Like No Other Boy

by Larry Center

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  For a moment, he said nothing as my throat turned dry. Another seizure? No. It couldn’t happen now. Then: “Fiiiine,” he said and turned to me and gave me direct eye contact. “Fiiiine, Daddy.”

  Relief let loose inside me. “Good. I’m fiiiiine too.” I smiled. “When you’re fine, I’m fine.”

  Tommy continued staring at Albert, scratching his head, then an ear.

  Rekulak began, speaking in a dry, somber tone. “You see, Albert’s history is long and complex. And unfortunately, very sad. I rescued Albert from a biomedical lab about three years ago. He was abused there and basically tortured by the researchers. He’d been captured from the southern region of Gombe in Tanzania as a young chimp and brought to America for AIDS research. We estimate his age to be around 40. When the biomedical lab was finished working on him, experimenting and extracting information from his body, they stuck him in a cage to live out the rest of his years. It was an experience beyond misery. Torture, really.”

  “Sounds horrible.” It hurt just thinking about it. “How did he even survive?” I looked at the chimp, who continued to peacefully paint.

  “He barely did,” Rekulak explained. “He suffers from a heart condition now, and most likely post-traumatic stress syndrome. I have him on a tranquilizer to keep him calm, though he still has a hard time falling asleep. After rescuing him and putting him through rehabilitation and education, I discovered Albert’s marvelous and unusual talents. He’s an incredibly quick learner.”

  “Chimpie, Daddy,” Tommy said. He ran back to me and pointed, then grabbed my hand. I loved it when he willingly touched me. “Chimpie hurt.” And he didn’t have that robotic voice inflection.

  “Yes, Tommy. Albert isn’t feeling well, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh.” Tommy looked down and grew silent. “Awbert hurt.”

  “In fact, as it turns out,” Rekulak continued in his dry, sad tone, “this chimp has proven to be the most advanced nonhuman primate ever encountered. He literally knows hundreds of signs, paints sunsets and trees, and even renders fairly accurate depictions of flowers. The primatology community has kept him a secret from the public. We don’t want the news of him getting out until we’ve thoroughly studied him, but in terms of chimp intelligence, you’re looking at a true genius. His receptive language skills are incredible, his photographic memory unparalleled. When we learned of Tommy’s chimp communication skills, we were all dying to have your son meet Albert. He’s been living at Weller for the past three years.”

  “Well, I’m amazed,” I said. “I really am. I don’t know what—”

  “Daddy,” Tommy said. He started tugging at my pants. “Albert no free.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, kneeling down to him, surprised that he’d talk about such an abstract concept.

  “Chimpie,” he whispered. “Chimpie . . . He no free. He want free.”

  “Yes, Tommy,” Dr. Rekulak said. “Albert’s not free for now, but one day we plan to let him live out his final days in a sanctuary in Mexico.”

  “Albert free now!” Tommy said, stomping a foot. “Now!”

  “It’s okay, Tommy. Albert’s here to meet you and to talk with you. This should be fun. We want to see how you talk to Albert.”

  “Tommy?” Rachel said gently, looking at me before continuing. “Would you mind if we put this special hat on your head?”

  Rachel pointed to an electrode cap sitting next to a complex-looking machine in the corner of the room. The cap was made out of dark-blue rubber and had electrodes patched through it. What appeared to be a small antenna, a short wire with a bulb on the end, was attached at the top.

  “Hat,” Tommy said in his monotonic way.

  “Yes. It’ll be fun to wear. Let’s let your Daddy wear it,” she said.

  Rachel gave me the cap and I pretended to put it on, though it was a child’s size and would not fit me. I let it sit on top of my head to show that it was harmless. Tommy bit his hands. He started to drool as he peered at it.

  “See?” I said. “It’s fun!” But this needed to be more than fun, I thought as I tensed up inside. So much of Tommy’s future was riding on this research. I had to show some kind of developmental benefit so that I could counter Acorn—or else Tommy would be on his way to Houston and my dream of successful chimp therapy would be out the window.

  “This hat will help the chimpies,” Rachel said with a bright smile. “And Albert wants to see you wear it.”

  “’Kay,” Tommy said. He touched Rachel’s hand. “Help,” he said. “Yes, help.”

