Great Apes (45 page)

‘They construct shelters “huuu”?'

‘Indeed they do “grnnn”. Your wild human suffers from agoraphobia and cannot bear to be entirely unconfined. Anyway, after a while the human patrol reached some sort of consensus. I could see a large, alpha-type male – frightening specimen with a great mane of head fur – indicating that they should split into two groups, and execute a pincer movement encircling me and the bonobos. What about the river “huuu”? Well, the harsh truth is that humans have absolutely no fear of water – some can even swim! So you can imagine how “hooo” frightened we were.'

Simon wasn't concentrating too well on Hamble's conducting, his eyes were turned in on his own, infernal shadowplay. There were also the distracting pant-hoots of the Hamble infants coming from the recesses of the house, pant-hoots that insistently reminded Simon of his own infants. But now, seeing that Hamble had fallen motionless, Simon snapped a stock sign. ‘What did you do “huuu”?'

‘Well, we all advanced down towards the river waa-barking and pant-hooting for all we were worth. A couple of the bonobos had guns with them – incredibly old-fashioned pieces, virtual blunderbusses – but they primed and discharged them, over and over and over. This had the “grnnn” desired effect and the human patrol retreated – as
did our own. It was something in the manner of a Mexican stand-off.'

“H'huuu?” Simon jerked himself upright on his armchair and into attention. ‘Do you mean to sign, Raymond, that you consider wild humans to have manifest consciousness “huuu”?'

‘Of some kind – certainly, although not what these maverick anthropologists ascribe to them.'

‘Meaning “huuu”?'

‘Meaning, that if you take these films that chimps like Savage-Rimbaud have made of captive humans being taught signing and slow them down, you can see that the humans are in fact gesturing millimetrically after their chimp instructors. In other signs, they're clever enough to pick up on what's being signed and countersign using it, without necessarily being able to manipulate “grnnn”. The point being, as Stephen Jay Gould has remarked, that it's uninteresting teaching any animal to behave like another one; and by the same token, human intelligence is by definition what humans naturally do “huuu”?'

While conducting this dissertation Hamble had footed a bag of grass from an inside pocket of his camouflage jacket. He now flipped it in the air, caught it, waggled it and waved, ‘How about a smoke “huuu”? From what old Zack signed you're no stranger to crossing the herbaceous border. ' His playful grin stretched his broad lip across his canescent muzzle.

‘I don't know “hooo” …'

‘Come on, chuck me a Bactrian and I'll roll one, while you mark out for me something of human sexuality. You know, of course, that in the anthropological community
interspecific sex is a common – if unremarked on phenomenon “huu”?'

‘Are you serious “huuu”?'

Hamble deftly caught the Bactrian with one hand, whilst continuing with the other. ‘Absolutely. It was suspected – although never confirmed – that Dian Fossey, the female Louis Leakey, sent to study the Rwandan mountain gorillas, had an “euch-euch” affair – if you can ascript it that – with a young male gorilla denoted “clak-clak-clak” Digit. Most suitable “huu”? It was after “huh-huh” Digit was killed by poachers that Fossey went humanshit and embarked on the anti-poaching campaign that led to her death. Either that, or the local bonobos had something of an aversion to the idea of a chimp mating a gorilla.

‘And “grnnn” that chimp Aspinall is another example.'

‘Aspinall “huu” the casino chimp?'

‘That's the one. Well, as you probably know “grnnn” he has a zoo in Kent where he allows his keepers to have a rather more “chup-chupp” proximate relationship with the animals than is usually the case. Aspinall has often intimated that he “grnnn” enjoys a
very
close relationship with his gorillas. Perhaps that's why one recently ripped an arm off its keeper – it was just looking for a “clak-clak” cuddle!' A lighter had appeared in Hamble's foot and he lit the fat joint he had rolled with a flourish, then squatted back down in his chair wuffling with enjoyment.

