Great Apes (42 page)

The undergraduate chimps' brouhaha subsided when one of their number, having been passed a large glass vessel, swaggered upright to the end of the central table opposite the dons' podium and stood there uttering loud, discordant pant-hoots, “HooooGra! HooooGra! Hoooo-Gra!” Novocal filled the hall. Simon took the opportunity to gain Kreutzer's attention, “HooGra,'” he cried, then signed, ‘What on earth is going on, Dr Kreutzer “huu”?'

‘You really
aren't
an Oxford chimp, are you “huuu”?' the don countersigned.

‘No, no, I studied fine art at the Slade. ' The physicist squinted at Simon, his muzzle wrinkled with distaste. It was, Simon reflected to Busner later, as if I'd told him I was a ballet dancer.

‘Well “aaaaaa”, this is, my artistic friend, a sconcing. There are certain rather archaic traditions that we like to preserve here at Exeter, and one of them is that a forfeit must be paid if any undergraduate shows signs of particular subjects while in hall. “HooooRaaaarg”!' This last, roaring pant-hoot coincided with the undergraduate chimp's giant beaker being filled by a servitor with a draught of dark ale.
Meanwhile, the other undergraduates had formed a hispid huddle around the swaggering young ape.

‘ “Huuu” what subjects exactly?' Simon enquired of his companion.

Kreutzer again gifted his disdainful muzzle. ‘The usual, politics, religion, any kind of shop whatsoever –'

‘Shop,' Simon countersigned, ‘meaning academic subjects “huu”?'

‘Of course “wraff”.'

‘But that would cover just about anything it's possible to gesture –'

‘No, no,' Kreutzer's fingers fiddled sarcastically, ‘There's still sport – or the weather!'

This fingering was cramped by the undergraduates, who commenced beating loudly and with a mounting rhythm on the table tops. The student who was being sconced began pouring the ale into his mouth. Simon, his curiosity piqued, could not forbear from inparting Kreutzer, ‘Is this “huuu” the penalty? Drinking a draught of ale?'

‘It's three pints – and if you think it's easy, give it a go yourself ‘ ‘aaaaa”!'

Even from where he sat some twenty feet away, Simon could see the chimp's scruff rise and fall as he ingurgitated the beer. He was an impressive specimen and the contents of the beaker were disappearing rapidly. ‘Good sconce!' several of the dons blazoned, then cried, “HoooGraaa!” to urge the chimp on. All looked to be going well for the penalised undergraduate – he was down to the last half-pint or so – when Simon saw that his scut was quivering, elongating. Then, without further warning, the chimp
started spraying uncontrollably and spinning at the same time. First his spluttering scut, then his guttering pink penis appeared, as he whirled and twirled. Piss and liquid shit splattered the other undergraduates in wider and wider arcs. Finally, the incontinent dervish fell off the table and was borne out of the hall by his fellows.

The dons, far from being disgusted, were positively buoyed up by this perverse ceremonial. Their excited cries and exaggerated gesturing took minutes to die down. Eventually, when he could discern anything in the blur of bristling hands, Simon saw that Kreutzer was putting the finger on him. ‘You're visiting Grebe, aren't you “huuu”?' the physicist pointed out.

‘That's right,' Simon countersigned.

‘Well, this'll put the pervert in a good mood – he's partial to some shit at third luncheon “hee-hee-hee”!'

Simon didn't have time to take in this mark, because Busner appeared next to him and made it clear that it was time to leave. Simon presented to his third-luncheon companion, but Kreutzer bestowed the most cursory of caresses on his proffered rump. The three-bottle chimp was intent on the port, which was coming rapidly down the high table towards him.

The day, grey until now, was wavering into insipid sunlight as the three chimps knuckle-walked back across the front quad and into the back. Grebe bounded ahead and when Busner and Simon reentered his study after handing themselves up the spiral stone stairs, he was squatting in his armchair, the dun decanter already aloft. ‘Shit “huuu”?' the philosopher enquired.

‘I won't, thanks,' Busner countersigned. ‘Simon “huu”?'

‘I'm sorry – what was that “huu”?' Simon's muzzle was uncomprehending.

‘Would you like some shit “huu”?' The decanter was waggled so that its viscous contents slowly sloshed.

