I had spent so much time worrying about whether I was going to screw up the equipment that I forgot to think about what to do once we got started. “Okay, fled, just relax. Imagine, if you like, that you’re in Congo in your favorite part of the forest.” I waited for a moment. “You may open your eyes if you wish.”
Her eyes popped open. She seemed to be gazing at me, but whatever she was seeing was inside her head.
“Good. Now I’m going to ask your companion to come forward. Just relax and let her come into the room with me.”
As before, fled slumped down in the chair for a second or two. Suddenly, as if noticing me for the first time, she made a little choking sound and climbed down behind the desk, apparently hoping I hadn’t seen her. I got up and quietly peered over it. “Hello,” I said, as gently as I could. “It’s okay—you’re safe here.”
She remained motionless for a few moments before slowly looking up at me. She blinked, but said nothing.
“Can you say something to me in English? Or maybe French? Parlez-vous français?” I waited, but she seemed content to simply watch me from her “hiding” place. “Hello? Can you just say hello?”
She either could not or would not do so.
At this point I took a chance. I padded softly around the desk, my fingers outstretched. As soon as she saw me coming toward her she screamed and covered her head with her hands. I backed away and she stopped, but she was breathing hard and making soft guttural noises. Her eyes darted here and there around the room, presumably searching for an escape route.
Slowly I raised my right hand in the universal gesture of peace. “I won’t harm you,” I promised her. This elicited only a flinch, and an arm came up to ward off any impending blows.
I waited patiently. She refused to move except for a slight rocking motion. There didn’t seem to be much point in going further. Unless— I moved incrementally toward her. Again she became agitated and started to babble something I couldn’t understand. I backed away a few steps and she quieted down a little. I wanted to touch her, but thought better of it. I think I could actually smell her fear. Realizing that this could go on for a very long time, and might be causing her severe distress, I decided to call it off for the moment. “Okay, fled, we’re finished. You can come back out now.”
In a minute or two she began to straighten up. Finally, her eyes came to a focus on me.
“Thank you,” I said. “Now I’m going to count backward from five to one. When I get to—”
“Yes, I know.” She was already back to full consciousness and waiting for me to say something.
I got up and switched off the camera. “Now let’s see if we can get this thing to rewind….”
She jumped up. “Move over,” she commanded. In a short while she held a tape in her hairy hands. “Well, bozo, is there a player in here?”
There wasn’t. She took off and I followed—down the stairs to the first-floor lounge, where a few of the patients were napping or just staring into space. She found an unwatched television set and pushed the tape into the player. I sat down beside her on the nearest sofa and watched it with her. I had seen it all before, of course, but fled hadn’t, and neither had the patients, who began to amble toward the set. As it went on, and her evident alter ego screamed, and later babbled something incomprehensible, fled’s eyes got bigger. So did those of the audience.
“If I hadn’t seen this for myself…” she whispered.
“What is it? Do you know her?”
“No. She’s a young female chimpanzee. Probably from the mountains of Rwanda or Cameroon.”
“Can you tell what she’s saying?”
“Not entirely. She only spoke a few words. Something about her mother.”
“If I could get her to say something else, would you be able to make it out?”
“Don’t know. I’m not familiar with every dialect spoken on EARTH, you know. Or even in Africa.”
“Chimpanzees have dialects?”
“Of course. All beings separated by geographical barriers do.”
“So how do you suggest I communicate with her?”
“Isn’t it obvious? What you need is a translator. Someone who can speak to her.”
Several voices chorused, “Yeah. A translator!”
“And where do you suggest we find this translator?”
“There are plenty of captive chimpanzees who might be able to speak to her. All you have to do is find one of them.”
“You know, that might work! But wait—how do I speak to this captive chimpanzee?”
“There are a few humans around who can talk to chimpanzees. In only one language, but that might be enough.”
“What language?”
“I think you call it ‘American sign language.’”
“American sign language….” echoed our audience.
It sounded like a good idea until I realized: “That wouldn’t help. Your alter ego might not know sign language. Probably doesn’t, in fact.”
“No, you dummy. The primary translator would be the chimpanzee who speaks sign language with his guardian, and who also knows the languages of the jungle. Get it?”
“Yes! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“No comment.”
The patients all laughed. “No comment! No comment!”
“Uh—do you happen to know any—”
“Hell’s bells, doctor! Do I have to do everything for you?”
“But there isn’t enough time to find these translators. I can’t travel at the speed of light, you know.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can?”
“Telephone, e-mail, other electromagnetic devices.”
The audience looked at one another and shrugged.
“All right, I’ll give it a try. Let’s take a break now and I’ll go see if the reporter has shown up. Shall we meet again in, say, an hour?”
“One hour. A twenty-fourth of a day. A hundred sixty-eighth of a week. One sixty-one thousand three hundredth—”
The patients began to applaud. I didn’t wait around to hear the rest.
* * *
When I got to the administrative office I found the British magazine editor waiting for me. Margie had been keeping him occupied. “I always wanted to visit England!” she gushed. “My great-grandparents were born there!”
“Come on over!” he replied with equal enthusiasm, though he was thirty years her senior. “I’ll give you a pub tour!” He jumped up when he saw me, and thrust out a hand. “Smythe,” he said pleasantly, with barely a hint of an accent. The rest of him, however, was thoroughly British—ruddy complexion, handlebar mustache, a tweed jacket and vest, and he carried himself in a dignified manner. “Love your weather here!”
I admired his energy, especially after a long flight and rainy taxi ride into the city. Of course he was younger than I was, I mused, but so was almost everyone I saw these days. I asked Margie whether Dr. Goldfarb was in.
“She’s already met Mr. Smythe. She says he’s all yours!”
“Fine.” I turned to our guest. “It’s a bit early for lunch, Mr. Smythe. But maybe you’d like a cup of coffee before we get started with fled?”
“I’d love a cup of tea, if you have it.”
“Of course. Let’s go to the dining room.”
On the way there I commented on his almost nonexistent English accent. “In fact, you could almost be from the American Midwest.”