by Larry Center
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Cheryl said, speaking as if it was a done deal. “You’re a real talent. Everybody knows that. You’re the best.” She smiled at me before returning her eyes to the road. “No one can do SpongeBob SquarePants like you.”
Sweet words, indeed.
“And Larry the Lobster, don’t forget him,” I said, pointing out an extra talent.
“Of course.” She winked at me.
Cheryl accelerated and the California desert rose before us, stark pines and scrubby bushes in the distance, lonely-looking and centuries-old across miles of flat bare land. Everything was so wide open here, so free. I let down my window and took a big gulp of clean, unpolluted air. God’s country. Lots of room to run. My future life formed a nice fat vision in my mind: So, I was going to meet Ed Ryerson after all. The truth was, I couldn’t wait. Job security. I could practically taste it. But what if Cheryl actually did take Tommy to Houston and I landed this job in San Diego? Tommy not being nearby, unable to see him on weekends? I couldn’t tolerate it. Just the thought made me queasy.
“So, what’s so special about this Weller place anyway?” Cheryl asked as we finally approached the entrance. Cheryl steered into the compound, passing the sign, no security guard, and maneuvered into the large parking lot in front.
“Weller? Are you kidding?” I spoke seriously, as if I were reading the news. “They’re famous for educating a chimp who went on to Stanford and got his Ph.D. in molecular biology.”
“Not funny, Chris,” she said.
I pulled up their website on my cell and scrolled down. “The Weller Institute’s been around since 1985,” I read out loud. “They study, and I quote, ‘the mechanisms underlying cooperation, reciprocity, inequity, and other decisions in nonhuman primates from an evolutionary perspective. Weller also investigates language growth and cognition in terms of nonhuman primate evolution by quantifying and exploring both evolutionary status and biological abilities in chimpanzees’.”
“I see.”
“And here’s a tidbit. They also use computer game experiments to better understand how chimps strategize relationships.”
“Okay, Einstein. Enough.”
“It’s a mecca of cutting-edge science. It’s considered to be one of the most advanced research centers in the world, according to the National Science Institute.”
* * *
Cheryl parked in visitor parking, and when we all got out of the car, the strident sounds of chimpanzees greeted us immediately. We were definitely in the right place. Did chimps have their own language? Were their varying shrieks and screeches meaningful? Tommy snapped to attention, and I grew nervous and excited simultaneously.
“Chimpies, Daddy!” Tommy said, and he jumped up and down like a kid on a pogo-stick. “Where? Where? Here?”
“Yes, Tom-Tom. They have all kinds of chimpies here. And you’re going to meet a few.”
“Me, me, go! Go! Now!” Tommy kicked at the ground. “Go! Go!” He gave me direct eye contact. “Want go!”
Cheryl checked her phone and sent a quick text.
Tommy made the sign for chimps, curling his fists at his sides, followed by the sign for “like,” a hand touching his chest, then pulling away. I felt the beautiful pull of hope for Tommy and all its possibilities tugging within me.
“Chimp sign?” asked Cheryl, then looked at me with a raised eyebrow as she put her phone away in the small purse she was carrying. I edged Mister Backpack higher on my shoulder.
“That’s it,” I said.
“Like chimps,” Cheryl said, smiling. “Good, Tommy.” She nodded. “I see that. Very good.”
Cheryl signed back, using the same gestures. I tingled inside, rushing with anticipation. I couldn’t wait for her to see Tommy sign with the chimps in person.
As we stood in the parking lot with Mister Backpack slung over my shoulder, three large red brick structures were facing us, all connected by a concrete covered walkway. Clean, orderly, bougainvillea and shrubs were planted around the parking lot. A few cacti as well. We were at least fifteen miles off the interstate and the remoteness of the location gave everything a laboratory feel that made me think of sci-fi stories about chimp experimentation; kind of eerie in the middle of nowhere. Beyond the compound were stretches of more desert and chaparral and a scarce grouping of oaks and pine trees. The climate felt warmer and drier than in San Diego. Entering this new world, I drank it all in with a feeling of sudden trepidation and excitement combined.
“Chimpies.” Tommy’s eyes lit up like rescue flares. “Chimpies.”