  “Great!” I said. “And this is for being a good boy.”

  I handed Tommy some tokens. He carefully placed them in his pocket as Dr. Osikawa took the cap from me and placed it on Tommy’s head, adjusting it in place. I was surprised he let them do it without a fuss. It seemed like Tommy was starting to appreciate the tokens more lately, that they might actually be working to my favor.

  “Help chimpies,” he said.

  “Yes, for chimpies. So we can learn.”

  “Know,” he said. “Know.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Dr. Rekulak said. “I think he gets it. Great!”

  We all studied Tommy as he put on the hat. That was my boy, all wired up to help us explore his own mind. What a trooper!

  “Dr. Osikawa?” Rekulak said, speaking to the Japanese scientist. “Shall we?”

  “Wireless communication,” Dr. Osikawa explained to me, gesturing to the largest machine, which he rolled in front of him. “We watch in here when your son is with Albert. Like portable MRI. Very advanced.”

  He clicked it on and the high-tech device bleeped and blipped. Graphs of various colors appeared on the monitor in bright detail. Dr. Osikawa began twisting dials and punching buttons. I stood next to Tommy, my arm around his shoulder. He was letting me touch him and a sensation of lightness floated across my chest. After a few moments, with the other scientists watching and taking notes, he finally gave Dr. Rekulak a nod.

  “Look at this,” Dr. Osikawa said. “Already we see reading.”

  Rachel explained. “This machine maps blood flow in the brain. It allows us to pinpoint oxygen and blood consumption, showing us regions of stronger and weaker activity. The more oxygen and blood consumption in a certain area of the brain, the greater the activity.”

  “Ah, the default-mode network,” Dr. Rekulak said, staring at the machine. “Of course!”

  “What?” I said. “What’s that?”

  “It’s really quite remarkable. Tommy is showing major activity in the pre-frontal cortex. It’s just as I’d presumed. This is the area of the brain that controls feeling and intuition. This is, no doubt, what’s giving him his empathic abilities. It’s all lit up.”

  I looked down at Tommy who had a finger in his mouth. I smiled inside. This was getting more than interesting.

  * * *

  Rekulak opened the door and allowed himself, Tommy, me, and Rachel into Albert’s room. Echoes of the chimp’s loud, ragged breathing rebounded from wall to wall. A musky chimp odor invaded my nostrils, and for a minute, I just had to stop walking and almost gagged. Tommy didn’t seem to mind, though, and neither did Rekulak or Rachel. They were real chimp-heads, I guess.

  The aging chimp, whose hair was mostly grey, scrutinized us with dark, liquid, roving eyes, accompanied by a crooked twist of his lips, and what looked to be genuine self-consciousness. I could immediately tell he was living with pain. His movements at the easel, I now saw, were slow and careful, as if he had arthritis. He contorted his face when he moved, wincing and groaning in pain.

  I felt like he was not only watching us, he was aware in his mind he was watching us. Unlike say, a shark, or any other animal with that two-dimensional gaze. The way he turned and peered directly at us, examining each and every one of us with a kind of bemused curiosity written on his wrinkled face, spoke clearly of a greater intelligence than I had seen in Mikey or Obo or the chimps at the zoo; tr
uly, this was a special being. He almost seemed more like an aging chieftain from some primitive human tribe than a chimp.

  Putting down his brush, Albert slowly and creakily got up from his easel and shambled toward us. When he reached our party, standing just a foot away from us, he scratched his head and for some reason, reached out one hand to me, not to Tommy, nodding his head several times.

  Then he flicked his hands in the air, making a sign, and Rachel interpreted: “Who?”

  She signed back to him while telling me the meanings of her gestures. “Boy. Son. Man. Big Man.”

  Albert spread his mouth wide open. He signed, “Boy. Good. Big Man. Good.”

  When Tommy started signing, Albert shrieked, “Eeee, eeee, eeee, ahhhhh, ahhhhh, wuuuu.” The long blare grew louder, ending in what sounded like an exclamation mark.

  Dr. Rekulak reared back and then matched him: “Eeee, eeee, eeee, ahhhhh, ahhhhh, wuuuu.” And then added: “Ahhhh!”

