Through a Window

by Jane Goodall

  Even as an adolescent Figan was quick to notice and try to take advantage of any sign of weakness (such as sickness or injury) in one of the adult males. Then, while the higher-ranked individual was at a disadvantage, Figan hurled his challenge—his impressive charging display—again and again. Often he was ignored, even threatened. But sometimes his audacity paid off and the older male, at least until he had recovered, would hasten out of his way. Even a temporary victory of this sort served to increase Figan's self-confidence.

  When Mike deposed Goliath and rose to the top-ranking position of the community Figan was eleven years old and, clearly, fascinated by the imaginative strategy of the new alpha. For Mike, by incorporating empty four-gallon tin cans into his charging displays, hitting and kicking them ahead of him as he ran towards his rivals, succeeded in intimidating them all—including individuals much larger than himself. All the chimps were impressed by these unique, noisy and often terrifying performances. But Figan was the only one whom we saw, on two different occasions, "practising" with cans that had been abandoned by Mike. Characteristically—for he was a past master at keeping out of trouble—he did this only when out of sight of the older males who would have been intolerant of such behaviour in a mere adolescent. He would undoubtedly have become as adroit as Mike had we not removed all cans from circulation.

  Figan's strong motivation to better his social position, along with his intelligence, earmarked him as a future alpha. The only serious drawback seemed to be his very highly strung nature. During intense social excitement, for example, he sometimes began to scream uncontrollably and often rushed over to a nearby individual, touching or embracing him, or her, for reassurance. Sometimes he even clutched his own scrotum. Nevertheless, as I was finishing In the Shadow of Man I wrote: "I suspect that Figan will eventually become the top-ranking male."

  The story that lies behind Figan's long struggle to the top is a fascinating one. It revolves around the complex and changing relationships between himself and three other males—his brother, Faben; his childhood playmate, Evered; and, oldest of the four, the powerful and unusually aggressive Humphrey.

  When Faben was striken by polio and lost the use of one arm, Figan managed to dominate his older brother. For the next three years the two young males interacted very little. Indeed, had they not been equally drawn to spend time with their mother they would probably have drifted apart, for Faben, at that time, was friendly with Humphrey, and Figan was clearly ill at ease in the presence of the much larger and stronger male.

  Then, when Figan was sixteen years old, the nature of his relationship with Faben changed again. The brothers became increasingly friendly and, for the first time, we observed them joining forces against one of Figan's rivals, his childhood playmate Evered. Together the brothers defeated him with ease, and wounded him quite badly into the bargain.

  For some time prior to that attack, relations between Figan and Evered had been strained and tense. When they met they had often performed vigorous charging displays as each tried to intimidate the other. Evered, by virtue of his seniority, had usually come off best, but after his defeat by the brothers he began to greet Figan with nervous panting grunts whenever they met. At least, he did for a few months. Youth, however, can be resilient, and Evered, like Figan, was also highly motivated to climb the social ladder. Gradually Evered's confidence returned—partly, no doubt, because Figan was by no means always with his brother: Faben was still friendly with Humphrey, and Figan, wisely, steered clear of the powerful male. Moreover, even when the brothers were together, Faben did not always help Figan: sometimes he just sat and watched.

  By that time, although Mike was still top-ranking, he was showing signs of age. His teeth were worn, the canines broken. His hair, dull and brown, was beginning to thin. It is not surprising that Figan, perceptive and astute as ever, was the first to challenge the authority of the failing alpha. Initially he merely ignored Mike's charging displays: he sat facing the other way! This clearly had an unnerving effect on Mike, who sometimes displayed again and again in Figan's vicinity as though desperately trying to provoke some sign of respect. But Figan was not impressed and, as the weeks went by, he himself displayed ever more frequently when he was near Mike. And soon Evered also began to question Mike's position.

