Theory of Bastards

by Audrey Schulman

She said, Everyone’s just gone.

  Hope so, he said.

  She looked at him, considering this remark.

  He tried to distract her. You grew up in New York?

  She explained her Canadian birth and how American manners had seemed so foreign when she first arrived. She asked about his childhood. For once, without the bonobos listening, they talked easily.

  The distance was impressive, the endless field they walked through, then the field beyond that, most of the land filled with weeds and stunted bushes, out of production. He’d already emptied the closest house of food and drink. In the distance, a dog barked, a deep resonant baying, perhaps a large dog. They stayed away from that sound, finding instead another house about a half a mile further.

  They walked across the wood porch, their steps echoing. Edgars was the name on the mailbox. The flower boxes held withered pansies poking out of the dust.

  Stotts tried the doorbell first, but with no electricity, the button only made a small squeak. So he knocked, the rap of knuckles against wood. They stood there waiting as though this were a normal day.

  He knocked a second time and called out.

  With no movement from inside, he took the Home Sweet Home plaque off the door and tapped its corner through the window. The sound of this violence was loud, the glass shattering and tinkling onto the floor inside. He dragged the plaque around the frame to clear it of glass, then reached in to turn the door handle. With the door open, they peered down the dark hall.

  There was a thunk and a scramble and they both jumped back. A small grey cat rocketed out the door and off the porch. They ran down the stairs after it, calling and looking everywhere, but the cat just disappeared, under the porch or in the bushes, nowhere to be seen.

  Inside, there was an easel set up in the living room, muddy portraits of lilies hanging on the wall, bottles of pills on the kitchen counter, the smells of cat litter and Lysol. Frankie opened the fridge a crack, but the stench of putrid meat made her slam it shut. In the pantry were stacks of Chef Boyardee and cat food cans, two 10-pound-bags of sweet potatoes only beginning to sprout, two tubs of margarine, two boxes of Cheerios and, most miraculous of all, 10 half gallons of seltzer and lemonade.

  Unable to stop themselves, they each poured themselves a glass of lemonade. Holding the glass, she paused to watch Stotts drink, his head back and throat revealed, a tight undulation of cartilage. In this moment, she had a glimpse of him as an organism, a multicellular creature pumping liquids into his alimentary canal, an animal wrapped in clothes and balanced on his haunches. Civilization is based upon a charade, such careful theater. Each of us buttoning up our costumes, hiding our fur, living in carefully sculpted sets, while we pretend we’ve never pooped or had coitus. The illusion broken each time we tighten into death or squeeze a baby out our hoo-ha or fall in love.

  She felt light-headed, looked away and drank the glass down. She asked, Of this food, what will the bonobos never eat?

  Carrying food to the sled, he said over his shoulder, The cat food.

  She rummaged through the cans until she found one labeled Purrfect Tuna, cracked it open and took a big forkful, looking out the window as she chewed, considering the taste. She hoped if she ate some food, she might feel a little more normal. When she turned back, he was standing in the doorway, staring.

  It’s just tuna, she said putting another forkful in her mouth, Tastes like casserole, but a little . . . mealy. I need to eat something in order to make the walk back.

  That is revolting, he marveled.

  She grunted and, spotting a mostly empty bottle of honey, squeezed it over the cat food, then scraped the can clean.

  He weakened and grabbed a tin of Chef Boyardee for himself. When she raised her eyebrows, he said, They probably wouldn’t eat this either.

  You just don’t want to eat cat food.

  Damn right.

  When they left, Stotts pulled the sled and carried two large bags over his shoulder. She wore a full knapsack, slogging forward through the dust.

  She wasn’t sure how long it took for them to return to the Foundation, but the sun was low in the sky.

  By this point, denial was impossible. Rescue would not happen today.

  They dropped off some of the supplies with the other humans. For the bonobos, they brought back the sweet potatoes and all the seltzer, as well as one tub of margarine.