‘ “HoooGrnnn” if it's all the same to you, Dr Grebe, I don't think I will.'

Busner expected some kind of outburst from Simon when he was confronted with Grebe's coprophilia. Busner himself was partial to the occasional glass of shit, but Grebe was an
aficionado
, who he knew for a fact kept an extensive personal midden in the college cellars. Surely Simon, with his conviction that he was human, would find this aspect of chimpanzee behaviour insupportable?

The answer came soon enough, because Grebe had done his own research. Sipping his shit judiciously, his upper lip questing, prehensile, he lifted his feet and toed Simon a line. ‘Mr Dykes, I would have thought you, as a human, would have found my coprophilia disturbing – if not repulsive. I understand that your conspecifics, both in the wild and in captivity, show a marked aversion for their own excreta, often travelling some distance from their nesting sites to perform their bodily functions and then “euch-euch” burying the result.'

Simon turned from the bookcase to muzzle the philosopher. The journey from the Busner group home, the bizarre scenes in the hall at third luncheon and now Grebe with his coprophilia – it was a day of contrariness. For Simon, although more present in the world of chimpanzees, more at ease, nonetheless felt his humanity as strongly as ever. It was convenient – he reasoned – to walk on all fours as they did. So diminished was the scale of this realm,
that to have done otherwise would have been to court a skull-drubbing. Likewise, it was a matter of mere conformity not to wear nether garments or shoes and to pick at one's ischial scrag from time to time, freeing troublesome winnets and dag-tails. Signing came easily enough to Simon – but then why shouldn't that be the case; human signage –”speech” – was as much gestural as vocalised. But eating shit? No. Never. This, like the chimps' high-speed multi-rutting, was the stuff of true bestiality. Furthermore, Simon realised that his lack of aversion to Grebe and his diarrhoeic decanter was a function of just this fact: it was animal ordure – not human crap. Despite being liquidised, imprisoned in crystal and placed on a table, it was no more repugnant than the brown shot of rabbit shit, scattered across a hillside.

So, Simon gave Grebe a knuckle sandwich: ‘That's right.
We
only “euch-euch” shit where we should shit – to do otherwise would be unhygienic. Human coprophiliacs are regarded as perverts. But, if I'm not misdirected, Dr Grebe, I gathered from one of your colleagues at high table that you are seen in that light yourself “huuu”?'

Busner kept hand in glove at this juncture – if Simon was due for a thrashing it might as well come from Grebe as anyone else. But Grebe, instead of punishing this impertinence with violence, chose to do so gesturally. He tipped his muzzle back so as to stare at the ceiling, and apparently concentrating on the mouldings, proceeded to unleash a flurry of dexterity.

‘
Mr
Dykes, you would do well to remember how we view “euch-euch” the spectacle of humanity. To quote the
Cauda Caudex
, one of the earliest treatises to deal with the
animals: Some theological stuff follows here “euch-euch”; then, more relevant to your peculiar semantic arrogance, the
Caudex
continues: < ‘Simia', the Latin sign for human comes from the Greek and means ‘with nostrils pressed together'. Their > – or should I sign
your
– < nostrils are indeed pressed together, and their muzzles are horrible, with folds like a disgusting pair of bellows – >'

“HoooGrnn,” Simon pant-hooted apprehensively, then signed, ‘Dr Grebe, I take your point, but surely the referred to here aren't wild, African humans. This text must date from before their discovery – or at any rate their full apprehension by chimpunity “huuu”? And anyway,' Simon continued conducting, ‘if you are intent on nit-picking semantics, what does
really
mean “huu”? Delineate that for me, if you can.'

Grebe took another slug of shit before answering. Busner saw he was enjoying the gesticulation – that he was learning things and had more to inpart. Busner was also impressed by his protégé – Simon's passionate defence of his own delusion was in and of itself a most fascinating ramification.

Grebe vaulted from his armchair and swung to his work table, where he snatched up a piece of paper. This he passed to Simon, signing, ‘I think you may find this interesting,
Mr Dykes “h'huuu”? You see, I anticipated your question and e-mailed an ally in London regarding this very matter, knowing that Busner was bringing you here – a Dr Phelps at the School of Oriental and African Studies. Perhaps it would “grnnn” interest you to see his reply “huu”?'

