by Greg Keyes
Dreyfus watched all of it unfold on the TV, and he came to a decision. He reached for his jacket.
“It would have been nice to have been mayor,” he said with a sigh.
17
When he arrived at City Hall, the mob looked as if it was on the verge of charging again. Despite the bullhorn he held, it took him several tries to get their attention, and for a moment he thought they were going to charge him. Then someone in front shouted his name, then someone else, and before he knew it, it became a steady beat.
“Dreyfus… Dreyfus… Dreyfus…”
He raised his hand, and they quieted a little.
“Look,” he began, through the bullhorn. “I understand that you’re angry. I am too. If what we’ve heard is true—and I think the evidence is compelling—then Gen Sys, Mayor House, and anyone else involved must and will be held accountable. But for the moment, this city is collapsing around our ears. Already basic services don’t exist for many citizens, and the predictions are that it’s only going to get worse.
“We can’t fall apart now,” he said. “We need leaders.”
“You mean House?” someone shouted. “Screw that. Screw him!”
That was followed by a messy wave of rage that took a few moments to calm.
“No,” Dreyfus said. “I do not mean Mayor House. We have law in the city. We have procedure. It’s clear that—guilty or innocent—Mayor House does not have a mandate to govern. Under normal conditions, he would be under indictment even as we speak. Instead he’s chosen to go the way of the tyrant, protecting himself with his office and the brave men and women who serve that office.
“He should and must step down. In the event a mayor cannot continue in office, he is replaced by the president of the Board of Supervisors—in this case, Daniel Ngyun, a good man, a capable man. That is what we should demand.” He paused a moment to let that sink in, then continued. “To the policemen out there, you all know me. I may not be your chief anymore, but you know what I stand for. The mayor is right about one thing—we are deeply in crisis, and we cannot spare a single life on either side of this line. Not when we know our real enemy.
“We should not be fighting each other. We should be fighting this disease, this Simian Flu. We should demand full disclosure, now—about how the virus was created and how it might be cured. In holding back this information from the CDC, Gen Sys, Mayor House, and everyone involved has critically delayed the search for a cure. Who knows what might have happened if, rather than trying to cover their collective asses, they had instantly divulged the blueprint for this virus? There might already be a vaccination.
“So I’m talking to the police now. Stop fighting this fight. Your mayor is now Daniel Ngyun. Place yourselves under his control. That’s the law. Everyone else, go home. Trashing City Hall isn’t going to help anything. Odds are Mayor House isn’t even in there.”
* * *
Three hours later Dreyfus got a Skype call from Daniel Ngyun. The picture was pixilated, but the sound was clear.
“Way to put me on the spot, chief,” he said.
“Oh, come on,” Dreyfus replied. “You said it yourself—if you thought you could beat me in the primary, you would have run. Now you get to skip that part. Anyway, it was the only thing to do. So what’s up? To what do I owe the honor of this call?”
“Well, we can’t even find Mayor House right now,” Ngyun said. “I’ve removed Burston and appointed Tremont as Chief—”
“Good choice,” Dreyfus said. “But I was kind of hoping to fill those shoes again.”
“Yes, I kind of figured that,” Ngyun admitted, nodding. “But no go.”
“Still, I need to do something, Daniel. Maybe you can find a place for me on your staff, or… something.”
“From what I can tell, you’re doing plenty,” he said. “Quelling two riots, all of those talk shows, precipitating a more-or-less peaceful transition of authority. You haven’t exactly been a couch potato. But I can’t make you chief again.”
“I understand,” Dreyfus said, his heart sinking.
“I don’t think you do,” Ngyun responded, and there was a strange sound to his voice.
“I’m appointing you mayor,” he added.
“You’re what?”
“I convened a full meeting of the board. They didn’t all show up, but I had a quorum. Congratulations.”
“This is completely out of the ordinary,” Dreyfus said. “Normally the president of the board—”
“The president of the board has the 113 virus,” Ngyun said. “That’s why I’m Skyping, instead of coming over there in person. I don’t want to spread it around.”
That silenced Dreyfus for a moment.
“Oh, shit, Danny, I’m sorry,” he finally managed.
“I’m in the early stages,” he said. “But we all know how quick this goes. What could I do in a couple of days? I’d rather—well—prepare.”
“Maybe…”
Ngyun smiled faintly, and held up a hand.
“Yeah, I keep telling myself that, too. Maybe.” He shook his head. “Good luck, Dreyfus,” he said. “You’re the man this city needs right now. In all of this you’ve been the steadiest, most reasonable voice, and the people know it. They’ll follow you.” He sighed. “My wife and kids are still clean. I’m counting on you to bring them through the other end of this.”
“You have my word,” Dreyfus said, “I’ll do everything in my power. I swear it.”
“I know you will. Come down this afternoon for a quick swearing-in ceremony, and then get to work.” With a bloop, the screen went blank.
Dreyfus stared at it long after Ngyun’s image had faded. Then he poured himself a Scotch, trying to absorb what had just happened, feeling the weight start to press on his shoulders.
