Great Apes (41 page)

By the same token, the human ability to generate as many as fifty different phonemes, and – it was believed – interpret them, must, Grebe had argued, be an example of how human neural development had become maladaptive. So much of the vast human brain capacity must be taken up with the business of interpreting these confusing sounds that there was no possibility of the ‘Big Bang' that had occurred in pongid evolution.

Unlike the chimpanzee, whose signage competence had evolved over two million years of continuous selection, determined by brain–sign interaction, the human had become bogged down in a perverse and clamorous sound garden; its capacity for effective gesticulation as stunted and atrophied as its stunted and atrophied fingers and toes.

Such arguments placed Grebe firmly within the range of Noam Chomsky, and the other psychosemioticians who held that signage was a unique attribute of the chimpanzee's
compact brain. Given the incredible plasticity of the primate brain, was it any wonder that a neural over-sufficiency resulted in natural selection being unable to work on cognitive capacities? Thus, the human's ability to process information and hence learn tasks was ironically circumscribed by a lack of circumscription. Put simply: the human was lost inside her own head. Unable to create an esemplastic mind; doomed for ever to obey the useless dictates of phyletic memory, and the ghastly gargles of her own purposelessly promiscuous vocalisations.

But Grebe wasn't fiddling with this as he stared down at the quad – noting the pert anal scrags of the undergraduates poking out from the hems of their commoners' gowns – he was palpating that part of himself that wanted the decanter, wanted it very badly.

The decanter sat on a small octagonal table positioned strategically by his favourite armchair. It never moved. When necessary Grebe, or Grebe's scout, would recharge it and check the seal on the stopper – but it was never ever moved. Was it too early in the day for a snifter? Grebe fumbled. Should I wait and see whether Busner and his ape man would like one? It would hardly be polite for them to arrive and find me already at it.

As is so often the way with habit Grebe's body made the decision for him. He arched backwards on the high bookcase, turned an inelegant – but not inefficient – back-flip, and landed on all fours right next to the table with its precious load. “Aaaaa',” the distinguished fellow cried out appreciatively. He unstoppered the decanter and gave its neck a judicious lip-curling sniff.

* * *

In point of fact Zack Busner and Simon Dykes were in plenty of time for the Oxford train. As they knuckle-walked up the platform at Paddington, alongside the hammering bulk of the engine, Simon looked up at the barrel vaulting of the Victorian station and signed to his doctor, ‘Some things really don't change.'

‘ “Hoo”, really “huuu”?'

‘This station,' Simon gestured. ‘It's got exactly the same light quality it always had, as if the entire structure were sunk beneath a dirty green sea – like the English Channel.'

Busner regarded his psychic ward with undisguised pleasure. It was the first metaphoric representation he could remember Dykes making and the first painterly remark. Could it imply some further slackening, or dilution of the delusory state?

The journey was uneventful. Busner bought first-class tickets, anticipating there would be fewer chimps and less stress for Simon. But in the event it was Busner himself who was discomfited. The constant tapping of horny fingertips on the keyboards of laptop computers; and the incessant yammer of businesschimps using mobile ‘phones irritated him to such an extent that shortly before they reached Reading he was compelled to launch a display.

Busner grabbed an armful of the Intercity customer magazines from their wall-mounted dispenser, and charged up and down the aisle tossing them in the muzzles of his fellow passengers. For good measure he gave a couple of the more noisome individuals a smack on the head. Although this exhibition of dominance had the desired effect – novocal reigned for the rest of the journey – it was at the cost of a very English kind of frozen collective
embarrassment. Just like Paddington Station, Simon realised, some things don't change. Ever.

Quitting the station at Oxford, Simon caught up with Busner, whose scut was moving purposefully towards the taxi rank, and presenting low signed, ‘Would you mind if we knuckle-walked to this chimp's college “huuu”? You know I used to live outside Oxford, I'd like to see something of the town again.'

‘That's all right Simonkins,' Busner replied, laying on reassuring hands ‘but “gru-nnn” remember, try to give me some warning if you feel a panic attack coming on.'

Simon didn't feel anxious as they proceeded up past Worcester and along Bartholemew Street to St Giles, he felt something between amusement and disgust. His memory of Oxford was of a graceful, Renaissance city of elegant, immemorial architecture; not this tacky warren of aged buildings swarming with chimpanzees.

