Half Brother (21 page)

“I don’t even know if I’ll be in it,” I said. “They shot a ton of stuff, but they said it was only going to be ten minutes, so who knows.”

I shrugged like I didn’t really care, but I was figuring there’d be at least one or two shots of me. I’d never been on TV before, and this was
international
TV. I was hoping this would give me a big boost—maybe the final push I needed to complete Project Jennifer. Being on CBS was way better than being European.

“Want to go downstairs?” David asked me before dinner.

“Sure.” I looked over at Jennifer, who was sitting on the chesterfield with her mom.

“I’ll be down in a bit,” she said to us.

I was hoping we could go and blast some music. If I could get her alone, even for a few seconds, I was going to kiss her again. One of the other things I’d learned from the women’s magazines was tips on kissing. I didn’t think I was a total disaster—I’d never drooled on her or bitten her—but I had a lot of room for improvement. “Five Kisses to Make Your Man Swoon,” the article had promised. I really wanted to try them out.

But Jennifer never showed up, and Mrs. Godwin was calling
us up for dinner. The Godwins did not serve the kids wine.

“School the next day,” Dr. Godwin said. “Can’t have you staggering into Windermere hungover.”

Jennifer didn’t seem very hungry. I pulled out a couple of my best lines (from the logbook) to get a conversation going, but she wasn’t playing along tonight. I talked mostly to David.

After dessert it was almost time for
60 Minutes,
and we all settled around the TV. It turned out our segment was near the end, so we had to get through the rest of the show first. My heart was thumping away, faster and faster with each minute.

I glanced at Mom and Dad and they seemed excited, but kind of tense too. There was a sort of blue waxy look to their faces, or maybe that was just the light spilling out from the huge TV screen.

Suddenly I thought it was weird that Zan wasn’t here to see this. Peter was back home babysitting and he said they’d try to watch it on our little black-and-white TV, but Zan probably wouldn’t care. I’d never seen him watch TV with any interest.

Finally our piece started. I could barely concentrate on what the host was saying. There were some nice shots of Victoria—described as a small picturesque city in the Pacific Northwest—and the university, which they described as a small university whose psych department was quickly building a worldwide name for itself with cutting-edge research.

I glanced over at Dr. Godwin and he looked fairly pleased with himself. His wife squeezed his hand.

Then it moved to our house. They started in the kitchen,
with a shot of the high chair from behind, and for a second, you would’ve thought it was just a regular kid sitting in it. But then as the camera moved closer and around, you saw it was actually a chimp. It was Zan, in his sweatshirt and shorts, holding a spoon and feeding himself Froot Loops. I was helping him.

I looked pretty good on TV. I was tanned and my hair was sandy blond. But it was strange, watching myself. It was like looking at someone
pretending
to be me. I’d had no idea my mouth moved like that when I talked.

“Hey, that Tomlin kid’s quite the stud,” said David.

“Shush, David,” said his mother.

I glanced over at Jennifer. She was blushing. That was a good sign. If she didn’t like me, why would she blush?

There were interviews with Dad and Greg Jaworski and Mom, and one with Dr. Godwin in his office, and then lots of footage of Zan at our house, playing and signing. I was in quite a few of the shots. They described me as Zan’s “big brother.” Then there was Peter, reading Zan a bedtime story.

“Is Peter a major toker?” David asked.

“David,” said his father warningly.

“He
looks
like a major pothead,” David whispered to me.

Jennifer was looking over and nodding, so I laughed, but right away felt mean, like I’d betrayed Peter.

And then, suddenly, filling the screen:

The learning chair.

It was a black-and-white photo, and I don’t know if they’d touched it up or something, but it looked huge and terrifying and cruel.

Zan was strapped into it, small and totally defeated.

I was so shocked I scarcely heard what the host was saying in the voice-over. Something about strict methods and controversial teaching techniques.

“I thought you’d gotten rid of that thing,” Dr. Godwin said sharply to Dad.

“We did,” Dad said, eyes fixed on the TV. “I have no idea how they got that picture.”