A gush of smoke spilled from his slack mouth, the blue hooks and curlicues airily entwining with the naturalist's flocculent chest. His signing was partially obscured by this local thunderhead, so that Simon only caught flicks of what followed. ‘But you must satisfy my curiosity, Simon,
“huuu” you say that you have experience of a reality in which humans are the dominant primate species. A reality much the same as this at the, as it were, macro level, with industrialisation, the Japanese television game shows and “euch-euch” – this stuff tickles – hydroponic skunk; but at the micro level, the level of physicality, of sexuality, everything is different, mating practices and so forth “huuu”?'

There was signlence and novocal for a while; Hamble footed Simon the joint, and without considering what he was doing, Simon footed it from him. It was his first non-anxiolytic drug since his breakdown, and it was also the first time he had used feet-for-hands. Simon raised his leg to his muzzle, marvelling at its suppleness, its accuracy of movement and position. He took a great pull on the joint and honked up the distinctive flowery aroma of the weed. The first hit was so delicious that he took another, then another, exhaling and inhaling simultaneously like a saxophonist playing an extended riff.

‘What's it like “huuu”?' Simon's signing was loose and expressive, the hallucinogen was doing its work. ‘Well, Raymond, we mate – as you know – muzzling one another. And our skins have a gorgeous softness and silkiness to the touch. There's not a lot of touching in our world, so mating is our opportunity to feel one another all over. I've seen chimps “euch-euch” mating, and in comparison to human mating it seems a frenzied, unsatisfying experience.
Our
mating can last for ages and involves the most tender “gru-unnn” and orchestrated of palping “chup-chupp”, prodding “chup-chupp”, caressing “huh-huh-huh” and stroking –'

‘It looks rather like a grooming session to me,' Hamble cut in.

‘No, no “euch-euch”, not at all.
We
muzzle one another, we stare into one another's eyes without fear of reprisal; and we kiss – our teeth you know are so much smaller than yours – for minutes at a time. And furthermore, Raymond, we only mate love with exogamous partners. The idea of mating love with close group members is anathema to humans. Utterly taboo. Where can there be romance when you mate any female whose swelling attracts you “huuu”? Where can there be any tenderness “huuu”? And how can you feel any real distinction between adults and sub-adults when you so promiscuously mate with your own offspring “huuu”?'

Hamble, not exactly put out, but confused by this symmetrical paradox, fluttered to himself: How can there be any romance or adulthood when you
don't?

Simon was high now, and the images of his past, his caressing human past, were coming back to him with hateful acuity. How could he have thought that he had lost his ability to suspend disbelief in human sexuality? Or perhaps – and this made his hackles rise – perhaps it was precisely his failure to apprehend what was most sacred, most important, most inherently human in life – the physical expression of love, that had precipitated Simon into this nightmarish realm, with its dope-smoking apes and doctoring chimpanzees.

The doctor in question reappeared at this point, and Busner was none too pleased to see that Hamble was sharing a joint with Simon. He clenched his fist as he knuckle-walked into the room. “HoooH'Graa,” he
greeted them, then signed, ‘Really, Raymond, I don't think hypomania and marijuana consort happily, do you “huuu”?'

‘I don't know about that “euch-euch”. ' He footed the joint from Simon's outstretched toes. ‘I thought it might help to unpack more of this poor chimp's delusion, and fumigate our gesticulation, which really has been most representative for me. Anyway,' he dropped off his chair and crawled over to Busner,
‘we're
too long in the tooth to fission over such a thing “huuu” Zackiekins?' The two alpha males commenced grooming one another with rare artistry, while Simon slumbered in his chair, a rhodomontade of defiantly human rutting cries resounding in his tortured brow.

They left the Set soon afterwards. Hamble inscribed a copy of his book about travelling in Amazonia –
In Deep Shit
– to Simon, who fluttered that he had a copy already, albeit under another title and in a parallel world.

The cab was waiting for them, and as they pulled away down the rutted track, the last thing Simon saw was Hamble, in exactly the same pose he'd been when they arrived; behind the hawthorn hedge in his garden, his big muzzle creased with good humour, his gingerish sideburns catching the rays of the setting sun.

For the whole journey back to London Simon was plunged in a torment of recollection. Sarah's small blonde head tilted back. His hand smoothing over her head fur. Her sharp little canines bared in ecstasis. Her small hands tugging softly on his engorged cock. And those peculiar human vocalisations, uttered in the heat of mating. “There-there, there-there … There. There.”