In London the tri-dimensional character of chimpanzee urban life had been apparent to Simon, but not to this extent. On top of the Randolph Hotel, swinging from the Martyrs' Memorial, scampering over the roofs of Balliol and St John's – everywhere Simon looked were chimp students, scrapping, mating and brachiating. The fact that so many of them wore the short gowns of commoners – it was the first week of Michaelmas term – cut strategically so as to expose their anal scrags, only served to tickle Simon more.

As they rounded the corner of Balliol – bipedal such was the press of tourists coming in the other direction – Simon witnessed a scene that made him break out into great peals of merriment. “H'h'hee-hee-heee,” he cackled. Busner
stopped and turned back towards his patient, worried lest this presage an attack, but Simon held out a hand to his therapist. “Gru-nnn,” he cried, then signed, ‘Look, there!' Busner followed Simon's finger. On the other side of Broad Street there was a tourist attraction denoted ‘The Oxford Experience'. Simon remembered it from before his breakdown, from his years at the Brown House. Around the entrance to this gimmickry milled a crowd of American tourists – even Simon could tell they were American by the cut of their shortie Burberry mackintoshes – who had become tangled up with a group of undergraduates returning from their matriculation ceremony at the Sheldonian Theatre.

A couple of the female undergraduates were in full, magnificent oestrus, their sexual swellings marvellous pink beacons lighting up the grimy esplanade. Naturally a mating chain had got going, with the male tourists scuttling up and down the pavement waving expensive cameras and video equipment about their be-hatted heads. The combination of signboard and scene was cartoonish.
This
was the Oxford experience, rutting, scrapping beasts.

Simon chopped the air. ‘The thing that gets me about this' – he indicated the mêlée on the other side of the road – ‘is that contrary to what one expects of Oxford students “hee-hee-hee”, they're all so lowbrow!' and with this he collapsed into a serious episode of giggling.

Busner took him in hand, pressed him on past the gate to Balliol; they crossed Broad Street, skipping between the parked cars, and Simon gave way to another small cackle attack when he saw the stone heads of chimpanzee philosophers, on top of the pillars that bounded the
Sheldonian enclave. Socrates with outsize canines, Plato with a nasal bridge, Heraclitus supporting a lithic laurel wreath on his nonexistent forehead.

Outside the panelled door of Grebe's study Busner called, “HoooH'Graaa!” and when there was a pant-hoot from within the two chimps entered. Simon found himself moving across the Persian carpet in a low crawl, turning and pushing his scrag into the muzzle of a wizened chimp who was tenanting a large armchair and sipping a crystal sherry glass filled with thick brown fluid. As ever Simon was taken aback – literally – by the way his body automatically understood which apes he should present to.

Grebe put his glass of shit down on the octagonal table and bestowed a welcoming caress on the long back of the chimp who was presenting to him. Grebe had observed Simon's progress from the door carefully and noted the odd atrophy of the chimp's legs, also the air of automatism about his deference. When Busner approached and the two senior chimps presented to one another, Grebe gave shape to his immediate impressions. “Euch-euch,” he vocalised, then signed, ‘So, Busner, is there heautomorphism of some kind here “huuu”?'

Busner, amused by the accuracy of this probing, leapt up beside Grebe and gave the academic a cuddle, inparting as he did so, ‘No, actually that's not the case “chup-chupp”. He appears to see us as we are; and although the furniture of the delusion remains, as it were, in place, “huh-huh-huh” his perception of his own body as human is undoubtedly vitiated. Observe him now …'

Having presented, and grasping that his subordinate position in the hierarchy released him from the obligation
of an extended groom, Simon was now ranging along Grebe's bookcases pulling a volume half out with a hand here and a foot there. ‘The trip appears to have done him good, my little Grebeling “chup-chupp”. That's some of the first footling I've seen him do and just now he produced a ticklecism – of sorts. Furthermore, while we were getting on the train in London he pushed a metaphoric representation at me – the first piece of allusion he's signed “gru-nnn”.'

