A Beautiful Truth (17 page)

The Fish and Game Department got several anonymous calls about Looee over the years. They had long been aware of his presence, but Walt had got Looee before there was legislation about chimps as endangered species and there was nothing they could do unless he posed a threat.

Walt knew many of the wardens and they never fined him, but they let him know that their eyes were open. They also told him whenever there was a complaint.

Mike was in regular contact with Fish and Game.

This isn’t coming from me he said. But I hear about strange goings-on with that chimpanzee over at Walt Ribke’s place. I drove past and it was louder than a witches’ sabbath.

Mike met the chief warden at church and said Colonel if there’s ever a problem with that animal, call me right away. My understanding is that they are valuable and rare, and I know a better place for it than in a human home.

It would be a shame to put it down.

Walt was pulled over as he and Looee were driving to one of Walt’s ponds to go fishing.

The game warden looked at the tackle in the back of the pickup and said two rods, two licences.

Looee here is just going to watch.

I’m afraid I’ll need two licences, Mr. Ribke.

Okay. I’ll take another licence.

The licence has to be for a separate individual said the warden.

Well. You can call him Looee Ribke on the licence.

A separate person. I can’t give out a permit to an animal.

Looee was wearing his fishing cap and wanted to put his hand in the man’s mouth or trade hats with him.

I’ll write out his name for you said Walt.

It’s not a thing of writing, sir, it’s that animals don’t need a permit to hunt or fish.

Well there’s your answer said Walt. He doesn’t need one.

Walt began to remember that it was dangerous to argue with the wardens. He saw the man’s mind turning over the issue.

The warden looked over at Looee, who sensed the delicate mood. Looee looked away through the windscreen, just like scores of other delinquents whom the warden had warned and fined.

I’ll tell you what said Walt. I take your point. We won’t go fishing today. And next time it’ll be just the one rod.

You understand my role, sir.

I do.

If I’d’ve found fish I’d have to fine you.

Looee was getting restless and making Walt worry.

The way I look at it is said the warden. If we left it up to the animals there’d be no need for regulation. A bear takes what he needs to eat. But human people, we take more than we need. Unless there’s some control.

I understand your role said Walt. He looked respectful and sincere.

Looee couldn’t wait to catch fish. He thought it was hilarious and scary when they flopped and danced and died and he said oooo and drummed the dashboard.

There was a bill proposed to the Senate regarding cruelty to animals.

A person commits the crime of cruelty to animals if the person: overworks, tortures, torments, abandons, beats or mutilates an animal, ties or restrains an animal in a manner that is inhumane or
is detrimental to its welfare, transports an animal in a vehicle that jeopardizes the safety of the animal …

Cindy told Mike every morning to dare to be wealthy. She held him by the wrists. She took steroids as part of her treatment and her face and shoulders swelled. She turned her back to him at night and he did as he must, and they prayed and pitied each other.

The world is for the taking she said. Do not leave this house till you have straightened as a rod of iron.

He never expected to be in the Senate for twenty years. In those early days he thought that Washington might be the answer. Cindy had reminded him that every great man had a humble beginning. The men in Washington are only men she said.

Would there be this thirst in Washington, this dryness of the throat.

Sometimes his power was obvious to him—when his actions had direct outcomes. He made sure that Middlebury never made a deal with Girdish, that apes and monkeys could never multiply in his state.

But what was real power, that greater power that made men more than men. Not the power of the Lord, but the power that fills a room. What gave people like Walter Ribke that easy confidence, that wordless ability to attract strangers and strengthen friendships. Why did Mike feel nervous—not nervous, but strangely deferential—in the company of men like Walt. Still, after so many years, so many accomplishments and a real ability to have his way, Mike still felt insecure around some people.

The governor didn’t have that power. He was a backroom guy, a manipulator. Reagan had it. Some of the men in Congress.

What was it about some men that made Mike think if I could only be like him I would find my ease, my peace. Ugly men. Walt was a petty owner of property, an impresario of a private circus.

What was it like to wake up next to beauty.

