Conquest Of The Planet Of The Apes (3 page)

NOT FOR APES.

Staring at the bench, the elderly female wavered. Then she shambled forward. In front of the bench she halted again, staring at the lettering with dull eyes. Finally, with a little cry of pain and another clutch at her side, she turned fully around and lowered herself to the bench.

Her expression suggested to Caesar that she sensed there was something wrong in what she was doing; he was virtually certain she could not have understood the stenciled message.

But the pair of policemen who approached on the double understood it. The younger policeman enforced the warning with two quick whacks of his truncheon.

The female orangutan cringed in pain as the officer snapped, “Off, off!” Then, loudly, his truncheon raised for a third blow: “No! Don’t you see the sign?”

The older lawman was grimly amused. “Take it easy, they can’t read.”

“Not yet they can’t.” The other lifted his truncheon higher. “Off. No!”

In obvious pain, the old female stood up. She lifted her shopping baskets as if each contained great weights. Watching her wobble off, Caesar experienced a mingling of intense pity and equally intense anger. Armando automatically tightened his grip on the leash.

Caesar stepped close to the circus owner, risking a whisper: “You told me humans treated the apes like pets!”

Armando’s dark eyes grew sorrowful. “So they did—in the beginning.”

Through clenched teeth Caesar said, “They have turned them into slaves!”

Armando’s grimace of warning urged Caesar not to speak again. He darted a glance past Caesar’s shoulder, fearful they’d been observed. Apparently they had not, because he said in a low voice, “Be quiet and follow me. I’ll show you what happened.”

The circus owner led Caesar around the far side of one of the miniature parks at the extreme end of the plaza. There, facing the broad paved area where three wide avenues converged, twin pedestals rose. One was crowned by the carved, highly sentimentalized figure of a mongrel dog, the other by a similar treatment of an ordinary house cat.

The animals were identified by respective plaques as “Rover” and “Tabby.” The quotation marks suggested to Caesar that these were symbols, rather than particular animals. The inscription read:
In Loving Memory 1982.

Caesar was careful not to let too much of his astonishment show on his features. Armando bobbed his head to suggest they had best move on before he explained.

They entered the tiny park. Armando settled on a bench. Observing the stenciled warning, Caesar remained standing. After a glance to assure himself that no one was seated within earshot, Armando said to his ape companion: “They all died within a few months, nine years ago. Every dog and every cat in the world. It was like a plague, leaping from continent to continent before it could be checked—”

Eyes still roving nervously across the park, Armando waited till a young couple had moved out of sight, then went on.

“The disease was caused by a mysterious virus, apparently brought back by an astronaut on one of the space probes. No vaccine or antidote could be found in time to stop the deaths.”

Caesar was unable to hold back a whispered question: “Then—the disease didn’t affect humans?”

“No, for some reason they were immune. And so, it was discovered, were simians. Even the smallest ones. That is how—” he gestured in a vague, rather tired way toward the bustling plaza “—everything you see began. Humans wanted household pets to replace the ones they’d lost. First the rage was marmosets, tarsier monkeys. Then, as people realized how quickly they learned—how easy they were to train—the pets became larger and larger, until—

He didn’t need to finish. What Caesar had already seen told the story’s end.

“It’s monstrous!” he breathed.

Armando could only nod. “But now you understand why I’ve kept you away until I was reasonably certain you could withstand exposure to all this. I doubt I’d have risked bringing you into a city at all if attendance hadn’t fallen off so sharply these past months. Perhaps the novelty of old-fashioned circuses has faded. Three of the six remaining touring troupes disbanded in the last year and a half. I thought the sight of my star performer distributing flyers might increase the trade—”

Caesar hardly heard, his mind grappling again with the enormity of what had befallen his own kind. Abruptly, he felt the yank of the leash as Armando jumped up. “Come, come!”

They hurried toward an exit on the park’s far side, away from a strolling state security policeman who was staring after them, studying Caesar’s unusual wardrobe.

“All right,” Armando said as they re-entered the busy plaza. “Now you know the worst. Let the shock pass if you can, while we get on with the job.” He forced a smile, accosted a man: “Armando’s Old-Time Circus, sir. Now playing—you’ll enjoy it and so will your little ones.” With a smooth maneuver, he took one of Caesar’s flyers and slipped it into the astonished gentleman’s hand before moving on.

