Great Apes

by Will Self

  ‘ “H’hooo” Simon!’ Busner was bipedal now, in lecturing, hectoring mode. ‘Now, as you are aware, in your therapy we intend to take a didactic and explanatory approach. We will confront you with the reality of your chimpunity, to try and dissolve the content of your delusion. Remember, if at any stage you find the sight of these beasts too disturbing, you simply have to pant-hoot and we’ll beat a retreat.’

  Simon goggled at the ape who stood in front of him with wiggling fingers. An ape half-dressed in tweed jacket, Viyella shirt, and hank-of-mohair tie; an ape who had bifocals hanging on a chain around his thick neck. He couldn’t prevent himself from guffawing, clacking his big canines together. What could possibly be more disturbing than this?

  Sensing the see-sawing of Simon’s mood between hilarity and horror, Busner decided to move him on. They rounded a raised bed full of suburban verdancy and came muzzle-to-muzzle with the large statue of Guy the gorilla, for many years the zoo’s primary primate attraction. As ever, the larger-than-life-size bronze had its mini-mahouts in the form of chimpanzee infants clambering between the blades of its broad back, cachinnating, chattering, and being wraaed at. Their parents showing them to stay still, keep novocal, so they could take the shot.

  Busner drew Simon up to the privet fringe edging the safety barrier. Beyond this there was a two-foot gap and then the close steel bars that constituted the gorillas’ enclosure. The enclosure – which was about forty by eighty hands and thirty high – was upholstered with great drifts of straw. An enormous, bottomless plastic dustbin lay on one side with a tuft of straw escaping from it. There was also a rope net set up between four thick posts, and half a bale of straw lay in this hessian depression, providing the means – or so Simon assumed – for the gorillas to make day nests.

  Busner crooked one finger in the direction of a near-pyramidical thing covered in silvery-black fur that was crouched in the embankment of straw towards the middle of the enclosure. ‘ “H’hooo” look, Simon! There he is, a big silverback – your first, live human!’

  If Busner had expected any particular reaction, laughter wasn’t it, but laughter was what he got. Full-throated, high-pitched, gnashing, clacking laughter. Simon’s fingers articulated his incredulity, while his cackling was loud enough to attract the attention of the chimps in the vicinity: ‘ “H’hee-hee-clak-clak” that’s not a human! That’s a gorilla!’

  ‘Yes, yes “chup-chupp” – please – it is a gorilla, but it belongs within the human family, along – I believe, although I’m no zoologist – with the orang-utan; all three species being tailless “huuu”?’ And Busner grabbed Simon by the scruff at this point, so as to calm him down, because the poor chimp was whimpering, his hilarity flooding with despair.

  ‘Of course, Dr Busner, of course, how stupid of me “u-h’-u-h’-u-h”’ you see, naturally, that as far as I am concerned the gorilla, the chimpanzee and the orang-utan belong in the same family – the human being distinct, unique, imbued with both self-consciousness, and of course “u-h’, u-h”’ made in the image of his creator.’

  It was Busner’s turn to fall signless, as once more he apprehended the perfect symmetry of Dykes’s delusion. Busner was aware that some radical philosophers and anthropologists were currently attempting to redraw the species boundaries; in the process dubbing chimpanzees as ‘the second human’. There must be, Busner reasoned, a part of Dykes’s psyche that has absorbed this information and flipped it round, a comi-tragic reversal.

  But no matter how deluded Dykes was, he responded well enough to being out of the hospital. His signing was becoming more fluent and articulate by the hour. And although he still tensed up whenever another chimp got too close to him – a reaction that left dismayed vocalisations in his wake – he no longer lapsed into uncontrollable hysteria. Busner judged that now was as good a time as any to force the pace. So, he took the still giggling chimp by his brown scruff and led him on, towards the humans’ enclosure.

  This was part of the same complex as the gorillas’. At its core were four internal rooms – two each for the humans and the gorillas. These were painted a serviceable orangey-yellow and equipped with niches and sleeping platforms. The gorillas’ were far smaller, as the zoo only had the one pair, whereas there was an entire party of humans. Both accommodations featured the adventure playground appurtenances deemed necessary for captive humans, thick hessian ropes, strategic arrangements of telegraph poles and handholds set at different heights.

