this? Koba wondered. Make us do tricks for them, wear clothes?
Humans think apes funny when they act like stupid humans, Maurice explained.
Why? Koba asked.
It took so long for Maurice to answer that Koba thought that he had refused to do so, or had forgotten the question, perhaps lost in a reverie of his own. But finally the orangutan lifted his hands.
I think maybe they hate themselves, he said.
* * *
After a time, Koba left, and Maurice was once again alone. Beautifully, wonderfully alone. He ate a little more of the durian, feeling warm inside, more content than he had felt in a long time. He listened to the forest, the quiet breath of the wind, to the singing stars of his own thoughts, the questions forming there, elegant connections between this and that thing that he had somehow never noticed before.
The feel of bark on his fingers was a luxury he had never imagined. That was an added thing. But he also reveled in absence. The absence of people looking at him, poking at him, yelling at him.
A deep part of him wanted permanent solitude, and at first—just after they left the city—he had thought to strike out on his own. He could explain Caesar’s vision to Koba well enough, but part of him resisted the idea of living together with so many apes.
And yet it seemed to him that resisting an instinct was sometimes the only way to move forward. To improve. To understand. And there was so much more he wanted to understand. More than that, he owed Caesar his freedom, and all of this, even these small opportunities to be by himself. Whatever else happened, he owed Caesar his support, his presence, anything he could provide.
So he did not mind when he saw Caesar approaching.
A good trick, he told Caesar.
A trick that nearly got me killed, Caesar replied. A trick that won’t work again.
There are always new tricks, Maurice told him.
Caesar seemed agitated. He was better than most chimps at keeping still, but the tension in his body betrayed him. Still, Maurice waited for him to speak. It wouldn’t do to hurry him.
While I was hiding, I heard the humans talking, Caesar said finally.
Maurice focused his attention on Caesar’s account of the disease, and how humans thought apes had something to do with it.
If they think we have this sickness, why come after us, Caesar asked.
Maurice thought somehow there might be a connection to the question Koba had asked him a little while ago—the one about why humans made apes act like foolish humans—but the connection was dim in the constellation of his new thoughts. He would have to work on that later, when he was alone.
Don’t know, he replied, instead. But this might be good.
How? Caesar wondered.
If enough of them die, maybe they will forget about us. That would be a very good thing.
12
Malakai understood long before they found the tracking devices what had happened, but he also knew Corbin wouldn’t believe him, so he let the whole thing play out. He was pretty sure Clancy had figured it all out, too.
They found the tags in the back of a truck parked in front of a restaurant in the small town of Stinson Beach. Corbin swore colorfully for what seemed like a long time.
“They fricking hosed us,” he said. “Smoked us like a cheap cigar!”
“Maybe we should try again,” Flores said. “Use smaller transmitters. I’ve seen some smaller than a dime.”
“If you did, it was in a movie,” Corbin snapped. “The ones we used are the smallest they make.”
“That’s not even the point, really,” Clancy said. “That point is, they figured out what we were up to, and used our plan against us.”
“Well then, expert,” Corbin said, turning to Malakai, “what next?”
“Drive back to that place you stopped,” he responded. “The bottom of that trail.”
“Right, that makes sense,” the mercenary agreed grudgingly. “Let’s get moving, then!”
They made the drive in silence. When they reached the spot he had suggested, Malakai got out, carefully observing the ground. It didn’t take him long to find the tracks.
“Well, do you know where they’ve gone?” Corbin demanded, hovering over him as he crouched close to the ground.
“Not ‘they’,” Malakai said, after a moment. “Him.”
“What do you mean?” Corbin asked.
“There was only one of them. ‘They’ didn’t figure out what we were trying to do. He did. Or she, perhaps.”
“No need to be politically correct,” Clancy said. “Apes have their gender roles pretty well mapped out.”
“Yes, but we aren’t dealing with apes here,” Malakai said.
“The tracks are human?” Corbin said.
“No,” Malakai said. “It’s the spoor of a chimpanzee. But the mind attached to the foot that made that track is not the mind of an ape. Up until now I’ve believed that the apes had a human leader, despite your assurances to the contrary. I no longer believe that.”
“Couldn’t it have been trained to do this?” Corbin asked. “Haven’t apes been used in robberies or whatever?”