The Cruelty to Animals Act would allow a humane officer to seize an animal—to enter a premises with a search warrant and find an appropriate home for the victim. The owner must forfeit any rights to the animal.

Mike had neither been with the bill from the beginning nor acted as its primary sponsor. It was those bleeding hearts, Smith and Warnanke, who knew no more about the rigours of husbandry or farming than a prostitute knows of innocence.

Mike knew that the bill, if passed, would have consequences on the operating procedures at his own plants, at the barns and even the abattoirs of his constituents. Sometimes cattle need to be persuaded by force.

But there was something compelling in the bill. He ruminated unexpectedly over its import. There was a custodial element to it, a satisfying acknowledgment that we are humane, that humans respect their servants.

He was an ardent supporter of hunters’ rights. He wanted to leave hunters alone, and only endorsed legislation that kept things orderly—ensuring that everything that happened in the woods was clean and that the woods and animals could, within reason, replenish themselves. Being a supporter of hunters’ rights did not preclude him from treating animals humanely.

He never believed that any person had the right to enter the houses or hearts of men. But the idea of a humane officer entering a premises to rescue a tortured soul—that seemed noble. That seemed like the eradication of cancer, removing the bitter crab from the blood of his betrothed. Removing the howling ape from the state for the good of the ape, and for a greater good.

He wasn’t sure. He simply wasn’t sure.

He let Smith and Warnanke take him to lunches and make
promises. He let them woo him, and there was satisfaction in that. He ate Vermont beef and said no when they offered him wine. Power, like temptation, comes in many forms, and if he could not win the hearts of others he could nonetheless be necessary. The bill would go nowhere without him. These two Democrats could owe him many favours.

Judy watched a TV program about a man who killed his brother. Their parents were interviewed and were asked if they were ashamed of the son who murdered. They said no, he was a good boy. The camera said how can a good boy commit murder.

He was a good boy they said. We’re just sad.

Judy understood. He was a good boy. He was a son. The crime is ever the parents’; this world is so before a child comes into it.

All this sadness. Looee used to kiss her tears.

He’s such a good boy.

How can we stretch the feeling of kin so that every stranger is a son and every parent takes the blame.

There is so much sadness. Better to be sad than angry.

Judy poured a gin and tonic and got two beers for Walt and Looee.

They were playing Atari, and Looee wasn’t very good at it. Beer made him relax.

Judy said I really love Sundays with you guys.

The phone rang and Walt said this is Walt.

Walter Ribke.

This is Walt speaking.

Hello, Mr. Ribke, my name is Dr. Emil Heinz. I’m calling from the Girdish Institute in Florida.

Okay.

How are you.

Walt began to wonder if he had cancer and they had somehow found out about it in Florida.

I’m fine. A few aches and pains.

I know the feeling. It’s my understanding that you have a pet chimpanzee. Is that right.

He’s not a pet.

I’m sorry—that’s just a word. We get very attached. We were in negotiations with Middlebury College about expansion of their work with primates and somehow your name came up as someone who lives with a chimp. I thought I’d try to get in touch to learn more about it. Do you have time for a chat.

I can have a quick talk.

Great. You said he. It’s a boy then, is he.

His name’s Looee.

And how old is he.

He’s. We’ve had him for about thirteen years. He’s maybe a year or so older than that. We’re not really sure. He loves cake. We’ve given him about thirty birthday parties.

So he’s quite large then.

He weighs about a hundred and eighty pounds.

My god. And no incidents. No trouble.

Oh, he’s been trouble every day. He’s grown out of a lot of it.

He lives in a cage.

No, no. He has his own house. We built something for him.

Isn’t that amazing. And you have regular contact with him.

He’s like a son to us. Who. Could you give me a better idea of who you are.

Of course. I’m a clinician at the Girdish Institute, where we’ve been studying primates since 1925—so, over fifty years. We have over a hundred acres of land, and a staff of about two hundred and fifty people. At the moment we’re working with about a hundred
and fifty great apes—mostly chimpanzees. Some pygmy chimps, and otherwise a few orangutans and gorillas. Lots of macaques and monkeys. And what we do is a great variety of research. Are you a birdwatcher, Mr. Ribke?