When they got back to Redington Road Simon shut himself up in his room and put on the video of
Battle for the Planet of the Humans
. It was the one of the film cycle that amused him most; and paradoxically allowed him to capture the tenor of his lost identity, hold it fast for a few seconds. He liked the risible setting of the film, the battle for the planet taking place in what looked like a Milton Keynes shopping mall. There was that ticklishness and there were the zombie-like humans themselves – massing on aerial knuckle-walkways to overwhelm their chimpanzee masters – and all so implausibly portrayed. The film's designer hadn't troubled concretely to imagine intelligent, domesticated humans. So, like chimpanzees, they were naked from the waist down and shoeless.

Some of the lines in the film – the last of the cycle – sent Simon into tooth-clacking fits of laughter. In particular, when the beastly chimps have cornered the super-intelligent offspring of the humans who escaped from the future in the penultimate film (
Escape from the Planet of the Humans
), the head badchimp – as Simon couldn't help ascripting him – wrung his hands. ‘Seeing him is like watching some awful bacillus and knowing you've got it trapped “wraaaa”!'

Then, at the very end, when the hordes of humans are overknuckling the entire complex –
so
seventies that – the same character blazons the immortal signs: ‘This will be the end of chimpanzee civilization, and the world will become a planet of the humans “wraaaa”!'

If only, thought Simon, staring at the screen while moodily puffing a Bactrian. Ifonly. The effects of Hamble's weed – which was very strong – had faded, leaving behind
solely a hardened conviction that he must meet with his exalpha Jean, that he had to come muzzle-to-muzzle with his infants. If there was a full correspondence between this world and the world as it had been before the disastrous night at the Sealink, then the only chimps who could help him were from his fissioned group.

Busner broke Simon's reverie. He pant-hooted outside the door and receiving no recall, entered. “HoooH'Graa”, he vocalised, then signed, ‘Well, Simon what did you think of your day out, instructive “huuu”?'

‘Definitely, Dr Busner. It did me a power of good administering a thrashing to that creature, and as for Hamble, well, I liked him “grnnn”. He seemed utterly unconcerned about the notion that I consider myself human and the world I perceive a ludicrous delusion –'

‘ – Well, yes,' Busner chopped in, ‘but do remember Hamble is
very
eccentric.'

‘Other than that it's been “hooo” the same.'

‘The same “huuu”?'

‘Sometimes I feel half-able to acknowledge the reality of things as they are – but then the past comes flooding back “hooo” – it's incredibly disturbing. But one thing I signed at Hamble's house I'm convinced is the truth. I have such a clear and unmistakable memory of my middle infant “hooo”. I
must
meet with my ex-alpha, only she can help me to discover the truth. Please Dr Busner, it's been over two months now, can't I see my infants “huuu”, please?'

Simon crawled to where Busner squatted and presented to him with utmost, grovelling deference. The radical psychoanalyst – as he liked to denote himself – laid a hortatory hand on the lanky chimp's ischial scrag and
inparted the bewhiskered rump, ‘There – there “chup-chupp”, Simonkins, don't worry, my poor fellow, I was impressed with your conduct – and your conducting –today. I think that some good may be served by having a session with your old group. Your ex-alpha is amenable, so I'll “huh-huh-huh” see what I can do to arrange it as soon as possible. But there's something else I want to put to you –'

‘What's that “huuu”?'

‘I was pant-hooted just now by your old consort's ally Tony Figes. He signs that there's an opening tonight at the Saatchi Gallery. He seemed to think it was an exhibition that would particularly entwine you.'

Simon broke from the grooming and turned to muzzle Busner. ‘Are you suggesturing that we should go “huuu”?'

‘Well “euch-euch”, certainly not if you don't feel able to deal with it. There will, no doubt, be a lot of chimps you know there, but on the other hand …' Busner went on signing sinistrally ‘… it's only down the road, within knuckle-walking distance, and as always, if you feel an episode or seizure coming on we can leave. I think it might be a good idea. After all, it's another handhold back up the tree to recovery “h'huuu”?'