It seemed like it was up on screen forever. It was terrible. It made Zan look like a prisoner. I’d hated that chair from the first moment I’d seen it, and now everyone in North America was looking at it too.

Then up came Willian Eckler, the animal rights guy, and he was saying that human beings had a very poor record of treating apes and chimps with the respect they deserved. He said that people who performed experiments on these animals were little better than slave owners.

“Crackpot!” said Dr. Godwin. “Honestly, why did they get him on?”

“At least they said we don’t use the chair any more,” Mom pointed out.

There was another minute or so of Zan playing and signing with us, and he looked perfectly happy in his sandbox and on the jungle gym. But the whole mood of the piece had been changed now.

Afterwards, it was pretty uncomfortable in the Godwins’ living room. Everyone said nice things and talked about how it was very positive overall, and would really attract the scientific community’s attention to the project, and the university.

But it was sort of like having someone throw up at a birthday party. You tried to make the best of it, but the smell was hard to ignore. By the time we left, I felt like I might throw up myself.

We got into the car and Dad drove in total silence until we were a couple of blocks away. It was like he wanted to make sure the Godwins couldn’t hear.

“Ben,” he said. “Do you have any idea how they got that picture?”

“Why are you asking him?” Mom asked, sounding surprised.

“I didn’t take it!” I exclaimed. “You telling me the truth, Ben?” “Richard!” Mom said. “Ben wouldn’t lie to us!” “Fine,” said Dad, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Well, do you know who
did
take it, then?” “No!” I said.

“What about Peter?” Dad asked “Why would Peter do that?” I demanded.

“He was against the chair from the start, just like you.”

“Yes,” said Mom, “but what he wanted was for you to get rid of it. And you did. What would he gain by giving a picture to CBS?”

I was insulted they were even talking like it was a possibility.

“Lots of people took pictures,” I reminded them. It was true. Most of the students at some point had brought a camera and taken snaps of themselves with Zan. He was famous. A talking chimp. Everyone wanted their own memento.

“It could’ve been anyone,” Mom said. “It’s probably someone who quit or left.”

“I intend to find out who it was,” said Dad. He sounded furious. “CBS never told me they were putting any of that in.”

“They didn’t need your permission,” Mom said. Her voice was strangely calm. “They’re reporters, after a story.”

“We were way too lax,” Dad fumed. “Letting students take pictures.”

“What’s going to happen now?” I asked, suddenly worried. “Is someone going to take Zan away from us?”

Dad actually gave a snort of laughter. “We’ve done nothing wrong, Ben. People like William Eckler, frankly, are voices crying out in the wilderness. They’re bleeding hearts who live in a dream world. We meet and exceed every single guideline on how to treat animal test subjects.”

“Is that how you think of him?” I said, shocked.

“Who?”

“Zan. An
animal test subject.”
It was the first time I’d heard him use that term.

Dad blew out his breath in exasperation. “Not right now, Ben. Tomorrow is going to be a very bad day. We’re going to be deluged with phone calls from people worried about the welfare of that poor little chimp.”

I was glad Zan wasn’t going to be taken away. And part of me was glad CBS had shown the chair. I didn’t think Dad was embarrassed about it, or thought it was cruel, but maybe now, with so many people watching, he’d be even more careful about how he treated Zan.

The next morning I half expected people with signs to be demonstrating outside our house, chanting: “Free Zan! Free Zan!”

At school, when I got to homeroom, someone had put a stuffed chimp on my chair, all tied up in string, with a note saying,
Somebody help me!
It made me feel really sad, and even though I tried hard to think of something funny or outrageous to say or do, nothing came to me. So I just threw the toy in the garbage can and sat down. I didn’t feel like a dominant male right now.

When Dad got home that night he poured himself a drink.

“Lots of calls?” I said.

“Lots,” he said. “And I found out who gave CBS the picture.”

“I have a pretty good idea,” said Mom.

“The producers of the show got hold of a list of all our research students,” Dad said. “They called up a bunch, until they found someone willing to say something negative. It was Susan Wilkes.”

“Her?” I exclaimed. Creepy Susan who looked at Dad with adoration and nodded at everything he said? “I thought she loved you!”

