Great Apes (15 page)

‘Tranks “huu”?' signed Al, who was standing right at Paul's shoulder, and Belinda shook the restraining garment she was holding, making both her meaning apparent and the buckles of the thing softly jingle.

‘I don't think either will be “euch-euch” necessary, Simon,' he signed to the chimp whose head he was now almost cradling. ‘Are you all right “huu”? Poor darling “chup-chupp”, did I hurt you? Are you OK? Don't worry “huh-huh”, everything will be OK … “Huu” Simon? Simon? “Euch-euch” we've lost him. ' This last flourish was to his team, for the artist's head had fallen forward, and his lanky body, the fur shampooed with perspiration, now collapsed in a frothy brown bundle at Paul's feet.

‘He's gone catatonic,' Paul gestured to the rest of the team ranged behind him. ‘His mind has restrained his body for us. Although there was no strength in that attack at all. None at all.'

“Climb on my back.”

“What's that?”

“Climb on my back – like spoons in a draw.” The soft
sounds of limb and sheet smoothly rubbing. Cool hands between the shoulder blades. Then lips there. A warm arm snakes around Simon's belly, another smooths the hairs at his nape, “Mmmf.”

“Mmmf,” they grunt-sigh in unison. They hunker down to sleep.

Herbs to the right, flowers to the left. Herbs to the right, flowers to the left. Simon's prone head banged against the metal rim of the chair's headrest as the crash team's orderlies carried him down the path, past the gawping old female from next door. He stirred – went under again.

“Can I go on your he-ead?” An infant's cry, reedy but with a twang of his own sarcasm. He does not reply. Again: “Can I go on your he-ead?” It's Magnus, or Henry, or Simon – they want to be lifted, they want to be held. They need to be held. “Can I –”

“All right.” The slim hips between big hands. Like holding a lover's waist. But no lover was ever so light. As he lifts the infant Simon feels the lack-of-resistance, the way its body is but poorly attached to this earth, and imagines that he could push him – Henry or Magnus or Simon, he knows not which – up and up and up, into the sky. Then small bare legs are clamped around the back of his neck. Small hands entwine in his hair, grasp, unfeeling – or at any rate uninhibited about this touch. The hands seem to speak in Simon's hair: ‘My body – your body. Where's the difference? Where's the join?'

‘ “Hoo” dear, “hoo” dear, “hoo” dear, “hooo'” signed the old female who was watching the team chimphandle the
unconscious Simon and distressed Sarah into the ambulance. ‘What has happened to them “huuu”?'

‘Do you know her at all well “huuu”?' asked Belinda, who was bringing up the anal scrag, leading the lap pony by its bridle.

‘ “Hoo” yes,' came the reply. The female's fingers went to one of the curlers in her fraying head fur. ‘She's a lovely young female, always ready with a kind sign. We often have a flutter … I've never taken to him though, I must sign.'

‘Must you,' snapped Belinda, who already had the measure of the female. ‘Why's that “huu”?'

‘Well, they've been consorting now for well over a year, and in my opinion that's not right for a young female. And as for him, he's been fissioned from his group for some time now. I know because she showed me.'

‘Is that so “huu”? Do you know anything else about him “huu”?'

‘Only that he's some kind of an
artist
– whatever that means. As I sign, I never really took to him. But her … “hoo”, she's a lovely young thing, lovely. It wouldn't surprise me if he's got her mixed up in some awful drug th – ‘ Belinda flagged her down. ‘Watch. You don't have spare keys for her flat by any chance “huu”?'

“‘Hoo” yes, yes I do.'

‘Well, in that case “euch-euch”,' Belinda picked the old lap pony up bodily by its bridle and plonked it down on the other side of the fence, ‘you'll oblige me if you look after this old nag while she's away, “huuu”?'

The old female – who hadn't been mated in going on twenty years – watched Belinda bound off down the path
and swing into the back of the ambulance with ill-concealed contempt. Young hussy, she thought to herself as she ran her gnarled toes through Grade's mane, look at her parading her swelling like that, even though she's days off oestrus, I don't know, what is the world coming to. Then she led Gracie inside her own, furniture-polish-scented house and began looking for her mac; she'd have to go down the shops and get the poor beast some hay for its dinner.

