Half Brother

by Kenneth Oppel

  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.

  SIXTEEN

  WEATHER CHANGE

  It 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.

  I saw Hugh talking with David, and jealousy surged through my veins. So it was Hugh she liked. Hugh was my rival. In a fight, male chimps went first for the toes. They’d bite them off. That immobilized their opponent. Then they’d go for the fingers, so he couldn’t grab and hold. Then they’d go for the face, to maim, to bloody the eyes so he couldn’t see. And last, they’d go for the scrotum to castrate him—so he’d bleed to death. That, I’d read, was what chimps did to each other in a life-or-death fight.

  It scared me even thinking like this, and I didn’t want to be here any more, so I left the hall fast, found a pay phone, and called for Mom to pick me up.

  Zan knew right away I was sad.

  Saturday morning when I went into his bedroom to get him dressed, he looked at me really intently. Maybe it was my face. I’d been up a lot of the night crying, and probably looked crappy. Or maybe it was my hoarse voice. He kept coming up to me and stroking me and signing sorry. He thought he’d done something wrong.

  Zan good, I signed to him.

  He looked at me. I don’t know what he thought of that: Zan good? He knew food was good and ginger ale was good and tickling was good, but I’m not sure we’d used good in any other way yet.

  Could he understand that people could be good too? He gazed deep into my eyes, like he could see all of me. It was such a kind look, it started me crying again, and Zan frowned and put his face closer to mine and touched my tears and tasted them and seemed very surprised. Come hug, he signed. Tickle hug.

  And after we’d had a good long hug and tickle, he pulled away from me and signed hide now.

  He covered his face with his hand, peeking, which was his way of asking for hide-and-seek. He was trying to cheer me up. I shook my head and signed no a few times. He brought me over some of his favourite dolls and put them in my lap. Then he sat down on top of me and patted me a lot.

  He knew how I felt.

  Sometimes brothers didn’t need to say anything.

  School was torture. If I’d been more confident, I could’ve carried on with the dominant male routine and been unapologetic.

  Sure I called her a bitch. Big deal—she deserved it.

  But I couldn’t do it. The moment I arrived at school on Monday, I just felt like a cockroach. I felt like I should be scuttling around into corners and under desks so nobody would step on me. Whenever Jennifer came into my peripheral vision, I looked away.

  Wednesday after school, David and I were in the changing rooms after cross-country practice. We were the first back from the run, so were alone. David took a plastic bag from his locker and passed it to me. He seemed uncomfortable, even a bit sorry for me.

  “This is from Jen.”

  I opened up the bag and saw the ABBA album I’d given her for her birthday.

  “She loved that album, man,” said David.

  I chuckled bitterly. “What did she say about me?” I’d always been too afraid to ask, but there was nothing to lose any more. “Not just now, but in general, you know, over the last year.”

  David shrugged.

  “She must’ve said something.’’

  “She thought you were a nice guy, fun to hang out with. Stuff like that.”

  “A fun guy,” I said. “Wow, that’s exciting. We made out, you know!”

  He said nothing.

  “Did you tell her about the logbook?” I demanded.

  “That big book with her name on it?”

  “Yeah, that one.”

  He grimaced. “Sort of.”

  “What’d she say?” I asked.

  “Jane said it was creepy.”

  “You told Jane too?” I said in horror.

  “She’s always over at our house!” David said. “She’s like an evil stepsister. I just told Jen you had this book where you wrote stuff about her. It looked like a pretty thick book, man. I mean, Project Jennifer? It looked like you were running an experiment on her.”

  “It wasn’t an experiment,” I muttered angrily, but the words stung. Had I been treating it like an experiment? Was she my little chimp, just like she’d said at the dance?

  “Thanks a lot for wrecking everything,” I said. “Thanks a million.”

  “What’d I wreck?” he said, sounding annoyed for the first time.

  “I thought me and your sister, you know … had something.”

  “It’s not like you were going out,” he said.

  “Yeah, because she can’t till she’s sixteen!”

  “I don’t think she would’ve wanted to anyway,” he said.

  I stared at him hard. “Really?”

  “She said you weren’t a good kisser.”

  I pretended to get something out of my locker, so he wouldn’t see my burning face. “Like she would know,” I said. “Like she’s been kissed a million times.”

