The Tomb and Other Stories

by Stanley Salmons

  It took several days but we eventually had all five animals wearing collars. Richard, Tina and Consuela continued to watch the colony for any changes in their behaviour while Mark and I set up the intermediate receiving stations a good distance away. There were three of these stations, because you can get a lot of dropouts and multipath interference in a forest environment. The stations would combine the signals and relay them on another frequency band to my equipment tent. Once all that was in place the equipment was pretty much operational.

  Richard was satisfied there weren’t any significant changes in behaviour. He said the chimps were interested in the new neckwear at first but after a while they completely ignored it. With that established, we didn’t need to go into the jungle at all; we could do all the monitoring from the equipment tent.

  Two days later we recorded an attack.

  I’d set up a series of split-screen displays to show the outputs from all five video cameras. On a larger screen I’d used the GPS fixes to display the location of each chimp as a coloured dot on a map of the terrain. On yet another screen I had a rolling set of traces that carried the signals from the microphones. The pictures made me a bit dizzy if I looked at them for long; it was like watching five really bad home movies at once. Still, it was interesting when the chimps were active; you’d get glimpses of them running up trees and shaking branches, that sort of thing. But then, I’m just an engineer so I probably wasn’t noticing a fraction of what was going on. The biologists were absolutely fascinated and recorded a lot of material. Tina was particularly good at it; she’d watch the monitors for hours, making notes all the time. What they were really hoping to see was a particular grouping and level of activity that always occurred just before one of the killing sprees. And suddenly there it was. Tina started the videotape rolling and in the next couple of hours we watched the whole attack develop, from beginning to gruesome end. There was enough material to analyse for the next year. Our spirits were sky high. Everyone was shouting and hugging each other, Richard broke out a few bottles of beer, and we had ourselves a party. It was just as well we were so far away or the chimps would have heard the racket.

  Our euphoria was short-lived.

  We were busy monitoring for another attack when a call came through on the radio. It was one of the rangers. He told us that three white people had set up camp not far from us. They had camera equipment and guns. The rangers had gone to have a word with them but their permits seemed to be in order so there was nothing they could do except warn us. He gave us a map reference.

  Richard decided he should go and talk to the newcomers. The others were busy monitoring so I said I’d go with him, although I’m a bit nervous around guns.

  We were met by an unsmiling guy dressed in a khaki hat, shirt and shorts, with a hunting rifle hooked casually over his shoulder. Richard explained that there was an important project in progress, and told him how a valuable scientific resource and years of patient work could be jeopardized by any intrusion into the chimpanzees’ territory.

  He looked at us for some time. He seemed to be chewing something. Then he spoke.

  “Basically, piss off.”

  We were taken aback. By now a man and a woman had appeared outside their tent and were watching what was going on. Although they were a good distance away it sounded like they were speaking to each other in German. Richard speaks German. He asked if he could have a word with them.

  “No, I’m not going to let you to do that. Look, man. I’m a hunter and tracker – that’s my living, right? It used to be a good living, too. I took a lot of parties out here, and we shot a lot of big game. Not any more. Tree-huggers like you put paid to that with your bloody conservation nonsense. So don’t expect me to listen to your scientific crap because I couldn’t give a shit. If some folk want me to take them where they can photograph monkeys, and they’re prepared to pay good money, I’m going to take them. Got it?”

  “Photographing monkeys?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what’s the rifle for?”

  “Self-defence.”

  “Self-defence.”

  “Yeah, self-defence.”

  “If you use that gun I’ll have you arrested.”

  “I’m quivering with terror here, man.”

  “How the hell did you get permission to come here?”

  “None of your bloody business. Now I’ve said it once and I won’t say it again. Piss off.”

  He unhitched the rifle. We left.

  *

  The others were dismayed when we told them. We agreed that all we could do was continue the operation and hope to hell we could record at least one more attack before the chimps’ territory was violated. Richard got on the radio to people he knew to see if this party could be stopped, but he didn’t hold out much hope of prompt action. Somewhere along the line palms had been greased.

  We were out of luck; they blundered in the next day. They saw the chimps and the chimps saw them. We know that because we saw the three of them on the chimps’ collar cameras. The man and his wife, if that’s who she was, were filming away, highly excited. But not as excited as the chimps. The GPS fixes were moving all over the place, and the cameras would record a blur, then the picture would freeze suddenly with a view of the human intruders from yet another angle. Then they’d be off again.

  We decided to pack up. The project was hopelessly compromised. We couldn’t expect normal behaviour from this troupe for months, maybe years. Everyone was very depressed. It would take a while to dismantle the three receiving stations so we decided to make a start the following day.

  Next morning Tina called us back just as we were about to start out. She’d been determined to monitor right up to the last moment and now she’d seen something. We followed her into the equipment tent.

  She pointed. “They’re grouping, and there’s a lot of display activity. I’m sure they’re warming up for a hunt.”

  Mark looked at the monitors carefully. “They don’t usually do it this early in the day,” he said.

