Great Apes (53 page)

What the country around them looked like was highly telegenic. As they gained the border of the game reserve, and had their papers checked by the Kalashnikov-toting bonobo at the checkpoint, a vista of steeply rolling verdancy stretched away from them towards the blue immensities of the great lake beyond. As if Mother Nature herself were pant-hooting their arrival, the heavy rain faltered and then died away altogether. The Landcruiser bucked and slithered between thirty-hand-high banks of grass, which were wreathed with steamy evaporation. There were coconut palms in profusion and candelabra trees aglow with brilliant red blossoms.

Alex Knight kept his camera panning about the place, turning three hundred and sixty degrees in his seat every minute or so. ‘ “Aaaa” it'll be dark soon,' he delineated for Simon, ‘and I want to be absolutely certain that I have enough establishing shots.'

They gained the final ridge of hills and below them was the lake. The dagaa fisherchimps' outriggers were coming into shore, their outboards cutting grey-white grooves across the rumpled azure. And there was Camp Rauhschutz, a mean little huddle of corrugated iron shacks, their galvanised roofs glowing orange with the rays of the setting sun, which like some stellar swelling bulged as it was penetrated by the horizon.

Simon saw it all and registered it all, but his thoughts and imaginings were entirely taken up with the human business in hand. How quickly would he be able to find Simon junior? He hadn't dared fully to form the image that lurked in the recesses of his mind, an image so in keeping with the other furniture of his human delusion that it might have been purpose-built by the same psychic carpenter who had converted his frontal lobes, installing the focal hyperintensities and manipulating the view. It was an image of Simon junior's bare little visage, his undershot jaw and slightly goofy teeth. It was an image that like a hardy tug drew behind it an entire freight of change. For, when Simon met Simon, the whole ghastly planet of the apes, would – or so he almost dared to hope – waver and dissolve. Busner would put on trousers and get a shave. They'd fly back to an England where the politicians brown-nosed metaphorically – rather than literally.

“HoooH'Graa!” The six chimps in the Landcruiser sent
up a great pant-hoot of arrival as the vehicle lurched to a halt in the muddy compound. There to meet them was Ludmilla Rauhschutz, together with her bonobo assistants. Rauhschutz was a striking figure, so obese as to be almost a ball of dark-brown fur. Her muzzle was disturbingly flat and animal for a German chimp, and her close-cropped head fur didn't help matters. Nor did the hideously patterned shortie mumu that flared around her shoulders like a perverse material garnish on an unappetising dish. The mumu unobscured the non-object of desire that lay between her lanate legs. It was easy to see why Rauhschutz eschewed a swelling-protector – she had no need of one. When in full oestrus her swelling must have been a paltry affair, for now, in a fallow period, her perineal region was barely noticeable.

Even Simon found this off-putting to the point of being unsettling, inparting Bob's shoulder, ‘ “Euch-euch” it's revolting, she's got hardly any scrag at all!' Busner sign-lenced him with a low bark, because Rauhschutz was knuckle-walking over to the Landcruiser, while the useful-looking bonobos were drumming on the metal sides of the nearest hut to clamorous effect.

“HoooGraa!” she called, then gestured grandly, ‘Welcome to my humble camp, Dr Busner. I have watched all day for the burst of light that would mean your radiant, refulgent scrag was drawing near. I have longed for many “gru-nn” years to get my fingers in your eminent fur, and to grope over with you the sorry state of chimpunity. ' As was his way, Busner was not in the least put out by this nauseating display of sycophancy. He leapt from the Landcruiser, as fleet of hand as a sub-adult out hunting and
presented low to the fat female, signing as he did, ‘ “H'hooo” I am honoured, madam, to make your acquaintance. The entire scientific community is in awe of your ischial pleat – the scientific community that matters, that is – and I too reverence your dangly bits. I would accord it an honour if you would kiss my arse.'

Simon, watching this exchange, wondered whether Rauhschutz would suspect Busner of any irony when he flicked the customary honorifics, but her flat muzzle betrayed no suspicion of anger as she bestowed the required kiss, then requested an arse lick from Busner in turn.

