Half Brother (31 page)

That morning, one of the other handlers brought Igor out to the field with Zan, and they seemed to be getting along pretty well, playing in the trees and breaking off low branches to make nests.

“He’s a strange hybrid,” I heard Peter say to Mom. “I mean, he tries to sign with the other chimps. He’ll sign before he’ll vocalize. He tries it with them, and sometimes he gets really angry when they don’t understand, and there’s a showdown and it gets physical. He’s no coward. I’ve seen him stand up to pretty much everyone, except Zeus. Him, he just ignores, but I think it’s fear.”

“We taught him too well,” said Mom. “To be a human.”

Peter nodded. “And it’s harder for him to fit in like that.”

I felt suddenly really sad. We’d made it impossible for him to be what he was. Making him human made it easier for us to care for him and teach him—and maybe even love him. But now, could he ever be loved by chimps?

Later, when I told this to Sue-Ellen, she said, “Rachel loves him, and I think he loves her too. They sleep together, all cuddled up, just like a mother and baby. You watch, tonight after dinner. And I think he and Igor are starting to get closer. He just needs to learn how to play, chimp-style, a bit more. It’s rough stuff. We wouldn’t like it.”

We were walking past one of the other paddocks where some of the older chimps were playing. They liked to bite each other and throw each other around.

“If they did that to us, they’d kill us,” I said.

“Yep.”

“Is that Sheba?” I asked, pointing. She nodded.

“What’s wrong with her? Her bum’s all swollen.” It seemed enormous, like two fleshy red lobes.

Sue-Ellen looked at me, smiling faintly. “That’s not her bum. That’s her genitalia.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling foolish.

“That’s what happens when the females are in estrus. It shows they’re ready to mate.” “And does she?”

“Oh, all the time. Lately she seems to like Rex best. That’s why we’ve been putting them in the same paddock. They usually have a go at it, around this time.”

We stood there by the fence, watching, waiting for them to
have a go at it.
I felt the day’s heat on my hat, my face, trickling from my armpits down my sides. I glanced over at Sue-Ellen, saw the faint sweat rings on her T-shirt and suddenly felt a deep surge of desire. It was kind of awkward, waiting for chimps to start mating, standing a few inches away from a girl, but I was pretty curious too.

Rex came sniffing around Sheba, but after fifteen minutes nothing much seemed to be happening and Sue-Ellen laughed and said, “Another time, I guess.”

“Another time,” I echoed, half disappointed, half relieved.

On our third night, Peter had Mom and me over to his place in Reno for fondue. He lived in a little apartment building not far from the university campus. He was on the top floor, but he had an air-conditioning unit in his window and it was going full blast, so we were pretty comfortable.

Mom had brought the best bottle of wine she could find at the liquor store near our motel. The store was called the Liquor Barn and seemed to sell mostly whisky and beer.

We all sat down around the wobbly table and stuck our bits of bread and meat into the fondue pot. When Peter served the wine he poured me a full glass and winked.

“Helson’s gonna make an alcoholic of me,” he said. “Some of the days on that ranch …”

I was so much happier here than I had been at Helson’s dining table. For the first part of the meal Peter wanted to know about us and what was going on back in Victoria—about my school and what happened to Jennifer, and who was Shannon, and was that going anywhere, and was I going to keep going to Windermere? Normally I might have been self-conscious answering around Mom, but things felt different somehow, with just the three of us—or maybe I’d just had lots of practice talking about myself with Dr. Stanwick.

Afterwards Peter asked Mom about her research and when she’d submit her dissertation. He asked a little about Dad and his rat experiment.

He and Mom finished the bottle of wine pretty fast, and then Peter got out some cold beer.

Holding his bottle, Peter looked from side to side, a bit nervous, like the guy who gives James Bond secret information before getting fed to sharks in the next scene.

“There’s stuff going on here,” he said.

I sort of giggled, and so did Mom.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Peter wasn’t smiling. “It’s hard for me to figure out because I’m so new, and people aren’t sure they can trust me yet. I’m not sure I can trust them either.”