Not particularly.

You probably know your birds. Let’s say you take a red-eyed vireo and put it next to a white-eyed vireo—two vireos with different coloured eyes. Those two birds have less in common with each other genetically than we do with chimpanzees.

I’m not surprised.

So what we do at Girdish is honour that fact, and we learn whatever we can from chimpanzees. We learn about their behaviour in groups, their ability to solve problems, how they communicate—with each other and with us. Do they have a sense of the future and the past.

Looee remembers.

I’ll bet he does.

So this is like a university.

We have affiliations with a number of universities. They commission us to do studies and so on.

What I mean is for the chimps. It’s like a school for them.

That’s a nice way of looking at it. There’s lots of evidence of them learning from us, as much as us learning from them. We study their biology in great detail.

Well it’s a pleasure to hear from you.

I’d sure love to hear more from you but I know there mustn’t be time. Most of the people I talk to in situations like yours, they haven’t been able to keep their chimps for so long. Usually two or three years. The oldest human-raised chimp I’ve met was eleven and she was a female. I’m sure there’s more you could tell me than I could tell you. But we’ve had many incidents. Contact between
chimpanzees and humans has to be carefully managed. I’m sure you know. In any case, if you ever want to learn more, I’m going to take the liberty of sending you a package which will tell you about us. And I’ll include my phone number.

Sure, sure. But Looee wouldn’t want. Maybe if it’s like a summer camp or something for him. We could all drive down.

Is he healthy.

Yes. He gets colds sometimes.

Great.

From a tower, someone looks down and takes notes. She uses a voice recorder every five minutes to note who is sitting with whom. She notes that Podo sleeps for an unusually long time, and when he awakes he is off-balance and retches.

Jonathan is bluffing regularly and charges at Podo most days. Burke is Jonathan’s helpmate.

Podo is frowning, looking hard at a desiccated flower. When Podo looks elsewhere it is always away from Jonathan, but he sometimes throws secret glances.

Days pass and Podo stands his ground.

But he feels a need for others.

He feels sick and slow and longs for the touch of women.

Mama sits with Podo whenever she can. So do Fifi and Mr. Ghoul. They like sitting with him, showing him that they are his friends. They like feeling united as friends and fear not being united.

But Burke has the women preoccupied. He shakes trees and screams and makes everyone feel nervous.

Jonathan no longer greets Podo. Jonathan sits with his hair on end, his back turned to Podo, and he trumpets a tale of bursting black flowers and birds emerging from dirt. Magda bows to Jonathan and grooms him.

Whenever Jonathan bluffs and screams, Burke attacks the women and keeps them from intervening. Once a fight begins there is little the women can do.

Jonathan runs at Mr. Ghoul sometimes and Mr. Ghoul flees.

Mr. Ghoul has an old habit of looking for Dave, and is blinded by hot light from the windows of the Hard.

These days are noon and midnight and nothing in between.

When Burke sees Jonathan bluffing and about to charge at Podo, he runs at whoever is sitting at Podo’s side. Burke chases Mama to the top of the greybald tree and will not let her return until Jonathan has his satisfaction with Podo.

Mama is growing afraid of Burke.

So far there has been no serious biting. In their moments of contact, Podo and Jonathan use only fists and feet. They scream their terrible arsenal of teeth, but no one has been cut.

The new one plays, oblivious to change, but everyone else feels nervous every day.

Jonathan pins Magda close to Podo, and Podo merely turns and moves away. Thereafter if Jonathan wants support he turns to Magda.

Burke cannot stand the sight of anyone having sex. The women all seem like his mother, but none have his respect. He loathes their lekky fistpips. He wants to attack anyone who tries to pin a woman. He blones and drags branches and wants to bite the ground.

There is a reckoning every day at bedtime. As darkness comes they make their way to the tunnels. Some are afraid to turn their backs.