Once into the oval-windowed cross-ramp with the crowded plaza far below, Armando paused again. He risked speaking with quiet urgency.
“Caesar, listen to me most carefully. As I have reminded you before, there can be only one—one!—talking chimpanzee on all of earth: the child of the two other talking apes, Cornelius and Zira, who came to us years ago, out of the future. They were brutally murdered by men for fear that, one very distant day, the apes might dominate the human race. Men tried to kill you, too, and thought they had succeeded, but Zira took a newborn chimp from my circus and left you with its mother, hoping to save your life. I guarded you—even changed your name from the Milo they had given you—and raised you as a circus ape. But of course you inherited the ability to speak.”
The chimpanzee’s large, luminous eyes looked troubled. “But outside of you, Señor, no one knows I can speak.”
“And we must keep it that way. Because the fear remains. The mere fact of the existence of an ape with the capability to speak would be regarded as a great threat to mankind. That’s the way the world is today. When you realize how apes are treated—the roles they’ve come to occupy in society—”
The words trailed off. Armando stared glumly out one of the oval windows.
Caesar touched his arm. “Please finish what you were going to say.”
Armando turned back, said with obvious effort, “The comradeship of the circus, where humans are generally kind to animals, is very different from what you are about to see. That is why I’ve kept you away from all but our own people until I felt you were sufficiently mature. And I have kept your secret to myself, not willing even to trust our fellow performers with the staggering truth of—what you are.”
“But I don’t see what difference my speaking could—”
“Sssh!” Armando broke in. “From now on—no talking whatsoever!” For the benefit of a businessman approaching briskly, he tugged on the leash and said in an irritated voice, “Come, come!”
Pulled off balance, Caesar lurched clumsily forward. The businessman passed them with a curious stare. Caesar’s mind tumbled thoughts one on top of another.
What was so terrible about the populated cities that Armando had insisted on keeping him away from them until now? And why would the fact that he was able to organize his thoughts, articulate them aloud in Armando’s own language, endanger him? He’d heard it often before, but it still made no sense!
Caesar wished that Armando had not decided to bring him to the city at all, to try to generate business for the struggling little circus. All at once Caesar wanted to be back in the comfortable, familiar surroundings, traveling between the tiny outlying towns in the circus vans; performing his horseback tricks under the lights, warmed by the applause. In the circus, the names Cornelius and Zira were only mysterious tokens of his past; the names of a father and mother he had never seen. Here, as he scuttled obediently behind the striding Armando, the names assumed new dimensions; what he had inherited from Cornelius and Zira somehow threatened him.
And so he must conceal that inheritance. Keep silent. For the first time that he could remember, the constraint of Armando’s leash—employed only in public—angered him.
“Moving stair,” Armando warned, stepping onto a down escalator at the end of the ramp. “Mind your balance—”
Caesar needed little more cautioning than that. He kept his eyes glued to his feet as the stair carried them downward. Armando was one step below, his dark eyes still unhappy. Finally he swung his head around, gave the young chimpanzee a look of deep sympathy.
“When we reach the bottom—the first of the shopping areas we will visit today—prepare yourself for a shock. And above all—do not speak.”
Crowd noise, the bustle of a thronged plaza, drifted up from the bottom of the escalator. Caesar stumbled when the stair deposited them on the main level. Armando clutched him to keep him from falling, noting with new dismay the shock and astonishment that filled Caesar’s eyes in response to what he saw before him.
TWO
Though it was only a few minutes past ten in the morning, the plaza was already crowded with human beings, and with apes. Apparently vehicular traffic was barred from the central city. A few moments of scrutiny revealed other, more upsetting distinctions to Caesar.
The groups, human and ape, did not intermingle. The humans, a mixture of whites, black, and orientals, seemed to move at a leisurely pace, chatting with animation, virtually ignoring the chimpanzees, gorillas, and orangutans shuffling in and out among them. Only here and there did Caesar notice a quick-darting human glance settle on one of the apes, as if the man or woman were watching for some sign of trouble.
Caesar immediately decided that the smiles on the human faces looked forced, as if the apparent casualness of the people hid some inner tension. Why should that be so when the plaza, a place of sparkling miniature parks, shooting fountains, shop windows colorfully lit to highlight the endless displays of consumer goods, appeared so peaceful and prosperous?
He noted glances being cast his way—and a servile smile on Armando’s face as they drifted through the crowd, Armando handing out flyers. Caesar took the cue, offering handbills to some of the humans. They accepted them warily, as if concerned about coming too close. What were they afraid of? He had no clear notion.
A few more minutes of wandering through the crowds sharpened Caesar’s awareness of another distinction. The humans’ clothes, though expensively cut, were austere, generally monochromatic. But the costumes of the apes were variegated. Observation revealed that gorillas wore red, orangutans a rich tan, and chimpanzees like himself were garbed in green. There was also a distinct and consistent style for each sex. The females were clad in long-sleeved, full-length robes; the males in trousers and tight-fitting, high-collared coats. Occasionally an adult ape would stare briefly at Caesar, and—unless he was imagining it—react with a twitch of the nostrils or a blink of the eyes. Caesar tended to stop and gawk back. Armando’s tugs on the leash—“Come!”—occurred more frequently.
Caesar realized he was attracting undue attention with his staring. He tried to keep pace with his master, passing out the handbills while still absorbing as much information about his surroundings as he could.
He sorted out the sights and sounds, rearranged them in another, emerging pattern: the humans, while moving with some apparent purpose, did not seem to be engaged in any kind of physical labor. This was the function of the apes! The realization impacted his mind with stunning force. The moment it flashed through his mind, he saw it validated on every hand.
He noted a large, handsome female orangutan carrying a hamper of clothing. Then, on the far side of the plaza, a group of male gorillas in a line, sweeping the paving blocks with brooms. A pert female chimp with bright eyes gave Caesar an interested glance as she went by, carrying over her arm several women’s dresses wrapped in glistening plastic.
So the humans and the apes did not intermingle, exccpt in an isolated case or two, where an ape seemed to be trailing the heels of a human master or mistress. And the apes served the humans . . .
Those two realizations were enough to jam Caesar’s mind with new, disturbing implications. But the shocking learning process of which Armando had warned him was only beginning.
After another twenty minutes of distributing the handbills, Caesar grew aware of a deception. The docility of the servants was a veneer.