  Both these young males, however, continued to show extreme deference to Humphrey. And Humphrey himself, through sheer force of custom (since he could have defeated Mike hands down in actual combat) was still highly respectful of the old alpha. Thus in 1969 I wrote: "Soon, then, we may have a situation where no single male is dominant in all situations. Certainly something is going to happen very soon."

  Something did, on a dull, grey day early in January 1970. Mike was sitting in camp by himself, peacefully eating a few bananas, when suddenly Humphrey, closely followed by Faben, charged up the slope and attacked him—just like that. For no obvious reason, with no apparent provocation. Mike, screaming, sought refuge up a tree. Humphrey followed, pulled him to the ground, and hit and stamped on him again. Faben, for good measure, joined the fray, and pounded on Mike a couple of times. Humphrey, seeming almost shocked by what he had done, was already leaving, and Faben followed him. The two aggressors vanished, leaving Mike utterly shattered, giving soft calls of fear and distress.

  It had all happened so suddenly, was over so quickly. Yet it was truly a historic event, for it marked the end of an era, Mike's six-year reign as alpha. Almost overnight he became one of the lowest-ranking males of his community: even some of the adolescents began to challenge him, and Mike seldom tried to stand up for himself.

  A week after his defeat, I followed the fallen monarch when he left camp. He moved slowly, pausing often to pick and munch on various leaves and fruits along the way. Later, in the heat of midday, he bent a few saplings onto the ground and settled down on this little bed to rest. I leaned against the trunk of a gnarled old fig nearby. It was quiet and very peaceful. Mike lay, his eyes open, staring into space. As I watched him I wondered what was going on in his mind. Was he regretting his lost power? Is it only we humans, with our constant preoccupation with self-image, who know the crippling sense of humiliation? Mike turned his head and looked at me, looked directly into my eyes. His gaze seemed untroubled, serene. Perhaps, I thought, he was glad to relax and let go the reins of power. After all, it is hard work for a top-ranking chimpanzee to maintain his position even when he is strong and young. And Mike was so old, so tired. Presently he closed his eyes and slept. Later, when he awoke, he wandered off into the forest, a solitary figure, very small under the huge trees.

  Humphrey automatically succeeded Mike as alpha. But although it was a decisive victory he had won, it was hardly glorious. He was strong and in his prime. He weighed at least twenty pounds more than the aging Mike. No grim determination to succeed, no hard-won series of battles against a powerful adversary, lay behind this rise to top rank. And, despite his large build and fiery temperament, Humphrey never became a truly impressive alpha: he was little more than a blustering bully, lacking the drive, intelligence and courage that had been so impressive in both Mike and his predecessor Goliath.

  Indeed, but for a lucky break—the departure of Hugh and Charlie, the two males whom he feared the most—Humphrey would never have made it to the top at all. This had happened a few months before Humphrey defeated Mike, at a time when the community that I had been observing for ten years began to divide. Some of them were spending ever more time in the far south of the range which, until then, all members of the community had shared. The leaders of the move to the south were Hugh and Charlie. Almost certainly brothers, the two had a close, supportive relationship and almost always travelled about together. They made a formidable team and it was hardly surprising that Humphrey, who had no close friend and only the occasional support of one-armed Faben, was fearful of them. When Hugh and Charlie, along with the other "southern" males, made one of their occasional excursions back to the north, Humphrey was usually able to avoid them.
Gradually these expeditions became less and less frequent and eventually stopped altogether.

  Everything seemed to be going Humphrey's way. Not only was he rid of his main rivals but, as a result of the community division, there were now only eight adult males over whom he had to maintain control: Mike, and Goliath before him, had had to exercise authority over up to fourteen. Yet despite this auspicious start, Humphrey only held his top-ranking position for one and a half years. He was usurped by Figan.

