Jennie: Ant.
Pam: Ant dead.
Jennie: Ant ant.
Pam: Sign dead. Ant dead.
Jennie: Dead.
Pam: Pam puts ant down.
Jennie: Banana.
Pam: Not now. Banana later. Jennie climb tree?
Jennie: Climb! Jennie swings into tree and climbs up.
Pam: You like tree?
Jennie: Ignores question.
Pam: Jennie like tree?
Jennie: Continues to ignore question, climbs higher.
Pam: Jennie climb higher.
Jennie: Finally stops and sits on branch, looking down. You climb climb.
Pam: No. I can’t climb tree.
Jennie: Sorry.
Pam: Humans can’t climb tree.
Jennie: Climb!
Pam: No. I can’t climb tree.
Jennie: Sorry.
Pam: Jennie come down.
Jennie: Looking away, deliberately ignoring Pam.
Pam: Play chasetickle.
Jennie: Immediately descends. Jennie and Pam play “chase-tickle” for a few minutes.
Pam: Jennie want banana?
Jennie: Banana! Banana!
Pam: Gives Jennie banana.
SETTING: playroom of Archibald house, 1:00 P.M., Monday, April 19, 1970. Jennie has just been given a locked wooden box, which has a live mouse in it.
Pam: Present for Jennie.
Jennie: Stretches out hands.
Pam: What Jennie say?
Jennie: Please please please.
Pam: What’s this? Points to box.
Jennie: Please.
Pam: What’s this?
Jennie: Apple.
Pam: No, box.
Jennie: Sorry, please box.
Pam: Gives Jennie the box. Open box.
Jennie: Lifts box up and smells the air holes. Then Jennie tries to peer inside.
Pam: Open box.
Jennie: Open open. Tries to hand the box to Pam.
Pam: No, you open box.
Jennie: Fumbles with box, turning it over and over. She puts box down and pounds on it in frustration.
Pam: Jennie cannot open box?
Jennie: No. Jennie no.
Pam: Jennie want key?
Jennie: Stretches out hands.
Pam: Jennie want key?
Jennie: Give give.
Pam: Give what?
Jennie: That.
Pam: What’s that?
Jennie: Key.
Pam: Gives Jennie the key. Jennie immediately unlocks and opens box and the mouse peers out, rather shaken from its ordeal. Jennie picks up the mouse and puts it in her mouth.
Pam: No! Takes mouse out of Jennie’s mouth and holds it in hand, so Jennie can see it.
Jennie: Give give!
Pam: What’s this?
Jennie: Give.
Pam: This is mouse. Mouse. Sign mouse.
Jennie: Bangs on box.
Pam: Mouse. Mouse. If you sign mouse, I give you mouse.
Jennie: Give me Jennie.
Pam: Mouse, Mouse.
Jennie: Jennie! Jennie! Give! Phooey!
Pam: Sign mouse. Mouse. Mouse.
Jennie: Give! Bangs on box again, picks box up and throws it.
Pam: No, bad Jennie. Do not throw. Sign mouse. Mouse. Mouse.
Jennie: Mouse.
Pam: Good! Do not eat mouse. Play with mouse. Gives Jennie the mouse.
Jennie: Play, play. This is signed at the mouse. She then picks up the mouse and holds it very gently to her chest, looking down at it with pursed lips. Then she kisses mouse.
Pam: Kiss mouse.
Jennie: Mouse Jennie me. Kisses mouse again and tastes it with her tongue.
Pam: Mouse taste good?
Jennie: Good. Apple.
Pam: Mouse taste like apple?
Jennie: Give apple.
Pam: No apple now. Jennie ate apple. Jennie like mouse?
Jennie: Mouse. Jennie smells the mouse and turns it over and pokes it in the stomach.
Pam: Nice. Be nice to mouse.
Jennie: Nice mouse.
Pam: Nice mouse.
Jennie: Jennie’s mouse.
Pam: Yes that is Jennie’s mouse. Put mouse in box.
Jennie: Puts the mouse in the box. Jennie eat apple.
Pam: Jennie already ate apple.
Jennie: Apple!
Pam: No. Jennie play with word board?
Jennie: Dirty. Jennie does not like the word board, a board with pictures on it that represent words. The word board is used to teach Jennie word concepts in pictures.
Pam: Jennie go toilet?