Cheryl applied lip gloss in a circular motion and then rubbed her top lip against her bottom one. Her lips turned wet and shiny. “Chimpanzees, here we come,” she said, smiling at me.
“We’re off to see the chimpies,” I sang, mimicking the Wizard of Oz song. “If ever if ever a chimp there was.”
We both laughed as a warm wind circled us.
“Oh, Chris,” Cheryl said, looking around at the buildings. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. It’s really kind of crazy. I mean getting Tommy mixed up with chimps? No one’s going to believe this.”
“Let’s just keep an open mind, okay?” I said.
“Sure. I’m with you every step of the way.”
“Really?” I asked, turning to her, trying to measure the depth of her faith in this mission I’d designed ever since the zoo visit.
She spoke sincerely, with resolution in her voice, as she nodded. “Yes, I am. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m hoping this could somehow be helpful for Tommy. Anything for Tom-Tom.”
It was a mantra we’d spoken more than once.
“Well, let’s just see what happens,” I said.
With Tommy trudging along by my side, we followed the concrete walkway and entered a spacious front office with two desks, computers, and two women staring intently at their computer monitors. Pictures of chimps in the wild hung on light-blue walls. Philodendrons stood in the corners, green and tall. Large windows allowed bright sunlight in. Tommy stayed as close to me as he could allow himself, about a foot away, biting his hands now. New places always disturbed him and his anxiety became my anxiety. He shook his head and drooled. We’d kept Radar and Monkey in the car to simplify things, but I was now wondering if that was a mistake. My throat constricted and my heart started to thump inside my chest.
“Hi,” I said to a blue-eyed woman who was working at a desk near the door. “I’m Chris Crutcher, this is Cheryl Bridgewater, and we’ve come to see Dr. Rachel Simmons.”
“Hi,” Cheryl said. “And this is Tommy. We have an appointment?”
“Of course. Just a moment,” she said with a welcoming smile, peering at us over bifocals, her eyes stopping at Tommy. “I’ll text her and tell her you’re here.”
We stood around waiting for a few awkward minutes. Tommy grew disturbingly quiet. He scratched his head, then started fixating on the word, “Read.”
“Read. Read. Read . . . reeeeeed.”
Cheryl and I exchanged wary glances.
“Look at the pictures of the chimps on the wall, Tom-Tom,” I said, pointing at them, trying to distract him.
“Read. Read. Read. Ouuuu . . . eee . . . F-Fiiiine . . .Fiiiine . . .”
Then he smacked himself.
“Tommy, no,” Cheryl said. “That’s not a good thing. You know that.”
The exasperated look on her face plus Tommy’s slap made my stomach squirm. What could I do?
A minute later, a nearly six-foot tall woman came in through the front door and Cheryl and I stared. Tommy continued making his odd noises. “Breeee . . . Uuuuu . . .” She looked like she could have played volleyball or basketball in college. Just a few lines around the corners of her mouth and eyes, but otherwise, a smooth complexion that said life had been good to her. She was wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt with a Weller logo printed on it, two blue circles intersected with the face of a chimp underneath it.
“Hi. Welcome to the Weller Inst
itute,” she said. “I’m Doctor Rachel Simmons.” With a heart-shaped face and cerulean-blue eyes, she formed the picture of an intelligent woman with attractive features; mid-to-late thirties. The bright, easygoing tone of her voice made me feel instantly welcome, even though nervous anticipation was running through me. After introducing myself and Cheryl to her, Dr. Simmons said, “So, this is the famous Tommy.” Before we could stop her, she stooped and tried to grasp Tommy’s hand, casually reaching for it and expecting a normal handshake as she would from any child. “Nice to meet you, Tommy.” She beamed at him.
But Tommy jerked his hand away as if a rattler had attacked. He quickly shoved both hands into his mouth. “Ooouuuu . . . ” He propelled around.
“Read. Read. Read. Ouuuu . . . Aaaaaeee . . .”
Dr. Simmons took a step back. “My,” she said, looking at us. Her shocked expression quickly turned into a frown, her broad forehead wrinkling.
“Tommy, remember, I told you about Dr. Simmons.” I felt my face color with embarrassment. I quickly glanced at Cheryl, who gave me a serious look. “She’s the lady who knows all about chimpanzees. She wants to show you around. She’s here to help us.”
