Great Apes (37 page)

‘You should let him go –'

‘But go where “huuu”? Into a long-term institution? You forget, Peter, this is a gifted chimp, someone worth saving. Let me put my finger on it for you, either we have to help him to recover his submerged – but still present – sense of his own chimpunity, or else we have to make it
possible for him to adjust to the world, despite perceiving it through the lens of this perverse delusion.'

‘And how do you propose to do that “huuu”?'

‘ “Hoo”, the usual way. The same as I would with any of my Tourettics or more conventional agnosic patients. I'm going to take him on tour. But, whereas in the past I have had to get my patients to learn to cope with social, emotional and physical situations anew, in Dykes's case I'm going to have to assist him at more profound levels –' Busner broke off. Frances, a sub-adult female, had entered the drawing room carrying a tray of fruit.

“Grnn'yum,” she vocalised, then signed, ‘Mother thought you and Dr Wiltshire might need something to chew on, Alpha – where shall I put this “huuu”?'

‘Pop it down here on the floor, my dear, then Peter and I can both get our toes on it.'

Frances set the tray on the carpet, then went over to where her alpha was squatting. Busner put an affectionate paternal hand on her lower belly and began gently to part the fur around her vagina, so that he could slide a couple of digits into her cleft. Peter Wiltshire thought how tender and affecting the scene was – his old ally had certainly mellowed. Busner gestured from within his daughter's crotch, so that the young female groaned and giggled, ‘The first stop will be Oxford. I thought I'd take Dykes to see Grebe, the philosopher, and possibly out to visit Hamble in Eynsham.'

‘ “Huuu”? Hamble – are you sure that's a good idea?'

‘Why not, he's a naturalist, an ethologist and an historian. If I'm to give Dykes as much of an insight into the interface between his delusion and reality, he must have some knowledge of all these things –'

‘ “H'h'h'hoooo”! Alphy, it tickles!' Frances fingered.

Busner looked down at his agitated hand. ‘Sorry my dear, quite forgot what I was signing on – you can go now “chup-chuppchupp”. ' He released the sub-adult and she knuckle-walked out, closing the door carefully behind her scut.

At the same time, in Chelsea, in a restaurant near the bottom of Tite Street, the three chimpanzees who were conspiring to bring about Busner's fall were meeting for first dinner. Phillips, the Cryborg chimp, had suggestured the venue – ‘It's a nice little place. They've got a tree in the middle of the dining room, so if anyone feels like a clamber between courses they can just swing themselves up' – and he was waiting for Whatley and Gambol when they arrived.

There was something of a kerfuffle while a provisional hierarchy was established, Gambol presenting in a blur to both senior chimps, his arse poking first one way and then the other. Phillips half presented to Whatley – and Whatley did the same. Then all three settled down to a preliminary, huddled groom.

‘So “chup-chupp”,' Phillips signed after some minutes, ‘what news have we of the esteemed natural philosopher and his latest patient “huuu”?'

‘Well,' Gambol countersigned ‘he's taken Dykes back to his group home in Hampstead, and they're studying together –'

‘Studying “huu”?'

‘That's right “clak-clak”, Busner seems to feel that he can educate Dykes out of the delusion. If he learns as much
as possible about anthropology, he can relearn his chimpunity, or at any rate achieve a functional state.'

‘It looks like an absurd idea – “chup-chupp” that's good “clak”, just there – to me. I've heard of all sorts of atrophied, or even destroyed organic functions being relearnt, but an individual's basic chimpunity – that's simply bizarre.'

Whatley leant into Phillips at this point and commenced signing with great seriousness. ‘That's as “chup-chupp” may be, Phillips, but if you – as Gambol and I have – had seen Dykes you would understand. The delusion is amazingly sustained, it's furniture firmly in place. But demarcate for me, Phillips “chup-chupp”, what it is that you know about all of this “huuu”? Gambol has shown me the material relating to Inclusion. Is it really true that Busner was involved in an illegal trial of a new anxiolytic compound “huu”?'

‘ “Hoo” yes, yes indeed. He most certainly
was
involved in it. And there's something else, you see, something Busner himself may be unaware of.'

‘And what's that “huu” – ?'

‘Excuse me,' a waiter flicked at them, ‘are you gentle-chimps ready to order just yet “huuu”?' Gambol held up three fingers and the waiter knuckle-walked away, swung himself round the ornamental tree and headed off to the kitchen.

