by Will Self
Gambol became an acolyte. His own doctoral thesis was to have been a survey of Busner’s much vaunted psycho-physical approach to his unusual patients. Was to have been, until the shiny folder that Gambol passed across the table to Whatley in the Café Rouge first came into his hackled hands.
The folder’s source was a chimp called Phillips, who worked in a menial research capacity for a multinational drug company, Cryborg Pharmaceuticals. Gambol had knuckle-walked into Phillips a number of times at the seminars Cryborg ran on psycho-pharmacology for professionals. Learning that Gambol was Busner’s epsilon and research assistant, Phillips blazoned it that he had a marked antipathy towards the great ape, indeed, that the resuscitation of Busner’s career and reputation struck him as a gross travesty.
However when Gambol pressed Phillips about this, the chimp grew circumspect; his signing reduced to little more than fingernail clicking. Was Gambol aware, he snapped, of the odd lacuna in Busner’s career that transpired in the early nineties? Did Gambol know that during this period Busner had resigned his consultancy at Heath Hospital and gone to work for Cryborg? Had Gambol any prinkling of the nature of that work?
The answers were, of course, all negative. Gambol pressed Phillips, arranging to meet him for drinks in various pubs around Hampstead. Gradually, over the course of months, the elements of the story had emerged. First was the revelation that Busner had, according to Phillips, been employed by Cryborg to conduct an anxiolytic drug trial; next came the implication – although not the direct demarcation – that the trial had been illegal.
And there Phillips stalled. It was an odd alliance, because both subordinates retained affection for Busner as they probed the possibility of undermining his reputation and destroying his career.
Then came Dykes – and the situation changed rapidly. Phillips was staggered when Gambol showed him about the artist and his peculiar delusion that he was human. He asked Gambol to keep in touch with any further developments and gave Gambol the folder that was passed on to Whatley, who then became – with Phillips’s assent – the other angle of their conspiratorial triangle.
The folder was a dummy of an advertising brochure for a drug ascripted – provisionally – Inclusion. The facts, as set out in the brochure, made Inclusion a potential panacea for all modern neurotic and depressive ills. How exactly the drug worked was left vague – the brochure was aimed at not-so-sedulous general practitioners, without much time on their hands – but that Cryborg believed it to be a major breakthrough in psycho-pharmacology was written between every line of the medicalese.
Phillips inparted Gambol that the relationship between Busner and the chimp who thought he was human was more enduring than Simon Dykes knew. He promised to enlighten Gambol on these matters, but only on condition that he supplied regular updates on Dykes’s progress. It was one of these that Gambol was contemplating as the Volvo, exhaust burbling, stood beside the zoo gates. He hated having to go to call boxes and hunch there, furtively signing, as if he were some low-rent industrial spy. But using the car ‘phone was out of the question. Busner was absolutely correct about outgoings. Every paper clip, every pant-hoot, every cup of tea was accounted for on a weekly basis.
Gambol sighed and engaged gear. He’d drive down to Camden Town to make the pant-hoot. And he’d better make his gesturing snappy – Busner had intimated that the trip to the zoo might not last very long, and he wanted Gambol there when they were ready to leave.
* * *
Simon felt like leaving now. They had ambled in the wake of the other chimps, around the barred, open part of the human enclosure, to the room which lay on the other side. It was here that feeding time was going on.
Simon wasn’t exactly expecting tables laid with white cloths, set with a silver service and crystal wine glasses, but even so the scene that confronted them was pitiful as well as disturbing. A large heap of food had been dumped on top of the layer of rank straw covering the floor. And what food it was, apples, oranges, bananas and bread. That was it. Simon looked in vain for anything else, any garnishes, side dishes, or meat, but there was none, just apples, oranges, bananas and white bread, the processed variety, so soft and gungy that slices remained cemented together even within the jumble of fruit.
It was obviously this bounty that had sparked off the spat between the two human males. For now, the biggest of the males – ‘the Wanker’ as Simon had mentally denoted him – sat by the heap, his long legs loosely crossed and a mound of the foodstuffs hiding his repellent lap. He was eating a quintuple-decker sandwich, constructed in the best cordon bleu fashion, by grabbing five stacked slices of bread.