The rest of the English chimps swung out of the Landcruiser and knuckle-walked over, pant-hooting. They were joined by the bonobos, and for some minutes there was a round of presenting, counter-presenting and group grooming. As the hispid huddle began to fission slightly, Busner put the finger on Simon and tweaked him in Rauhschutz's direction. ‘ “H'hoo” Madam Rauhschutz, may I present the main reason for our visit, this is “chup-chupp” Simon Dykes the artist.

Simon presented low, pressing his muzzle into the mud; his scut trembled under the hortatory pat of the anthropologist. He looked up into eye sockets of an uncommon depth, and irises of uncompromising verticality. If he expected to see any trace of humanity in those eyes, engendered by the female's lunatic creed, then he was cruelly disappointed. For Rauhschutz's expression was chimpanzee through and through, acquisitive, curious, nakedly intent.

‘ “Hooo” Mr Dykes,' the alpha female signed, her fingers jagged, her styling heavily accented, ‘Dr Busner
wrote to me concerning your “hooo” disturbing complaint. Forgive me,' she crouched down again to run her fingers over Simon's ischial pleat, and tweaked his scrotum for good measure, ‘but apart from a certain stiffness in your gait, I see nothing that is inchimp about you – let alone human “grnnn”.'

‘Madam Rauhschutz, your swelling is the tropical verdancy that surrounds us, your pleat is as the Rift Valley itself – a fount of speciation. It's true that I don't “gru-nnn” appear to be human, and it's also true that since my “euch-euch” devastating breakdown, with the assistance of Dr Busner here, I have manged to “hooo” come to terms with aspects of my chimpunity, but there's still one thing that troubles me. The thing that's brought us –'

‘I know. ' The maverick German anthropologist waved him down; her plump fingers scrabbled his rump as she inparted, ‘Dr Busner told me of your interest in Biggles –'

‘Biggles “huuu”?!' It was Simon's turn to chop the air.

‘ “Hooo” I suppose you know him by some other ascription, but I've denoted this infant human Biggles – you'll see why when you meet him. But now, I'm neglecting my duties as host, Joshua here will show you to your sleeping quarters. ' She turned to conduct the whole group, ‘We first – and last – mess together in an hour's time, at dusk. You'll find that we've adapted ourselves pretty much to a human diurnal pattern here, lady and gentle chimps. We rise at dawn, and get to nest an hour after dusk. If it doesn't suit you, I can cordially sign – cunt off!'

With this challenging, if not abusive gesture, Rauhschutzgave a spontaneous pant-hoot of stentorian
proportions, drummed on a water butt that was to hand, and knuckle-marched away. All of the bonobos save for one – clearly Joshua – followed in her scut. Simon was unnerved to see that two of them were carrying Kalashnikovs.

The sleeping quarters assigned to the English chimps were, of course, one of the huts. The floor was concrete and the corrugated iron walls stopped about a foot before meeting this foundation. When Simon gestured at this, Joshua merely signed, ‘Wa' comes in, y'know – they's got to “hooo” get out again. ' Simon considered pointing out to him that if the walls were better constructed nothing
would
get in, but seeing the bonobo's bared canines and funnelled lips, he thought better of it.

At least they had their own mosquito nets and inflatable mattresses. The camp nests provided were the size of infant baths. There was plenty of invertebrate life in the hut already – mosquitoes whined about the shadows, huge moths batted against the hissing gas lamp Joshua had lit before leaving them. There were also more sinister, more vertebrate noises, scuttlings and clickings, unmistakably rodentine in origin. Janet Higson and Bob the gofer were so agitated by the hut's atmosphere that they began mock-mating, even though she was weeks away from showing.

Zack Busner was the only one who wasn't put out by their reception. He'd travelled extensively in the tropics as a young chimp, when doing research on the perverse, hysterical Malaysian condition known as
latah
, and the descent to the lakeside, the makeshift camp and the beauty of the surrounding forest had pushed him into a nostalgic reverie. Seeing the distress of his group, Busner crawled
across to where the two television chimps were whimpering and panting, and took them both in both hands, inparting, ‘ “Chup-chupp” come now! Madam Rauhschutz may be a bit strange, but I dare say we'll rub along well enough. As for these quarters, I have a few tips I picked up as a young chimp that should make things a little “gru-nnn” more salubrious.'

