“That’s a good point,” Kevin agreed. He wondered why Bertram hadn’t thought of it.
“Sounds like my type of place,” Candace joked. “Maybe I should book Isla Francesca instead of Club Med on my next vacation.”
Melanie laughed. “Let’s go together,” she said.
They passed a number of Equatoguineans on their way home from work in Cogo. Most of the women carried jugs and parcels on top of their heads. The men were generally empty-handed.
“It’s a strange culture,” Melanie commented. “The women do the lion’s share of the work: growing the food, carrying the water, raising the kids, cooking the meals, taking care of the house.”
“What do the men do?” Candace asked.
“Sit around and discuss metaphysics,” Melanie said.
“I just had an idea,” Kevin said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Maybe we should talk to the pygmy who takes out the food to the island first and hear what he has to say.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Melanie said. “Do you know his name?”
“Alphonse Kimba,” Kevin said.
When they reached the native village, they pulled to a stop in front of the busy general store and got out. Kevin went inside to inquire after the pygmy.
“This place is almost too charming,” Candace said as she looked around the neighborhood. “It looks African but like something you’d see in Disneyland.”
GenSys had built the village with the cooperation of the Equatoguinean Minister of the Interior. The homes were circular, whitewashed mud brick with thatched roofs. Corrals for domestic animals were made of reed mats lashed to wooden stakes. The structures appeared traditional, but every one of them was new and spotless. They also had electricity and running water. Buried underground were powerlines and modern sewers.
Kevin returned quickly. “No problem,” he said. “He lives close by. Come on, we’ll walk.”
The village was alive with men, women, and children. Traditional cooking fires were in the process of being lit. Everyone acted happy and friendly from having been recently freed from the captivity of the interminable rainy season.
Alphonse Kimba was less than five feet tall with skin as black as onyx. A constant smile dominated his wide, flat face as he welcomed his unexpected visitors. He tried to introduce his wife and child, but they were shy and shrunk back into the shadows.
Alphonse invited his guests to sit on a reed mat. He then got four glasses and poured a dollop of clear fluid into each from an old green bottle that had at one time contained motor oil.
His visitors warily swirled the fluid. They didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but they were reluctant to drink.
“Alcohol?” Kevin asked.
“Oh, yes!” Alphonse said. His smile broadened. “It is lotoko from corn. Very good! I bring it from my home in Lomako.” He sipped with intense enjoyment. In contrast to the Equatoguineans, Alphonse’s English was accented with French, not Spanish. He was a member of the Mongandu people from Zaire. He’d been brought to the Zone with the first shipment of bonobos.
Since the drink contained alcohol, which would presumably kill potential microorganisms, the guests cautiously tasted the brew. All of them made faces in spite of good intentions not to do so. The drink was powerfully pungent.
Kevin explained that they had come to ask about the bonobos on the island. He didn’t mention his concern that their number included a strain of protohumans. He asked only if Alphonse thought they were acting like bonobos back in his home province in Zaire.
“They are all very young,” Alphonse said. “So they are very unruly and wild.”
“Do you go on the island often?” Kevin asked.
“No, I am forbidden,” Alphonse said. “Only when we retrieve or release, and only then with Dr. Edwards.”
“How do you get the extra food to the island?” Melanie asked.
“There is a small float,” Alphonse said. “I pull it across the water with a rope, then pull it back.”
“Are the bonobos aggressive with the food or do they share?” Melanie asked.
“Very aggressive,” Alphonse said. “They fight like crazy, especially for the fruit. I also saw one kill a monkey.”
“Why?” Kevin asked.
“I think to eat,” Alphonse said. “He carried it away after the food I brought was all gone.”
“That sounds more like a chimp,” Melanie said to Kevin.
Kevin nodded. “Where on the island have the retrievals taken place?” he asked.
“All have been on this side of the lake and stream,” Alphonse said.
“None have been over by the cliff?” Kevin asked.
“No, never,” Alphonse said.
“How do you get to the island for the retrieval?” Kevin asked. “Does everybody use the float?”
Alphonse laughed heartily. He had to dry his eyes with his knuckle. “The float is too small. We’d all be supper for the crocs. We use the bridge.”
“Why don’t you use the bridge for the food?” Melanie asked.
“Because Dr. Edwards has to make the bridge grow,” Alphonse said.
“Grow?” Melanie questioned.
“Yes,” Alphonse said.
The three guests exchanged glances. They were confused.
“Have you seen any fire on the island?” Kevin asked, changing the subject.
“No fire,” Alphonse said. “But I’ve seen smoke.”
“And what did you think?” Kevin asked.
“Me?” Alphonse questioned. “I didn’t think anything.”
“Have you ever seen one of the bonobos do this?” Candace asked. She opened and closed her fingers then swept her hand away from her body in imitation of the bonobo in the operating room.
“Yes,” Alphonse said. “Many do that when they finish dividing up the food.”
“How about noise?” Melanie asked. “Do they make a lot of sounds?”
“A lot,” Alphonse said.
“Like the bonobos back in Zaire?” Kevin asked.
“More,” Alphonse said. “But back in Zaire I don’t see the same bonobos so often as I do here, and I don’t feed them. Back home they get their own food in the jungle.”
“What kind of noise do they make?” Candace asked. “Can you give us an example.”
Alphonse laughed self-consciously. He glanced around at his wife to make sure she wasn’t listening. Then he softly vocalized: “Eeee, ba da, loo loo, tad tat.” He laughed again. He was embarrassed.
“Do they hoot like chimps?” Melanie asked.
“Some,” Alphonse said.
The guests looked at each other. They’d run out of questions for the moment. Kevin got up. The women did the same. They thanked Alphonse for his hospitality and handed back their unfinished drinks. If Alphonse was offended, he didn’t show it. His smile didn’t falter.
“There’s one other thing,” Alphonse said just before his guests departed. “The bonobos on the island like to show off. Whenever they come for the food, they make themselves stand up.”
“All the time?” Kevin asked.
“Mostly,” Alphonse said.
The group walked back through the village to the car. They didn’t talk until Kevin had started the motor.
“Well, what do you guys think?” Kevin asked. “Should we continue? The sun’s already set.”
“I vote yes,” Melanie said. “We’ve come this far.”
“I agree,” Candace said. “I’m curious to see this bridge that grows.”
Melanie laughed. “Me, too. What a charming fellow.”
Kevin drove away from the store, which was now busier than earlier. But he wasn’t sure of his direction. The road into the village had simply expanded into the parking area for the store, and there was no indication of the track leading further east. To find it, he had to cruise the parking lot’s perimeter.
Once on the track, they were impressed with how much easier it had been to travel on the improved road. The track was narrow, bumpy, and muddy. Grass about three feet tall grew down the median strip. Frequently branches stretched from one side to the other, slapping against the windshield and poking through the open windows. To avoid being hit by the snapping branches, they had to raise the windows. Kevin clicked on the air conditioner and the lights. The beams reflected off the surrounding vegetation and gave the impression of driving through a tunnel.