3zekiel (First Contact)

by Peter Cawdron

  Angela turns, mouthing something to Pretzel. She shakes her head in disbelief. The grin lighting up her face suggests she’s mesmerized by the sight.

  I whisper, “Can you see Lady? Is she here?”

  Jana cranes her neck, peering through the grass. “I’m not sure.”

  Carefully, Pretzel opens the backpack and pulls out a sensor. He pushes it into the soft soil, extending the aerial. As quietly as he can, he presses the power button. A red LED glows and the box imparts a distinct beep. They’ve all done that, but it’s only now I notice as the sound is so foreign, so alien within the jungle. Even though the noises around us are a cacophony of confusion, with birds squawking in the trees, insects calling and the wind rustling through the leaves, that one solitary beep is distinctly out of place. It screams—unnatural. Pretzel cringes.

  A dark head appears above the grass. Beady eyes stare into the trees, looking for us, knowing we’re here, hidden in the shadows.

  “Oh, not good,” Jana whispers, crouched in front of me, batting at the air with her hands, wanting us to retreat.

  “OUGH!”

  We freeze. A gorilla rises up. Broad, dark shoulders blot out the greenery.

  Garcia begins slowly bringing his rifle down from his shoulder.

  I whisper, “No. He’ll think you’re a hunter.”

  “And that’s bad because?”

  “Well, he, ah…”

  Jana provides a succinct version of what I’m trying to express. “He’ll rip your arms out of their sockets.” With that, Garcia shoulders his rifle, remaining crouched beside us. Jana continues, “Whatever happens, don’t run.”

  Each cry echoing across the clearing is brutal, guttural, venting, clearing the air from the lungs in anticipation of a fight to the death. “OOH OOH OOH.”

  Jana whispers, “No eye contact.”

  We stay perfectly still. I dare not raise my eyes, catching only the motion of the grass on the edge of my vision. For a moment, it seems as though the grunting is subsiding. There’s been no other threat beyond that one solitary electronic beep and it was faint, just something off in the distance from their perspective. Jana and I visit the troop at least once a month. They know our smell. They know we mean no harm. I’m at the point where I think the danger has passed when the large male silverback begins pounding the ground. His arms fly up, loose and high over his head before his clenched fists thunder back into the dirt. Grass and rocks are thrown into the air as he continues working himself into a frenzy.

  “Not good.”

  “YEHAAR YEHAAR.”

  He rushes forward on all fours, trampling the grass, covering the distance between us in a blur of anger. Broad muscular shoulders flex. Chest muscles ripple beneath coarse, straggly fur. The gorilla moves with a lope, a distinct gait that comes in waves. He surges toward us before pulling back a few feet, still unsure but threatening to attack. Clenched fists beat at his chest as he rises, baring his teeth and growling. There’s nothing as terrifying as the gaping jaw of a fully-grown silverback roaring into the jungle with coarse, dark hair, jet black skin, deep red gums and vicious white fangs. His mouth seems to over extend, reaching far beyond what a human could manage. A single bite could crush a skull.

  “OOOH-AAAAH.”

  The deep, echoing bellow passes right through me, causing the hair on my arms to stand on end. I don’t think even Jana’s seen the troop leader this upset before. It’s probably the helicopters. The troop would have been scared by the sudden, loud intrusion into the jungle and he feels he has to defend them from danger. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt as small and helpless and insignificant as I do right now. My heart is racing. It’s all I can do not to turn and run. Jana has a firm grip on my wrist. She’s trembling.

  “WHO—WHO—WHO.”

  It’s not a question. It’s a threat, a challenge, an invitation. He wants to fight, to prove his prowess and his position as boss. The silverback smacks his chest again, pounding his black pectoral muscles like a drum. Deep guttural growls. Clenched fists. Sharp teeth. They’re a blurred haze barely visible through the long grass. The gorilla is so close I can smell his fetid breath drifting on the wind. The stench of piss and feces is rancid, intimidating, overpowering.