“You’re sounding a little paranoid, Peter,” said Mom.

“I know, but just listen. I think Helson’s star is falling at the university. Some of the stuff he does here is kind of, well, way out there. He’s done these experiments with pigs and electroshock.”

I swallowed, thinking of the other night’s pork.

“And there’s this thing with gibbons he’s got going in another barn, putting newborns in total isolation for the first week of life and studying the results.”

“I can’t imagine they’re good,” said Mom.

Peter shook his head. “His experiments aren’t attracting much funding, and I know for a fact his budget got cut back last year. He was hoping to make a lot of money renting Zan out to all these people—he calls them his
patients.
He’s not a licensed psychotherapist but a lot of people like to get counselling from him.”

“There’s a lot of weird people out there,” I said, and tried to help myself to a beer, but Mom caught my hand and put it firmly on the table.

“Anyway,” said Peter, “I don’t think Helson’s had any other
requests for Zan. In Manhattan, maybe it’d be huge, you know, chimp therapy, who knows. In rural Nevada, no.”

“What’s worrying you, Peter?” Mom asked.

I looked at Peter. “You don’t think he’s going to
sell
Zan?”

“Look,” said Peter, “this could get me into a lot of trouble, but … Helson got a letter from the Thurston Foundation.”

“Who’re they?” I asked, looking from Mom to Peter.

“They do biomedical research with animals,” Mom said.

Now I remembered: the newborn chimp in the isolette, rocking to comfort himself.
That
was the Thurston Foundation.

“They’re really bad,” I said.

“One of the worst,” said Peter. “They do a lot of drug trials, for hepatitis and tuberculosis and other things. Makes Helson’s ranch look like a five-star resort.”

The smell of the cheese fondue suddenly seemed sour. “Why’s Helson getting letters from
them?”
I asked.

“Helson’s sold a couple of his chimps there in the past,” said Peter. “A long time ago. He keeps it quiet.”

“I think we’re all getting excited about nothing,” Mom said. “Helson got a letter from the Thurston Foundation—so what? It could be about anything.”

Peter was silent. Mom looked at him. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Did you
see
the letter?” I demanded.

“I
have
the letter,” said Peter. “This morning I arrived at Helson’s the same time as the mail van. I was just closing the gate behind me and the guy handed me a stack of mail, and I said I’d take it up to the office. The letter was right on top.”

He stood up and went to his bookcase and pulled an envelope
from between the books. He let it dangle between two fingers, like it was contaminated. “I haven’t opened it,” he said.

“That’s good,” said Mom. “That’s illegal, opening someone else’s mail.”

“A federal offence, they call it down here,” said Peter.

He put it down on the table. We all stared at it.

“Have you got a kettle?” Mom asked.

“Right over here,” said Peter. “Have you done this before?”

She shook her head. “How hard can it be?”

We boiled water in the kettle and carefully swished the letter through the steam. Then, with a butter knife, Mom tried to prise the envelope open along the seal. It took a surprisingly long time. She did a great job, leaving only one little tear.

She pulled out the letter. It was a single piece of paper, thick and creamy. Across the top was the green logo of the Thurston Foundation, which looked very space age—a brain with atoms swirling around it, like they were going to single-handedly perfect the human race.

There was some more stuff, and then a signature. “So he’s selling three chimps,” I said dully. “Trying, anyway,” said Mom. “Do you know which ones, Peter?”

Peter looked back at the top of the letter. I felt a terrible dread building in me.

“CH-54 is Igor. CH-37, that’s Caliban. And CH-72. That’s Zan.”

We talked and talked.

Mom said, “He promised Zan would never be used in biomedical experiments.”

“Did Richard get it in writing?” Peter asked.

Mom took a breath. “I don’t know.”

“If it’s not in writing, it’s no good, is it? I mean, in a court of law?”

“What if
we
offer to buy Zan?” I blurted out. “He’d be suspicious,” said Peter. “He’d think we knew something.”