All the humans were in this room for the feeding session. Simon forced himself to view his conspecifics with some kind of objectivity, to look for physical characteristics, identify ages and genders. Besides the Wanker, there were three other mature males. The one who’d been barged now stood knock-kneed, his head leaning against a sleeping platform, apparently waiting for the alpha male to finish scoffing. But another mature male was clearly in favour with the Wanker and, judging by his warty flesh, he might have been a blood relation.
This one stood slack-jawed, grasping a metal handhold, looking for all the world like some maladapted rail commuter, abandoned in a terminal rail siding by the passage of evolution. The Wanker would pass an occasional titbit to this individual, and the Commuter – as Simon now dubbed the putative relation to the Wanker – would take the apple or banana and scrunch it between his stubby teeth, pulp, pips and juice squirting over his chin.
The scene, which had at first merely bewildered Simon, then despite his revulsion, intrigued him, now engaged him fully. The longer he looked at the humans the more he felt akin to them. They, like him, preferred to be bipedal or to recline. They, like him, moved sluggishly, their actions cushioned by inertia jibing with the hard, material reality of their enclosure. Their hunched and dejected manner as they picked over the food, fiddled with the strewn swatches of straw, or moved about their unadventurous no-playground, was a cruel portrayal of Simon’s own halting progress through the topsy-turvy hideousness of chimp world.
‘ “U-h’-u-h”’ why have they painted the walls in there with that stupid shrubbery motif “huu”?’ Simon grasped Busner’s thick arm, inparted the fur between watch strap and cuff.
‘What’s that “h’huu” why? So as to resemble their equatorial habitat, I suppose. Here, look at this plaque – it’ll fill you in on some of the key facts.’
The plaque showed Simon that humans were distributed throughout a steadily narrowing band of African rainforest and savannah. That their numbers were in severe decline as bonobos encroached further and further on their range; and that their Latin name was Homo sapiens troglodytes. ‘ “Huuu” and what does that mean?’
‘ “Gru-nnn” well. ’ Busner scratched his generous ear. ‘I’m not altogether certain,
‘But Dr Busner, the sign
‘ “Euch-euch” well, Simon, you’ve got me there. Must be a native sign of some kind; possibly a transliteration of the human’s vocalisation, like this: “huuum’a”. That’s plausible, isn’t it “huu”?’
Simon looked at his mentor, his guide, his one conceivable route back to any semblance of sanity. ‘ “U-h’-u-h”’ you don’t really know – do you “huu”?’ he fingered, his signing anxious, jagged.
‘You’re right, Simon, I don’t know – but I’d like to find out. We’re embarked on a journey together, a picaresque search for knowledge. I must find out more about humanity – you about chimpunity “huu”?’
While the two chimps were chopping the air, a zoo volunteer arrived at the humans’ enclosure. He was a mangy, ineffectual-looking male, even to Simon’s indiscriminating eyes. Overweight, wearing a white jacket with a Lifewatch badge dangling from the lapel, the volunteer waved to the chimps gathered along the railing and attempted to put his fingers on their more pres
sing queries. Why were the humans – according to the notice affixed to the wire – ‘Dangerous Animals’? Why was there so little mating activity? How was it possible to differentiate between the males and the females? And so on.
‘ “H’hoo” believe me,’ the volunteer almost wrung his hands over this, ‘your human is an extremely dangerous animal. Don’t be deceived by all those films and advertisements you’ve seen, in which humans are dressed up as chimpanzees and taught to do clever things. All of the individuals used for this work are under five years old. Around five the human gets too clever to be safely handled and has to be retired. The next batch of four-year-old humans will take their place. Either that, or some older humans are “euch-euch” drugged, so that exploitative chimps can use them as novelty models, trailing them around Mediterranean resorts where chimps can pose for photographs with the beasts.’