  Knuckle-walking to the left of the complex, Busner and Simon came first to the smaller of the two glassed-in rooms that housed the humans. There was a group of chimps assembled here, muzzles pressed against the thick plate glass, so as to cheat its bold reflection. The chimps were signing and vocalising to each other excitedly. ‘ “Hooo-Graa” look at that one, it’s peeling a banana!’; ‘ “H’huuu” is that a male?’ ‘ “Grnnn” what’s that one trying to do, is it “huuu” playing?’

  Simon, unwilling to get close enough to see what was behind the glass, hung back and studied these animals-looking-at-animals. Did they have any idea how ridiculous, how stupid they appeared? “Wraaa” a thick-set male called, and then gestured to his female companion – was her head fur arranged, ever so slightly in travesty of a human hairstyle, feather-cut and bleached at the edge of the temples? It certainly seemed that way to Simon. ‘Look at the stumpy teeth on that fucker “wraaa”!’ And she giggled, clutched the thick fur on his anguiform arm, smarmed herself against him and rearranged her bandy legs around her straggly swelling.

  There were other chimps, chimps with oddly slitty eyes who held camcorders and filmed each other adopting what they imagined to be human-like postures in front of the enclosure. This spectacle brought the bile buckets coursing up Simon’s gullet. He tugged Busner’s sleeve, then inparted his therapist’s palm, ‘Why do those chimps have such peculiar eyes “huu”? They’re slitty, and their head fur is far darker and sleeker than that of the others.’

  Busner looked at Simon, his eyebrow ridges arched with incredulity, before replying, ‘They’re Japanese, Simon, and please keep your fingering discreet, they may sign ES for all we know.’

  But Simon wasn’t paying any attention, his curiosity was getting the better of him. There were grey, blobby shapes moving behind the glass, coming into the light and then retreating. He pushed forward between the press of lanate limbs until he was able to shield his eyes against the glass. Busner was by his shoulder, keeping a firm hand on him, ready to provide restraint if he reacted adversely. There they were, the first human forms that Simon had seen since Sarah’s body had bucked in orgasm beneath his ramming pelvis. The first human features he had set eyes on since those loved ones had furred-over.

  There was one standing with its back to Simon, some seven feet away. Two more lay on the sleeping platform by the right-hand wall, back to back. Another was supine in the straw, an infant jumping on its billowing belly. The first thing Simon noticed about the humans was their buttocks. They were obscenely null and ludicrously curvaceous, more like blanched beach balls than body parts. The animals’ buttocks were all the more exposed-looking because of the relative furriness of the rest of their bodies. Simon couldn’t tell which were male and which female, but all saving the infant had large crops of pubic fur, and some had sparse fur on their chests, arms and legs as well.

  Then the one at the back of the room turned and ambled, upright, towards the chimpanzee spectators. There were “aaas” and “wraaas” from the chimps as the human emerged from the shadows into full visibility. Simon gazed at the human – if that’s what it was. He’d never seen anything quite like it. For a start it was very fat, but fat in an unusual way, the flesh falling in distinct dewlaps from all its limbs, and in a great distended bib from its belly and chest. There were also warty-looking wattles of flesh on its neck, a neck that to Simon seemed quite oddly elongated, as did the rest of the body.

  But the body, strangely steatopygic as it was, was nothing like as impactful as th
e thing’s blunt muzzle. Simon concentrated, trying to discern the physiognomy of a man, but couldn’t really perceive it. It certainly had something that might be a nasal bridge – at any rate a fleshy proboscis; and also a flat area above its eye sockets, rather than a pronounced ridge. This either made the beast’s eyes appear more prominent – or else they were in reality; at any rate they blearied at Simon, blue, protuberant, and utterly without the least flicker of rationality, or self-awareness. Simon tugged Busner’s sleeve and inparted his palm, ‘D’you know, is that a male or a female “huu”?’

  Busner stared at his patient, quite taken aback, before fluttering, ‘It’s a male, Simon, look at the beast’s great sausage of a prick. ’ Simon was aghast that he hadn’t noticed the fire-hose-thick, ten-inch length of penis lodged in its bushy groin. As if remarking on this error, the human grabbed hold of his limp organ and began yanking it hard and mechanically.

