“I’m not inclined to think of thousands of people dying as ‘benefiting’ me,” Dreyfus replied, dryly.
“You know what I mean.”
“I guess.” He paused, then continued. “Is what that kid said true? About the survival rate?”
“Yeah,” Patel admitted. “Worldwide, there’s about fifty dead, ten here in San Francisco. But so far every single person diagnosed with this thing has died. Young, old, male, female, black, white, Latino, Asian.”
“Sure, but the only people who get diagnosed are the ones who get so sick they seek help, or pass out or whatever, right? So the sample may be skewed. There might be plenty of people it hardly affects at all.”
“Maybe,” Patel said. “But the crazies on TV—the pundits, the preachers, the conspiracy theorists—they’ve got this now, and they’re going nuts with it.”
“Yeah. I’m afraid there will be a panic,” Dreyfus said. “If the only thing I can do is what I just did—try to stand in the way of that, publicly—then maybe that’s what I should do.”
“You did just fine today.”
“No, I mean it’s time to get me on some of these shows. I want to be out front on this.”
“Too risky,” Patel said. “I don’t advise it.” But Dreyfus shook his head.
“There’s going to be a panic,” he said. “People will remember me as a voice of reason. And if I’m wrong, and this all goes away—people won’t remember I had anything to say about it at all.
“Call the shows. Get me booked. Now.”
“Okay, boss,” Patel relented. “Whatever you say.”
“Another thing. I want a private investigation of this whole Monkeygate thing. I want to know why people on the force, guys who used to trust me, are so skittish of talking about this whole thing. Even Troy is sitting on something—I know when that sonofabitch is lying to me. And now this business about Hamil… Something stinks here, and it smells like a cover-up. I want to know what House is hiding, because I promise you, if we find out what it is, we can take him apart. I feel it in my gut.”
5
Koba laid the chimp onto the dew-damp leaves and stepped away.
He didn’t like things that looked alive but were not. He peered around the clearing instead, watching Caesar and the others. It had taken two of them to carry the dead orangutan. Caesar had borne the other chimp—the one that had died in the night.
He said that putting the bodies here—far across the woods from where the main troop was hiding—would mislead the humans, make them look in the wrong place. It made sense to Koba.
He watched Caesar study the fallen chimp for a moment, then squat and gently close its eyes.
A sort of shock ran through Koba, then. It felt like it started in the back of his skull, and he had a sudden, vivid image of someone doing the same thing—a human hand closing an ape’s eyes.
He shook his head, but it didn’t help. Sometimes when he slept he saw this, and he felt as if he was falling. But he had never thought about what it might have meant. Yet now the feelings were intensified. He remembered those eyes open, gazing at him.
And more…
Koba is small, and watching his mother make hand language with Mary. They live in a big room with a metal grating on one wall. Everything else is white. Koba is playing with one of his toys, a stuffed one that looks like a kitten. He has played with a real kitten before, and wants a real one, but this is what they gave him.
Mary is asking Koba’s mother what she would like to do today. Mother answers that she would like to go outside. Koba is excited about this because he likes going outside. Mary says they can go outside after Koba plays with the buttons a little bit, and maybe does some letters.
So Koba goes over to the buttons. Mary asks Koba to find peanut. He finds the right symbol and presses it. She tells him he has done well. She asks for him to find “blue” and then “red,” which he also does. Meanwhile his mother plays their private game with him, making the hand signs for these same things. After he is done, Mary gives him a cookie, and then directs him to the letters.
Koba is less certain about the letters. He knows they stand for things, but it’s not like the buttons. Mary puts four letters together. They look familiar in that order, but he can’t remember exactly what they mean.
Mary tells him.
“This is K-O-B-A,” she says. “It’s your name. Koba. Now let’s do mine.”
She makes M-A-R-Y with the letters. He notices one is the same as in Koba. He isn’t sure what this is supposed to mean.
Mary is pleased, though. She gives him another cookie, and then they go outside. Koba feels the wind ruffle his fur and climbs around on the tree. He loves the tree, to swing on it and jump from limb to limb.
After a while he goes down and plays with his mother.
“Tickle me,” he signs to her, so she does, and he is happy. He presses himself against her, then runs back over to the tree, feeling his arms stretch out and grow warm. The sun is warm, too.
He finds a thing crawling on the tree. It is about the size of his smallest finger and is covered with black fuzz.
Mary sees him studying the thing and comes over.
“Caterpillar,” she says. “Fuzzy caterpillar.”
Koba plays with the caterpillar. He tries to sign to it, but it doesn’t answer. He puts it back on the tree and watches curiously as it crawls away. Then he returns to playing.
After a while Mary tells them it is time to go back inside. Koba doesn’t want to go. He wants to play more outside. Mary calls Kuo to bring the leash. Kuo comes and tries to put the leash on Koba, but Koba jumps back.
“Naughty Koba,” Kuo says, laughing, and tries to put the leash on again. Koba jumps back again. He likes this game. He and Kuo play this game all the time.
“Hey, Koba, what’s that over there?” Kuo says, pointing. Koba knows what will happen—this is how the game always ends. He pretends to look, and the leash goes over his head. He submits and goes with Kuo.
Inside, Kuo gives him a hug and tells Koba he will miss him. Koba wonders why, because Kuo is usually there at night.
But tonight a new person comes. His name is Roger.
The next day, lots of people come to see Koba’s mother talk to Mary with her hands, and then watch Koba press the buttons. They laugh when he is asked to find “peanut” and he presses it several times because he likes peanuts. He likes it when they laugh.
Then something strange happens. They put something else in the room with Mother and him. It is big and fuzzy and black.
Mother does the hand talk, but it just looks at her. Koba tries to talk to it to, but it doesn’t even look at his hands. It just walks away.
“Do you know what that is, Koba?” Mary asks. “Can you tell us what that is?”
Koba looks uncertainly at the thing, and then at his buttons. Finally he starts pressing them. Furry. Snake. Bug.
Mary laughs.
“Are you trying to call her a fuzzy black caterpillar?”
Koba presses the button that means “yes.”
Everyone laughs.
“He doesn’t know it’s a chimp?” someone asked.
“No, because Wanda—that’s her name—can’t sign,” Mary says. “Washoe, one of the first language apes, called the first chimps he ever met ‘big black bugs’ because they couldn’t do sign. Chantak, an orangutan, called non-signing orangs ‘red hairy dogs.’ Koba thinks of himself as a person, and people talk. If something can’t talk, it’s not a person, so Koba thinks it must be something else.”
Koba wonders what Mary is talking about. He doesn’t know what the word ‘chimp’ means.
He points at the new thing.