Dark Memory

by Jonathan Latimer

  “Well, we’ve our gorillas,” Mr. Palmer said.

  “Yes.”

  “Never recommend them for sport, though.”

  “The Prince of Sweden liked it.”

  “He should try machine-gunning children.”

  “They did seem human,” Jay said.

  “Did you hear the little one cry?”

  “No.”

  “You know, it was strange.”

  A gust of wind threw open the fly and the tent was filled with spray. The noise of running water was everywhere. The safari lantern guttered in the wind.

  “It was bloody strange,” Mr. Palmer said.

  “The talking?”

  Mr. Palmer nodded at his paper cup of whisky. “Something did follow us down, you know. Both Mulu and the pygmy heard it.”

  “What kind of a noise did it make?”

  “Hard to describe. Somethin’ like a jew’s-harp. Came each time the little one whimpered. Very spooky.”

  A flash of lightning lit the whole left side of the tent. An instant later thunder came with a deafening crack. The sound blotted out the noise of the rain.

  “That was close,” Jay said.

  “Damned thing followed us down to the bamboo,” Mr. Palmer said. “Heard it there. Don’t mind saying I had the wind up.”

  Jay finished his whisky.

  “You don’t believe we heard it?” Mr. Palmer asked.

  “God, yes!” Jay said. “I’m wondering how scared I am.”

  “Isn’t altogether being scared.” Mr. Palmer was embarrassed, but he was very serious. “Not physically, anyway.” He stared at the whisky bottle. “Haven’t got it exactly clear. More on the moral side, though. Kept thinking I deserved whatever was coming.”

  “You think it was one of the three we let go?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “I’d hate to have them get hold of me,” Jay said. “Retribution or no retribution.”

  “Don’t believe they’ll chance the fire.” Mr. Palmer said. “Anyway, it’s not that. What I don’t like is their waiting out there, if they are. Trying to call the little one. Wondering what’s wrong with the pair we shot. Wet and cold and probably frightened as hell, but still waiting.”

  “The poor Goddamn lost things!” Jay said.

  “Yes,” Mr. Palmer said.

  They had one more drink. When he left Mr. Palmer at his tent, Jay saw Herbert inside. He had apparently decided not to stand guard. He was sitting on Mr. Palmer’s cot, still wearing his raincoat. Jay heard voices in the laboratory tent, but he did not go in. He did not want to look at the gorillas. The rain was coming down hard, wetting his face and hands. The wind pushed the slicker against his legs. He went to his tent and undressed by flashlight, wrapping his clothes in the slicker.

  He lay in bed and listened to the storm. The thunder came from everywhere, with hardly any pause between claps. The wind roared in the bamboo. When there was lightning, he could see wet stains on the canvas roof of the tent. He was glad to be warm in bed. He felt very bad about the gorillas. He had always believed he was not cut out for killing, and now he knew it. He thought possibly the gorillas had not suffered much pain. Maybe the male had, but his wife had died quickly. And they had gone together; something he and Linda would not do. He should not feel too bad about them. Just the same, he did. Well, he would not think of them. The way he would not think of Linda. That would fix it. To hell with gorillas. To hell with—no, not to hell. But he would not think of Linda or of gorillas.

  He was glad he did not have to embalm them, although it might be all right if he had not shot one. The hell! He was not going to think of gorillas. They were animals. He had that on the best authority. Lew Cable. Animals were being shot by people all the time. It was very human and pathetic, though, of the three gorillas to follow the baby and the two bodies back to camp.

  A loose piece of canvas beat against a guy rope, sounding like a sailboat coming into the wind. To hell with the gorillas! Hooray for the Prince of Sweden who killed fourteen of them! Hooray! Hooray for him! And hooray for me who killed one! What could he think about?

  Of the time Dad and he portaged to the virgin lake, launching the canoe gently, the water black from the mud bottom, the shore deep in floating pads, then the red-and-white plug slapping the water, and the bass striking, not knowing or believing anything stronger than they lived anywhere?