  This brought forth a chorus of delighted pant-hoots from the assembled chimps. “HoooGra!” they all cried and then signed excitedly among themselves, ‘Look! It’s wanking! It’s wanking!’ Some of the chimps became so aroused by this display of animal sexuality that they started mock-mating with one another, but this soon died down again.

  Simon remained, eye sockets rammed against the glass, focusing intently on the vacant muzzle of the masturbating human. After a while it stopped, let go of its still flaccid member and shambled back to the tenebrous rear of the room. As it turned, the chimps became agitated once more, tremendously taken by just that feature that had so surprised and revolted Simon. ‘Look at its bum, Mummy,’ signed an infant who was near to Simon ‘it’s all horrible and smooth!’

  ‘ “Wraaf ” still!’ the mother snapped back.

  But the human lying on its back with the infants playing around it was the one who had most of the chimps’ attention. They were charmed by the antics of a roly-poly mite, who time after time struggled up the slick-skinned belly of the prone adult, attempted to stand, then fell in a windmill of truncated arms and lengthy legs, back into the straw.

  Each time this happened the chimp infants gave voice, their shrill, piercing screams bouncing off the glass. Then they would all sign the same – to Simon’s eyes, stereotypic – response: ‘ “Aaaa” look, Mummy – they’re playing!’ whereupon the attending adult female would also “aaa” and remark, ‘They’re so cute,’ as if this cuteness, this apparently chimp-like behaviour were entirely novel and unsuspected.

  The two prone humans on the sleeping platform now stirred, then sat upright. One was clearly female, with even bigger distensions of flesh on its chest than the male – and possessed also of long brown teats. As for the other, it was extremely difficult to establish its gender as it kept all its limbs hunched up in a tight bundle, and rocked back and forth on its buttocks-for-runners. Neither of these animals acknowledged the presence of the other, and like the masturbating male their porcine muzzles were devoid of feeling or expression.

  Busner caressed the side of Simon’s neck and gently teased some signs into his fur. ‘Notice “chup-chupp” how the humans don’t groom one another. Indeed, “chup-chupp” hardly touch.’

  Simon, becoming aware of what Busner was signing about as he became aware of the fact of the signing itself, was struck for the first time by the potential for poetry that such a signage might have. Signing of touch – while touching; a dance and play of the fingers, one on another – one to another. Simon reached out an exploratory hand, found the powerful thigh of the psychiatrist and inparted, ‘I find them very peculiar to look at “u-h’-u-h”’, not quite what I expected.’

  ‘Well, I believe that humans reared in captivity do have some significant differences from those in the wild.’

  ‘Which are “huu” – ?’

  Simon didn’t get a countersign because there were loud noises, as of various metal objects being moved, bolts shot, gates opened, chains rattled. Simon had noticed the exaggerated languor with which the humans moved, reminiscent of mental patients sedated with Largactil, but this racket jerked them into attention. All save the swaying, genderless individual on the sleeping platform got bipedal and with their peculiar, stilted gait moved to the doorway at the left of the room.

  One of the supine adults was male, although not nearly as large a specimen as the masturbator. It was shorter, stockier and had a sparser, lighter pubic pelt. This individual jostled with the big male for precedence in the queue, nudging him shoulder to shoulder. The big male then opened its slack mouth to reveal a mouthful of stunted, rotten teeth. If Simon had been expecting an intelligible vocalisation, some of what he had denoted “speech”, then he was to be gravely disappointed, for all that emerged was a low, throaty roar. A roar so bass that it made the toughened glass vibrate.

  The big human male roared and gave the other male a hefty barge which sent it staggering a couple of paces. It fetched up against the glass and Simon looked deep into its empty eyes. ‘You see,’ Busner tickled Simon’s scruff, ‘the beginnings – albeit crude – of a dominance hierarchy.’

  The other humans were filing out of the doorway, ducking as they passed under the lintel. The putatively beta male picked itself up and followed in their scut. “Aaaah”, vocalised an infant who was grabbing Simon’s leg, then signed, ‘Poor thing, he’s been left behind!’ Simon was surprised – he didn’t find the infant chimpanzee’s touch difficult to endure. The trailing human moved towards the doorway, but failed to duck in time. Lintel met unprotected head with an audible crack and the human fell back, smack on its cushioning arse. A peal of unrestrained, joyfully effervescent laughter splurged from the chimps.