  “She said you guys had no chemistry.”

  I looked at him, stunned. “She actually told you that?”

  “Well, not me,” said David. “But I overheard her talking to Jane.”

  “No chemistry, huh?”

  He winced and shook his head. “Sorry, man.”

  “I thought we did. I did, anyway—for her, I mean.”

  David pulled his dress shirt back on. “She likes Hugh.”

  It was like getting punched in the stomach. I sat down on the bench and fussed with my shoes.

  “They’ve known each other, like, forever,” David said, as if this somehow made it easier for me. “She was pretty torn up when he started going out with Kelly. I think she was trying to make him jealous. And then, when they broke up … you know.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said.

  I felt dazed by how pointless it all was—all the work and observation and thinking. The lists and the daydreams and the plans. None of it mattered. I could be in a magazine and on TV. I could be funny and give her compliments and presents. I’d tried to do it right. Scientifically. But it didn’t matter.

  Because of chemistry. Was that what really made it work, even between people? I knew animals used chemistry. They worked on hormones and smells and tastes. That’s how they decided who to mate with. And I guessed humans were just the same. No matter how hard I tried, without the right chemistry, I was screwed.

  “She’s a pain, anyway,” said David. “Honestly, it’s for the best. Cheer up, Tarzan. Hey, Jane likes you, big time.”

  November: it was dark when I woke up for school and dark when I came home. It was always cloudy. The sun, when you could see it, was a dingy forty-watt bulb.

  At school, I tried to make myself scarce. I started bringing a bag lunch so I wouldn’t have to eat in the dining hall. Just the idea of walking in was horrible; I imagined everyone turning to look at me. I ate in one of the empty classrooms. David and I didn’t talk as much any more. He wasn’t mean to me, but he didn’t seek me out, and I avoided him too. Seeing him just made me think of Jennifer and the whole humiliating business. Cross-country season ended, and I tried to work hard on my school work. That would please Dad, at least.

  Towards the end of the month, one Wednesday after school, I took the bus to the university. I had a project on Japan, post-World War II, and our school library was pretty lousy. Dad had said he’d help me take out some books at the university.

  I got to the campus early, and as I approach
ed the psych department I saw a single guy standing outside the entrance with a sandwich board sign that said:

  ARE HUMANS HUMANE?

  He was handing out leaflets to whoever would take one. Not many would. He looked a bit like Peter, only whacked out. I took one of his leaflets as I passed him on the steps, and stuffed it into my pocket. I wondered if he was there because of Zan.

  Dad’s office was on the second floor, and as I approached I saw his door was closed. Through the tall skinny window, I noticed Dr. Godwin. Dad was sitting behind his desk, and Dr. Godwin was standing in front of it, talking. Dad nodded. I couldn’t hear what Dr. Godwin was saying, but there was something about Dad’s expression, the way his body was arranged, which made me think Dr. Godwin was giving him a hard time.

  I suddenly felt sorry for Dad, which wasn’t a feeling I had very often. I didn’t want to keep watching—and I didn’t want Dr. Godwin to see me either. Jennifer had probably told him about the dance, and he’d hate my guts now.

  I turned around and headed back to the stairwell, planning to go downstairs and buy a chocolate bar from the vending machine. Maybe it would fall on me and crush me and end my misery.

  On the stairs I ran into Shira Mavjee in a lab coat. She worked with Zan twice a week, and she was always very nice and patient with him, even when he was in a bullying mood.

  “Hi, Ben,” she said with a smile. “Here to see your dad? Isn’t he in his office?”

  “Yeah, but he’s still busy.”

  “You want to see some rats?” she asked. “They’re pretty cute.” I shrugged. “Sure.”

  “C’mon.” She led me down to the basement labs. Other white-coated students and professors walked up and down the long hall. It smelled unpleasantly of chemicals.

  “Did you see that guy outside the building?” I asked her.

  “He’s been here a couple days.”

  “Do you think he saw the learning chair on TV?”

  “Doubt it. He’s always demonstrating about something. Last week it was clear-cutting trees. I think he did nukes too.”

  I felt a bit better. Maybe it wasn’t about Zan at all. Shira led me into a big room with rows of rat cages along one wall.