‘The pigeon looks tasty,' Gambol signed. ‘Have either of your rear-end magnificences made a decision “huuu”?'

‘Oh shut up, Gambol “wraff”!' Whatley administered a smack to Gambol, and Phillips did so as well, so that the poor epsilon chimp's head oscillated, cartoon-like,
between their heavy hands. ‘Let Phillips finish what he was going to sign – can't you. Phillips “huuu”?'

‘Well, as I was signing, before being so rudely grasped, Busner was engaged by Cryborg to manage a double-blind trial of this compound Inclusion. A corruptible GP was found in the region of Thame, Oxfordshire, who would be prepared to administer both compound and placebo to numbers of his patients diagnosed with clinical depressions – or at any rate depressions that might be amenable to psychopharmacology –'

‘What-what was the name of this GP “huu”?' Whatley's fingers almost plaited with Phillips's as he chopped in. Gambol was also standing on his chair, arms out, horripilating, teeth bared.

‘ “HoooGra” his name? Well, there's a thing, the name of this little country doctor, who was prepared to place his own advantage beyond that of his patients, was Dr Anthony Bohm.'

‘ “H'hoooo” well, I'll be buggered – Bohm, you sign. ' Whatley slumped back down in his chair and began picking at the linen tablecloth in a distracted way, as if it were animate and in need of grooming. ‘Well, this does put an odd complexion on things. Do you mean to sign that Dykes may be a victim of this compound Inclusion “huu”? I mean – what were the results of the trial? What's happened to the “huuu” drug?'

But the waiter had reappeared by now, and Phillips took his time, asked what specials were on offer, gave pointers as to how his cut of meat should be prepared, and then spent some minutes passing feet and hands over the wine list before he could be persuaded to make a decision. Eventually
he turned back to his companions, whose avidity was unblunted. ‘The drug “grnnn” has been withdrawn from any kind of testing – illegal or otherwise. Busner's trial did go perfectly well for a number of months, and without the results even being calibrated it was clear that the drug was having the desired effects. But then, one of the patients being unknowingly prescribed Inclusion, had a flamboyant mental breakdown.'

‘Was it “huuu” Dykes, Your Anal Eminence?'

‘Yes, Gambol, it was.'

The three chimps sat motionless for a moment, identical strings of drool looping from all three open mouths. The waiter reappeared, bipedal, walking backwards between the tables, their starters cradled between his shoulder blades. He set two bowls of soup and a plate of pâté down on the table, then without so much as a frontwards glance, signed
‘Bon appétit!'
and knuckle-walked off. Whatley disentangled his watch chain from his neck fur with one foot, picked up his spoon with the other, and then gestured what all three were thinking: ‘Does Dykes know any of this “huu”?'

‘ “Hoo” no, I don't think so. I mean, Dykes would hardly put himself in Busner's care if he knew that this was the psychiatrist who had irresponsibly precipitated him into a bad, psychotic interlude – now would he “huuu”? More interesting though, is the possibility that Inclusion is in some way responsible for Dykes's current delusory state.'

‘Yes, yes, that is an interesting speculation – although perhaps ultimately unknowable. I reverence your bum bits, Dr Phillips, I revere your perspicacity, but highlight for me, why is it “grnnn” that you're prepared to point
out all of this to Gambol and myself – what is your “huuu” motivation?'

‘That, Dr Whatley, is a relatively simple question to answer. I've given the best years of my life to Cryborg Pharmaceuticals – nearly fifteen of them in all. Last year I was diagnosed with a terminal illness – I won't trouble you with the details. The Personnel Department has informed me that I am not eligible for either the company medical plan, nor my full pension, unless I manage to keep working for another year. This, I'm afraid, will not be possible. I “waaaa”! gave everything to Cryborg – now I'd like to take away as much as possible with me when I leave.

‘As for Busner, well, I've nothing personal against him, but I find his latest reincarnation as psychic pundit nothing short of nauseating, given the zig-zag progress of his career, his showchimpship, his posturing. For me he is the absolute incarnation of hypocrisy, of hubris. The idea that he is currently being groomed for a position in the pantheon of great apes is fist-clenching. I have resolved to bring Cryborg down – if Busner is torn from the tree as well, then so be it. I won't “h'hooo” whimper about it.'