“It’s okay, Tommy,” Cheryl said. She spoke softly. “The nice lady just wants to meet you, that’s all.”
I gently removed his wet hand from his mouth as he looked down, shuffling his feet.
“Ouuuu . . . Mmmmmm . . .”
“He gets agitated in new places and with new people,” Cheryl explained, her eyebrows knitted.
“We’re sorry. We should have told you. He’s sensitive about being touched. He actually doesn’t even allow it,” I added, shifting Mister Backpack around on my shoulder.
“It’s all right.” Dr. Simmons smiled, accepting our apology, then crouched like a baseball catcher, two feet from Tommy, giving him his distance.
“So, you like chimpanzees, Tommy?” she asked, giving Tommy another bright smile.
Tommy gave her his full blast of cold, chilling silence, hand back in mouth, squirming and twisting his body.
“Well, I like chimpanzees too,” she went on. “Did you know chimps have hair all over their bodies except their palms and the bottom of their feet? What do you like most about them?”
“Chimpies,” Tommy said all of a sudden, blurting out the word. He made the sign for chimp, that up-and-down hand gesture at his sides. “Chimpies. Chimpies.”
“Oh, yes. We have chimpies—lots of them.” She watched Tommy flick and rub his fingers together, then make the “like” sign, then, the sign for “play.”
“So, he knows signs?” she asked, clearly impressed as she stood and faced us. Her slender hands formed the gestures for “knows signs?”
“Yes, he’s studied them in school, he actually knows quite a few,” I said.
“It takes away his frustration when he can’t speak sometimes,” Cheryl chimed in.
“Interesting.” Dr. Simmons rubbed her chin as her eyes lingered over our son. “Well, the chimps you’re about to meet know signs too. They’re in the process of undergoing intensive training. This is part of our experimental protocol.” She smiled. “He’s quite adorable. You must be so proud.”
“Thank you,” I said. I was hoping we wouldn’t be met with derision by snooty scientists and now I knew we weren’t going to be. I was relieved.
“We’re very proud of him,” Cheryl said. She gave me a smile as she fingered the bracelet on her wrist. “He’s the love of our lives.” Cheryl drew within inches of Tommy, as close as he would allow without pitching a fit.
“All right, then,” Dr. Simmons said. Her tone turned professional. She cleared her throat. “We’ll be entering through the observation enclosure. The chimps are stationed in a play yard which is walled off by thick glass. I’ll enter their space and then bring them close to the glass so that Tommy can interact with them. We’ll see how Tommy takes to them, but we won’t allow him to enter the play yard directly, not at first anyway. But he will be able to interact through the glass wall. We’re giving him one hour to interact with the chimps.”
“Should we keep our voices down?” Cheryl asked.
“That’s not necessary, but certainly no shouting,” Dr. Simmons said.
As we exited the office and followed her to an outdoor, brick courtyard, where metal tables and chairs were set out, surrounded by cacti in vases, Dr. Simmons stopped walking and turned to us. I felt a trickle of sweat bead down my chest. Chimp noise in the background intensified. Screeches and shrieks, followed by ear-grinding squawks. What if nothing happened? What if the two visits at the zoo had been nothing but flukes?
Tommy stood by Cheryl’s side, though still maintaining his distance. Tommy mumbled to himself and hung his head. He kept covering and uncovering his ears and then shoved a finger up one nostril.
“Before we go further into the compound, I need to tell you that this visit is highly unusual,” Dr. Simmons said. “Just to reiterate, Weller doesn’t cater to the lay public. This is a research facility only. To be honest, I’m actually amazed that the board agreed to your visit. I just wanted to make it clear where we stand.”
I nodded. “We’re incredibly grateful you’ve allowed us the chance. This is extremely important for us.” I gave her a smile, then turned to Cheryl. “Right, Cher?”
She nodded, hands on hips, looking around. “Absolutely.”
“So, how many chimps do you have here at the facility?” I asked.
“There’ll be four in the compound for your visit today,” Dr. Simmons said. “Mikey, SeeSaw, Rose, and Obo. But we have twelve in total in our facility. The ones we chose for you to view are the most relaxed around humans. Well, one’s quite reserved, but we thought we’d bring him out too, just to give him some exposure. The rest are domiciled in a different enclosure today.”