Simon watched this conducting intently and then felt moved to ask the volunteer something himself. ‘ “H’huu” but aren’t humans weaker than chimpanzees? “Huu” physically ineffectual? How can such stupid, febrile creatures be a real threat to chimpanzees “huu”?’ Busner beamed at Simon, delighted that his patient was interjecting with other chimps. However the volunteer looked askance. To him, as to the majority of chimps Simon had been in contact with, the former artist’s spastic signing, his odd posture and lank fur, betokened mental instability, whether acquired or innate.
The volunteer gave Simon that particular look with which chimps mark down the mentally ill, pity and fear mixed so as to be patronising, then signed, ‘Well “euch-euch”, you are right there. But although weaker, the human is considerably larger than a chimpanzee. And although by no means intelligent in chimpanzee terms – human intelligence is really anything intelligent that humans actually do – a human has a raw, native cunning and an ability to make destructive use of its environment. Put “euch-euch” bluntly, they fashion weapons and given half a chance will use them –’
“H’H’H’Hee-hee-hee-hee!” Simon’s scimitar teeth opened and squeals of laughter poured from their enamel grating. He was thinking, of course, of the kind of weapons he would like to fashion – and make destructive use of.
The volunteer clenched his fists. The other chimps were put out as well. It was, Busner judged, time for them to get going. Obviously Simon had had enough exposure for one day, best not to push things. Busner grasped him firmly by the shoulder and drew him away from the humans’ bogus living room. Behind Simon’s back he flicked some clipped signs: ‘So sorry. Patient of mine. Not too well. Do excuse us – I’m his doctor.’
And into Simon’s nape fur the existential phenomenologist ran on, ‘Now, Simon, “gru-nn” Gambol will be waiting for us at the main entrance. We’ve had enough of an outing for today and I think you’ve done “chup-chupp” very well.’
Simon wasn’t feeling much of this. Knuckle-walking away from the human enclosure under the covered walkway, the two chimps came muzzle-to-muzzle with a sign on a brick wall next to the lion tamarinds’ cage. ‘The Primate Tree’ depicted the evolutionary relation that all primates stood in to one another.
Busner assumed it was this that had caught Simon’s eye – the line drawings of gorillas, humans and monkeys. Chimps and humans were grouped together. Indeed, the human was upright, loosely arm-in-arm with a gorilla, while off to one side the chimpanzee sat in splendid genetic isolation. They were on the uppermost branch of the tree, with Old World monkeys alongside. Two lower and more widely spaced branches supported the slack fraternities of New World monkeys; to the left – marmosets, tamarinds, douroucoulis and capuchins; and to the right the prosimians – lemurs, bush babies and tarsiers.
Busner tried mentally to realign this schema so as to match his patient’s warped view of the natural world, but gave up because the poor, sad chimp was half laughing and half crying now, grabbing at the sleeve of Busner’s jacket with both hands, forcing his attention towards another, smaller sign.
‘ “Euch-euch” what is it, Simon “huu”? What do you want?’
‘It’s this “hee-hee-hee”, this thing here “clak-clak-clak”, does it symbolise what I think it does “huuu”?’ Simon tittered, titivated and whimpered.
Busner read the sign: ‘The Michael Sobell Pavilions were opened by the Duke of Edinburgh on May 4th 1972. ’ ‘Well, it seems straightforward enough to me –’
‘So it’s “hee-hee-hee” true then “huu”?’
‘What’s true “huuu”?”
‘That the Duke of Edinburgh’s really a monkey! “Hee-h’hee-hee-hee-clak-clak-clak”. ’ The formerly renowned artist doubled up altogether.
‘Not a monkey,’ Busner admonished him, signs confused with clouts, ‘an ape, Simon – an ape. Although arguably not that great a one.’
Simon, raising his arm to ward off Busner’s blows, let go of the balloon string he had been holding throughout the zoo visit. Busner ceased dominating and for several minutes they squatted, watching the shiny, orbicular human caricature float gently up and away into the deep blue sky.
Chapter Fifteen
In the following week there were two quite bad episodes at the Busner group home. The first involved Simon and the postchimp; the second, Simon and a group of sub-adult Busner males. In each case there was no provocation, but he had either reacted to a perceived threat, or else wilfully and maliciously attempted to wound several chimps.