Simon took the print-out and read the following:

HooH'Graaa. Dear David,
About humans. I asked the acknowledged expert on English signs with African origins and he wrote:

The earliest attestations of ‘human' indicate that this is the ‘native name in Angola'.

In Kimbundu (an Angolan signage) it is
ki-humanze,
in Fiot (a signage of Cabinda) it is
ki-hpumanze
, and in the Kikongo signage as gestured in Zaire it is
ki-hpumanzi
(the
ki-
is a noun-prefix).

When I asked if these signs meant anything, he wrote: All these signs are glossed simply as ‘human', with no other meaning given.

Hope this helps. H'Hoooo, Nigel.

Simon remained signlent after reading this missive. There was tenable
froideur
coming from Phelps's note, an apprehensive icicle that poked into Simon's state of conviction. Seeing it written down like this, in dry academic signage, Simon could almost believe it; put on acknowledgement like a hat – then take it off. Put it on – take it off. But if he put it on and took it off too often, like a real hat it would leave behind a phantom sensation; and then he'd really have lost all vestige of humanity.

Simon roused himself, scratched his ischial scrag. He was wearing a jacket borrowed from Busner today, a tweed thing – all Busner's jackets were tweed, saving his human suit for black-tie engagements. It itched Simon's ischial scrag if he didn't tuck it up a little, expose what he had begun to think of – purely as a matter of habit – as his beautiful, effulgent arsehole. Better, Simon reasoned, to have one's arsehole shining out when engaged in a debate such as this.

He got upright, swaggered a little, and waved Phillips's note in the air. “HoooGrnn,” he vocalised, then signed, ‘Dr Grebe, you wanted to gesticulate with me concerning my notions of human signage – shall we proceed “huuu”?' Grebe, taking yet another gulp of his crapulent cocktail, sprang bipedal. The few remaining hairs traversing his scalp were erect, forming a peculiar, saggital crest.

‘ “Euch-euch” I congratulate you,' he logic-chopped, ‘on your poise, Mr Dykes. For a chimp afflicted with such a peculiar belief system, you have acquitted yourself well. I assumed from your doctor's description of your condition that you were subject to an aphasia; rendering you incapable of understanding signs
per se
although capable of comprehending signing through a preternatural sensitivity to tempo “grnnn”.'

Warming to his lecture, Grebe next employed a technique he found useful for holding at bay his undergraduates. He jumped up so that his feet were on either projecting wing of the chair's headrest, then leapt and grabbed the light fitment. Throughout what followed he signed elegantly and arrogantly, employing only his toes.
“H'huuu?” he resumed from his inverted, pendulous podium. ‘Either that, or I had assumed the – as it were – opposite condition, a loss of what psychosemioticians term , and Frege denoted
Klangenjarben,
or . In other signs an agnosia of tempo – or atempia. You follow my scut “huuu”?'

Tracking the puckered scrag of the don, Simon countersigned, ‘I do, Dr Grebe – indeed I do.'

‘Good “grnnn”. Well, as you are no doubt aware, gesture does not consist of signs alone; it consists of blazoning – blazoning forth one's whole being, not mere sign recognition. Now, do you mean to direct me that you have within your consciousness an entirely different method of gesticulation based on vocalised phonemes “huuu”?'

‘That's exactly right, Dr Grebe. We humans vocalise beautifully, we can, of course, interpret gesture as well, indeed human signage comprises manipulable signs – expressed as sounds; and visual indicators – provided by gesture. Signage is the “grnnn” totality, and the interaction between the two semiotic systems.'

Simon squatted down on the Persian carpet after this finger flurry, pleased with his own elegance of gesture. Busner too was impressed and crawled over to administer a tender tickle to Simon's groin fur. Grebe, however, was not so easily handled. Still dangling from the light bracket, he put the proverbial boot in. ‘It looks to me,' he signed sententiously, ‘as if there's nothing much to choose between these two signages. Unless “gru-unnn” you are marking out a signage in which all gesture is only manip-ulable by one individual – and that, as we know from
Wittgenstein, is an impossibility. I take it that that
isn't
what you delineate with this call “speech” “huuu”, Mr Dykes?'
⁸