  Even during the early months of his reign Humphrey seemed to sense, in Figan, potential danger: he displayed, bristling and magnificent, much more often in Figan's presence than at other times. Probably such performances served to boost his own self-confidence, as well as to impress Figan. Figan, for his part, initially continued to keep out of Humphrey's way as much as possible and was, at least outwardly, highly respectful of the new alpha. Meanwhile he was still preoccupied with his long struggle to dominate Evered. Indeed, looking back on the events of the stormy period it seems probable that Figan, all along, realized that Evered, rather than Humphrey, was his most formidable rival.

  Soon after the change in alpha males a serious fight took place between Evered and Figan. As the two males skirmished high in a tree, Evered was joined by one of the senior males, and Figan, outmatched, fell some thirty feet to the ground. Evered, victorious, displayed magnificently through the branches while Figan sat screaming below. He was badly hurt, having sprained his wrist or, perhaps, broken some small bone in his hand, and he was very lame for the next three weeks.

  This happened just two months before Flo's death. She looked incredibly ancient; her body was shrunken, her eyes, for the most part, dull and blank, her movements slow. Yet when she heard the frenzied screaming of her son, at least a quarter of a mile away, she leapt to her feet and, with all her remaining hairs standing on end, raced towards the sounds—so fast that her human follower was left far behind. When she arrived on the scene there seemed little she could do, this frail old lady, to help Figan against his powerful aggressors. But her very presence calmed him. His frantic screaming gave way to soft whimpers as he limped towards his mother. And when she began to groom him he quietened altogether, relaxing under the reassuring touch of her fingers just as he had throughout his infancy and childhood. When Flo moved off, Figan followed, holding his bad hand off the ground. Not until his injury had healed did he leave her and move back into adult male society with all its tensions and dangers, its excitement and exhilaration.

  The next recorded drama was a fight between Figan and Humphrey. It was not very dramatic, and neither male was hurt, but it marked, for the alpha male, the beginning of the end. When it was over each of the combatants repeatedly ran to touch or embrace one of the other males present. They were not only seeking reassurance, but also trying to enlist allies. In this only Figan was successful: he persuaded one or two of the others to join him and, together, they charged at Humphrey who fled and, for several days, is thought to have wandered by himself. His period of greatest control had ended—but Figan's had not yet begun.

  The more we learn about the struggle for power among chimpanzees, the more we realize the tremendous importance of coalitions. An adult male trying to make it to the top has a much better chance of success if he has an ally—a friend who will consistently come to his assistance in times of need and, even more important from a psychological point of view, who will not side with a rival against him.

  A temporary alliance now sprang up between Humphrey and Evered. They sought each other's company and became frequent grooming partners. When they were together, each giving the other moral support, they could afford to ignore Figan's tempestuous displays. Indeed, they jointly defeated him in a fight a few months later. But this did not change things much—Humphrey, for the most part, avoided Figan, while the tension and hostility between Figan and Evered seemed, if anything, to increase. The charging displays that each performed in the vicinity of the other, when they met, became ever more vigorous. Once they charged back and forth, first one and then the other, for the best part of an hour. Figan, hair bristling, ran toward Evered, hurled a large rock, and displayed past him, scattering other members of the group. Then he sat, out of breath. A few moments later Evered started up. He leapt to shake and sway vegetation near his rival, dragged a branch past him, then in his turn sat panting from his exertions. Five minutes later, Figan began another performance. And so it went on. They created much excitement and nervous tension among their spectators before they finally gave up, probably from exhaustion. So far as we could tell, the score at the end of that round was even.

  Figan, despite his intelligence and his desire for high rank, might never have attained the coveted alpha position but for a sudden change of heart in Faben. Up until that time, although Faben has almost never joined sides against his younger brother, he had by no means always supported him either. But all at once, towards the end of 1972, the relationship between the two became even closer: if Figan challenged another male, Faben, if present, would join in, displaying in unison with his brother. If Figan needed help, Faben was prepared to give it. He became, it seemed, utterly committed to supporting Figan in his quest for power.