He showed them all how to rig up the mosquito nets and how to stash their gear where the rats couldn't get at it. He also produced a number of paper dishes, which he filled from a bottle of paraffin and set the feet of the camp nests in. ‘It'll stop any six-legged friends we might have from getting too intimate “hee-hee”. ' Simon was most gratified to see this, because in the few days he'd been in Africa, despite rigorous applications of the plethora of repellents and unguents they'd brought with them, he was finding it difficult to keep all the tics, chiggers and worse that wanted to infest his coat from taking up residence.

It was this, as much as anything else, that was drawing Simon into a tighter relation to that preposterous concept – chimpunity. It was difficult, after all, to deny that you had fur, when mosquito bites were invisible beneath hanks of hair, but for all that damnably itchy.

The Busner–Dykes group groomed itself as best it could, then gingerly quit their hut. Gingerly, because night had fallen as it always does in the tropics, with a suddenness and totality that made it like the unconsciousness of Earth itself. The ancient forest sighed and groaned in the onshore wind. The clicking of bats and the humming of insects infiltrated the cooling air. In the mid-distance there was the noise of larger animals brushing and crashing through the undergrowth,
but although he strained his capacious ears, Simon failed to register the distinctive guttural calls of the wild human.

A long trestle table had been set up for their repast on the open veranda of the largest hut. This muzzled out over the midnight blue of the lake and as they chomped their meal – which consisted largely of the dagaa they'd seen being landed earlier and copious amounts of fresh figs – they could, if they chose to, watch the lamps of the night fisherchimps flashing over the water.

If they chose to, or if they were able to, for first-and-last mess at Camp Rauhschutz turned out to be a stimulating affair. To begin with they discovered that they were not the sole visitors. As they vaulted over the railing and thumped on to the deck of the veranda, waiting there for them was another party of chimps. There were three males and five or possibly six females. They were all Caucasians – their pale muzzles bright in the lamplight – and they were all wearing the most absurd new tropical kit, all made from Gore-Tex and other synthetics, all in bright pastel shades, and all furnished with more Velcro tabs, poppers and straps than were remotely necessary.

It transpired with aching predictability that they were Dutch. “H'hooo,” Rauhschutz wheezily vocalised, levering herself up to join them, then signed, ‘I see you've met my current guests, the Van Grijn group from the Netherlands –'

‘We haven't,' Busner signed for them all, ‘but we are delighted to do so, their scuts are so marvellously surmounted by their brand-new, high-tech raiments. ' They all presented to one another. If Rauhschutz had
seen the irony in Busner's gestures, she made no mark about it.

The Dutch chimps presented to the English. Their alpha, a hard-muzzled male ascripted Oskar, indicated that they were there in their capacity as members of the Dutch arm of a pressure group denoted ‘The Human Project', the aim of which was to secure limited chimpanzee rights for wild and captive humans. ‘We are coming to see Madam Rauhschutz,' he signed with irritating little swoops of his fingers, ‘because she is, “huu” how you sign? She is the “hooo” most important female alive today –'

‘Because of her work rehabilitating captive humans “huu”?' Busner chopped the air.

‘Of course “gru-nn”, but more that that, we think she is, you know, maybe a little bit better spiritually than other anthropologists. She is, like a very holy kind of chimp, but not religious.'

Busner remembered what Rauhschutz had written in
Among the Humans
and decided to hold his hands. However, the anthropologist herself was not so contained. From her position at the head of the table, which she had assumed with much shuffling pomp, she held forth to the assembled company while the bowls of figs made the rounds. ‘I am grateful “chup-chupp” to Oskar here for bringing up the issue of spirituality. For me the human is no mere, brute animal, far from it. Rather, when I commune with wild humans I feel they are teaching me in their stillness, in their untouchability, in their apparent isolation, more about what it means to be chimp than any chimpanzee could.'

As she conducted, Rauhschutz smoked a little black cheroot, which was clamped between her yellow fangs.

She also took periodic swigs from a tin mug on the table, a mug that was full of peach schnapps. Simon knew this, because whatever the other faults and drawbacks of Camp Rauhschutz, being dry – in any sense of the sign – was not one of them. The schnapps bottles had been produced shortly after they squatted down and throughout the meal they circled the table.