It was impossible to separate the two distraught chimps on the short drive to Charing Cross Hospital and on arrival Sarah refused to leave Simon's side. Paul put them in the small cubicle used for assessing patients and busied himself with the necessary paperwork for Simon's admission. ‘Let them cool off a little,' he signed to Belinda, ‘see if she wants a cup of tea, but don't attempt to rouse him, he may not be quite so ineffectual next time. And see if you can find a gown – being naked can't be helping him to feel simian “huuu”?'

Belinda found a gown and then Sarah helped her to push Simon's stiff arms through the wide sleeves. He lay on the examination couch in a foetal position; his lanky body resisted them, tightly curled as it was. He was breathing quickly and shallowly, but apart from that there was no sign of physical trauma.

‘Would you like a cup of tea “huuu”?' Belinda gestured when they'd got the thing on.

‘Yes, please,' Sarah countersigned. ‘I think I would.'

‘Would you like to inpart a little about what happened “huuu”?' Belinda resigned tentatively, gently teasing some more of Simon's dried semen out of the blonde hairs surrounding Sarah's sexual swelling.

‘I … I … “hoo”, I don't know …'

‘Not if you don't want to – but you may find it easier fiddling with me first …'

‘It's just “hooo”, well, you probably know already, we're consorts …'

‘Yes.'

‘I didn't take him away from his group – if that's what you're thinking. It fissioned some time ago. It's just, well, he's a very brilliant chimp, you know, some people think of him as a great ape, and I don't want any of this to affect his career. He's an artist, you know – he has a show opening next week.'

‘Is that right “huu”?' Belinda was noncommittal. She found this posh, pretty female's animation regarding her consort distinctly unnerving.

‘Yes. And it's … “u-h'-u-h'” well … I don't want anything to upset that.'

‘Like what “huu”?'

‘You know.'

‘Sarah. ' Belinda dug her fingers a little deeper into the young female's fur to emphasise the seriousness of what she was about to inpart. ‘Were you taking drugs last night “huu”? Is that what you're worried about “huu”?'

Belinda didn't get a countersign to this question, because the door swung open and Paul entered the cubicle carrying a clipboard with a form attached, a ballpoint pen grasped in his foot. ‘I've managed to get a secure room for Simon on Gough,' he signed. ‘We need to pant-hoot his GP and his next of kine, can you help “huu”?'

‘I … “hoo” … I'm just his consort. ' Sarah was flustered, embarrassed even.

‘This is not the time for evasiveness, young female – you'd better delineate what you know. ' The proximity to the hospital, and his superiors, gave a more doctorly feel to Paul's signing, and Sarah, sensing this, sat upright and began gesticulating with greater insistence as well, her fingers forming the signs carefully.

‘His ex-alpha mate is denoted Jean Dykes. ' Paul wrote this down on the clipboard. ‘She lives in Oxfordshire, a place called the Brown House on the Otmoor Estate near Thame. I … I don't have the number –'

‘We can get that. And his GP “huu”?'

‘Bohm, Anthony Bohm. He works at the health centre in Thame. He … he …'

‘Yes “huu”?'

‘He treated Simon for “hooo” well, for depression in the past.'

‘Is Simon on medication at the moment “huu”?' ‘Not that I know of, but he's been on antidepressants before.'

‘I see. And what happened last night “huu”?'

‘Nothing unusual …' She tailed off, her fingers fell into her lap. Paul looked at her sexual swelling with hooded eyes. He was a chunky, well-set chimp with an appealing liver-spotted muzzle who got as many females as he wanted, and he knew that despite her obvious distress this young female still found him attractive. Possibly it was the trauma of seeing her consort transformed from a composed chimp into a raving creature.

‘Sarah “gru-nnn”. ' Paul's fingers were precisely angled to convey the maximum of caring, admixed with resolution. ‘If we're going to help Simon we need to know what
has happened to him, and in particular if this is some kind of drug-induced psychosis. We're not in the business of ruining chimps' lives here – we want to help. You know that everything you sign to me will remain strictly confidential.'

‘ “Hoo” all right, we did do some drugs last night –'

‘Which drugs “huu” cocaine?'

‘Yes.'

‘And alcohol “huu”?'

‘Of course – and some doves.'

‘Ecstasy “huu”?'

