“How much are you asking for it?” I inquired, and took a firm grip on the telephone.
“Twelve hundred pounds,” said the dealer.
A brief vision of my bank manager’s face floated before my eyes, and I repressed it sternly. “All right,” I said, in what I hoped was a confident voice. “I’ll meet it at London Airport, and if it’s in good condition I’ll have it.”
I put down the telephone to find Jacquie regarding me with a basilisk eye. “What are you going to have?” she inquired.
“A baby gorilla,” I said nonchalantly.
“Oh, how lovely,” said Mother enthusiastically. “They’re such dear little things.”
Jacquie was more practical. “How much?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, it’s very reasonable,” I said. “You know how rare gorillas are, and you know that our policy now is to concentrate on the rare things. I feel this is a wonderful opportunity”
“How much?” Jacquie interrupted brutally.
“Twelve hundred pounds,” I replied, and waited for the storm.
“Twelve hundred pounds? Twelve hundred pounds? You must be mad . You’ve got an overdraft the size of the national debt and you go and say you’ll pay twelve hundred pounds for a gorilla? You must be out of your mind. Where d’you think we’re going to find twelve hundred pounds, for heaven’s sake? And what d’you think the bank manager’s going to say when he hears? You must be stark staring mad.”
“I shall get the money from other sources,” I said austerely. “Don’t you realize that this island is infested with rich people who do nothing all day long but revolve from one cocktail party to another, like a set of Japanese waltzing mice? It’s about time they made a contribution towards animal conservation. I shall ask them to contribute the money.”
“That’s an even stupider idea than saying you’ll have the gorilla in the first place,” said Jacquie.
Ignoring my wife’s pessimistic and antisocial outlook, I picked up the telephone and asked for a number. “Hallo. Hope? Gerry here.”
“Hallo,” said Hope resignedly. “What can I do for you?” “Hope, I want you to give me a list of all the richest people on the island.”
“All the richest people?” said Hope in bewilderment. “Now what are you up to?”
“Well, I’ve just been offered a baby gorilla at a very reasonable price…twelve hundred pounds…only I don’t happen to have twelve hundred pounds at the moment… “
The rest of my sentence was drowned by Hope’s rich laughter. “So you hope to get the wealthy of the island to buy it for you?” she said, chortling. “Gerry, really, you’re dotty”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with the idea,” I protested. “They should be glad to contribute towards buying such a rare creature. After all, if breeding colonies of things like gorillas aren’t established in captivity soon, there won’t be any left at all. Surely these people realize this?”
“I’m afraid they don’t,” said Hope. “I realize it and you realize it, but I’m afraid the average person either doesn’t or couldn’t care less.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said gloomily. “Anyway, I think it’s worth a try, don’t you?”
“It’s worth a try, but I wouldn’t pin too much faith on their generosity, if I were you,” said Hope. “Anyway, give me half an hour and I’ll ring you back.”
Half an hour later Hope dictated a list of about fifty people over the telephone, while I wrote them down feverishly. Then I looked up the telephone numbers, took a deep breath, and started.
“Good morning. Mrs Macgurgle? Gerald Durrell from the zoo here. I’m so sorry to worry you, but we’ve just been offered a baby gorilla…at a very reasonable price…twelve hundred pounds… Well, yes, but it’s not expensive for a gorilla… Well, I was wondering if you’d care to purchase a small portion of it…say a leg or something? You would? That’s immensely kind of you. Thank you very much indeed… Goodbye.”
By lunch-time I had collected two hundred pounds. Only another thousand to go and the gorilla was mine. It was at this point that I discovered the next person on the list was Major Domo. I had never met him and I had no idea how he would react to the suggestion that he might buy a bit of gorilla. To my immense relief, the suggestion seemed to amuse him, for he chuckled.
“How much is it?” he asked.
“Twelve hundred pounds,” I said.
“And how much have you collected already?”
“Two hundred pounds.”
“Well,” said Major Domo, “you’d better come along this afternoon and I’ll find you the balance.”
To say I was speechless means nothing. When I had gone to the telephone I thought there might be a chance of getting twenty-five pounds, possibly even fifty. A hundred would have been beyond the dreams of avarice. And here was Major Domo handing me a baby gorilla on a platter, so to speak. I stammered my thanks, slammed down the telephone, and rushed round the zoo, telling everyone of the fact that we were going to have a baby gorilla.
The great day came and I flew over to London Airport to collect the ape. My one fear now was that when I arrived there it would turn out to be a chimpanzee after all. The dealer met me and escorted me to a room in the animal shelter of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. He threw open the door, and the first thing I saw was a couple of baby chimpanzees sitting on a table meditatively chewing bananas. My heart sank, and I had visions of having to go back to Jersey empty-handed. But the dealer walked over to a crate in the corner and opened the door, and N’Pongo walked into my life.
He stood about eighteen inches high and was quite the most handsome and healthy looking baby gorilla I had ever seen. He strolled stockily across the room towards me and then held up his arms to be lifted up. I was amazed at how heavy he was for his size, and I soon realized that this was all solid bone and muscle; there was not a spare ounce of fat on him. His light-chocolate-coloured fur was thick and soft, and the skin on his hands, feet, and face was soft and glossy as patent leather. His eyes were small and deep-set, twinkling like chips of coal. He lay back in my arms and studied me carefully with an unwinking stare, and then lifted a fat and gentle forefinger and investigated my beard. I tickled his ribs and he wriggled about in my arms, giggling hoarsely, his eyes shining with amusement. I sat him down on a convenient table and handed him a banana, which he accepted with little bear-like growlings of pleasure, and ate very daintily compared to the chimpanzees, who were stuffing their mouths as full as they could. I wrote out the cheque and then we bundled N’Pongo—growling protests—back into the crate, and went off to catch the plane for Jersey.
When we landed at the airport I took N’Pongo out of his crate and we drove to the zoo with him sitting on my lap, taking a great interest in the cows we passed, and occasionally turning round so that he could peer up into my face. When we arrived I carried him up to our flat, for his cage was not quite ready and I had decided that he would have to spend a couple of days in our guest-room. His grave, courteous manner and his rather sad expression immediately won over both Jacquie and my mother, and before long he was lolling back on the sofa while they plied him with delicacies, and the staff came upstairs one by one to pay homage to him as if he were some black potentate. Having previously suffered by keeping Chumley the chimpanzee in the house, I knew from bitter experience that there was nothing like an ape for turning a civilized room into something closely resembling a bomb-site in an incredibly short space of time, so I watched N’Pongo like a hawk. When he became bored with lying on the sofa, he decided to make a circuit of the room to examine anything of interest. So he walked slowly round like a small black professor in a museum, pausing now to look at a picture, now to stroke an ornament, but doing it so gently that there was never any danger that he would break anything. After the attitude I was used to with Chumley, I was captivated by N’Pongo’s beautiful behaviour. You would have thought that he had been brought up in a house, to watch him. Apart from a slight hiatus when he wet the floor (and he could not be expected to know that this was not done in the best circles), his behaviour was exemplary—so much so that, by the time we put him to bed, my mother was doing her best to try to persuade me to keep him in the house permanently. I had, however, learned my lesson with Chumley, and I turned a deaf ear to her pleas.