Jennie: Dirty, dirty.
Pam: Jennie lie.
Jennie: Dirty.
Pam: Jennie not dirty. Jennie go toilet already.
Jennie: Dirty.
Pam: Jennie play with word board now.
Jennie: Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!
Pam: No, Jennie not dirty. Brings out the word board.
Jennie: Phooey phooey phooey!
SETTING: backyard of Archibald home, Wednesday, April 23, 1970, 3:30 P.M. Sandy is just arriving home from school. Words not printed in italic were vocalized but not signed.
Sandy: Jennie! I’m home!
Jennie: [Stops in the middle of a lesson and runs toward the hedge, vocalizing.]
Sandy: Where’s Jennie? Where’s Jennie?
Jennie: [Vocalizes loudly, mostly screams and hoots.] Hug!
Sandy: I can’t see Jennie. Where’s Jennie? [Sandy crouches behind the hedge. Jennie forces her way through the hedge and grabs Sandy around the waist.] There Jennie. Hello Jennie. Help help hairy ape got me.
Jennie: Hug hug hug me.
Sandy: [Hugs Jennie.] Where Pam?
Jennie: [Points toward me.]
Sandy: Hi, Dr. Prentiss.
Pam: Hello, Sandy. Go ahead and keep playing. I’ll watch.
Sandy: Okay. Jennie play tickle-chase?
Jennie: [Screams with anticipation and runs toward brook. Sandy follows and grabs her. She rolls on her back and he tickles her while she screams. Then she jumps up and runs away, letting Sandy catch up to her. Again she rolls, fending off Sandy with hands and prehensile feet. They wrestle for a while, and then Sandy stops the play.]
Sandy: Jennie go house, get two apples from Mom, give me one, Jennie eat one.
Jennie: [Goes into house. She returns five minutes later with one apple.]
Sandy: Where two apples?
Jennie: Jennie eat.
Sandy: This apple for me?
Jennie: Give Jennie.
Sandy: No way, José. You ate yours, gimme that. You eat apple already, give me apple.
Jennie: [Gives Sandy the apple.] Give apple.
Sandy: I give you piece. [He gives Jennie a piece.]
Jennie: More.
Sandy: No, apple is mine, you hairy ape, you.
Jennie: Phooey.
Sandy: Phooey to you. Jennie ride tricycle?
Jennie: Tricycle.
Sandy: Let’s go. Ride tricycle. Go get tricycle. Yeah!
Jennie: [Runs to the garage and heaves up on handle, opening door. Goes inside and comes out riding tricycle. Sandy gets his bicycle and rides past her, shouting “Faster, faster.” The two ride down the driveway and Sandy waits for her at the corner. When she catches up they ride around the corner and disappear.]
[FROM interviews with Lea Archibald.]
For years, we wondered when Sandy would lose interest in Jennie. They were very close, but at a certain point, we figured, a boy moves on to other things. If you know what I mean. Pretty soon he’ll be thinking about girls, and getting his driver’s license. And Jennie would have to find another friend.
Our other worry was with the teenage years in general. We anticipated some trouble. Mix this with an excitable chimpanzee and heaven only knows what will happen. It was the tail end of the sixties, and some of our neighbors had had a lot of trouble. The Millers’ son, down the street, died of a drug overdose, and there
was the Newcomb girl’s suicide. The Hoyt boy was killed in Vietnam, of course, and there were so many dreadful car accidents. Oh dear, there are so many things that can happen to a child in the world! When you have children, that’s when you realize the world is a dangerous place. You really do.
I was always so worried about Sandy. He was vulnerable, in a way that Sarah wasn’t. He was sweet and innocent, even when his hair stuck out like a rat’s nest. He had good values. And good values are the best protection in a world like this. You see, a lot of those other families hadn’t raised their children with any decent values. They were so focused on success and money, and having manners, that these kids had no foundation. When they rebelled, they had nothing to fall back on. They had gone to a restrictive country club and Boy Scouts and ballroom dancing classes and sworn their allegiance to the flag every morning, year after year. Well, I ask you, what kind of a value system is that? They had done everything their parents wanted. When they hit eighteen and saw their country was sending them to die in a jungle on the other side of the world, well! No wonder they rebelled. You can imagine the shock.