“By God,” he murmured to himself. “This is not how I wanted it to happen.” He raised the glass. “To you, Daniel. Godspeed.” He took a sip.
He’d wanted to be mayor. He’d wanted to be elected mayor. But right now, what he wanted didn’t matter. This was how things fell out. And he knew the first thing he was going to do.
He took out his phone and punched in a number.
“Tremont,” the voice on the other end announced.
“Hey Chief, I just heard,” Dreyfus said. “Congratulations.”
“Yeah,” Tremont said. “About that. I told them I thought you should—”
“Nonsense,” Dreyfus said. “You would have been my pick, too. If I’d had my say. Which in about an hour I will.”
“Sir?”
“The board is making me mayor,” he said.
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“That’s good news,” Tremont said.
“Look, I’m not sworn in yet, but I think there’s something we should get on top of, right now, before it gets away from us. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but this is important.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Mayor.”
* * *
What’s bothering Caesar? Maurice asked, looking out over their new home, however temporary it might be.
Too quiet, he replied.
Too quiet, Maurice echoed.
Caesar watched a juvenile chimp playing with a young orangutan.
They will come again, he said. But not the same way.
I agree, Maurice signed.
They have a tricky thinker with them, Caesar said. Learned our ways and used them against us. I think they were driving us to the helicopters, but helicopters went away.
Maybe humans fighting each other, too, like in store, Maurice offered. Maybe it’s the disease you heard them talking about. Things may be getting worse for them. Maybe they don’t care about us as much.
They weren’t together, Ceasar replied. Something about their plan changed. I feel it. But if they try again, they won’t try the same thing. He looked at Maurice. How would you catch apes?
Maurice shifted slightly on his branch.
Get rid of trees, h
e said finally.
Caesar looked at the giants around him.
Humans come on ground, Maurice explained. Helicopters come from the sky. Apes can go over humans on the ground, stay below the tops of the trees where helicopters can see.
How could they get rid of the trees? Caesar wondered.
Fire, Maurice replied.
Caesar looked around again.
Burn this? he said. He remembered his trips here with Will, and the other humans he had seen. This place is important even to humans. They wouldn’t burn it.
If Caesar says so, Maurice replied.
How else?
Maurice held up his hands, making two half-circles with them. He brought them together to form a circle.
Come from every direction, Caesar said. Thought of that. But we could go up. Like you said.
They could think of that, too, Maurice replied.
We’re waiting on them again, Caesar said, his frustration mounting. Waiting to respond to them.
Maybe they won’t do anything, Maurice signed.
Caesar looked over at the orangutan, and realized that Maurice was saying something that wasn’t true, in order to be funny. What did Will call that?
A joke.
Caesar laughed. He didn’t mean to—it just came out.
Maybe they all go in the water and swim away, he replied. Maybe turn into fish and leave us alone.
Maurice made a croaking sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh. Nearby apes heard them laugh and started laughing, too, just the way they did when they were playing with things.
Maybe apes still not too smart, Maurice said.
No, Caesar said, remembering a dinner party at Will’s home. Humans do this, too. Laugh when they don’t hear the joke.
Maybe humans not so smart, either.
18
“We’re prisoners, aren’t we?” Clancy asked him.
They were in the hut that served as their quarters, but it was clear that they were locked in even before he checked to make certain.
“Yes.” Malakai nodded.
“Why?”
“It’s good news,” Malakai said. “It means they’re still trying to decide what to do with us.”
“You mean as opposed to just killing us,” she said.
“You’ve worked that out,” he said. “Very good.”
“Crap,” she said. “I hoped I was kidding. Would they really kill us?”
“You had to have suspected,” he replied. “Everything so secret, no contact with anyone allowed. Does anyone even know you’re here?”
“Well, David.”
“That’s the guy you emailed the other night.”
“Yeah. But he sort of knew before. I wasn’t supposed to tell him, but I did. He and I—we hang out.”
“Hang out? What does that mean? You stand around in front of a store, drinking beer?”
“No. More like we have sex now and then.”
“So he’s your boyfriend.”
“No,” she said. “We just hang out.”
“We’re both speaking English, and yet I don’t understand you.”
“Holy shit,” she said. “That was supposed to be a joke.”
He shrugged.
“This is when you get funny?” she asked. “When you’re about to die?”
“I’ve been here a lot of times,” he said. “At some point, what else do you do?”
She was silent for a moment.
“You’re a bad guy, aren’t you?”
His first instinct was not to answer her at all, but then he saw she was really serious.
“Bad guy?” he said. “I don’t know. “Remember how I told you my uncle took me to see the gorillas when I was eight?
“Yes.”
“It was so I could learn how to kill them. And you know why we killed them? Because we were starving. And why were we starving? Because we were from the wrong tribe in the wrong place at the wrong time. So was I doing a bad thing to hunt bushmeat?”
“Gorillas are an endangered species,” she said. “And they’re as conscious as we are.”
“What did that mean to me? My family was endangered.”
“So anything you do is justified, if you do it to save yourself?”