  As soon as they stepped into the building, they could hear the bonobos squealing. They’d been locked in the sleeping chamber now for most of the day, without food or drink. When Frankie unlocked the chamber, they exploded outward, running down the hall, squawking and throwing her hurt looks. She didn’t think she’d be able to persuade them in there again.

  She poured two gallons of seltzer into a large pan in the center of the hall and let them share it, while she held the pan to make sure it didn’t get spilled. The bonobos each took a turn, stooping their heads for a long time, the sound of gulping. Houdina drank the longest, a desperate sort of gasp to her swallowing.

  Meanwhile Stotts stepped into the enclosure. After they’d finished drinking, she followed him. He stood at the top of the climbing structure, staring at something on the horizon with attention.

  She climbed fast. At the top, she searched in that direction for vehicles cleaning the roads, a phalanx of sand-plows, a line of dump trucks, life returning to normal.

  The horizon was empty, the sun setting.

  Still he continued to stare.

  It took her a moment to spot the three tiny figures walking maybe half a mile away, humans, a smaller one in front of the other two. They either wore knapsacks or many layers of clothing, perhaps both. They walked in a straight line, heading west, until they disappeared behind a small hill.

  She looked at Stotts. He didn’t move. She asked, You don’t want to chase them?

  He said, Probably couldn’t catch them. We don’t know who they are. They might have guns.

  He added quietly, They’d be more mouths to feed.

  AFTER THE STORM: DAY 3

  Thirty Nine

  Frankie woke up late, the bed empty, the sun up, the bonobos and Stotts already in the enclosure. Sitting up, her headache started, her mouth dry. She moved her tongue around in her mouth like a sock, trying to find a comfortable spot. She thought back to her life before the storm and realized with disbelief that first thing, every morning of her life, she used to sit down over a gallon of clean drinking water to pee into it and then flush it away.

  After the bonobos were fed, Frankie sat down with Mama. She knew she wouldn’t be able to trick the bonobos into getting locked in their sleeping chamber again.

  Mama, she said, I have to go outside for a while. There might be chimps outside. It’s dangerous. While I’m gone, you need to keep everyone inside, alright?

  Mama looked at her, her eyes focused and considering, the gaze of a shopper wondering if the scale was accurate or not.

  Frankie said, I’ll be gone a long time, probably most of the day. Don’t go outside. Don’t let the others outside. Alright?

  Mama’s stare didn’t waver.

  Frankie made the gesture for danger danger and added the gesture for please, circling her palm over her heart.

  Mama nodded her fist once—the most she would concede.

  Frankie didn’t know if the fist pump meant Yes, I will not go outside, or if it meant Yes, I don’t trust you anymore. Either way, she had no choice. Before leaving, she pulled Id out of her sweater and, since Id just grunted and continued sleeping, she tucked her into some of the blankets to keep her warm. Id had been sleeping a lot the last day or so.

  Outside Frankie and Stotts walked fast in a direction where the dust was untouched, none of the other humans having walked this way, the area slightly west of where they’d traveled yesterday.

  At first they just marched straight acr
oss the fields, until they spotted a line of utility poles and followed those instead, figuring the poles would lead to houses. However, as the morning passed, the poles only led them to boarded-up buildings. So many farms had gone bankrupt.

  As they walked, they talked about childhood, their research and the bonobos—pretty much anything but their situation. She found the closer to him she walked, the more energy she had. At one point her shoulder bumped into his and he flinched as though there was still static.

  In the end, they gave up on the poles and instead headed in the direction of the dog that still bayed in the distance, its voice breaking with exhaustion. It turned out to be a young and skinny mutt, probably half beagle, chained up at the back of a small house. A metal dish was overturned on the ground and every blade of grass had been eaten within the circumference of the chain. Seeing them, the dog whined and backed away, the chain rattling after it. Stotts tried to call it, then simply to chase it down, but it kept bolting away, so in the end he stepped his feet along the chain, decreasing the dog’s field of motion until it could do nothing more than lean backward, the collar riding up its neck. Stotts unclipped the chain and the dog ran away, yipping.