We raised our children differently. We encouraged them to think on their own. We didn’t tell them what to do, or make them cut their hair. If they wanted to look ridiculous, well why not? We let them make their own decisions. So when Sandy rebelled, he could reject us and our life-style, but he still had something to fall back on. Today he may not be the outward success that society labels as important, but he’s always had strong values. That, to me, is what really counts. When he finds his niche in the world, he’ll do something worthwhile.
Sandy turned fourteen on August 15, 1971. Jennie was six. The first thing that happened was when Sandy stopped playing chess. He was a very good chess player, you know, and he won several school tournaments. And then he suddenly lost interest. He became sullen and slouchy. And his room! You’ve never seen a mess like it. Hugo and I knew the teen years had arrived.
The curious thing was, as Sandy got older he and Jennie remained just as close. He would go to a party and Jennie would go with him. When Sandy stayed out late and I was beside myself with worry, Jennie would be with him. When Sandy went to the bridge, Jennie went along.
Oh dear. The bridge was a place where all the teenage kids hung out. It was down there past the Kibbencook Golf Course, where the old Boston and Albany railroad crossed the Charles River. The trestle itself was closed off but the kids would gather under the bridge, alongside the river. They would light a fire and sit around and drink beer. I’m not sure exactly what went on there but none of it was good. There were girls there too. I worried terribly when Sandy went there. I didn’t want to forbid him from going there, because of course that’s the worst thing you can do with a teenage child. He would have gone anyway and that would have encouraged him to be deceitful. The only thing we absolutely demanded from our children was honesty. And you know, the easiest way to make something attractive to a teenage child is to forbid him from doing it.
So when Sandy was thirteen or fourteen he started going to the bridge. It was just across the golf course, within walking distance. Even at thirteen, Sandy was turning into a radical intellectual. He had started to grow his hair and he had some books by Russian anarchists, Bakunin or something, that he pretended to read and understand. He hung a burned and torn-up American flag over his bed, with a big peace sign painted over it. He was starting to spout a lot of nonsense. He sold his coin collection and gave the money to the Black Panthers. It happened so fast, as fast as it took to grow his hair. I mean, what were we going to do with this genius fourteen-year-old kid who was spouting Trotskyism and sending money to the Black Panthers?
You’d think a chimpanzee would be a bit of a “drag” to a budding young anarchist. Not so. What we hadn’t realized was just how attached Sandy was to Jennie. Sandy didn’t outgrow Jennie as we expected. On the contrary. And Sandy’s friends, far from rejecting Jennie, all decided Jennie was the “coolest.” [Laughs.] That’s what happened. Jennie became totally “hip,” the hippest of the hip. She drank beer, I’m sure she smoked pot with them, and heaven only knows what other drugs they gave her. She went along with everything they did. I shouldn’t say “went along”; I’m sure Jennie demanded to participate in whatever they were doing. I hate to think what went on at the bridge. I really hate to think about that. We talked to Sandy, we educated ourselves about the dangers of drugs, and a few times when I just couldn’t stand it anymore I made Hugo go out there to get Sandy and Jennie and bring them home. Hugo talked to Sandy about sex and responsibility and things like that. Or at least he said he did. Maybe I’m exaggerating, and maybe nothing really that bad happened out there. I don’t know. Oh dear.
You’re too young to have experienced this, but it’s a terrible feeling when you lose control over your children. You can’t stop them from doing something idiotic if they want to. How can you stop them from taking LSD or heroin? You can’t. You can only hope and pray that you managed to drum some sense into them when they were young. All you can do is hope that they’re going to be smart enough to avoid doing the really moronic things. It’s a terrible feeling. And Sandy, for all his brains, was really quite innocent. So naive. I was worried sick.
I felt I was losing control of both my children at once—Sandy and Jennie. We worried about the effect of whatever Sandy was doing on Jennie—drugs, late nights, whatever. She was becoming increasingly unruly and rebellious. Harold had warned us that as Jennie got older she would get more aggressive. All chimpanzees do, whether home-raised or not. Hugo and Harold had long talks about it, and Harold felt that Jennie’s aggressiveness was normal. I don’t know. Jennie picked up a lot of Sandy’s rebelliousness and refused to do everything we told her. Her favorite sign became Phooey! which she used as a kind of “go to hell” curse. As if that wasn’t bad enough, someone—one of Sandy’s friends, I’m sure—taught her the “finger.” Do you know what I mean, the “finger”? Oh dear. We punished her severely when she made that gesture, but in retrospect I think it only made things worse. Jennie learned it would provoke a big reaction from us. And do you know what Hugo said? “Oh, isn’t it fascinating how Jennie has learned the power of the signed word.” Honestly, this is what I had to deal with. Jennie giving the “finger” to some absolute stranger at a stop sign, and Hugo musing about how fascinating it was. He’d say, “Who can take it seriously? She’s only a chimpanzee.” But what did it say about our family? About how we were raising our children? And that chimp knew exactly when to make that gesture to horrify everyone around her.