The postchimp was surprised, knuckle-walking up the front path at about eight in the morning, by a tall male who made a series of low, incoherent vocalisations before dropping an empty plastic dustbin over the poor chimp’s shoulders, then kicked his groin region unmercifully.
It was broken up by Nick and William, a couple of older Busner sub-adult males. They were accustomed to dealing with those of their alpha’s unusual resident patients that got out of hand. They chimphandled Simon to his room, left him there, woke their alpha, then went back to mollify the postchimp and prevent him from calling the police. Even when Busner himself got there, it took considerable persuasion to calm the chimp down.
The second episode involved a number of vases that Simon had taken from around the house. The Busners had so many ornaments that their absence wasn’t noticed, until one morning when they came raining down on to the sub-adult males who were mock-displaying on the back patio. “Waaaa-Wraaaaf!” Simon screamed, hurling blue-glass flute after tubby porcelain pot. No one was hit directly, but several chimps were cut by flying glass, including Charlotte.
This was too much for the old ape. He’d swung himself up to the guest room, which Simon had fled to, and administered a sharp, salutary beating to the madchimp. Charlotte had been fairly calm, but Busner felt beholden to offer to have Simon taken back into hospital. ‘ “Euch-euch” I have to admit it looks as if you were right, my dear, and this fellow really is too disturbed to cope with any semblance of ordinary life –’
‘But Zack, darling scragg, do you think that you’re actually “huuu” getting anywhere with him?’
‘Well, I did …’
‘In that case he must stay – it’s our duty.’
‘Yes, it’s our duty “gru-nnn”!’ Mary and Nicola – respectively theta and iota females – added. They were sharing their alpha’s nest that night.
It was true that there had been further progress. Simon was prepared to go out and encounter the world, but each trip left him obviously debilitated and morose. Dr Jane Bowen came to Redington Road as frequently as her schedule allowed. Simon found her the most sympathetic of his keepers – she was gentler and less inclined to physical admonishment than the great ape.
Bowen took Simon – usually in the early morning or late evening – out for knuckle-walks on the Heath. Here she encouraged him to try a little brachiating and to get more quadrumanous. Sometimes these outings were successful – but other times they ended in hysteria, as when Simon witnessed – without realising what it was – the end of one of the astonishingly long conga-lines of buggery, that gay chimps forme
d in the dense thickets of trees below Jack Straw’s Castle.
Bowen always toted a camcorder on these trips and observed her unusual ward with all the techniques of objectivity that an anthropologist might have used, following wild humans in the African bush. She was becoming convinced that Simon’s human delusion had a definable symptomatology – the possibility of an important academic paper beckoned.
Simon also moved into the spare room – under some duress. When Busner pressed him as to why he found the room so disturbing, Simon stabbed at the charming PreRaphaelite painting of a beautiful young female, half-submerged in aqueous morbidity, her William Morris swelling-protector garlanded with deathly lilies, and signed contemptuously, ‘This fucking travesty.’
Busner got the point and had it replaced with an abstract.
After their trip to the zoo, Busner also instructed Gambol to trawl up as much material as possible on the human, and the other anthropoids. ‘I want everything you can lay your hands on,’ he showed the treacherous epsilon, ‘works of theoretical anthropology, field studies, fictional works –’
‘ “Huuu” and films as well, Boss?’
‘Naturally, films, television documentaries, still photographs as well. You can get a proper computer in here as well – link us up to that web thingy “euch-euch”; the most up-to-date human research will have been computerised. I want to see all the material available and delineate it. I also think that this odd study project will bring Dykes and me more fusion.’
So it was that Gambol, cursing inwardly at this abuse of his intellect, physically trawled through the libraries and archives of London – and virtually trawled through electronic space. But even he was surprised by the rich morass of human references there were to be uncovered.
He brought back Robert Yerkes’ classic 1927 study, titled simply Humans, the first field study of the wild human. He bought all of Jane Goodall’s books on the wild humans of Gombe. He went to Videocity in Notting Hill Gate and bought the Planet of the Humans videos – all four of them – and set up a video and television in Simon’s room, so that the artist and his therapist could watch them while resting.
