In the afternoon, in whatever home they had found, the fire roaring in the fireplace, the doors closed, they pulled the blankets around them, cooing as they warmed up. Frankie heated the food in the fire, shoving the pans into the cinders, Houdina watching her every action, attentive and hungry.
And always Frankie would search for books, examining any she found. She’d start the fire with books about automotive repair or interior decor. Others she would keep for the evening, flipping through them, trying not to be distracted by the glossy photos of the past as she searched for useful information: local maps, edible plants, first aid.
*
Knuckling along in snowsuits or sweatpants, wearing cowboy hats or knitted toques, the bonobos chased each other, playing a variant of tag. They galloped, their speed inhuman, rushing straight up a tree to hang there by one hand.
Marge grabbed Frankie’s hat and bolted away. At the slowness of Frankie’s two-legged chase, several of them fell on the ground, their laughter huffing white in the cold. Playing the situation for all it was worth, Marge cantering slowly around Frankie, wearing her hat and grinning, Frankie unable to catch her even then.
She now laughed the way they did, a huffing through the mouth, a quiet sound that didn’t carry. Still, the motion shook her bones and emptied the fear from her veins.
When Marge handed back the hat, she stood up and gave Frankie an open-mouthed kiss on the side of her face, the generous size of her mouth slobbering her from her temple down to her jaw.
Something in this moment—perhaps the fondness with which Marge poked fun at Frankie’s clear disability—made Frankie feel in her gut how much the bonobos loved her. She blinked, surprised. Into her mind flashed a distant image of that first day she’d seen them: bald Mama standing in the enclosure, evaluating her with a cold stare, the rest of them behind her, a mass of hairy indistinguishable animals.
At this change in Frankie’s expression, Marge kissed her again. This time some of her slobber got in Frankie’s ear so she couldn’t hear for a while out of her right side.
*
Three times, dogs appeared. Packs of them roamed free, purebreds and mutts, bony and desperate, reverting to their origins. Their beagle gave them notice, baying as it fled. The bonobos flew up into the nearest trees. Frankie and Stotts were slower, had to search for a tree they could scale or a shed they could clamber up on, but in the end they also got out of the way. They always kept a few rocks in their pockets just in case.
Each time there was danger, Stotts returned, become present. He wouldn’t use the gun unless necessary. It was a waste of ammo, the noise could attract unwanted attention and Houdina would howl with terror.
So from the safety of their perch, Frankie and Stotts threw rocks until the dogs ran away. Then they’d lean back against the trunk and nap in the tree, until they were sure the dogs had left the area.
*
One night, they took shelter in a ranch house on the outskirts of a small town. Moving through the house, exploring, Stotts stopped motionless in the doorway of a room.
She stepped fast to his side, scared of what he might have found, but there was only an empty crib sitting there under the window, a wind-up mobile above it. He coughed, the start of sobs, his body jerking with them as though each sound was yanked on a rope out of his gut. He pressed two fists to his face.
The bonobos hustled to him, wrapping their arms around him. Kind souls, they howled with empathy, no need to know what was the matter, only that he was sad. She leaned in against him, against all of them.
He slid to the ground, the bonobos holding onto him.
*
This was the house in which she found that old dog-eared paperback, Kon-Tiki.
Now a Major Motion Picture, said the cover, True Story. Across the Pacific in a Raft.
She held the book in her hands for a long time, staring at it, before tucking it into her bag, burying it deep, not willing to leave it behind or show it to him.
*
Walking outside, heading toward a farmhouse, they all heard the noise. At first, on the wind, it sounded a bit like crows, loud and cawing.
It took a moment for Frankie to identify the voices as human.
As soon as she understood, she held her palms up in a signal for everyone to stop, bouncing her hands desperate in the air. The bonobos looked from her gesture to the voices. It was unclear how much they comprehended. Maybe, if they’d been given more time, it might have worked. Meanwhile the humans appeared around the corner of the barn, five of them, calling to each other. One of them wore a rifle.
Spotting the bonobos, they froze. The man with the rifle had two dead rabbits strapped to the side of his knapsack, front paws swaying. The metal of his weapon shone, riveting the attention.
The bonobos grunted and stood up on two feet, sniffing the wind.
Both Stotts and the man stood still, a hand on the stock of their guns.
Frankie yelled, The apes are tame. They won’t hurt you.
The group stared, with fear or perhaps hunger.
She yelled again, Tame. They’re tame. Gentle.
Frankie held Tooch close, tightening her hand round Goliath’s fingers, ready to run.
There was a long moment.
Then the small boy holding onto the mom began to cry, to wail, tugging back on her hand. Watching the bonobos for the slightest move, the strangers began to back up, one foot after the other, following the child and mom, until they were out of sight.
Only then did Stotts speak.
Wait, he yelled desperate, gesturing Frankie and the bonobos back toward the nearby bushes. He yelled, Wait. Give us the news.