  Why did Faben show this sudden change of heart? Was it perhaps, at least in part, a consequence of Flo's death? The closer bond between the brothers was not apparent immediately following her passing, but then neither Faben (nor Figan for that matter) saw her dead body so there was no way of knowing, at the time, that Flo had vanished for ever. Then, as weeks went by with no sign of her, may not Faben have begun to feel a creeping sense of loss, an empty place in his heart, full-grown male though he was? A certain loneliness which he tried to assuage by spending more time with his brother?

  Certainly Faben as well as Figan had, as an adult, found comfort in his mother's familiar, unthreatening presence. Once, when he hurt his foot, Faben (like Figan when he sprained his wrist) had travelled with Flo until he was well again. There was also the time when Faben returned, after a long sojourn in the north, with the hand of his paralysed arm badly infected. He was, quite clearly, in considerable pain. He moved very slowly, walking upright and cradling the swollen fingers with his good hand. For several days he remained close to camp, constantly scanning the slopes of the valley, as though looking for someone. We shall never know whether, as I suspect, he was seeking comfort from his mother, for Flo, by one of those ironic twists of fate, had died the day before his return.

  Whatever the reasons behind Faben's decision to wholeheartedly support his younger brother, by April 1973 the two were all but inseparable. It was the strength of this alliance that not only brought about Humphrey's final downfall, but enabled Figan, at long last, to vanquish Evered, too. He accomplished these victories during three major conflicts.

  The first of these took place at the end of April. Figan and Faben jointly attacked Evered, who took refuge up a tree, whimpering and screaming. The brothers continued to charge about below for over half an hour until, during a lull, their victim finally managed to escape.

  Four days later came the second. This time Figan tackled Humphrey—a far more dangerous opponent than Evered when it came to actual fighting, since Humphrey weighed at least fifteen pounds more than either Figan or Evered. It happened in the evening. All four main characters were present—indeed they had been together all day in a large mixed group, feasting on the lush crops that abound at the end of the long wet season. There had been the usual kinds of excitement—charging displays and squabbles. Nothing out of the ordinary. As the sun sank low towards the lake in the west, Figan was feeding by himself, some distance from the others. The sound of snapping branches and rustling leaves indicated that the chimpanzees were beginning to make their nests for the night. It was a peaceful time, a time for gentle relaxation after the long day, before stretching out with a full belly.

  Figan stopped feeding. For a few moments he sat motionless in his tree and then, quite calmly, he climbed down. But by the tim
e he reached the others his hair had begun to bristle and, as he climbed their tree, moving ever faster, he swelled until he seemed twice his normal size. Suddenly he was off, displaying wildly through the branches, swaying them violently, leaping and swinging from one side of the tree to the other. There was instant pandemonium as chimpanzees screamed and fled his approach, many of them leaping from their nests. Figan briefly chased an old male, swatted him in passing and then, having worked himself into a frenzy, leapt down onto Humphrey where he sat in his nest. The two males, locked in combat, fell at least thirty feet to the ground. Humphrey pulled away and fled, screaming. Figan chased him a short distance and then, still without pause for breath, climbed back into the tree and continued to leap about in the branches.

  During the next fifteen minutes Figan displayed five more times. Twice he attacked a low-ranking male and the frantic screaming of his luckless victim added to the general confusion. Finally Figan became still (he must have been quite exhausted) and sat with heaving sides. Seeing this, Humphrey, who had unobtrusively climbed back into the tree, made himself another nest. Too soon! He had barely laid his head on a bunch of soft green leaves when Figan began yet another display and once again hurled himself down onto his rival. For a second time the two fell to the ground; for a second time Humphrey broke away and, screaming loudly, fled into the undergrowth.

  By this time it was almost dark. Figan sat for a while on the ground and then climbed up the tree and made himself a nest. Only then did Humphrey return and, very quietly, make his third bed. This time he was able to settle down for the night without further interruption.