  I had to give him kudos. As a voice-over talent, Dr. Rekulak really seemed to have his “chimpese” down.

  “What did you two say?” I asked Rekulak. It sounded like a shouting match to me.

  “I gave him a hello or ‘welcome’ cry.” Rekulak wasn’t a happy man. His dark eyes looked bereaved, as if he’d seen something too horrible to ever forget.

  I looked at Rachel, who stood closest to me, then back at Rekulak. “So, chimps do communicate then.”

  “Yes,” Rekulak said. He gave me flicker of a smile, but it was hardly more than reflex. “Communication is a deeply embedded part of their society. The more I’ve studied these nonhuman primates, the more I have seen the depth and breadth of their communication. Communication in the chimp world is partly based on survival and necessity, but also, part of it is based on what I would call culture, finer things, beauty, happiness, even a religious belief in a spiritual being.”

  “You mean they have an understanding of God?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Absolutely. I’ve seen chimps perform rituals and worship. They create simple stone structures that seem to symbolize something close to the mystical.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Much of Dr. Rekulak’s research has been to compile an essential chimp language dictionary,” Rachel said. “He’s spent years matching squawks, chatter, bellows, shrieks, and gestures with actual concepts and meanings. He’s established fifty-six real definitions thus far, and every year we move closer to true communication with these primates. It’s completely exciting.”

  I noticed that two cameras hung on the walls videotaping everything. Of course. This was a momentous occasion. The waiver I’d signed had included a statement about using cameras to record Tommy’s behaviors. I was on board with that.

  Albert began focusing in on Tommy’s finger flicks, his eyes glued to the gestures. And then Albert signed and shrieked. “Eeeeee . . .uuuuu . . .” Tommy shrieked back as well. “Eee . . . Uuuuuuu . . . ohhhhh.”

  “What are you saying, Tommy?” I bent down next to him and tried to get eye contact.

  But Tommy gave no indication he’d even heard me. He and Albert were completely in their own orbit now. Tommy’s signing was faster than I’d ever seen before. He pointed toward the door and then signed “Out. Out.” Albert shook his head and signed, according to Rachel, “Hurt . . . body . . . me. Rain. Trees. Tall. Sky.”

  Dr. Rekulak’s flushed face alerted me to the incredible nature of this brand new linguistic relationship flowing right before our eyes. My skin tingled.

  Tommy squawked at Albert. “Eeee, ahahahah, ooooo!”

  Albert squawked right back. “Eeeee, ahahaha, oooo!” Then Albert touched Tommy’s hand and started pounding out rhythms in it: beat, beat, beat, pause, beat, pause, beat . . . Albert shook his head and shrieked. They continued like this for at least five minutes, Albert beating his hand into Tommy’s, the rhythms constantly changing.

  Finally, it was as if the communication had ended when Tommy turned to me and looked straight into my eyes. “Daddy, chimpie he say he . . . happy I here. He say he good here. He smile me. Me and I say I want him better. He say . . . we all same . . . same. . . fam . . . eee . . .ly . . . Daddy. Peoples, chimpies. Fam . . . eee . . .ly . . . See?”

  I blinked, not knowing what to say. I was so taken aback. I gave a bark of uncertain laughter. “Really? He says that?” I turned to Rachel and Rekulak, whose eyes were wide open. We were all stunned. Was he simply making this up?

  I didn’t think so. I thought about how Tommy had known the chimp at the zoo was pregnant. Still, the skeptic inside me said that there was no way a boy could really and truly understand what a chimp was thinking. But in a way, it didn’t really matter. Tommy was talking, his fluency was improving, and being around the chimps was bringing him out of his shell. It was all happening right before my eyes, obvious as the back of my hand. We were excavating emotional treasure.

  “Daddy, chimpie . . . bad days remember,” Tommy said as eloquently as I’d ever heard him speak. His grammar wasn’t the best, but surely, it would come around too, wouldn’t it?

  “Bad days?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

  In a flow of words, Tommy pronounced: “Chimpie say he want tell human peoples many, manies . . .things.”

  “So, what does Albert want to say?” Rekulak asked. His tone was grave as he focused intently on Tommy.

  Tommy’s eyes shifted right and left, then up and then down, as if he were using his eyes to draw the information down from his brain, receiving transmissions, then shuttling the ideas into his mouth and out to the world.