  He wanted to sleep, but the excitement and the whisky kept him awake. The storm was moving on. It was still raining hard, but the thunder was not so loud. The wind had shifted so that it was blowing against the back of the tent. What could he think about? Not Linda or the gorillas. How many girls had he been in love with? The girl in the library. And before that, the year he got out of high school, the girl at the summer resort on the lake. They kissed on the big sand dune, the sand looking like snow in the moonlight, her body trembling in his arms. It was funny: he could remember the sand, but he could not remember the girl’s face. Since Linda he could not remember the faces of any of his old girls. Or rather, in remembering them, they looked like Linda. It was the same thing. There was no one in his memory except Linda. He did not care; she was all he wanted.

  They were married at noon and her family did not come, not even her sister. She wore her tailored black suit and the gardenias he had sent and the minister could hardly read the lines, she was so beautiful. But her face was like stone, like ice, as though she had frozen herself into composure, and her lips were cold when he kissed her, and he was frightened. He paid the minister and they said good-by to Bill and got in the convertible and he said, “Darling, turn back. I understand. We’ll have it annulled. You can’t just stop being part of your family,” and she said, “Those stiff-necked bastards!” and kissed him and it was fine again. It was fine driving north and in a Quebec soft with the haze and the long afternoon twilight of summer.

  He did not know how long he had been asleep. The storm had gone. There was only an occasional growl of distant thunder. The silence was threaded with the dripping of water and the rustle of drying bamboo. He listened to the silence, wondering what had wakened him, and then he heard it.

  It was like the sound of a bass viol being plucked, a deep and musical note. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It was a resonant note, ending with a questioning lift in the pitch. He had never heard a sound like it before, but he knew what it was. Oh God! he knew. The knowledge lifted the hair on the back of his neck and made his throat muscles taut. He lay in bed, trying to control his breathing, and the sound came again, powerful, not loud, vibrant, deep, unreal, ending, finally, in that questioning lift. In the moment of following silence, the baby gorilla whimpered.

  Jay understood now what Mr. Palmer had been trying to say. It was not physical fear. It was sick remorse called up by the tragic knowledge that the three lost gorillas were talking to the baby from the bamboo. He thought of them going through the forest in the rain, following the strange and terrifying lights, hearing the deep singing they could never have heard before, and now waiting in the bamboo, the water running down their black faces, huddled together against the thunder, fear cold in their stomachs, but still waiting, held not by curiosity nor anger, but by what in humans would be called devotion and love. It had been bad killing the male and female, but this was worse; to learn now of the agony and faith of the survivors, bewildered by what had happened to the head of their family, but still hopeful of a reassuring bark. Stupid, perhaps, but so terribly human! What was it Herr Gutzman had said? “It is like killing a brave naked man whom you have angered by threatening his family.” Well, here was the family.

  For a long time Jay heard the gorillas talking. They did not come into the clearing, but he could hear them moving about in the bamboo. Occasionally they varied the musical twanging with low barks. He listened to them, thinking this was a day he would not be able to forget until he died. This would be another memory to plague him. He saw again the frightened black faces of the female gorillas, looking b
ack over their shoulders as they fled from the hunters. He saw again the sweat on the sad, wise, tired, peaceful, leathery face of the dead male and him being brought into camp like a king’s corpse, sitting up on the litter with the storm overhead and the voices and the red flames welling up around him, wet in rain and cold in air that smelled of torch smoke and ice and green bamboo.

  And now there was this sad questioning hui hui hui, like a cellist tuning up, coming from the night. And the answering whimper of the baby. And the dying mutter of the storm. And the dripping of water. And the feeling of sick remorse. He wished he had some of Mr. Palmer’s whisky. He wished he could go to sleep. He knew if he thought of Linda he would cry again.

  Someone came into his tent with a small flashlight. “Jay Nichols?” a low voice called. It was Eve Salles.

  “Hello!” he said.

  “Have you been awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it out there?”

  “The gorillas we didn’t kill.”

  “I thought so.” Her voice was breathy. “They frightened me terribly.”