Earnestly trying to obey Armando’s suggestion, Caesar found that he could not. With every few steps, he saw apes subjected to unexpected humiliations, indignities . . .

At an outdoor cafe, they passed a table where a group of female humans were enjoying prelunch cocktails. One of the women popped a slim, pale green cigarette from her perspex case. Instantly, a huge gorilla waiter, a tray of empty glasses in one hand, proffered his lighter with the other.

Inhaling, the woman said, “Thank you, Frank,” with empty courtesy. Then she smiled in a bored way, waving the cigarette in the gorilla’s direction. “It’s odd—now that I know cigarettes won’t hurt me, I hardly enjoy them.”

Her friends laughed, a brittle sound, as the lady stubbed out the cigarette in a tray. The gorilla quickly substituted a clean ashtray from an adjoining table.

Armando grinned his warmest grin, slipped a handbill onto the table. A woman remarked: “Well for God’s sake. A circus! I saw one once in Europe, when I was tiny—”

Caesar, meantime, was peering at the gorilla waiter, trying to fathom whether the ashtray substitution was an intuitive or an intelligent reaction. Certainly there was no mistaking the gorilla’s exterior manner. His posture spoke only of servility as he trundled away with the tray of glasses held high.

Passing in and out of various shops along the plaza’s perimeter, they encountered two uniformed ape handlers hustling another gorilla along. Shackles connected the gorilla’s wrists. Separate chains from a wide iron collar were held in the fists of the handlers.

Because the area was crowded, it was momentarily impossible for Armando and Caesar to pass. There was an instant when the evolved and the primitive ape locked glances, instinctively surveyed one another, Caesar desperately trying to understand what his poor chained brother felt.

One of the handlers tugged the collar chain. “No, Aldo. Come!”

At once, Caesar knew what the gorilla felt; Caesar saw him literally cringe, and grow smaller.

Cringing on command? How was it possible? Caesar wondered.

Armando deemed it necessary to pull Caesar’s leash and say, “No.” Caesar did his best to feign a cringe also. It felt humiliating. But as a result, Aldo’s handlers lost interest in the chimpanzee, occupying themselves with getting their huge charge moving again.

A few paces ahead, Caesar noticed a young female chimpanzee entering a book shop. “Jolly’s is always a good place for handbills,” Armando commented, leading the way into the store. “What few readers of books remain in this world are frequently nostalgic types. They find a circus irresistible.”

Caesar found the task of counting off a few handbills eminently resistible, fascinated by what was happening at the counter.

Behind it sat a female clerk, with large spectacles and a sour expression. Standing patiently to one side, but behind her, was a male orangutan. The lady addressed the young female chimpanzee on the other side of the counter.

“Yes, Lisa?”

From her robe the girl chimp, whom Caesar found physically attractive, produced some sort of red ticket with writing on it. The female clerk glanced at it.
“A Young Queen Falls.
Mrs. Riley has a short shopping card today.”

Lisa the chimp nodded, her expression so fearful, so hesitant, that Caesar wanted to exclaim in anger. But he noted Armando watching him carefully, and did not.

The lady clerk consulted a catalog. Then she indicated a tall bookcase to the orangutan behind her.

The orangutan turned toward the bookcase even as he watched the lady extend all five fingers of her left hand, then three of her right.

The orangutan shuffled to the case. Touching each shelf, he counted five shelves down from the top, then—mistakenly—two titles from the left. He shuffled back to the counter bearing
The Story of Servant’s Lib
by one Herbert Semhouse.

“No,” said the clerk.

Stunned and confused, the orangutan halted dead in his tracks.

“No!” the woman repeated angrily. The simian helper cringed.

The woman strode to the shelves, seized the correct book and slapped it on the counter. Still cringing, the orangutan looked utterly miserable.

Lisa picked up the book, turned to go. Her glance met Caesar’s. He thought he detected a flattering indication of interest. He wanted to smile at her, but felt he dare not. Lisa bent her head and moved out of the shop as the clerk wheeled crossly on the circus owner, “Yes?”