‘That's right –'

She broke off, a porter had entered the room.

‘Is this the one for Gough, guv “huu”?' he signed to Paul.

‘Yes, that's right, are you going to take him over “huu”?'

‘Well, we were. ' He pointed to his co-worker, who was lingering outside. ‘But admin showed us he was OK to go in a chair – and that's all we've brought with – but he looks like a “euch-euch” stretcher job to me, in which case he'll have to wait a while.'

‘For heaven's sake, chimp “euch-euch”!' Paul was rattled; this was just the sort of apathetic, slipshod approach he avoided by working with the crash team. ‘You can prop him up in the chair or something. “Waaa”, if necessary you can carry him over –'

‘– I wouldn't point that up, guv, you know we're not really meant to carry the patients –' He didn't finish signing, because Paul leapt straight at him and delivered a combination of raking blows, open-handed, across the porter's muzzle. Blood poured from a gash above his eyebrow ridge.

“Eeeeek!” screamed the porter, backing away and clutching his wounded muzzle. He gestured frantically, ‘Sorry, guv “u-h'-u-h”' sorry “u-h'-u-h”' I didn't mean to bother you. I know you're a good shrink, a powerful shrink, I revere your ischial scrag – I'm sorry …' He turned his back on Paul and presented very low.

‘That's all right, porterkins,' Paul signed, while smoothing the ruffled fur on the proffered rump. ‘I acknowledge your respect, I adore your obsequiousness, now just get him over there.'

‘I'll feetle this,' gestured the other porter to his wounded workmate. He bounded into the room, grabbed the collar of Simon's gown with one of his large, horny feet, and pulled the paralysed form of the artist upright. He then let it slump across his shoulders. The two porters left the room, Simon lolling on the second porter's back like a broken doll.

‘There you go, my lad “chup-chupp”. There you go. ' How can there be meaning in that touch? Yet Simon senses meaning – in the touch: ‘Easy does it. Soon have you tucked up in nest. “H'hooo” watch it – don't want another drubbing from that shrink – now do we? Watch it!'

His eyes open on a brief, upside-down snapshot of a fountain peeing into the sky. He thinks: I know this place. Turns his head to see cars in ranks, Volvos, Vauxhalls, Fords. Cars – reassuring as their manufacturers' names. Groggily he turns again to see what – or who – is conveying him. Apes. Monkeys. Like a fucking P. G. Tips advert. Monkeys in shorty white coats. Parodies of humanity. Caricatures. He cannot cry out. It's a sleeping paralysis. He loses consciousness again.

* * *

‘ “H'huuu”? What do you think?' Paul consulted his colleague.

‘ “Euch-euch” well, that's what it looks like,' Belinda countersigned.

‘ “Hooo” I imagine so too …'

‘What were you signing?' Sarah looked up from her lap; she had been staring at her swelling as if it would provide some answer to her predicament and hadn't seen the exchange.

‘Well. ' Paul got bipedal and moved towards the door. ‘I was really just confirming my own provisional diagnosis –'

‘Which is “huu”?'

‘I think your consort has had a drug-induced psychotic breakdown. All the symptoms are there, the irrationality, the paranoia, the lashing-out. The only puzzling thing is his lack of strength. Quite the opposite is usually the case with this kind of thing. But this is only a provisional diagnosis, we'll have to consult my colleagues and Dykes's GP – this chimp Bohm – before we can be certain. ' Paul made as if to leave, but Sarah came forward submissively and began to groom him a little. It was the first grooming she had done since the crash team arrived at her flat and Paul took it in good part.

‘Doctor,' she inparted, ‘he will “chup-chupp” be all right, won't he “huu”? I – I feel very guilty. You see, I don't think he would have taken those drugs without me.'

Paul looked at her seriously. ‘Did you give him the drugs, Sarah “huu”?'

‘N-no.'

‘ “H'hooo” well, I find it hard to see why you feel so guilty then. But anyway, no, you shouldn't worry too
much, the prognosis for this kind of thing is on the whole fairly good. He just needs to dry out for a couple of days. We'll look after him. You go home, try and get some comforting grooming, give us a pant-hoot later today. ' And with this reassurance, the crash team's duty psychiatrist gave a valedictory drum on the doorjamb and quit the cubicle.