“Sure they have,” Clancy said. “In those movies Flores has been been watching, the ones with the tiny tracking devices.” That earned her a nasty look, but she didn’t seem to care.
“Imagine the sequence of events,” she went on. “He recognized the camera, inferred what it was there for, and then disabled it.”
“You said that wasn’t a big deal.”
“That alone, no. But then he figured out—or at least guessed—what the tracking devices were, and why they were there. He then systematically searched the fruit until he found not one, not a few, but all of the devices. Then he used them to draw us away so the rest of his troop could take the fruit. I’ll guarantee you there isn’t a single piece remaining where you left it. He must have known there was a road over here, with cars on it.
“It’s just too much,” she concluded.
“What are you saying?”
“Malakai is right. At least one of these apes is smart—really smart. Maybe he’s a mutation, the next step in chimpanzee evolution. Or maybe he was deliberately altered in a lab. Chimps are ninety-nine percent genetically the same as us, so maybe someone spliced in the last one percent.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“But this is good news,” Malakai said, before Corbin could erupt again.
“How’s that?” Corbin asked.
“For one thing, I actually have a better concept now of where they really are,” he replied. “And it gives me an idea.”
* * *
Koba is at the place where they do their tricks and make the little pictures, but they haven’t done anything. People seem upset, and some have water leaking from their eyes. He knows now that they call it crying.
He remembers Mary crying because his mother wouldn’t move, and it makes him feel anxious. He tries not to fidget, because Tommy will punish him if he does. But Tommy isn’t really paying attention to him. He’s speaking loudly to a man who is speaking loudly back. Koba feels as if any minute one will challenge the other, and that makes him feel even more distressed. But finally the men stop yelling at each other.
Tommy comes over and takes his leash then, and Milo’s.
“It was a stupid show anyway,” Tommy says. Then he takes them home.
* * *
Tommy drinks a lot of his burning juice and talks on the phone much of the time. He also sleeps a lot, and does not remember to feed Koba and Milo. Koba grows hungry, and anxious again. When he sees Tommy, he “smiles” and “talks.” He signs “food.” Tommy says something he doesn’t understand, and walks away.
One day he finally takes Koba out of his cage and holds out his leash. He leaves Milo in his cage. Milo points to his mouth, then to Koba.
That frightens Koba, and something about the way Tommy is acting scares him, too. So when Tommy comes close with the leash, Koba jumps back.
“Don’t you even,” Tommy shouts. He pulls out the stick, but Koba is more scared of having his mouth stuck together than he is of the stick. He has been hit by the stick so many times he almost isn’t scared of it anymore.
But this time Tommy smacks him on the side of the head, and Koba doesn’t even know what is happening. Then he understands that Tommy is hitting him again, and again, and again, and he suddenly knows that Tommy isn’t going to stop.
Koba feels something break in him, something hot, like the stuff Tommy made him drink. It wants out of him, and the only way it can get out is through his hands, his feet, and his teeth. He jumps at Tommy, knocks him hard against the cage, and then slams him to the ground and starts hitting him. It feels good.
Tommy covers his head and face with his hands and howls, submitting to him. Koba suddenly feels powerful, in control, and it is a feeling he likes.
His head starts to clear a little. Tommy has submitted. Things will be different now. He steps back from Tommy.
Tommy lifts his head and stares at Koba. He still looks docile, frightened.
Then he screams. He pulls something out of his pocket and slashes at Koba. Koba feels something slice from his eyebrow through his eye and into his cheek. Everything goes black in that eye. With his other eye he sees blood, and it seems to be everywhere. He sees Tommy grab the leash and put it around his throat. Koba is trying to keep the blood from coming out of his face while Tommy ties him to the cage, in such a way that if he doesn’t keep his feet under him he starts choking.
Then Tommy starts hitting him with the stick again, and before long Koba doesn’t know anything at all.
* * *
It is later, and Koba is back in his cage. He hurts so much he can’t focus on anything else. The cut across his eye hurts terribly, but now he can see a little bit through it, even if things aren’t quite in focus.
Tommy comes by and looks closely at him. He has one of his smoking sticks in his mouth.
Koba tries to look submissive.