  He paces back and forth through the weeds, coming within a few feet of us but not advancing. It’s as though he’s marking a line in the grass, declaring his ground, daring us to approach, calling for cowards to show themselves. We shrink back, edging away from the track. Angela has her hand over her mouth, crouching beside Pretzel. Garcia has positioned himself closest to the clearing, although I’m not sure he’d be much more than a speed bump to a rampaging silverback.

  “YEHAAR WHO. YEHAAR WHO,” the gorilla bellows, tilting his head back and opening his throat, challenging all comers, letting the entire jungle know he’s the undisputed heavyweight champion of this world. His dense fur can’t hide his well-defined shoulder muscles and massive biceps. At a guess, he could bench-press a small car, if not throw it aside, tossing it like some fabled superhero.

  Suddenly, from to our right, tree branches and saplings come crashing down. There’s screaming, yelling. Another gorilla comes bounding into the clearing, slapping at the grass and swinging her head from side to side. She gallops in front of the male, swinging her arms high and wide, waving them as though she were trying to make herself appear large. She has a broken branch in one hand, dragging it along behind her as she drops to walk on all fours. With a thick, leathery brow, dark eyes and flared nostrils, she grunts repeatedly, only her vocalization isn’t threatening and isn’t directed at us. She dances around the male. Her mouth opens wide, but unlike the silverback, she’s not baring her teeth.

  “Who—Who—Who.”

  She slaps the ground with the branch. Torn bark and green leaves sway around in her club-like hand as though she were waving a flag.

  Pretzel whispers, “Lady?”

  I nod. To my surprise, Lady twirls. She continues swinging her arms around her head. She’s distracting the male. All his bluster and bravado seem somewhat redundant as she makes light of our presence, ignoring us even though we’re less than ten feet away.

  Lady passes between us and the male again, but she avoids remaining between us, prancing to one side of the perplexed male. She drops the branch and pulls bunches of grass out of the ground, throwing the thin strands at him. The grass, of course, simply flitters through the air, catching in the breeze and diffusing like confetti.

  The male lets out a huff and drops back to all fours. His head sways almost as though he’s responding to something she said. Reluctantly, he turns and walks away on all fours through the long grass. His ass sways as he saunters back to the troop. Shit drops to the muddy ground, falling in a stream of sodden clumps as a final insult to us. There’s a definite rhythm, a deliberate plop, plop, plop as he empties his bowels in our direction.

  Lady continues what seems more like a dance than a display of anger, letting out cries that are almost in mimicry of the big male. They’re softer, delivered without anger.

  “Ooh Ooh… Who Who… Yehaar Ooh.”

  Jana whispers, “Lady.”

  Lady scuttles sideways, coming over toward us while still keeping an eye on the male. For his part, the big old silverback has worn himself out. His care factor is gone and he plops on a bed of crushed grass, stretching out in the sun—as if it wasn’t hot enough already.

  Lady grunts, briefly crossing her fists over her chest and then grabbing at her thumb.

  “Oh, yeah, he does.” Jana says.

  Pretzel picks up on what’s happening before I can say anything. His eyes go wide and his face lights up. “What was that?”

  Jana has a massive grin on her face. “She said, he likes a good shit.”

  Garcia bursts out laughing and Lady reciprocates, hooting and slapping at the ground, only she alternates hands, hitting the grass on either side of her. The others stare at Garcia, surprised by his outburst. He blushes, pointing a
t Lady, trying to deflect attention back to her but I know precisely why he laughed and can’t help chuckle myself. Seems he can relate to taking a good shit.

  Lady squats, facing us, rocking rather than nodding with her head.

  “She can talk?” Pretzel asks.

  “You understand her?” Angela asks, even more surprised.

  Jana answers them both with a single word, “Yes.”

  “Okay, you’re going to have to rewind this one for us,” Angela says.

  “Sign language.”

  “You taught her sign language?” Pretzel asks.

  “Not me, silly.”

  I love Jana. To her, all this seems as blatantly obvious as me describing a McDonald’s drive-thru to her dad.

  “Gorillas sign all the time. They speak to each other with their hands and fingers, sometimes even their feet.”

  As she’s talking, Lady signs and Jana replies, holding two conversations at once. I’ve seen Jana sign with Lady before, but never with quite as much vigor.