  “I know, but I started the tapes, just in case.”

  We watched, riveted to the screens for maybe an hour. The coloured dots on the GPS monitor had all moved off. The cameras registered branches and leaves as the chimps moved slowly through the jungle, and once in a while we’d get a glimpse of a dark, furry shape as they looked round at each other. Were they signalling? I couldn’t tell.

  They were moving so quietly that the sound traces were almost flat; the microphones weren’t registering anything above the background noises of the jungle. From time to time a bird would screech or a distant monkey would whoop and that was easy enough to identify because you’d see a blip on all five traces at once. But suddenly just one of the traces started to wobble; Phoenix’s mic was picking up something. I switched that channel through to the loudspeaker.

  “…Aufnahmen bei diesem Licht…”

  “Schau! …da oben!”

  “Wo? Ich sehe nichts.”

  “Leise! Er ist auf dem dicken Ast – links von den beiden Schlingpflanzen die da runterhängen!”

  “Wo…? Oh, ja! Schön!”

  We looked at each other in disbelief. Tina said, “Oh…my…God!”

  “Maybe the chimps are just curious…” said Consuela weakly.

  “Not a chance,” said Mark grimly. “That’s an attack formation – I’ve seen enough of them to know. Our friends there are being stalked. Did you catch what they said, Richard?”

  “Not all of it, but they’ve seen something. I think they’ve spotted one of the chimps.”

  “Which one?” Consuela asked.

  Mark pointed to the red dot on the GPS display. “I think it must be Leo. He hasn’t moved for several minutes. They could be filming him.”

  Tina breathed out. “Thank God for that.”

  “Er, it isn’t necessarily a good sign.”

  “Mark? What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen a tactic like this once before. One of the bi
g males, like Leo, shows himself. The monkeys get all agitated, of course, but he doesn’t seem to be interested, and so long as they can see him, and he’s outside of their flight distance, they feel safe enough. What they don’t see is the others moving into position.”

  “We must warn them,” said Consuela.

  “That’s impossible,” said Richard. “They’re much too far away. We can’t do a bloody thing.”

  Tina buried her face in her hands. “I can’t look.”

  We held our breath. The dots had stopped moving, and the cameras still revealed nothing but leaves and branches, and then suddenly it all changed and the screens briefly showed the two tourists and the hunter guide from five different angles. And then all hell broke loose.

  The attack was swift and efficient. I don’t think the hunter even had the time to get the rifle off his shoulder. As expected, the tagged chimps were at the centre of the action, so we got a ringside view, which was a lot more than any of us would have wanted. I won’t try to describe the images that flashed in front of us. Let’s just say that it was an object lesson in the fragility of the human body and the immense strength of adult male chimpanzees. The loudspeaker was still through to Phoenix’s mic, and the screams chilled us to the marrow before I managed to cut it off. Then the troupe dined out.

  Tina left the tent in a hurry and was very ill outside. Consuela just sat there, shivering. Mark said, “Christ.” Richard and I stared into each other’s white faces.

  We spent the rest of the day packing up the equipment. The mood was sombre; we said little. We released the collars. Although they still had a lot of operating life left there was no way we were going in to retrieve them. We decided to get to the village, spend the night there and set off in the morning.

  Richard reported the incident on his radio before we left. The authorities were very concerned. In fact they were so concerned that not long after reaching the village we found ourselves host to a helicopter full of militia. They held us at gunpoint, swarmed all over our stuff, distributed our equipment all over the ground, and found and confiscated our precious videotapes. Then another helicopter flew in and an immaculately dressed civilian got out. The platoon leader saluted him smartly and handed him the tapes, and there was a brief exchange in a language I didn’t recognise, let alone understand. The man strolled over to us.

  It was still warm and humid and what with that and the stress the sweat was rolling down the inside of my shirt, so I was wondering how this gentleman could look so cool in his creaseless dark grey suit, silk shirt and tie. He introduced himself in perfect English.

  “Good evening,” he said pleasantly. “My name is Oscar Obindagabe and I am here on behalf of the Department of Wild Life and Tourism. Which one of you is Dr. Gainsville?”

  Richard stepped forward. Mr. Obindagabe nodded and, still pleasantly, said, “You and your colleagues are all under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Mr. Friedrich Gunther and two foreign tourists whose names have yet to be established.”

  There was a shocked silence. Then Richard spluttered, “What the hell are you talking about? I told you what happened…”

  “Yes, yes, Dr. Gainsville. And I believe you. I believe you, but the Court will not. Not after these tapes,” he held them up, “ have been destroyed. It will be clear that these people disrupted the study that you and your companions had been planning for some time, and that you were so incensed by this that you killed them.” He turned to the platoon leader and jerked his head.