Christmas dinner, I think it was 1972, the doorbell rang. Jennie raced to the door—she was always the first to answer the door—and opened it. There was my mother. Jennie blocked the door and made that terrible gesture. My mother burst into tears. You see, she had just lost her husband, my father, and this was her first Christmas alone. It was so grotesque. Jennie blocking her and making this hateful gesture. I don’t know how she was able to hurt someone like that. And Jennie liked my mother.
Then of course the Jehovah’s Witnesses came by and Jennie stole the lady’s hat. When she asked for it back, Jennie made that gesture. It was so embarrassing. I suppose I should look at the bright side, because they never came back. Clearly we were beyond saving! [Laughs.]
And then Dr. Prentiss. Jennie started up on that with Dr. Prentiss, and she came marching into the house with her pinched face and said we needed to have a serious talk. As if I were some monster of a mother. She was such a—a bitch. Excuse me. You should’ve heard the mouth on her! When she lost her temper—the words that came out of her mouth! She swore like a sailor.
She was also outraged at Jennie’s drinking. “Forcing liquor on a poor defenseless animal.” Defenseless! And Sandy started being so rude to Dr. Prentiss. Oh dear. He was rude to everybody, of course. But he was so smart, and he knew exactly how to get under Dr. Prentiss’s skin. He would accuse her of conducting “fascistic behavior modification experiments” on his “
sister.” Her relationship to Jennie was “bourgeois,” whatever that was supposed to mean. The accusations were, I have to admit, unfair. If I for a moment thought that Dr. Prentiss was abusing Jennie in any way I would have sent her packing. It made Dr. Prentiss wild to be accused like that. She considered herself a bit of a rebel, you see, and to be accused of having middle-class values made her hopping mad. She felt Sandy was trying to turn Jennie against her. And I think he was, but it didn’t work. Jennie loved and trusted Dr. Prentiss. I don’t really know why, but she did. Sandy, you know, was the first to see through that woman.
I will say this however: Sandy never said anything to Jennie that was bad about me. We had our differences, but Sandy never tried to turn Jennie against me. Or Hugo.
Everything seemed to change so fast. It was a very difficult time. Oh, it was so very difficult. I had this feeling that something awful was going to happen.
eight
[EXCERPTS from the journals of the Rev. Hendricks Palliser.]
February 10, 1971
This morning it was frigid. When I went for my morning walk the brook was frozen. I could hear the water running underneath the ice. But the brisk walk did nothing to shake off a lethargy that has settled on my soul since the death of Reba.
Today marks exactly one month since her passing. There is so much death in the world today, the death of fine young men in the jungles of Vietnam, the murder in our cities, the protests, the killing of college students. I can hardly accept this is my beloved country anymore. God said “Thou shalt not kill.” I do not recall His mentioning any exceptions to the rule. All the great pillars of my life are crumbling. I must constantly remind myself that I am not the only grieving person in the world. And yet, the loss of Reba is a terrible cross to bear and I do not think I have the strength for it.
When Jennie arrived for her weekly lesson this morning, I felt a great weight being lifted. She is so cheerful and so untouched by the sorrows of the world that she cannot but gladden a person’s heart. I watched her wander about the living room, picking objects up, smelling and tasting them, rolling them around between her palms, and dropping them on the rug when they had lost her attention. I did not have the heart to discipline her. It reminded me of how it used to irritate Reba and I shed a tear or two, and when Jennie noticed she came over with a look of great concern furrowing her brow. She embraced me with much affection and touched and patted my tears, trying to wipe them away. Kindness and love are God’s greatest gifts and Jennie has them in abundance. I need look no further than this to find proof that Jennie is a child of God.
Jennie Page 18