The trees were silent, the wind rustled the leaves. No one reappeared.
He ran to the barn, looking around the corner, cautious. He yelled, What happened? Tell me. Please.
He circled on his heels, watching for any movement, the rifle in his hands. He yelled up toward the sky with all his strength, Are any devices working? Did this happen everywhere? Is the Quark gone?
Echoing with distance came the voice of one of the women, We don’t know.
A minute later, from further back, came her voice again, the wind loud enough to tug at the words, erasing some of the consonants. It sounded like what she yelled was, It just stopped.
Frankie bellowed as loud as she could, Is it gone for good?
There was only silence in return.
She pulled the bonobos back into the bushes. Stotts followed, looking all around them. The bonobos sat there quietly. Several curled up and fell asleep. Stotts stood, ammo loaded, both hands on the rifle, circling slowly, watching and listening for the slightest movement.
*
Later that afternoon he asked, Did you see the kid?
She was so surprised at his words, at him talking, that she turned to stare.
Stotts asked, He seemed alright, didn’t he? In spite of everything, the kid was fine.
Frankie stepped in close to peer into his face the way the bonobos did. Since the day he’d sobbed beside the crib, at times his face had emotion in it again.
She said, People always care for kids first. People everywhere will do that.
He looked at her, his eyes big. He seemed to really be there, hearing her words, seeing her.
She told him, In England they have no guns. No rifles. It’s much safer.
Forty Eight
The bonobos had begun to recognize logos and packaging, ripping open boxes of Froot Loops and anything with a picture of mangos on it.
Knuckling through the fields or climbing through the orchards, they were accomplished now at finding unharvested food. The beagle trotted near them, its head down and sniffing through the grass, occasionally flipping field mice into the air with its nose to catch them with a wet clap of its mouth.
In one of the hou
ses, Frankie found a box of powdered milk. She carried it in her knapsack, mixing up a cup of it each morning for Id and Tooch. With the combination of this with Houdina’s breast milk and the solid food that Frankie pre-chewed for them, both of them had gained weight.
At times Id played again. When they traveled outside, she stared at this large world from inside Stotts’ shirt, her eyes bright.
In the morning Frankie sometimes tickled Id. She wiggled and pant-laughed, slapping at Frankie’s hands, protesting. If Frankie stopped, Id would pause, her belly jutted out, waiting for more.
*
One morning there was the light sheen of ice on the grass. By late morning it had melted. They stayed inside a little longer each day. When they did leave, they moved at a speed that was almost a jog. She always eased their direction slightly south, hoping over time to get to someplace warm enough for the bonobos.
Each time they entered a new house, Houdina and a few others headed straight for the kitchen, opening the cupboards. Others would knuckle upstairs and drag down the pillows and blankets to make a nest on the floor. After checking that all of the food they’d pulled out was actually edible, Frankie would start the fire.
Houdina could now use a spatula to drag the pan back from the fire. With Frankie coaching her, she sometimes lit the fire with a gas lighter, clicking the button again and again until the flame appeared at the end of the nozzle and then she held the lighter to the paper.
*
One day the wind was blowing in the wrong direction and the beagle didn’t give them notice. The pack of dogs just appeared, charging forward through the orchard. The one in front was a Newfoundland, its coat billowing loose around its frame, like a person in a badly fitted costume.
Adele shrieked a warning and jumped into one of the apple trees; the rest of them leapt into whatever tree was closest. Frankie scrambled up a trunk, desperate. Stotts climbed behind her, lacking urgency, distant in his thoughts.
The Newfoundland grunted as it leapt. She felt Stotts jerk behind her. Twisting around, she saw him dangling by two hands. Id, inside his shirt, screamed so hard he chinned himself up into the tree. Below him, the dog spat his empty sneaker onto the ground and leapt again.
Stotts settled on that branch, his feet tucked up, not bothering to climb higher, staring down mesmerized, at the dog’s teeth snapping a few inches beneath him.
Rage filled Frankie’s body, her vision tunneling red. Not at the dog, but at Stotts.
She leaned down from her perch above and said in the voice she used to use with her doctors, the hard voice, Do you want to see her again?
He turned to her.
She asked, Your daughter. Do you?
His eyes dilated.
You’re not acting like it, she said.
He stared, utterly present.
She settled her weight back against two branches and yanked items out of her knapsack, searching for the Kon-Tiki book, dropping everything else to the side.
Below her, the Newfie stood on its hind legs, snapping at the candy bars and apples falling from above. A poodle darted off with a potato. A smaller mutt bolted by to grab a pack of peanuts.
She found the book and slapped it into Stotts’ hand.
She yelled into his face, It’s your choice. You want to see her again, here’s how to do it.
He looked down at the book, its cover showing people crossing an ocean by sail.
A moment in which everything changed.
The book in his hand, her choice made, she exhaled, You’re going to need to start planning, start learning, like you did with flint knapping.
He looked at her, understanding the depth of this gift.