  Simon felt anger rise up in him. White rage. He turned to muzzle Busner, ‘ “Wraaa”! That’s horrible, so callous. Can’t chimps show any sympathy for these poor creatures!’

  ‘ “Hooo” now, Simon, I agree with you, of course, but let’s not attract too much attention to ourselves. ’ He drew his unorthodox patient away from the other chimps, who were still heaving and clutching their sides. ‘You must realise that the sight of the human banging its head is an archetypal form of slapstick “huuu”?’

  ‘Whaddya mean “huu”?’

  ‘Well, the human is markedly less spatially aware than the chimpanzee. Its capacity for extroception – intuitive awareness of the dispensation of surrounding objects – is diminished, barely there at all. Chimpanzees have thus always used the human as a clownish paradigm. Circus acts often incorporate chimps dressed up as humans, running around bashing into one another, d’you see “huuu”?’

  Simon saw a lot. Over the top of the gibbons’ cages he saw the trees of Regent’s Park wavering in the distance. He saw the Lifewatch badges that some of the surrounding chimps sported, and he also saw his three infants, laughing as they scampered between the Coca-Cola machine next to the panda cage, the Lifewatch badge dispenser which played its inane, five-note jingle over and over, and the chimpanzee enclosure. Running easily, fluently, with that ungoverned feel so redolent of childhood, so redolent of a time before energy must be husbanded, conserved. The boys’ bodies, so gracile, so fleet, so unlike those of the lumpen animals whose forms were smeared behind the toughened glass. Simon was riven by contrary, oppositional views, like an infant who places one eye on each side of a door, affording it different perspectives that are simultaneously unassimilable. He saw down the corridor of his life. Simon was a tall man. He had bashed his head against a thousand lintels, bulwarks, undersides of tables and horizontal poles. Was this wherein his humanity resided? These biffs and bonks, each of which – he remembered this too – had encoded within itself the knowledge that it could have been avoided, as if effect had preceded cause.

  The corridor of Simon’s life tipped up. It was a shaft now, a shaft tricked out to appear like a corridor, with items of furniture attached to its sides, against which his plummeting body crashed. Back and back, hip-on-corner, elbow-against-knob, jaw-slaps-door … until reaching what? Some primary, definitive bang? And now
Simon thought he apprehended it – that big bang. Felt its hard thwack running from occiput to nape, nape to shoulder, shoulder to coccyx. One hand went to his arse. His fingers fiddled in the ischial pleats. Then emerged, rose, spread. He turned to Busner, who was still touching him, still at his side, and signed, ‘D’you know, when I was a child I was hit by a bus. It was on the Fortis Green Road …’ He was fluttering. ‘Coming back from a film … but what film “huu”?’

  ‘ “H’hooo” really. ’ Busner was distracted, perhaps caught in the same corridor as Simon, or one parallel to it. ‘Well, that’s duff extroception for you “huuu”? Now, shall we see what the humans are up to “huuu”? I think it’s their feeding time.’

  After dropping his titular alpha and the deluded chim he was seeking to capitalise on at the zoo, Gambol sat for a moment, toying with the controls of the Volvo. Gambol may have been treated like a cab driver by Busner, but he was far from being just an intellectual grease human, running errands, placing pant-hoots, arranging for research to be done. Gambol had a first-class degree in psychology from Edinburgh, and won a Morton-McLintock Grant for a Master’s in clinical psychology.

  After obtaining this second degree he came under the influence of Zack Busner. Naturally Gambol had been aware of Busner for years; his distinctive pant-hoot was one of the sonic icons of the early seventies – now endlessly repeated on the reruns of game shows and gesture shows that disgraced the cable stations – but it was Gambol’s reading of Harold Ford’s definitive monograph on the Quantity Theory of Insanity that made Busner his hero. Gambol proceeded to read everything by Busner he could find, from his woefully misguided doctoral thesis Some Implications of Implication5, through his accounts of his ill-starred Concept House, to his later works on the existential, phenomenological ramifications of extreme neurological disorders.