Koba good, he signs. Koba do tricks.
Tommy laughs then, but it sounds awful.
“You’re too goddamn ugly now, anyway,” he says. “Now one wants to see you do funny little goddamn monkey things. Maybe if a part in a horror movie comes up, though.”
He stares at Koba’s face.
“One more little touch, maybe,” he says.
Then he sticks the burning end of his smoke stick into Koba’s hurt eye. Koba screams and throws himself back against the cage, but he cannot go far enough to avoid the burning stick.
“I ought to burn out your other eye, too,” Tommy mutters. “But then you’d be no goddamn use to me at all.” Then he stumbles off. He falls, and makes a hard sound when he hits the floor. Koba barely notices, he’s in so much pain.
“Goddamn,” Tommy says, pushing himself up. Koba sees blood on his mouth. “Looks like I need another drink. Heh.”
He wags his finger at Koba.
“I hope you aren’t laughing at me,” he says. “If you are, we’ll have words later, you and me.”
Then he gets up and leaves the room.
* * *
Tommy feeds them the next morning. He changes their water. Then Koba doesn’t see Tommy for a long time. He and Milo grow hungry, but the thirst is worse. It takes away his strength. His legs won’t hold him up, and the cage hurts him where his body pulls against it.
Tommy returns. Koba doesn’t know how long it’s been. The lights have been off for days.
Tommy is carrying something. It is not the stick. It is smaller, and fits into Tommy’s hand in a different way. It has a hole in the end, about the size his little finger might fit into. He points it at him, and Koba knows whatever it is will probably hurt, but he is too sick from lack of food and water to care.
Tommy points it at him for a long time, and then he lowers it.
“Screw it,” he finally says. He opens Koba’s cage, and then slowly walks away.
Koba looks at the open cage door, unsure what to do. He wants to go out, find food and water. But he’s scared of Tommy.
Suddenly he hears a loud bang. Then it is very quiet.
* * *
Koba can finally stand it no longer, and he leaves the cage.
He finds Tommy on the couch. He is lying slumped in one corner of it. His eyes are open but he doesn’t seem to see Koba. Just like Mother. There is blood everywhere, and the thing is in his hand.
Kobe decides to leave Tommy alone. Even though his eyes are open, he seems to be asleep.
He goes and releases Milo from his cage, and they go to the boxes, desperate for food and water. They find something sweet to drink, and the place where Tommy keeps their food, and they eat and drink as much as they can. Milo vomits, but
Koba does not.
Then Koba lies down, and after moment, Milo joins him. After so much time in the cage, it feels so good to stretch out, to move all of his muscles.
He wakes with Milo pulling at him, frantically trying to get him back to his cage, but Koba doesn’t want to go. He takes Milo to see Tommy. Tommy is still sitting in exactly the same position Koba last saw him in.
Tommy sleep, he signs to Milo. Tommy not wake up.
Milo seems unsure, but when Koba goes to the playroom, Milo waits, then follows. They play for most of the day. Koba thinks that Tommy will vanish, the way his mother did, but Tommy is still there when he looks again.
There are places in the house—square places in the walls, covered with cloth. Sometimes light comes from behind them, and sometimes not. Koba decides to look behind the cloth and see what is there.
What he sees is beautiful. He sees trees, and houses, and most of all the blue sky and realizes that through this clear, hard stuff is outside. This reminds him of the door, the door Tommy takes them through when they get in the truck. It’s dark in that place, and it’s dark in the truck, but there must be some way out.
He and Milo go into the dark room with the truck. He can see light coming from under one wall, but he can’t figure out how to get out.
That’s when Milo seems to remember something. He goes to the wall and pushes something. Suddenly there is a loud grinding sound.
Koba jumps at the sound and chitters as the sliver of light gets bigger and bigger until they are looking at outside. He gingerly approaches it. He feels something in him, then gets an idea. What if he and Milo just go into the outside, and keep going? What if there are no more cages, no more tricks, no more beatings or shocks or fire pushed in his eye?
He tries to explain to Milo, but Milo is scared. So they find a safe corner and wait. Soon the outside starts getting dark, and Koba gets a little worried, too. But then he becomes determined.
Next time it is light, he thinks, I will go outside and stay there, whatever Milo does.