“My name is Señor Armando—Mr. Jolly is out of the store?”

“That’s right. What do you want?”

“Mr. Jolly permits me to leave my advertisements on your counter. Also, could you possibly be so kind as to display one in your window? Mr. Jolly is a circus buff, you see, I’m sure he—”

“Mr. Jolly’s on vacation. I’ll put your junk up if I have time.” Turning away, she made it evident she’d be quite a while finding that time.

Armando looked downcast as they walked out of the shop. Caesar searched for the chimpanzee Lisa in the nearby crowds, but failed to find her.

The circus owner led him toward an illuminated sign above a passageway. The sign read Public Facilities.

Another shock awaited Caesar in the passage. Shapes were stenciled on the three doors. The first was a stylized treatment of a man’s figure; the second, a woman’s—both obviously human. On the third door Caesar recognized the outline of a generic ape, its thrusting jaw and sloping shoulders deliberately exaggerated.

Even as he watched, this door opened. A female chimpanzee emerged, smoothing her dress and taking a firmer grip on her bag of groceries. Armando, starting into the men’s, spoke to Caesar.

“Wait.” His eyes tried to express his sorrow and shame at what Caesar had seen thus far.

As the female chimpanzee clutched her groceries and hurriedly left the passageway, Caesar’s reaction did indeed show on his almost human face. He didn’t care. Let them see his anger over the humiliation of creatures just like himself. Let them!

When Armando emerged from the washroom reserved for human males, he read Caesar’s expression instantly. First making certain they were again unobserved, he stepped close and whispered: “Please. I know what this must be doing to you, but it was inevitable that you find out at some point in your life. And we have more work to do before we catch the chopper back to the valley. For my sake, Caesar, as well as the sake of your own sanity, do not see too much. And what you do see, try to ignore.”

Responding to the appeal of the kindest human being he’d ever known, Caesar said, “All right. I’ll try.” And he consciously attempted to order his feelings as they resumed their circuit of the shops around the plaza.

He realized the wisdom of Armando’s caution. He had no desire to sample the brutalizing shocks of the metallic rods carried by the ubiquitous policemen. Nor did he want to bring down trouble on Armando.

As they emerged from a music shop, Caesar’s spirits lifted. He glimpsed the young female chimp, Lisa, in the crowd. Still carrying the volume from the book shop, she was entering an establishment identified as Mr. Phyllis—Coiffures.

Armando started to go into the next shop, a health food bar. Caesar’s lingering gaze caught his attention. For the first time all morning, Armando’s laughter was genuine—like old times.

“Well! I’m delighted to see you haven’t lost all your instinctual traits. All right, we’ll stop there next. But remember, just look! She’d probably scream and run away if you asked for a date.”

The lines of strain momentarily erased from his face, Armando proceeded to the shop of Mr. Phyllis, who turned out to be a willowy, nervous young man. He invited Armando to leave his flyers “just anywhere,” bustling from cubicle to cubicle, clucking and fussing over his customers. All human; all female.

Armando began to hand flyers into the booths, using his standard patter. Caesar searched for Lisa, noting in the process that the operators working on the customers were female chimpanzees.

At last Caesar spotted the girl chimp. She was standing near the last booth. He heard a raspy female voice say: “All right, Lisa. The book. Then home.” A ringed hand extended from behind the partition in a peremptory way.

Lisa carefully placed the book into the hand of her mistress; turned up the aisle to leave. She saw Caesar. She hesitated, her eyes registering surprise and what Caesar took to be pleasure. He could barely keep himself from making some sign to her. Armando tugged gently on the leash.

At the same time, the harridan face of Mrs. Riley popped into sight from behind the partition. “Lisa, did you hear me? I said home!”

At once the girl chimp started forward. She passed Caesar with another lingering glance.

Armando insisted on proceeding down the line of booths, offering a handbill to each lady. Some took them. Others waved the offering away disdainfully. Mrs. Riley was one of the latter. Peering into her booth, Caesar saw a female chimpanzee working on Mrs. Riley’s orange-tinted coiffure with a hand drier.

Armando shrugged philosophically at the rebuff, about to start back up the aisle when he, as well as Caesar, was caught by a sudden change in the chimp attendant’s expression.