Weed

by Peter Ponzo

  Chapter 26

  The cowboy put on his most official look.

  "Ma'am, Ah imagine y'all got 'bout as much information as this li’l gal has to offer," he said to me, "but Ah've a mind to try, myself."

  "As a matter of fact," I said, almost embarassed to say it, "I've pretty well ignored Pelvis, but, come to think of it—"

  "Pelvis?" he asked.

  "Just a nickname," I said. "We call her Penny. And I think you'll have some difficulty in communicating—"

  "Leave thet to me, ma'am. Interrogation is an art thet Ah'm familiar with. It's mah job to—"

  He stopped talking and sat abruptly, pulling his hat from his head. Penny had slipped into the room, in a loosely fitting robe which hung straight from her breasts to the floor. Boone was suitably impressed, and momentarily speechless. Then he waved at a chair.

  "Ms. Penny," he said, rising to his feet and pointing to a chair. "Would y'all set there?"

  Penny sat.

  "Ms. Penny, Ah'd like to ask y'all a few questions. Jest a formality, y'understand. They ain't no reason to be scared. Jest answer with the truth as y'all know it."

  It seemed a standard ritual. Boone paced about the room, hands clasped firmly at his back. Penny sat demurely, watching the tall Texan with great interest. She seemed not the least bit nervous. Charles stood in back of her chair. It was a great scene.

  "Now, tell me Ms. Penny, jest when did y'all first git to Toronto?"

  "Tonto?" Penny said.

  "Yes, ma'am. Toronto City."

  "City?" Penny said.

  "Yes, ma'am. When did y'all arrive in Toronto, with Ms. Fleetsmith and Mr. Charles Curran?"

  "Chully!" Penny said, turning and grasping Charlie's hand. He leaned over her and smoothed her hair. Very touching. I could hardly contain a chuckle. Boone frowned at me and I erased the smile.

  "Ms. Penny," Boone continued, "ah'd be mighty pleased if y'all could answer jest this one question." It was clear that the complete interrogation procedure had been cut to the bottom line. Boone asked, "Have y'all seen any gorillas in Brazil?"

  Penny remained silent, clinging to Charles.

  "Lots of coffee, no gorillas," I volunteered.

  Boone sat, weary, defeated.

  "She don't hardly talk none," he half whispered, looking at Charles.

  "Actually, Mr. Boone," Charles explained, "her understanding of the language is quite comprehensive. I have no explanation for her current reticence." Charles smoothed Penny's hair. "Perhaps if you would allow me to pose the questions?"

  Charles pulled a chair alongside of Penny's and began, without waiting for Boone's response.

  "Penny," Charles said, "you can see that Miss Josephine is covered with hair. Correct?"

  Penny nodded vigorously, looking about the room as though she expected Josey to be there.

  "In your village, did you ever see anyone covered in hair, like that?"

  Penny shook her head.

  "I guess that answers your question, Mr. Boone." Charles looked at Boone, smiling, self-satisfied.

  I leaned toward Penny.

  "Why were there so few females, in your village?" I asked.

  "Village?" Penny said.

  "Yes. Why so few girls?"

  "Girls?" Penny said.

  "Shit!" I said, and pushed myself to my feet and stalked out.

  I heard Penny's last comment: "Shit."

  I headed for my study. I needed some time to think.

  Talk about perplexing, this was the epitome. And the questions it posed. Why no gorillas in Brazil? Why so few women among the Chockli? How did the reversion to ancient genetic code take place? Why a smooth membrane, sometimes, and fluff, sometimes, and a cocoon, sometimes. Most importantly, could the process be reversed?

  There was a partial answer, sort of. Who knows from what ancient civilization the Chockli originated? Did they migrate from Asia across the Bering Strait, then make their way to South America? Perhaps their ancestors were not susceptible to the effects of this fungus which grew on the weed? Did all Asians participate in this immunity? Were Indo-Europeans susceptible? Or perhaps the accepted Bering Strait theory was wrong. Maybe the seemingly more advanced Indians of South America sailed, from Asia. I always thought this. To migrate through the Ice Age turmoil of North America to the Southern continent, then to build pyramids, celestially significant structures, great empires. Maybe the Indians of South America were different. Maybe their genetic makeup … the Inca, the Maya—

  "Ah think a trip to Brazil is called fer, yuh know."

  Boone was standing at the door to my study.

  "I think we need to study the effect of Dermafix on Asians," I said.

  "Y'all think thet Penny don't get the affliction 'cause she's from Asian stock," he said, sliding into a chair.

  Amazing. These Texans are smart folk … and I always thought Texans confused a thesaurus with a dinosaur.

  "What makes you say that, cowboy?"

  "Eyes. Penny's eyes. Sorta oriental. Thet weed ain't got no effect, so no gorillas in Brazil." He paused for a moment, as though struggling with the words. "Penny. Y'all could try it on her. Dermafix, Ah mean."

  "Are you seriously suggesting that I put her at risk, turn her into some hairy ape? Shame on you Mr. Boone."

  "They had it all along, them natives. They didn't git to be gorillas."

  I thought about that for a minute. Boone was quiet, waiting.

  "Mmm, maybe. I'll give it some serious thought, talk to Penny."

  "And to Mr. Curry, who seems a mite taken with the li'l gal."

  "Curran. Yeah, he's a mite taken."