Whatley and Gambol stared at the impassioned dying research chemist for some time in signlence and novocal. Then Gambol, tentatively, asked him if he would like the salt.

Simon Dykes and Zack Busner were squatting in their shared study, perusing a copy of the
Essay of the Learned Martin Scriblerus, Concerning the Origin of Sciences.
This, one of the earliest satires to use the human as a ‘motionless philosopher', was composed in all probability by Pope and
Arbuthnot – among others. Drawing heavily on Tyson's work of comparative anatomy, the
Essay
was the precursor of the grand line of eighteenth-century satires, pitting evolved humans against primitive apes. A line that culminated in Swift's Yahoos.

Anti-psychiatrist and patient read in signlence and novocal, their mutual concentration broken only by the occasional rasp of horny fingertip against ischial pleat, the occasional grunt and attendant belch.

Busner was enjoying the research. He had never imagined the relationship between the chimpanzee and the human to have so many submerged implications. Western civilization, it was true, had projected itself towards divinity on the up-escalator of the Chain of Being. And, like Disraeli, everyone had wanted to be on the side of the angels. For white-muzzled chimpanzees to be approaching perfection, bogeychimps were needed, distressed versions of the other. It was easy to see how the bonobo, with its disturbing grace and upright gait, had fulfilled this role; but Busner now realised that in the shadow of the bonobo was a more unsettling, more bestial ‘other' – the human.

Busner's seeming-human broke in on his thoughts at just this juncture: “H'hooo!” he vocalised, then signed ‘Dr Busner, I want to see my infants now – really, I want to see them. I miss them “u-h'-u-h”' so much. Can't I – can't I see them, please “huuu”?'

Busner looked up at his patient. Simon's brown, bouffant head fur was lank, sweat-smeared – as usual – on his eyebrow ridge. His protuberant, grey-green eyes were dulled and unfocused. It was only when gesticulating those matters related to the content of his delusion that Simon
achieved anything like full affect. For the rest of the time he was torpid, yet easily moved to weird and irrational outbursts.

Busner got up on the desk and stretched an arm out to grasp Simon by the shoulder. He now knew certain ways of touching his patient that produced the desired results. Simon had to be braced before his fur could be directly signed into, otherwise he complained about ticklishness, or even lashed out. Busner vocalised, “Chup-chupp,” and inparted the matted dampness, ‘Simon, I appreciate your feelings, but you have to consider theirs as well.'

‘Meaning “euch-euch” what, “huu” exactly?'

‘Meaning that it might not be such a good idea for them to see you in this state – to see what you demarcate of your inner life.'

‘About being human, you mean “huu”?'

‘That's “chup-chupp” right, my little patient.'

‘If I'm your little patient I'm “euch-euch” mad, right?'

‘I never signed that Simon, I don't like to gesture in such terms.'

‘I want my world back. I want my “hoooo” smooth body back. I want my infants' bodies back. I want them “hoooo”!'

Busner, still grasping Simon's arm, came right across the desk. He knew exactly when the mounting rhythm of Simon's hysteria was about to twist into the parabola of abandon. The important thing was to contain him – as one might an autistic infant. Only using the full language of the body could any gesticulation really be achieved. “Huh-huh-huh,” Busner soothed and then inparted the chimp's lower back, ‘Do you miss them, Simon “huuu”?'

‘ “Er-herr-er” you know I do! I want to see them all, Henry, little Magnus
and
Simon –'

‘But Simon “chup-chupp”, had you considered “huuu” what they might be like?'

‘What do you mean “huuu”?'

‘Well, they'll look like chimpanzees to you – do you think you could stand that? Your children looking like
animals.
What if you were to react to them the way you do to other chimps “huuu”?'

Simon relaxed in the older chimp's arms. He sniffed in the odour of Busner, its lanate tang oddly comforting. He pictured his infants again, but concretely this time, not simply as outgrowths of his own misery, but as they would appear fixed, fixated, imprisoned behind the plastic sides of a photographic cube, on a coffee-table at their mother's house. Could he stand it? To see instead of blond heads, brown fur? To see sharp canines in place of crumbling milk teeth? To hear the squeak, chirrup, growl and jabber of infant apes, rather than the piping chatter he remembered?