  “He say . . . He say . . . He say,” Tommy took a long breath. “He say . . . chimps see just one.” He held his first finger in the air. “One. See? Chimps see every . . . thing and . . . one . . . Humans see many manies. Can’t see one.” Tommy spread his arms wide, trying to elucidate what he wanted to express.

  “Yes!” Rekulak said. “I understand.” He spoke directly to me. “Chimps see globally, in fields of awareness that come to them all at once, whereas humans see the world one step at a time. This car, that stop sign, this cloud.”

  Rachel said, her scientific personality full bore, “This could very possibly be an actual verification of chimpanzee thought processing, right Carl? What we had always surmised, but never knew for sure. Jungle processing, an evolutionary skill, the ability to see many things at once in order to maintain safety.”

  “Tommy either hyper-focuses on a tiny detail, or sees globally as well,” I said. “And if too much information comes at him at once, he can’t handle it. Is his brain working in jungle mode, similar to Albert’s?”

  “It could be a possibility,” Rachel said. “This is the connection we’ve been looking for. The relationship between chimp processing and the processing of an autistic child. Perhaps they are more similar than we ever thought.”

  “He want talk you, Daddy. You,” Tommy said, tugging on my hand now, his eyes bright and alive. “Awbert want you.”

  “Me?” I pointed to my chest. “But why?”

  I turned toward Dr. Rekulak for reassurance, and when he nodded, I stepped forward and gingerly extended my hand, trying to make friends. Albert reached out his hand, which was hairless and clammy, his palm cold and leathery-rough, his thumb set farther apart from the thick and wrinkled fingers.

  “Nice chimp,” I said. “Good chimp.”

  I was about to draw my hand away when Albert latched onto it and, before I could stop him, shoved my hand into his mouth. He moved so quickly—too quickly—there was no getting it back. Albert held on with a strength that seemed supernatural, the power in his jaws as mighty as a steel bear trap. He owned my hand. I knew it wouldn’t take much for him to clamp down to the bone. My heart suddenly boomed in my chest as my knees grew wobbly.

  “Don’t worry,” Rekulak said, his voice calm, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Albert doesn’t bite. He’s only getting to know you. He realizes you’re the father of the boy, you’re
Big Man, and this is his way of introduction.”

  Rachel added: “Albert’s a very formal guy, a kingly chimp, and everything’s done right and proper according to his ways, which I’m sure are genetically implanted in his memory from thousands of years back.”

  I wasn’t totally reassured.

  “We humans shake hands or even kiss them,” Dr. Rekulak said. “Dogs lick hands. And chimps put hands in their mouths. Different strokes for different species. Relax.”

  But I couldn’t relax. Sweat dribbled down my face as my breathing quickened. Rachel gave me a reassuring smile, but the moment lasted an ice age as the kingly chimp ran his teeth over my hand, lightly touching my flesh, feeling it, examining it. His teeth felt hard as marble, but they weren’t sharp. I winced, squeezed my eyes closed.

  “Friendly sort,” I said when he finally let go of my hand. Most dads watch their kids play baseball in little league. There I was, for the sake my son, letting a chimp take my hand in his mouth. Wow. Rachel gave me a paper towel and I wiped my hand.

  “That was the friend-to-friend gesture,” Rekulak said. “Hand in mouth, running it over with his teeth. You’re on his good side already. You must have a way with animals, Mr. Crutcher.”

  “Guess it kind of runs in the family,” I said with a shrug, thinking of my father’s intuitive way with horses, relieved that I had my hand back.

  Albert rubbed his shoulder against my side, then, without another word or gesture, shuffled back to his chair and started painting again in long brushstrokes, wholly focused on the task at hand; a regular Chimp Van Gogh.

  Tommy and I stepped closer to view Albert’s handiwork.

  An array of color-bottles and paint brushes rested on a small table next to Albert’s poster board on which he now drew horizontal lines of yellow and black, merging them into light brown toward the bottom. If there was symbolism or logic to his painting, I could not figure it out.

  Tommy scrutinized the drawings and fidgeted.

  “Home,” Tommy said, looking at me and giving me gorgeous eye contact.