by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 45
It was a cold morning several days later when the doorbell rang and Charles went to answer. I jumped up from my desk in the study and ran to the door, hoping it was the cowboy. Charles first peered through the small window then opened the door.
"How are you, sweetie!" It was Josey, her floppy hat in her hand, her face a mass of hair and smiles. "I've brought someone to meet you. C'mon, loverboy," she said, and moved aside. Dr. Henderson stepped forward, rather sheepishly.
"I hope you don't mind," he said, speaking to me. "I thought it best if I accompanied Miss Cowley so that I might explain the results of our enquiry. She has been a rather patient … uh … patient."
"You better believe it. Lordy, yes," Josey said, marching through the door, grabbing Charles by the arm and dragging him directly to the kitchen.
"Dr. Henderson, how nice," I said. "Please come in. Would you like a coffee?"
Henderson stepped in, hesitantly, as though he expected to be pounced upon. "The kitchen," I said, pointing to the doorway through which Josey had dragged Charles. "Let's sit awhile and you can tell us what you've found after examining Josey. I'm assuming you did examine her, and that she enjoyed every minute of it."
He followed me to the kitchen where Josey was alone, chewing on a cold ham bone. I pointed to a chair beside Josey. Henderson chose, instead, a chair across the table from the hairy one. He looked rather uncomfortable.
"Shoot," I said. "I'm all ears."
"Well," he began, "we managed to recreate the cocoon … the cocoon arangement—"
"Cocoonization," I suggested.
He laughed. It seemed a laugh of immense relief. His blue eyes flashed and his teeth were even and white and his small moustache danced on his upper lip. He was quite an attractive specimen and I was delighted that he felt more comfortable. Did I really dislike the man, once upon a time?
"Yes, cocoonization," he said. "We managed to recreate cocoonization—"
"With Josey?" I asked. This was amazing.
"No, no. In mice," he said. "With an extract that contained the At-B virus. It's quite remarkable, really. Subsequently the mouse died, unfortunately, but the experiments were eminently reproducible and—"
"This extract, where did you get it. From Josey?" I asked.
"Not at all." He looked at Josey who was still chewing on the ham bone, now reduced to half size. "The At-B was extracted from the specimen you left me. The … uh …"
"Apeshit," I said.
"Quite so," he said.
"It was Han's apeshit, you know," I said. "Hans von Oerschott. Now you know why Josey called him Ohshit. Appropriate, eh?"
Again, that laugh of relief, then he said: "Miss Fleetsmith, I must admit that I did not come here to explain the results of our tests on Miss Cowley. I actually came to apologize for my behaviour, that day you visited the Center in Atlanta. I was a cad, rude and vulgar. I had so much to contend with … and I took it out on you. It was unprofessional and I—"
"Aha!" I cried. "The rude Dr. Henderson had suffered gomorashu. No need for apa-noshu."
I heard a chuckle and saw Charles standing at the door. He had apparently checked on Penny and was now being amused by my recital of native jargon. Henderson looked confused, so I explained in some detail what Penny had told us about the Chockli's experience with the weed: gomorashu, achieving perfection, and apa-noshu, sacrificing those who did not achieve. He listened attentively, without a sound. Then I told him about our plan to trap Hairy Hans, or at least to convince the ape-man to speak to us about his experiences. Henderson seemed fascinated.
"May I stay," he asked. "I'm at the Royal York Hotel and would appreciate being involved in this—"
"The Royal York?" I said. "That's far too far. Stay here, with us, here in this house. We've got six bedrooms … seven if you count the extra study in the back. Okay, it's settled. Charles, would you be so kind as to make up Dr. Henderson's bed?"
"Absolutely, Miss Fleetsmith," Charles said, and slipped out the door.
"Okay, tell me what you did to our Josey," I said. Josey looked up, a bare white ham bone stuck in her mouth. She dropped it to the table.
"Poking and needles and blood samples and peeing in a bottle and pooing in a can and—" she said.
"Well, you must understand," Henderson said, "that we wanted to be as thorough as possible, so executed every test suggested by our staff. We have a file on Miss Cowley that's several megabytes long. Although most measuements are normal, for homo sapiens, she has definite simian characteristics. It's not clear what DNA modifications have taken place, but they're working on it at this time. It may take weeks, perhaps months, to unravel the mysteries associated with the genetic alterations."
Josey was staring at Henderson, smiling. It was weird; white teeth glowing behind a black and shaggy face. Once so terrified by her appearance, she now seemed to embrace her apefication with some relish.
"Months, eh doc?" Josey said. "Then what? Back to normal? Back to punching a keyboard? Back to workin' for a living? No thanks. I think I'll just stay this way, if you don't mind. Go-go-ratchy, perfection, that's me."
Josey leaned back in her chair and I could tell there was a story coming. "When I was flying down to Atlanta there was this guy sittin' beside me. A big brute, he was. I had my hat over my face so he couldn't see nothin', so he ups and leans against me, a big grin on his ugly face. Then he puts his hand on my knee and squeezes, still grinnin'. So I pulls off my hat and growls like a … like a ape, right in his ugly puss. His face goes white and just as he was gonna puke I grabs his nuts and gives 'em a big squeeze and he cries, with real tears runnin' on his cheeks. Lordy, that felt good. For me. Not for him. He pushed his face against the window and stayed that way all the way to Atlanta."
"Good for you, Josey!" I shouted. Then I turned to Henderson. "You said you had problems, in Atlanta. You said something about the F.B.I. and about your being blamed for the disappearance of that other Ohshit, in Atlanta. But, you also mentioned something about your wife, as I recall." I waited for some response, but Henderson just stared at his hands, placed carefully on the table, side by side, fingers extended.
"Yes," he said, finally. "I … we …"
"Tell it," Josey said, "just like you told me. How she screws the carpenter then ups and runs off with the bastard and how you're all broken up and how she wants a divorce and wants the house and car and …"
"Hold on Josey, " I said. "Let Henderson tell it."
"Uh, I think Miss Cowley has just about covered all bases.," Henderson said, still staring at his hands. "We were having some work done on the house, a small addition … I was busy most of the time … Lily, my wife, I guess she felt deserted. He was a very friendly carpenter …"
"Sounds familiar," I said. "Anyway, I now understand your rude behaviour in Atlanta, and I must say it seems entirely out of character."
"Lordy, yes," Josey growled. "This is one gentle man." She was still smiling. "I'll take him if nobody else does." Josey heaved out of her chair and started around the table, placing one hand after the other, knuckles down, on the table's edge, shoulders hunched, stalking. Henderson looked nervous.
"Okay," I growled in my best ape intonation. "knock it off, Josey—"
"Apa-noshu!" Penny was standing at the door to the upper floor, staring at Josey the ape-woman. "Apa-noshu!"
Josey's face wrinkled, her lips curled, her brow arched forward, beady eyes glaring. She stopped the march of knuckles around the table towards Henderson. "Ape-noshit yourself," she snarled at Penny. "This is perfection," she said in a small and menacing voice, raising her long arms above her head. "This is go-go-ratchy, perfection." She headed to the door. Penny backed away then vanished.
"Josey! Sit down!" I shouted.
Josey returned to the table and played with the naked ham bone.
"That girl?" Henderson asked, "is she … is she—?"
"That is Penny, the native girl from the Amazon," Charles said. "We have learned m
uch from her account of the native uses of the weed. If some one, Miss Josey for example, had failed to achieve perfection via cocoonization, then—"
"Okay Charlie boy, we get the idea," I said. "Now, let's talk about Hairy Hans."