She said, It’s a long way.
*
He read most of the book that first night, his forehead creased with concentration. At times he blinked up and around at the room they were in—the fire crackling in the fireplace, the bonobos cuddled in their blankets, and at her—as though surprised at how different everything looked with this book in his hand.
Every night from then on he studied it, reading and rereading it, writing notes in the margins.
*
From that day on, he began to eat again, to drink, without being urged.
She handed him a packet of beef jerky and said, Peter Rabbit—you know that’s a story that came from over there, right?
He bit into the dried meat, chewing.
Rabbits, she said, They’re everywhere in Norfolk. Easy to catch. Just set a trap for them. A net, a propped-up box. Good protein.
Water, she said when he picked up his glass, Norfolk is full of water.
He closed his eyes then and drank and drank, imagining his daughter drinking too.
*
He held the first practice. He wanted the bonobos to learn to be quiet and stay still.
She was supposed to make the gesture, a palm jerked down twice, while whispering, Quiet. Stay. The bonobos were supposed to sit down and wait for a full minute.
The first time they tried it, Petey and Lucy and Sweetie sat there, not so much obeying as busy grooming each other. However Stotts rewarded them as though they’d obeyed, handing them each a Twizzler, telling them they’d done a great job. They squeaked with surprise and popped the treat straight into the mouth to suck on it. Within a few seconds they pulled their treat out and passed it on to another bonobo to suck on for a while, who then handed it on to a third, subverting the lesson.
In spite of this, Stotts had them practice many times, until all the Twizzlers were gone, until they sometimes sat still at the gesture.
After that first practice, she said, They aren’t dogs.
He answered, I’m treating them like soldiers, not dogs.
He was becoming focused again. He looked at her, in her eyes, the intent way he had for those days before the airplane wreck. If anything his gaze held something more in it, an awareness of her gift.
That night, in bed with all of them, he put his arm around her and held her close. She pressed herself in against him, conscious of his body.
Then Houdina, on the other side of him, pinched the back of her hand, hard.
Yow, Frankie yelled and yanked her hand away.
Adele barked and the rest protested, howling. In the dark, there was the thwap of someone getting hit and Houdina yiped.
It took a while for them to settle back down. Frankie sighed and just rested her head on his chest.
It took a long time for the two of them to fall asleep.
Forty Nine
In the morning, Frankie and Stotts walked with the bonobos, a house visible in the distance. He reached over and took her hand. In the cold air, the rasp of his glove against hers was an intimate sound. He rotated her wrist slightly to cradle her arm against his side, tucking her hand with his into the pocket of his jacket.
Chaperoned by 13 apes, they held their heads down, concentrating on the feel of holding hands.
*
Goliath was in the front, knuckling up the hill, when he got to the top and stopped, staring.
Stepping up next to him, Frankie saw a Walgreens 100 yards away, tents set up in the parking lot, the doors to the store propped open, people moving in and out, children playing. Clothes hung up on lines strung from car to car.
The first snow had fallen that morning, so they’d stayed inside until it melted. She didn’t know how close they might be to the limits of the evacuation zone. This was the first settled group of people they’d seen.
Frankie’s group stood there, staring, heads cocked like they’d caught the strain of a song that had been familiar long ago.
She was the first one to look away, resting her chin on top of Tooch and Id who were tucked into her sweater. She knew her allegiance by now. Stotts stared at the humans for longer. She figured he was watching to make sure none of th
em had spotted the bonobos. She took a step back and then another, gesturing to the bonobos to follow, assuming he’d bring up the rear.
When she was 20 feet back, Stotts stepped forward instead, taking off his rifle as he moved, dropping it on the ground behind him. She wasn’t fast enough. He strode down the hill. She froze, a high pitch in her ear, her feet so far away. If she ran down, all the bonobos would follow. Several of the people wore rifles across their chests. If a bunch of apes cantered out of the underbrush toward them, there was no question about how they would react.
Houdina knuckled forward, starting to follow Stotts, but Frankie said, No, and Marge coughed a warning. Houdina stopped, whining.
Stotts stepped out of the shrubbery and stood there, calling out a greeting and holding his hands up in the air like a prisoner. He spoke loudly enough that she could hear him. He said, I’ve come in peace.
The people turned to stare, their hands on their guns, scanning him and the trees behind.
He kept his hands up, staying still and talking with them. His head turned at times to look at the children. He wasn’t talking as loudly now, so she couldn’t hear his words, just see that he was speaking and they were replying, their shoulders relaxing, their hands easing away from the rifles.
He gestured behind him and the humans scanned the trees again, surprised. They shook their heads. He spoke a while longer. He reached his hands forward, palms cupped upward.
They shook their heads again.
He turned slowly away and walked back up the hill.
She sprinted to him, slapping her body into his. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face against her head.
Then she kicked him hard in the calf, yelling, Don’t ever do something like that again.
Theory of Bastards Page 33