“She did,” Mom said coldly.

I stared at her, startled. “Really?”

Dad sighed and actually looked embarrassed. “Sarah, is this necessary?”

“She was heartbroken Dad didn’t love her back,” Mom said. “So this was her revenge.”

The second weekend of October there was a big storm, and the winds brought down a lot of dead branches from the elm in our backyard. When Mom and I took Zan outside the next morning, he got really excited. He scampered around, gathering up all the smaller branches, and dragging the bigger ones, and arranging them into a mound.

“Do you know what he’s doing?” Mom said in amazement.

“What?”

“He’s building a nest!”

“Really?” I’d read about how chimps made nests in trees. It had surprised me, because it seemed so unlikely—something birds and squirrels did, but not chimps.

Mom nodded. “Absolutely. Go get your camera.”

When I came back, Zan was still fussing around with the branches. I snapped some photos as he climbed up and flopped down in the middle of his nest, half hidden.

“This is incredible,” said Mom. “Chimps in the wild start doing this around one year old. Zan’s never
seen
a nest. No one’s
taught
him to do this. But he does it anyway.”

“How, though?” I said.

“It must be genetic,” said Mom. “It’s all there in his brain. No matter how hard we try to raise him as human, he knows he’s a chimp.”

It made me happy, to think that there were parts of Zan we couldn’t touch.

I took lots of pictures for Mom. She said Dad wouldn’t be interested, but for her own research—studying the difference between chimp and human behaviour and development—this was important data.

That night, while helping to clean up after dinner, Zan jumped off the sink and walked over to the wall and stared at something. After a couple of minutes I went to him, to see what he was looking at. It must’ve been pretty interesting to take him away from his beloved washing up.

What?
I signed.

He kept staring. As far as I could tell there was nothing there.

Then, without warning, Zan bounded back to the sink, jumped onto the counter, and grabbed the dish soap. He’d tricked me! He’d set me up! He gave a shriek of delight and sent out a spray of soap, but I caught him fast and wrestled the bottle away from him—and tickled him until he was laughing so hard he couldn’t even sign
more
any more.

I
t was the Halloween dance, the first one of grade nine, and when I found Jennifer in the swirl of light and sound and heat, I asked her to dance.

“I don’t really feel like dancing to this song,” she said into my ear.

“That’s cool,” I said. “How about the next one?”

“I just don’t feel like dancing right now.”

It was a lie. I’d seen her dancing earlier when I came in.

“You danced with Hugh,” I pointed out.

She seemed annoyed. “So? You think you’re better than Hugh?”

“No,” I said, confused. I didn’t understand why she was being this way. I felt my face heat up, and was glad she wouldn’t see it in the half-light of the hall.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked, which I instantly knew was a mistake. It wasn’t a dominant male question.

“No. Why don’t you ask Selena to dance. She loves dancing.”

“I don’t want to dance with Selena. I want to dance with you.” The next song had just started up, and it was really good. I smiled and tried to take her hand. “C’mon!”

She frowned and pulled away. “I’m not your
chimp,
Ben. You can’t just order me around. Or tie me up.”

She looked past me and smiled and waved. “Hey, Shannon! Jane!”

Somehow this upset me even more than the chimp comment. Like I’d been dismissed, like I wasn’t even there. For the first time, I felt angry with her, and it wasn’t a small anger. It was big and hot. What had
I
done wrong? What more was I supposed to do to please her? She started to walk off and I felt my fury swell and push at me and before I could stop myself, I said,

“Why are you being such a
bitch?”

She stopped and turned to me with a look of real disgust on her face, and then she just walked off.

The music pounded and my heart pounded faster and for a split second I wanted to pull her back, but I didn’t. All the anger gushed out of me and I felt sick—and totally ashamed.

I could see Jennifer talking to Shannon and Jane, shaking her head. Then Jane looked my way, and I turned and walked for the darkest part of the hall. Everyone was going to hear I’d called her a bitch at the dance, and everyone would think I was a jerk, and now Jennifer would never like me. I’d gone and crashed Project Jennifer.