  *

  So that’s how we found ourselves sitting on the floor of a hut, handcuffed to each other by our ankles, with a murder charge hanging over our heads like a big black cloud. Two hours passed and we said barely a word. I leaned against the wall of the hut, feeling the prickle of the rushes through my shirt. Various lines of thought were crowding my mind. How the hell could we extract ourselves from this situation? Escape was impossible: even if we weren’t handcuffed there was an armed guard at the door to the hut. Every now and then he would come in and look us over. He’d unslung his automatic weapon and he looked like it wouldn’t take much for him to use it. We needed legal representation; would we be allowed to get it? Would they let us contact the Embassy? How the hell did an innocent research project turn into a murder trial? Why are they trying to pin it on us? Is this Obindagabe the guy who took the bribe from the hunter? In my agitated state each line of thought would nudge the other out of the way, until I was going round in circles.

  The armed guard stepped inside the door again, followed this time by Mr. Obindagabe and the platoon leader. Obindagabe looked at us in silence for a few moments, then he turned to Richard with a condescending smile.

  “I want you to understand the position, Dr. Gainsville. We are a poor country…”

  As I looked at this smooth operator, it seemed to me that the poverty he spoke of was not all that evenly distributed.

  “…We cooperate with researchers such as yourselves because it is necessary for our image with certain international organizations. But you do not bring significant money into this country. Tourism, on the other hand, is a major source of revenue. And an incident such as this could be very bad for tourism. That is my difficulty, you see. If we let you go back to your country we will have very bad publicity. On the other hand if we bring the five of you to trial there will be interventions by lawyers and your State Department and the publicity will be even worse. I am almost led to the conclusion that it would be better if you,” he paused for effect, “disappeared, rather like the unfortunate Mr. Gunther and his friends.”

  The word was hanging in the air. Dees-ah-peayahd. My mouth was dry. Richard cleared his throat. Tell him, Richard, I thought. Tell him the whole thing’s preposterous. Demand that we are allowed to contact our Embassy immediately…

  “Now, Mr. Obindagabe, if we are sensible about this, the disappearance of five internationally known scientists is likely to attract even more notice than that of a hunter and two tourists. On the other hand I understand what you are saying. I have been thinking myself that it might be in all our best interests if this matter went unreported.”

  I looked at Richard in amazement. He was as cool as a cucumber. Obindagabe gave another of his Cheshire Cat smiles.

  “Now that is a very interesting suggestion, Dr. Gainsville. I wonder, could you perhaps enlarge on it a little?”

  Richard turned slightly so that he was talking to us as much as to Mr. Obindagabe, and there was a strange firmness in his voice. “We’ve all been through a very traumatic experience. Reporting the events would mean reliving that experience again and again, to police, lawyers, media. I don’t think any of us want that.”

  We took the cue and shook our heads vigorously.

  Obindagabe smiled. “Do go on,” he said.

  “Secondly, we’ve enjoyed good relations with this country. We’ve been allowed access to a unique scientific resource. We wouldn’t want any actions of ours to jeopardise that in the future.”

  “Go on.”

  “Finally, there are the tapes. They constitute the only evidence that Mr. Gunther and his companions were killed by the chimpanzees. If we returned to our country and reported these events we could, in the absence of this evidence, be laying ourselves open to the very same charges as we are facing here.”

  Mr. Obindagabe applauded delightedly. “Capital, Dr. Gainsville, capital! I find that a most convincing argument. Your American media are very vigilant. It would not take very long at all for suspicions like that to be raised.”

  Yeah, with your generous help.

  His smile vanished. “Are you all in agreement with Dr. Gainsville’s analysis?” he asked.

  We nodded in unison.

  “So you will leave this country now and swear, each one of you, that you will not reveal anything of the unfortunate events that you have witnessed here?”

  We nodded again.

  “And you appreciate the serious consequences that would follow if any of you attempted to
depart from this agreement?”

  We nodded. Obindagabe said something to the platoon leader, who came forward and released the handcuffs. We got unsteadily to our feet.

  “Thank you, Mr. Obindagabe,” said Richard calmly. “There’s just one more thing. The first videotape has nothing incriminating on it. But it does contain priceless scientific data. Could that one be returned to us?”

  Obindagabe closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I think it would be best for all concerned if there were no suggestion that equipment of that nature had been successfully deployed at the very time that the unfortunate Mr. Gunther and his companions disappeared.”

  Oh, well, Richard, nice try.

  *

  That’s why you won’t be reading about this in your newspapers. Chris Stebbens came over to meet us on our return, but all we could tell him was that the chimps seemed to have become peculiarly aggressive, and that they should be very careful if they were planning another field trip. In Richard’s report to the grant agencies he had to say that attachment of the collars disturbed the chimpanzees’ behaviour to such an extent that we were unable to make useful observations. We assume that the military disposed of the tourists’ tent and belongings. As for any other evidence – well, the chimps did that for them.

  Except that somewhere on the floor of that forest there must still be a hunting rifle and an expensive pair of video cameras. But I wouldn’t advise you to go looking for them. It can be murder in the jungle.

  [First published in Alexei’s Tree and Other Stories, Matador, 2005. The author acknowledges with thanks the assistance of Dr. Rainer Abel with the German conversation.