Half Brother (17 page)

We reached the bus stop and I could see my bus coming from down the street.

“Do you think Zan should have some chimp friends?” I said.

Peter laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure your dad would be thrilled to have another one in the house. That’s not the main thing I worry about,” he said. “You know what I worry about? What’s going to happen to Zan when this experiment’s over?”

All the way home, I mulled over what Peter had said.

I’d never really thought about an afterwards with Zan. When a baby arrived at your house all tiny and wrapped up, and you bottle-fed him and took care of him, you assumed he was part of the family and there to stay. That’s what I’d thought. And that’s sure what Zan thought: we were his family.

I’d never had a pet. But it seemed like when people brought home a puppy or kitten, it stayed with them until it died. And Zan was so much more than a pet. You couldn’t send him away just because the experiment was
over.

I had to change buses at Cordova Plaza. As I waited I could see the Bank of Montreal, where I’d been depositing all the money from my shifts with Zan. I wondered if I should go and take it all out and give it back, and make a little speech about how I didn’t want to be a prison guard any more.

But I was selfish. I liked having my own money. I could buy stuff for Jennifer, and take her out someday, when she was allowed. Which was three years away. In the meantime, I was saving up for a new camera.

But I started thinking maybe I should be saving up for something else.

Maybe I should be saving up so I could take care of Zan.

T
onight was one of our dinners without Zan, so Dad was in a pretty good mood. It was certainly calmer without Zan, but the room felt empty to me. Right now the high chair was in his playroom, where he’d been fed by the students. Occasionally I heard a faint pant-hoot from his suite, and it made me sad. I picked at my food. It took me until dessert before I could bring myself to ask the question.

“What’ll happen to Zan when the project’s over?”

I was looking at Mom, and saw her eyes go to Dad, so I knew this was something they’d already talked about. She was worried how I’d react. Dad must’ve planned something; he was such a planner.

“The project was designed to go on for years and years, Ben,” Mom said. “Indefinitely, really.”

“Okay,” I said. Indefinitely was good. It was practically forever. “But what if you don’t get the grant.”

“Very, very unlikely,” said Dad.

“Just say. What if you have to end the experiment?”

Dad was about to speak, but Mom talked first.

“This is a groundbreaking experiment, Ben. The whole world’s watching. No one wants it to end.”

“Absolutely,” said Dad. “As long as Zan can keep learning, the project will go on.”

I let out a breath. I felt a lot better and suddenly wanted another helping of dessert. Maybe I’d been worrying about nothing. Zan had been in
Time
magazine. He was famous. The first chimp to talk. As long as we kept teaching him, he’d keep learning. He wasn’t going anywhere.

I woke up the next day with my throat hot and gummy, and by the time I got home from school I felt really lousy. I didn’t sleep very well that night, and in my head was this movie about Zan in a hotel, and no one was very happy to see him. It just went on and on, keeping me twitching and turning, trying to get comfortable in bed. When I woke up, I was parched and my throat crackled with pain.

“Stay home and rest,” Mom said. “I’ve got to give a tutorial this morning, but I’ll be back by noon.”

Before she left, she brought me lots of orange juice, and a piece of toast and peanut butter, which I choked down. Then I took some Aspirin and slept a bit more. I dreamed upsetting sounds, and when I woke, I still heard them. Zan was having a temper tantrum in his suite. I looked at my clock. Ten. School
time for him. I wondered if he was strapped into the learning chair.

I threw on my dressing gown and went out into the hall. Zan was shrieking and hooting. I heard a man speak sharply to him, but Zan kept it up. He didn’t sound just upset—he sounded terrified. I sat at the top of the stairs. I’d never heard him like this before, and it made me queasy.

Dad had always told me not to interfere with the students. So I sat, praying for Zan’s crying to stop. The sound was like a gripping pain in my chest, and it made me want to cry.

It didn’t stop.

I counted to ten and it didn’t stop.

I counted to twenty and it didn’t stop.

I ran downstairs, the sounds getting louder as I neared the kitchen. I unlocked the door to Zan’s suite and went into the playroom.

Ryan Cross and Susan Wilkes were with Zan, and looked over at me in surprise.