  “My mother is deaf. She taught Lady our language—long before I was born. But Lady has her own language.”

  Pretzel looks at Angela with raised eyebrows. “Bilingual?”

  Angela shrugs. “We have apes that use sign language back in America, but I’ve never heard of it in the wild.”

  “We had scientists here,” Jana replies, “from the jungles of York.”

  “York’s not a…” Pretzel begins, although he never finishes his sentence, allowing Jana to continue.

  “They studied them with cameras. Ape language is simple, but it’s there. Lady, though, she’s special.”

  “She certainly is,” Angela concedes.

  Jana and Lady sign.

  “She’s saying, ‘Don’t worry about Tiny.’”

  “Tiny?” Pretzel asks. “He didn’t look that small to me.”

  “She means his—”

  “Dick,” I say, seeing Jana feels a little embarrassed by the concept.

  “She named him that?” Angela asks. Jana nods. “She knows that’s an insult, right?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jana says, laughing.

  Lady points at the scientists, although when a gorilla points it’s unlike anything a human would intuitively recognize. Rather than sticking a finger out, she directs her knuckles at them, letting her black, wrinkled fingers hang limp before us. It’s as though she’s the Queen of England, offering us her hand to kiss. I guess she’s the queen of the jungle. Jana interprets the gesture.

  “She wants to know your names.”

  The aging Indian scientist says, “Ah, well it’s not Tiny.” Angela bursts out laughing, surprising Lady, who reciprocates with a few guttural hoots even though she can’t possibly understand what was said. It seems laughter is contagious across species. Jana looks a little confused. Pretzel faces Lady, pointing at himself. “I’m Pretzel.”

  “Pretzel doesn’t mean anything to her—or me.”

  “Oh, okay. How about this?” Pretzel turns around on the track, still crouching, shuffling with his boots. I guess he’s trying to mimic twisting like a pretzel or something, but as he turns, he taps his chest, saying his name a couple of times. Lady gets excited. She tears at a clump of grass. Roots dangle from the clod of dirt swinging below the fine grass stalks. Lady pulls the grass through her hand, stripping fine seeds from the kernels. We watch, mesmerized as she mimics Pretzel, turning around and round, sprinkling grass seeds on her head. She comes to a halt and grunts as she pulls at another clump of grass.

  “She wants you to do it,” Jana says. Lady holds out a handful of grass seeds. Pretzel has no hesitation. He kneels just a few feet away and reaches out an open hand. Thick, dark, leathery fingers tap his palm, dumping a small pile of fine seeds in his hand. He copies Lady, holding one hand high above his head, allowing grass seeds to fall in his hair as he twirls on the muddy track, squatting as he spins, almost falling sideways into a tree as he gets a little dizzy.

  Lady jumps up and down in the grass. She’s on all fours, snorting with delight. Angela backs up, as does Garcia, unsure about the intentions of this wild gorilla, but Pretzel doesn’t seem to notice, he’s found his inner gorilla and is joining in, jumping around like her, albeit crouched on two legs and using his hands to stop from falling over.

  Jana laughs her ass off.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  Both Jana and Lady point at Pretzel, who’s come to a stop slightly out of breath. He’s perplexed. Grass seeds have caught in his thin, wispy hair.

  “She says, she fooled you. She made you look silly—made you look pretty like her.”

  “She played a joke on me?”

  Jana can barely talk she’s laughing so hard. “Yes.”

  Pretzel plays up to the fully-grown female gorilla weighing easily three times his weight. He points his finger, pretending to scold her, but he too is laughing. Lady tears another handful of grass and tosses it in the air. Pretzel plays the fool, ducking his head beneath the strands, trying to catch them in his hair, which Lady loves. She slaps her legs, grunting in delight.

  Lady turns to Angela, pursing her lips and signing to Jana.

  “Oh, no,” Angela says, waving her hands, not feeling comfortable with the attention of a great ape.

  “She wants to know your name,” Jana says. “But you’ve got to describe it in terms she can understand.”

  “Angela. Ah, Angel.” She points at the sky. Lady signs something, seeking clarification from Jana.