  Frankie meanwhile broke into the house by lobbing a piece of firewood through the front door’s window.

  In the kitchen there wasn’t much to drink, just two half gallons of Lipton’s pre-sweetened iced tea. They stared at those two small jugs and didn’t say a word. Then Stotts started packing the bottles and all the available food away into his bag. Frankie grabbed a mug and walked to the bathroom where she opened the toilet tank and scooped out a cup of water to drink it straight down, one hand on the wall. When she’d finished, she wiped her lips and breathed for a moment, before finding some plastic bottles to fill up with this water. She emptied the upstairs toilet tank also and brought a cup of water back to Stotts. He must have heard the clatter of the porcelain tank and the clank of the mug. He eyed the water.

  She said, It’s from the tank, not the bowl. Perfectly clean.

  Yuck, he answered and drank it down.

  They opened a can of black olives and ate with shaking hands. After they’d packed up all the provisions they could find, they half-jogged back to the Foundation, approaching the bonobo building in the late afternoon, bringing barely enough food and drink for one meal. This time neither of them suggested sharing what they’d found with the keeper or the others.

  Rushing inside, she found the bonobos still in the interaction area, safe (their faces all turning to her, upset at the long delay) and she sat down fast, breathing. Mama knuckled forward, chattering at her with frustration, so Frankie grabbed her by the shoulders and hugged her, pressing her face hard for a moment into Mama’s grey neck. How had this happened—shambling apes transformed into individuals so very dear to her?

  Stotts moved down the hall to get some cups and the baby bottle, and she began to pull bottles of water out of her bag.

  Houdina was the only one who wouldn’t take the water from Frankie. In her arms, she held Id who was still sleeping. So Frankie handed the water to Stotts. Instantly Houdina put Id down and knuckled over to sit in his lap and drink, playing flirtatiously with his shirt buttons. Even wearing a turtleneck and a down vest, she was clearly skinnier than just a few days ago. Breastfeeding took calories. Stotts gave her a double serving of water.

  Meanwhile Frankie picked Id up and had to jostle her awake, then placed the baby bottle of water to her lips. Id, feeling the nipple against her mouth, latched on and nursed with intensity, her eyes staring into Frankie’s. When the water was gone, prying the bottle out of her mouth was difficult. Id arched and began to scream, thrashing with thirst. At her cry, Houdina rushed over and grabbed Id, baring her teeth at Frankie.

  Mama barked in response, all of their tempers fraying.

  *

  As the sun set, Frankie and Stotts clambered up the climbing structure, surveying the horizon for movement. Hunger focused her vision, everything bright and sharp-edged.

  When Stotts spotted something, she felt the change and turned, searching. Four deer at the far end of the nearest field picked their way through dusty flowers, lowering their heads to eat.

  Other than that, the landscape was empty. The absence loud. The space between Frankie and Stotts warm and muscled.

  *

  That night, she woke to what she thought was fireworks. A small popping noise in the distance. Her first assumption was rescue personnel and she felt such physical relief. She raised her head, listening.

  It took her a moment to understand gunfire.

  The shots were close enough, she could hear the report and a slight echo, but too far away to hear anything else. It was difficult to pinpoint the direction from inside the building. In the dry air, with no background hum of traffic or machinery, the sound could travel far.

  Now a dog in the distance began baying at the shots. Perhaps the beagle-mutt.

  Imagining that dog alone out there in the dark, she realized the commotion might not involve rescue personnel. Instead, whatever was happening might include only the kind of people who disobeyed evacuation orders, these people desperate for food and water.

  A bonobo woke at the noise and bolted out of bed, wailing. One of the females. She rocketed around the room, searching for safety, stampeding over the others, hysterical. Woken this way, the other bonobos keened in communal terror, even though they couldn’t hear the gunfire over her wails. Whoever the bonobo was, it seemed likely she had lived in the wild at one point, had seen what guns can do.