  He didn’t say anything. One of the gorillas gave a soft bark.

  “Could I stay with you for a while?” she asked.

  “Of course.” He started to get out of bed. “You lie here. I’ll take the camp chair.”

  “No. Stay there. I’ll sit on the bed.”

  She had a camel’s-hair coat over her pajamas. She sat on the bed. “It’s so terrifying alone,” she said.

  He took her hand. It was cold. “There’s no danger.”

  “I wasn’t sure.”

  He sat up and she leaned against his shoulder. Her body was cold. She was trembling. He could smell a faint odor of lilac. The gorillas moved about in the bamboo, still talking. The baby did not answer them. There was still water dripping in the bamboo. Her hair touched his face, the smell of it sweet and clean. He put his arm around her. He could feel the warmth coming back into her body. It was the first time in a year he had been so close to a woman.

  “Please don’t,” she said. “Not that.”

  “All right.”

  “I didn’t come for that. I was really frightened.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Can’t you please understand?”

  “I do.”

  “Just hold my hand.”

  “All right.”

  It was comfortable and warm. He fell asleep with his arm around her, holding her hand against her breast. He dreamed that he and Linda were together again, and in his dreams he was very happy. Just after dawn the birds woke him. The gorillas were quiet and Eve Salles had gone, but the pillow smelled of lilac.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE SUN WAS HIGH when Jay came out of his tent. He did not see Mrs. Salles. There were white clouds in the sky and a breeze moved the bright green bamboo. The foliage of the forest below the plateau was fresh-looking. The bamboo and the forest and the mountains were all different shades of green. Even the waves of mountains that rose clear along the horizon looked green. A gray bird sang in the Erythrina tree.

  The professor was in front of the laboratory tent. “Morning, Jay,” he said.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  The professor did not look well. He had been working very late on the gorillas. Even in the sunlight his face was putty colored. “Had breakfast?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Get some. Then we’d better make a few photographs. Call me when you’re ready. I’m going to lie down a moment.”

  One of the Totos brought Jay breakfast in the dining tent. The hot coffee tasted good. He drank it black with a teaspoon of sugar. He was having a second cup when Bill and Lew Cable joined him.

  Cable was freshly shaven, the skin on his face tanned and healthy. “Hear the news, Scout?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “The baby gorilla got away in the night.”

  “That’s too bad,” Jay said. He was pleased.

  “It slipped out of Mulu’s hut in some way,” Bill said.

  Lew Cable did not seem especially disturbed. “Been a lot of trouble anyway,” he said.

  “Did you hear it last night?” Jay asked.

  “What did it do?”

  There was no use trying to tell them, Jay decided. They wouldn’t believe him. Maybe it had been a dream anyway. Even Eve Salles. “It cried a bit,” he said.

  Lew Cable said, “Let’s get going with the photographs.” He was full of nervous energy. He looked very virile with his healthy tanned face and his black mustache and his brushed-back hair and his perhaps too-thick-in-the-middle, heavy-shouldered body. “Drink your coffee.”

  “I’ve had enough.”

  Jay got the Graflex. The porters carried the two gorillas into the sunlight. It took six porters to move the male. Jay took some full shots of the two animals. Then he made a number of close-ups. He felt frozen looking at the gorillas. They did not seem the same. The embalming had done that. The polished appearance of the skin had gone; the black faces seemed lifeless and unreal, the way animals look in museums.

  “How much do you think the male weighed?” Bill asked.

  “I couldn’t guess.”

  “Four hundred and sixty-five,” Bill said. “And the female almost touched three fifty.”

  “Nothing to get conceited about, though,” Cable told Jay.

  Jay photographed the hands of the male. They were huge and wrinkled and deformed, the thumbs looking as though they had been stunted by some accident. Fuzzy hair covered the backs of the hands and the wrists. Bill showed Jay how the male gorilla’s short thumb could touch his outstretched fingers when the hand was flexed. The palm was much more supple than a man’s. The fingernails were square and yellow.

  “Hadn’t we better call the professor?” Jay asked.