“You see,” he said, “this is the sort of question that does not occur to you when you are there, and people are assaulting your sister before they kill her with a machete. And why it doesn’t occur to me now that I should have to justify myself to a spoiled, western child. Whatever I’ve done, it is done. Any soul-searching would be a waste of time. If you kill someone, do you think they give a shit if you feel sorry about it later? Penitence is nothing but a form of self-indulgence. Some things you cannot wash from your hands, and there’s no use in trying.”
He saw that she had tears in her eyes.
“Oh, what are you doing now?” he snapped.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“About what?”
“I’m just sorry,” she said.
Malakai lurched out of the chair, stalked out of the common room and sat on his own bed. He lifted his hands, staring at them, as if they weren’t his at all, but some sort of alien appendages that had been grafted there.
He remembered the look in the eye of the ape leader. The purpose.
He heard a knock. It was Clancy, of course.
“Do you drink?” she asked.
She was holding a bottle of Scotch.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
“I brought it with me,” she said. “It wasn’t electronic, and it wasn’t a gun, so they let me keep it.”
Malakai studied the bottle for a moment.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I could use a drink.”
She produced a pair of paper cups from the lavatory, and poured them each a shot.
“To whatever the hell that was we saw today,” she said, raising her cup.
“To staying alive,” he added, and they drank.
“You’re not going to cry again are you?” he asked her, after a moment.
“You’re just so… damaged,” she said. “To see something like that—”
“Yes, yes,” he said.
“How old were you?”
“Twelve,” he said. “I was twelve.”
She took another shot.
“Can you tell me more… about your family?”
“Oh, you want a bedtime story now?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” she said, after a moment. “I want to know.” This is stupid, he thought. Why should I even be speaking to her?
He took another drink. It had been a while since he had whisky. It felt good in his belly.
“Very well,” he said. “If you wish.”
“I wish.”
“I was twelve, as I said,” Malakai began. “I was coming out of the hills.” He smiled. “No bushmeat, this time. My uncle had acquired a few cows, and I was bringing them down from foraging. We had food to eat, every day. My mother made this thing, you know, that everybody made—bugari. It’s just a sort of paste made from cassava or cornmeal. You roll up a ball of it and then you poke a hole, so it is like a little shot glass. And then you dip it in the stew. My mother made the best stew. In poor times, there was not much in it—a few ground peanuts, some hot chilies, coconut, maybe some caterpillars…”
He paused for a reaction from Clancy, but what he got wasn’t what he was expecting.
“Gorilla,” she added. “Chimpanzee.”
“Ah,” he said. “No. The gorilla meat we usually sold. More often than not my uncle would be asked to obtain some by a local official or rich man who would loan him a gun. Once we got to keep the head, but you don’t make stew from that, you—”
“No,” she said. “That’s enough. How could you eat something so close to a human being?”
“As a matter of fact, my mother would not eat chimp, for that very reason. But others ate it. You forget, I think, that even human meat
has been on the menu in many places and times. Indeed, some people I knew just around that time were eaten by Rega warriors.”
“Right,” she sighed. “I just… Okay, go ahead. Your mom made great stew.”
“The best, but it was better if she had some meat, and that day I knew there was going to be chicken in it, and I was already imagining the taste, eager for it.” He closed his eyes. “I can still remember the taste.
“You see, we not only had the cattle, my mother and sister had found sewing jobs. There was a lot of excitement in the air, too, that year—our country had become independent just a few years before. There was a lot of turmoil, but to us it seemed far away. We were a small village, of no interest to anyone.
“My buddy Jean-Francis was with me. He was a year older, I think, a smart boy. He was Hutu and my mother was Nyanga, but that wasn’t such a big deal back then.”
“What about your father?” Clancy asked.
“Ah, my father,” Malakai said. “Well, you know, I never knew him. He was an American, you see, an anthropologist. He came to the Congo to study the natives, and I guess he did. He studied my mother, anyway. Then he left.”
“I’m sorry.” “It is nothing,” he said. “He was never there, so how could I miss him? And my uncle was there, my mother’s brother. He raised me as well as any father.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He shrugged. “So we’re coming back with the cows, and I’m dreaming of chicken stew with bugari, and we hear these sounds. At first we think we’ve missed a festival of some sort, and we hurry to get closer. But when we realize what we’re hearing, we slow down.
“We are hearing gunshots, and people screaming. The people in our village. We leave the cows and creep down closer, to where the trees come up to the fence. And then we see, you know? There are men with guns, killing everyone. Everything that moves. I see little Marie, she’s five years old. She’s just staring at them, no idea what is going on, and then a bullet hits her, and she’s gone like a broken light bulb.”
“Why?” Clancy asked, her eyes wide. “Why would they do that?”
“At the time I didn’t know. There was a rebellion in my part of the country, by a group called Simba. The leaders were communists, but they attracted a lot of tribal leaders and people who didn’t like what was going on in our new country. It was, as you say, complicated. It made countries like the United States very nervous. Nervous enough to put their support behind pretty much any leader who was not a communist. The men I saw that day were mercenaries. Most were white men from South Africa and Rhodesia, but some were from Europe and America. They were under orders to take no prisoners, to kill everyone, to set an example so that no other village would give aid to Simba.”