Mom said, “Would he? He knows Ben’s heartbroken and wants Zan back. Could be as simple as that.”

Peter thought for a moment. “Helson’s been working chimps for twenty years. He can read people just like they can. He can
practically
smell
your thoughts. The guy’s uncanny. Scares the hell out of me. Anyway, he wouldn’t sell Zan to you.”

“Why not?” Mom asked.

Peter said, “He needs Zan to sell the others.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Zan’s the youngest. He’s the most valuable. He’s fresh, young, untainted. They can use him the longest. The other two are older. Zan’s the prize. Helson won’t sell him alone. I can almost promise you.”

We talked into the early hours of morning before we decided what to do.

We would steal Zan.

“T
his is crazy,” Mom murmured.

We killed the headlights as we pulled onto the long driveway, crept slowly along the gravel in the moonlight for a few minutes, then pulled over, way before we could even see the farmhouse or other buildings. Through the open car windows the air was perfect body temperature. Cricket chatter rose from the fields. It was 3:22 in the morning. We’d spent a whole day preparing for this.

Mom and I got out of the car, and closed the doors silently, then started down the drive, walking on the grassy verge so our footsteps were soundless. Our cold hands touched and she gave me a quick encouraging squeeze. Thank goodness the Helsons didn’t keep any dogs at the front of the property, or they’d have been all over us by now.

Peter had wanted to come with us, but Mom had said no. If Helson figured out he was mixed up in this in any way, he’d probably get booted out of university—or worse.

Ahead I could make out the low outline of the chimp house. In the farmhouse all the lights were out. Good. The chimp house would be locked, as would all the cages. The keys were kept in the shed just behind the chimp house, and the rusted padlock didn’t close properly.

Getting to the shed was scary because it meant sneaking right past the farmhouse. I hoped the Helsons were deep sleepers. I thought of Sue-Ellen in her bed. She wouldn’t want Zan to be sent to a lab—or Caliban and Igor either, but I couldn’t do anything about them right now.

We reached the shed and I was grateful for the big moon. I slid the broken padlock from its clasp and eased the door open. Peter had oiled the hinges yesterday, because normally they gave a terrible shriek, but right now they made barely a sound. From the darkness wafted the smell of oil and straw and rust. I pulled a small penlight from my pocket (bought at the gas station near our motel) and carefully turned it on. Near the door, high on the wall, was a big metal cabinet. Mom opened it up and, while I held the light steady, went through the rows and rows of keys on hooks. Luckily, Helson was an orderly man, and they were all labelled.

Chimp house.
Got it.

Cage #8.
Got it.

We closed the shed door behind us and moved towards the chimp house. The moonlight let us guide the key into the lock. Slowly, so slowly, we swung open the door, just enough so I could slip inside.

We’d agreed that only one of us would enter. Less noise, less smell, less chance of rousing the sleeping chimps. It was
pitch black, but I dared not use the penlight. Cage eight was nearest the door, and Peter, before his afternoon shift ended, had made sure Zan was in it, alone. He’d made up some excuse about Rachel being crotchety and it being best to split the two of them up. I’d felt a bit bad, because I’d seen how attached they were to each other.

My outstretched hand touched the bars of the cage. I felt for the door, and the lock. Every second I took was a second longer the chimps might sense me. And then there’d be a godawful racket to wake the entire ranch. I slid in the key and turned.

I swung open the oiled door, and for a horrible moment wondered:
What if someone switched the chimps, and I’ve just opened Zeus’s cage?

My last memory would be of something grabbing my arm and pulling. Teeth in my face.

I crouched and stared, willing my eyes to be chimp’s eyes, to bring light to the darkness.

Zan was sleeping not four feet from the door. I could have gone in and picked him up, but I didn’t want to startle him. He might give a hoot. I waited for a moment, hoping he’d sense me.
Wake up.
I took a deep breath and silently blew against his head. He murmured and turned. His eyes opened, then widened. He stared.

I made the sign,
Quiet.
It was one he understood, though he’d never used it himself.