  “She thinks you mean leaves or trees.”

  Lady picks up the branch she dragged into the clearing, pointing at it as Jana explains. “She’s confused as to why someone would be named after a branch.”

  Angela laughs, pointing behind Lady at the clear blue sky. That communicates. Lady shakes her head, touching her hand briefly against the side of her head and then her lips.

  “Loud bird. She thinks you mean helicopter.”

  “That’ll do.” Angela nods, accepting that as close enough.

  “She’s left handed,” Pretzel says, noting her preference for signing.

  “Huh?” I say, I’d never noticed that.

  “How many words does she know?”

  Jana replies, “I don’t know. I’ve never asked her. I’m not sure she would know. I don’t even know how to ask.”

  “And your mom taught her to sign?”

  “I think they taught each other. Back when Mom was my age, the troop lived over by the village, on this side of the river. They stayed close for protection. From leopards, I think. As the village grew, they moved away.”

  Angela points. “The scars on her arms.”

  “Yes. Leopards will attack anyone that’s isolated. Humans, gorillas, chimps. The only safety is in numbers.”

  I speak up. “About a year ago, we found two of them dead.”

  “Two of them?” Pretzel asks.

  “After a fight. A gorilla and a leopard. Lots of blood.”

  Jana’s eyes go wide. “Blood everywhere. On the trees—the bushes—soaking into the mud.

  “The gorilla ripped the leopard’s jaw off, tore out its throat, but he’d been so badly hurt by the big cat, he never made it more than twenty yards.”

  As we talk, Lady’s eyes follow the conversation. She may not know what we’re talking about, but she understands we’re saying something about her and her kind. She nudges Jana, wanting in on the discussion. Jana, though, is unprepared for what amounts to a shove and has to reach out with her hand to avoid toppling over. Jana’s not bothered by it, though, just surprised. She signs something, although I’m not sure what.

  Lady plucks some nuts from the broken branch, offering them to us. Her thick, dark, curled fingers reach for us, offering food.

  Jana says, “She’s always trying to fatten us up. She thinks we’re apes. Skinny, hairless apes.”

  “She’s right,” Pretzel says. “We are.”

  “How often do you talk?” Angela asks.

  “Once
a week. My mother still comes out here, but not so often. She says the gorillas bring good luck. We bring Lady vegetables, stuff like yams.”

  Pretzel nods. “I bet she likes them.”

  “She does.”

  Although the conversation is about Lady, it’s not centering on her and she tires of our company. As we’re no longer interacting with her, she gets distracted by a butterfly fluttering past. She leans back, rolling in the grass, losing interest in us entirely.

  “Hey, Lady,” Jana calls out, pulling a small apple from her pocket. Here in the jungle, apples are small and sour. They’re nothing like back in America, but Lady doesn’t know any different. Jana tosses the apple and it rolls in the grass, almost disappearing in the weeds. Lady scoops it up rather than grabbing it as a human would, and bites through it. There’s no concern for pips in the core or the stem. She raises her head in acknowledgement, a tacit thank you, and turns to join her troop. As she saunters off through the long grass, her body sways, but there’s no poop. Lady’s far too polite for that.

  Pretzel sits on his haunches, watching her with intense interested. “Just magnificent.”

  “Who would have thought it,” Angela says. “We’re about to make First Contact with an intelligent extraterrestrial species, but I’m more fascinated by contact with a troop of gorillas.”

  “I wonder what they’ll make of all this,” Pretzel says, pointing at the sky as he gets to his feet. I pick up the backpack and we continue down the track. I too wonder. In the movies, it’s all about humans and aliens. There’s never any concern given to the millions of other species on this planet and I wonder what the aliens will think about gorillas like Tiny and Lady.

  Mordecai

  Within twenty yards, we hear the sound of a waterfall cascading over the cliff. Pretzel sets another monitor in the shallows of a nearby stream.

  “This is a different river, right?”

  “Yes,” Jana says. “The Utanga comes down from the tableland.”

  “Awesome. Rivers are wonderful aggregators, concentrating particulate matter and pollutants. Everything flows downhill. Makes for good sample points.