Grebe, his right hand cradling Busner's scrotal sack, gestured with the other, ‘I hate “chup-chupp” to be so precipitate, Busnerkins, but I'm more than a little peckish, this' – he indicated the glass – ‘may refresh, but it doesn't sustain. Do you “chup-chupp” feel that Mr Dykes will be able to cope with hall “huuu”?'

‘I don't see why not “grnnn”, he's coped thus far.'

‘Good, in that case why don't we adjourn for third luncheon, then come back here and gesticulate later “huuu”?' Grebe checked his watch again. ‘I can give you until about three-thirty, then it's back to the quadrumanous querulousness of my undergraduates.'

Simon was subdued during lunch. The dark immensity of the Exeter College hall was clamorous with the pant-hooting of the undergraduates, who weren't so much squatted as clustered along the long tables. From the dark oak panelling the painted eyes of noblemales, scholars and prelates blearied into the gloom. Simon stared at these portraits of robed apes, apes in armour, apes whose scruffs were ruffed up under ruffs, and marvelled at the accuracy with which each curl and lock of fur had been rendered.
He longed to quit his position – at the very corner of the podium-sited high table – and swing up on the ancient handholds that studded the walls, so as to see whether the quality of the brush strokes would be as good on closer examination.

Other brush strokes bothered Simon as well. Grebe had given no delineation to his fellow dons as to why Simon should be present – although he had presented Busner, who was, of course, known by reputation to all. Despite this they had enfolded him in their hairy bosom. His immediate neighbour – a physicist denoted Kreutzer – continually turned to Simon and inparted some observation about the college, or the weather.

The dons also passed a decanter of claret on an apparently interminable round. As soon as it was emptied a servitor would bound on to the podium, retrieve it and bound off; returning from the cellars in a matter of seconds with it refilled. After the decanter appeared by his elbow for the fourth time, Simon declined it for the fourth time as best he could, gesturing to Kreutzer, ‘I haven't been “u-h'-u-h”' well, I'm afraid, I'm not sure wine at third luncheon will “hooo” agree with me.'

Kreutzer, eyebrow ridges raised so precipitately they threatened to fall off his head, peered at Simon quizzically. ‘Really “huuu”? I'm not sure it altogether
agrees
with me, but surely the dispute is “hee-hee” the thing.'

The bibulous chimp then lifted his full glass to his drooling mouth and downed half of it in one pull, the fluid gushing out from between canines stained with previous indulgence. His muzzle still sopping, his fingers walked on, ‘In the old days “grnnn”, you would be asked
as a matter of course when you squatted at high table, are you a two-bottle chimp, or a three-bottle chimp “huuu”?' For some reason he seemed to find this very funny and went off into a great clacking and gnashing fit of laughter.

The other dons must have been watching this throw-away sign, because they too broke into laughter. In the dimness of the hall their gaping mouths dangled in the gloom, their outsize teeth lanced from their furry muzzles. For the first time that day Simon felt utterly remote and disembodied. He longed to leap up, swagger from the hall, leave the college, go to the Cornmarket and get a bus out to Tiddington, then knuckle-walk to the Brown House. But could he bear encountering his infants? Infants whose muzzles might well be unrecognisable without a shave?

But this fugue of hysteria – its notes of corporeal dis-ease already beginning to mount the scale – was shut off abruptly. Despite the clamour at high table, a greater row was erupting in the body of the hall. The undergraduates, whose demeanour throughout third luncheon had been rambunctious, were becoming violently restive. They got upright on the benches and pant-hooted so loudly that their lips funnelled. They drummed on the tables vigorously, so that the china and cutlery crashed and rattled.

Simon, observing Kreutzer's gnarled and mighty ears vibrating with the cacophony, expected him and the other dons to respond to this riot with an enforcement of dominance. And knowing chimpanzee society, Simon foresaw violence. But to his surprise the dons only added to the clamour, mounting the high table and proceeding to
charge up and down it, their gowns flared, their ischial scrags refulgent.

So horripilated were the distinguished academics that they swelled to almost twice their actual size. But what amazed Simon – as ever – was their incredible fleetness of foot. By God, these apes are snappy movers! he thought. Not one glass was overturned, nor plate disturbed, as horny, scholarly foot after naked horny, scholarly foot planted itself neatly on the damask.