Zan was buckled into the learning chair, struggling and screaming. It smelled bad in the room, like he’d had a big poo. When he caught sight of me he became even more frantic.

“Let him out,” I said.

“He had three warnings,” said Ryan calmly. Susan looked kind of stunned, just watching the whole scene.

“He’s too upset!” I said.

“He’s only been in there five minutes,” Ryan replied, checking his watch and making a note on his clipboard. “Also, Ben, this is not your shift.”

He reminded me so much of my father just then. “Let him out,” I said again.

“He’s always like this for the first little bit,” said Ryan. “Then he quiets down.”

“It’s always this bad?” I demanded.

Ryan shrugged. “We’re just following your father’s protocol, little man.”

Had Zan been crying like this
every
day? I was usually at school, but Mom worked from home most of the time. She would’ve heard. She hadn’t said anything about this. Didn’t it bother her?

I walked towards the chair. Ryan put out his hand to stop me, but I pushed past and started undoing the buckles.

Zan was so upset he lunged at my hands as if he wanted to bite me. Maybe he thought I was going to tighten the straps or something.

“Zan,” I said calmly, “I’m going to take you out.”

Out,
I signed for him, over and over again until he calmed down a little and began to sign back to me—
out, out
—and hoot eagerly.

“Your Dad’s not going to be happy about this,” Ryan said. “Too bad.”

Zan sprang out of the chair into my arms and wouldn’t let go of my neck. He was kissing my cheek over and over again and signing
kiss
and
hug
and
go out.

“Enough is enough!” Ryan snapped. He stepped forward and put out his hands to take Zan from me.

Zan bit him. Hard.

“Shit!” bellowed Ryan, pulling his hand away. Zan’s baby
teeth had come in long ago and they were sharp. Blood welled from Ryan’s third finger. It looked bad.

“You’re going to need stitches,” said Susan, her face pale. “I can drive you to the hospital.”

Ryan grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped it tight around his finger. He swallowed. “Goddamn monkey,” he muttered.

“You okay with Zan alone?” Susan asked me.

“Yeah, fine,” I said, even though I felt kind of woozy, and my throat was ragingly sore.

“Probably a good idea to call your dad,” she said. “Tell him I’m taking Ryan to the emergency room at the Jubilee.”

I was glad to see them both go. Ryan deserved what he got, but there was going to be a lot of trouble. I sighed and, with Zan still hugging me tight, I went to the phone to call Dad.

Dad was frighteningly calm when I told him. He just wanted the facts. He asked if I was okay, told me to take care of Zan, then hung up to drive to the hospital.

When Mom got home at noon, I told her everything. She didn’t say very much either, but she looked worried. Zan was good as gold over lunch. He knew he’d done something very bad and was trying to make up for it by being extra obedient, and making his signs very,
very
clearly.

At around three o’clock Dad came home and called me downstairs. I was still in my pyjamas, feeling rotten. Mom and Dad were waiting for me in the living room. Zan was out back with the new shift of students.

“Ben, you have created a huge amount of trouble,” Dad said.

“Me?” I exclaimed. “What about Ryan?”

“Ryan said Zan was starting to calm down when you barged in and got him all riled up.”

“That’s a lie!” I said. “Zan was screaming. You could hear him all over the house. He woke me up.”

“How many times have I told you not to interfere?” Dad demanded.

I looked at Mom. “I’d never heard him sound so upset!”

“It wasn’t your responsibility, Ben.” Dad told me.

“Yeah it was!” I said. “If I heard Mom screaming I’d try to help her.” I left Dad out of my example on purpose.

He started to say something, then shook his head. “Ryan’s going to be in the hospital overnight. Zan’s bite went all the way to the bone. The doctor said if it had gone just a bit deeper he would’ve lost the tip of his finger. As it is, Ryan’s got an IV full of antibiotics in his arm to prevent an infection.”

“Will there be any permanent damage?” Mom asked.

“Just the scar,” said Dad. “We’re lucky he’s not suing us.”

“Thank God,” murmured Mom.

“But he is quitting,” said Dad.

“Good!” I said. “He didn’t care about Zan.”

“Ryan’s one of my best students,” Dad said. “He was methodical and rigorous and he was an asset to the team.”

I shrugged.