“Chimpies,” Tommy said and clapped. “Chimpies.”
“Yes, Tom-Tom,” I said. “Chimpies, here we come!”
Again, Tommy made the sign for chimp, then another sign I couldn’t read. Tommy sneezed and snot hung from his nostrils. I took a tissue from Mr. Backpack and wiped his face.
“Noooo!” he protested, rearing his head back. “Noooo.”
“We want to be clean for the chimps, don’t we, Tom-Tom?” Cheryl said.
“Clean. Clean. Clean,” Tommy said. He licked his lips.
I threw the tissue away in a nearby receptacle and the three of us followed Dr. Simmons out of the courtyard, walking through a thick green door facing us, and then entering what looked like a high-ceilinged barn. Warm, moist air intermixed with pungent animal smells, wood chips covered the floor, and bright sunlight streamed through large windows.
We passed through the barn and, going under a covered walkway, we came upon an even larger enclosed area cordoned off with thick glass and brick walls. The roof was covered by wire mesh.
“Here we are,” Dr. Simmons said, stretching out her arm. “Welcome to the play yard.”
Dr. Simmons led us up a series of winding stairs to the right of the play yard and we came to a level platform surrounded by a guard rail, an observation area that looked down into the compound through the glass. In the play yard, swings and ropes hung from wooden beams above. Two trees in the middle rose to the mesh ceiling. The play yard was about fifty yards wide and long, a large space for chimps to engage.
“They’re so cute!” Cheryl said as she pointed at the three young chimpanzees who were hanging on tree limbs, using their amazingly supple arms and hands. They swung from tires, and climbed with the grace and skill of Olympic athletes. They picked up small rocks and stalks of grass, shrieked loudly. Rambunctious play was clearly the norm, except for the smallest one, I realized, who sat in a corner and bit his toes, rocking back and forth. He hid behind a patch of bushes.
“They’re really just a bit older than babies,” Dr. Simmons said. “But they’re very inquisitive.”
The three chimps stopped running around and playing with each other, sat
back on their haunches and just looked up at us. Eyes blinking. They scratched themselves and then shrieked. They stood about ten feet away from the glass.
But then they quickly lost interest and started chattering and shrieking, pushing and shoving each other like contentious siblings again. I wondered if they were showing off. I smiled when I glanced at Tommy, who was standing rigid as a rock, his hands at his sides.
“Chimpies, Daddy,” he said, turning to me and looking me straight in the eyes. I shivered with excitement. “They play.” He jumped up and down, then flicked his fingers. He signed: “Chimp.” “Like.” “Play.” And then he made the sign for “run.”
Cheryl moved closer to me. “This is so cool,” she said softly. “And Tommy really seems to be focused on them.”
“I know.”
What I witnessed mystified me, the rambunctious human-like chimps with their inquisitive expressions, Tommy’s uncanny empathy with them, the sci-fi desert isolation of where we were, Dr. Simmons’ apparent empathy with Tommy, and most of all, the fact that inside my gut, I knew I was taking the right direction for Tommy’s sake—I just knew it.
“Yes, they play, Tommy. You like them?” Cheryl said, her face coloring.
Tommy nodded, then tossed off several words: “Like. Like. Lots. Mommy. Daddy. Play.” Tommy signed the word for play. “Chimpies play. Play.”
“I’ll go in and settle them down.” Dr. Simmons spoke with a serious tone. “Then I’ll introduce your son. We’ll watch how they react and how your son reacts, and make a determination from there. I’d say the best thing is to go slowly at first, just to get our toes wet, so to speak. This is as new to me as it is to you.”
Dr. Simmons walked down the metal stairs, and opened up the door that led into the play yard. Entering their domain, she put on a lapel microphone, then picked up a bucket filled with red grapes and started handing them out as she greeted the chimps.
“Hoooo . . . eeeeee . . . Ka-Creeee . . .” She mimicked the chimps. Her voice came to us via two round speakers that were set up on the observation deck. “You can talk to me and I can hear what you’re saying too,” she said. “There are microphones on your side as well.”