  “He’s asleep,” Bill said.

  Jay finished the pictures in half an hour. He took the feet last. He was surprised to notice that the fur on both animals was perfectly clean. It was free of insects and looked as though it had been recently brushed. The male’s back was the color of a silver fox.

  “Where’s Mrs. Salles?” he asked as he closed the camera.

  “Walking with Mr. Palmer,” Bill said.

  Lew Cable scowled at Jay. “Interested in her, Boy Scout?”

  “Not especially,” Jay said.

  “That’s good.”

  “Why is it good?” Bill asked.

  “Because I say so,” Cable said.

  He went away. Bill walked with Jay to put the Graflex in the tent. “What a heel,” he said.

  Jay put the exposed plates in an airtight box. He put the Graflex in its case. Then he washed his hands.

  “Do you think he’s falling for her?” Bill asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jay said.

  “She is lovely.”

  “He can have her.”

  “No,” Bill said. “I want her.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting her husband?”

  “I’m doing my best to,” Bill said.

  Before lunch, while the professor slept, they finished the work of embalming and testing the gorillas. Bill would not let them wake the professor. He made chemical tests of the contents of the gorillas’ digestive tracts while Jay and Cable wound strips of cloth around the bodies. When that was done they called Bill. He helped them coat the gorillas with paraffin, spreading the warm waxy paste over the cloth strips. When this dried the gorillas would be ready to travel.

  “Now I have to do the urine,” Bill said. “Want to help me, Jay?”

  “No,” Jay said.

  Eve Salles and Mr. Palmer came back for lunch, but the professor stayed in his tent. Bill went in to see him. When he came back he said the professor had a slight fever, but he did not think it was serious. The professor had given him orders for the afternoon. He and Jay were to go up the gorilla mountain for photographs and botanical specimens. The professor especially wanted samples of what the gorillas ate. Lew Cable was to go with Mr. P
almer for meat in the forest below camp. Everything was to be done at once, Bill said, because the professor wanted to leave in the morning. That would give them more time in the Ituri Forest.

  “Oh, good!” Eve Salles said. “I was afraid we’d be here a long time.”

  “You were lucky,” Cable said.

  “Yes. Very lucky.”

  Jay glanced at her face. She did not seem so much pleased as determined, as though she had a job to finish. To find her husband. Maybe she thought he was dead. That would account for the lack of pleasure. Or maybe she didn’t care. Or maybe she had a lot of control. It was curious. He didn’t know the answer.

  She saw him watching her and smiled. “May I go with you and Bill?” she asked.

  “Sure, if Bill doesn’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind,” Bill said.

  “Do you think you’ll be safe with the Boy Scouts?” Cable asked.

  “Oh, drop that stuff, Lew,” Bill said.

  Eve Salles said, “I’m sure I’ll be quite safe.”

  “If anything happens to you the expedition will be blamed,” Cable said.

  “Oh, no. I signed a paper in Bukavu freeing you of all responsibility.”

  “We’d be blamed just the same,” Lew Cable said. “I think you’d best come with Mr. Palmer and me.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “No. How can I order you to do anything?”

  “Don’t be a fool, Lew,” Bill said.

  “I’m trying to be reasonable.”

  Mr. Palmer had been eating quietly. “Really no danger,” he said to Cable. “Gorillas will run. And Jay’s a fine shot.”

  “Come on, Lew,” Bill said.

  “All right.” Cable looked sulky. “Only be careful.”

  Bill went with Jay to get the Springfield and one of the Leicas. Then they filled a knapsack full of beer bottles. “Going to have trouble with that bozo,” Bill said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’re going to,” Bill said. “You see. He’s on the make for her. Always causes trouble.”

  They went to get Mrs. Salles. They could hear her speaking to Herbert. Then he came out of the tent, his lips curling contemptuously as he went by them. He looked, Jay thought, like a brown-and-yellow dog he had once tried to pull out of a dry well back of the abandoned farm near the lodge. The dog had slashed his arm from elbow to wrist.