“You’re off the project, Ben.”

It was like being punched in the centre of the chest. My body suddenly felt airless. “Why?” I gasped, like some little kid.

“Your attachment to Zan’s getting in the way.”

“But … you said I was good with him—”

“It’s too emotional for you now,” said Dad. “Probably it was never the greatest idea. That was my fault. Having my own son as one of the assistants—it throws the reliability of the data into question. I’m sorry, Ben, but it’s not in the best interests of the project.”

“What about
my
interests?” I shouted. “What about
Zan’s?
We want to spend time together!”

“You’ll still see Zan, evenings and Sundays,” Mom pointed out.

“Frankly, you could use the extra time for your own school work,” Dad added.

I just stared at both of them, and no words came, just the drumbeat of my heart. When words finally did come, they were stupid and childish, but out they rushed.

“You are so mean,” I yelled, and burst into tears.

Mom tried to hug me, but I didn’t want her touching me and trying to make me feel better, so I pushed past her and ran upstairs to my room.

I felt crappy all Saturday, so I stayed in bed reading, watching TV, and thinking about Jennifer. Sometimes I stood at the bedroom window and looked at Zan in the backyard with the students. Mom tried to be really nice to me, but Dad didn’t talk to me much. He was in a really bad mood because a reporter from the local paper had called this morning to ask
about the biting incident. Someone from the hospital must have blabbed, and now it was going to be in the papers.

The story ran Sunday. It wasn’t a big piece, not front page or anything, but they did call it “a chimp attack.”

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t get picked up in the nationals,” Dad said darkly.

I didn’t have a fever any more, and even though I still felt wiped out, I wanted to be with Zan. I think he was glad to see me. We spent a lot of time just tickling and hugging. It was good to feel the squeeze of his arms around my neck, his hair warm against my cheek.

Mom made me bundle up before I took Zan outside to play. I hid his dolls all over the backyard and tried to get him to close his eyes while I did it. He tended to peek. Then he’d scamper all round, looking for them. It was almost impossible to find hiding places he couldn’t discover in less than two seconds.

“Hey, it’s the killer chimp,” said a voice.

I looked over and saw Mike, with Tim Borden beside him, standing on the other side of the chain-link fence.

“Hi, Ben,” said Tim, lifting his hand.

“Hey,” I said warily.

“Doesn’t look very scary,” said Mike, watching Zan as he scampered down the jungle gym and made his way to the fence.

I went over with him. “He just bit someone’s finger,” I said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“How do you know he doesn’t have rabies?” Mike asked. “He’s had shots.”

Zan looked the opposite of ferocious as he stared up at Mike
with his big brown eyes. He made the
hug
sign, but I didn’t feel like telling them what he was saying. Mike didn’t deserve it.

“Are you still teaching him sign language?” Tim asked.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “He knows forty signs now. He’s pretty smart.”

“Can we come in and see him?” Tim asked.

I remembered how gentle Tim had been with Zan whenever he’d seen him last summer, but I didn’t trust Mike. Anyway, Dad would probably freak out if he found out. He didn’t want to risk any more biting incidents.

“Maybe another time,” I said, and felt kind of mean. I still liked Tim.

“Fetch,” said Mike, and he lobbed a stick over the fence. It came down about five feet from Zan. Zan looked at it without much interest.

“Geez, my dog’s smarter,” said Mike. He bent down and picked up another stick and lobbed it over, staring defiantly at me. That one landed a bit closer to us this time.

“Careful, Mike,” said Tim.

“Just trying to make it easy for him,” Mike said.

Zan picked the stick up and shoved it back through the fence.

“Good boy!” Mike said sarcastically. “Maybe you’re not so stupid.” He started poking his fingers through the chain link near Zan’s head, wiggling them and then jerking them back.

“Come on!” said Mike. “Try it! Try to bite me!”

Zan tried to grab Mike’s fingers, but Mike kept pulling them out of reach. Zan looked at me and signed
funny.

“Is that sign language?” said Tim. “What’s he saying?”

“He’s saying Mike’s funny,” I told him.

Tim laughed. “Yeah. Funny in the head, for sure.”

Mike got bored of the finger game and picked up another stick. He chucked it high over the fence, and this time it almost hit Zan.