  A blinding light came bouncing down the hall, Stotts wearing his headlamp. In the cold he was wearing every bit of clothing he’d had on during the day. The bonobo catapulted herself straight into his arms—Houdina. She clung to him, rocking and screaming, pressing her face into his chest. He took a seat on the mattress and held her. The others clustered in, patting her and crying.

  Exiled outside the scrum, Frankie patted their backs and said, shh shh, but was utterly ignored. The wailing continued, so she draped blankets around them to at least keep them warm. Bit by bit the crying subsided as most of them realized they weren’t sure what they were upset about. Frankie walked down the hall to Stotts’ mattress, wobbling slightly with exhaustion. Along the way she paused to rest her forehead against the cold glass of a window, listening. Over the still-whimpering bonobos, she couldn’t hear anything outside, had no idea if the gunfire had stopped or was moving closer.

  Too apprehensive to fall asleep away from the rest of them, she carried the mattress and blankets back and dropped them down next to the huddle of bonobos. They peeped with happiness and spread out across both mattresses, tugging the blankets over them. She shoved her way in. In the center of the pile, Houdina still clung to Stotts. He sighed and clicked off his headlamp. In the dark, there was a rustling as the bonobos moved to let him lie down. All of them together, as though each other’s company and some blankets might protect them from whatever was outside.

  Houdina quieted except for the occasional hiccup. One by one they began to fall asleep, their breathing deeper. Frankie felt conscious of Stotts only few inches away. In spite of her exhaustion, sleep felt distant. Listening to his breathing, she believed he was awake too. She could hear no more gunshots. Probably they’d stopped a while ago.

  Goliath’s hand in hers, Mama exhaling against the back of her head, Frankie gradually began to drift off, thinking that people who had guns like that here were likely to be hunters, not criminals as they would be in Manhattan. Maybe they’d been shooting at the deer she’d seen earlier, wanting the venison.

  Sliding deeper into sleep, she wondered what else they could hunt around here. Perhaps some birds—geese or turkeys. Raccoons, sure, but who would want to eat that?

  This was when she startled awake.

  The Foundation was well-known in the area. Everyone aware of what was penned up inside.
>
  Most people, of course, would shoot the nearby cattle first, preferring to eat steak rather than a body with two hands. However hunters loved trophies. The kind of people who disobeyed a mandatory evacuation might not worry about other rules.

  She imagined someone stepping into the interaction area, cradling the gun—the bonobos trotting forward, peeping at the sight of someone new.

  She lay there for a long time, listening, trying to sense the slightest movement outside or at the doors.

  In the end, in order to sleep, she wiggled her head forward until the corner of her forehead touched Stott’s shoulder. At this, his breathing paused. He didn’t move away.

  She whispered, Is it gonna to be alright?

  His arms around Houdina, he whispered, Yes.

  She settled her forehead there, letting it rest against his shoulder, breathing in the warmth of the bonobos and him. In a pile, they all fell asleep on the mattresses. Even in her sleep, she listened.

  AFTER THE STORM: DAY 4

  Forty

  Early in the morning, just after dawn, the keeper thumped on the door to the interaction area and called them outside for a meeting.

  By the time Frankie and Stotts stumbled out, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, the other humans were already there, clustered near the Eco-Center, where tourists used to gather for lectures on the behavior and original habitat of the apes. Frankie could see the change in the keeper, Rita and Martin: their hair greasy and clothes dirty. All around them lay the dust, the rolling of sine waves. The door to the Snack Shack slapped and thunked in the wind.

  She searched the horizon for any rescue vehicles or people with guns. There was no sign of either, but there was the scent of something animal on the wind. She tilted her nose up, sniffing, before she realized it was the other unwashed humans near her, scented with the apes they took care of.

  Martin, the man who took care of the chimps, asked, Why the hell haven’t the cleanup crews arrived? Is it the cutbacks?