The Missing Link and Other Tales of Ape-Men

by Georges T. Dodds

  “Ah! Doctor, we’ve been waiting for you!”

  Darembert, frowning, asked:

  “He is worse?”

  Quickly the naturalist brought him up to date. As he spoke, the other shuffled his rough shoulders, knitted his wide brow and clean-shaven face. It was over. There was no doubt about it.

  “Nothing remains,” said Darembert, “but to try to prolong what little time he has.”

  “Prolong it? Whatever for?” replied Murlich. “It’s over, isn’t it? Why then maintain a delusion from which we can only suffer when it will have disappeared? No, no, doctor, no more serums, they would only create an artificial state. Gulluliou is no more. He has played his role; nothing will be lost. Nothing is ever lost” he daydreamed aloud, his voice quavering. “Ah! How I would have enjoyed taking him all the way. I had an impact on this life of his.”

  In spite of his usual skepticism, Darembert was overcome, blurting out an avowal of his hidden admiration:

  “Dear professor, your contributions to science are such that your name will be remembered amongst the foremost of your time. You have been able to convince many of your adversaries. Indeed, Hetking’s theory, I myself long denied it! Anyhow!”

  The two scientists looked upon each other in the full light of this bright morning. One glance had ended their revelatory exchange. Murlich had proved experimentally the great theory which assigned humanity a new destiny, less prideful, and more in keeping with the laws of Nature.

  In the few moments of silence afforded them, Murlich and Darembert—the latter now shaken in his beliefs—could, with their ability to quickly reason things out, foresee all the implications of the mysteries hidden by the mere idea of Gulluliou, the near-human. The circle was widening. Based on the humanity of the present, they conceived that of the future, that of faraway times. When would the human race begin slipping, when would it be replaced by another?

  And until then, through what phases would it pass, what modifications would it endure? Would it indeed, after a universal cataclysm, renew itself for another period of time, as the great American evolutionist had predicted? Would the new Deluge announced by Hetking, and, before him by friar Florian, ever take place? These questions were thrown together in a confused manner in these minds accustomed to quick and bold conclusions.

  Murlich headed for the stairs, telling the doctor:

  “Let’s get up there quick, so you can see him.”

  Footsteps were heard on one of the garden’s gravel paths, then a pause. The entrance hall was tinged with the light filtering through the green and blue-tinted glass panels of the door which opened on the vestibule. Maximin could be seen through the door. He entered:

  “The ladies in the workroom have informed me,” he said to the naturalist, after having acknowledged Darembert, “that Miss Alix is here at your patient’s bedside.”

  “Yes,” answered Murlich, “he is much worse, very, very much worse! It truly is the end! Would you like to come up with us?”

  The poet hesitated, wondering if he should go in the room and show himself before the dying creature. Between him and Alix, whom he had seen once or twice since the ape’s relapse, the creature had rarely come up in conversation: Maximin would ask of the patient’s condition, in which he interested himself for appearance’s sake, if not entirely sincerely, and she would invariably answer evasively.

  He whispered:

  “Perhaps seeing me, who am not entirely on familiar terms with her lately, would impress her? Ah! the poor creature, I did not think him in so serious a state. Well, I’ll come with you, and stay off in the wings should it be necessary.”

  The doctor and Maximin followed Murlich, who had already reached the first floor and was signaling them to walk on their tiptoes. They entered Gulluliou’s room.

  10 a.m. tolled downstairs, it had been roughly two hours since the ape had risen from his bed. Alix, seeing the poet, approached him; Maximin silently sensed the need for an excuse, mumbling something about the scientist having led him there, and that he would only stay a moment. Already the young woman had joined the doctor, who was taking Gulluliou’s temperature. The pongo had just fallen into a faint; a few drops of ether between the lips had revived him. Darembert, shrugging his shoulders, spoke softly to his assistants.

  “Nothing, nothing we can do. Leave him here, he will pass any moment now, just like a lamp which is suddenly extinguished when the current fails. The most rapidly progressing case I’ve ever seen!”

  Gulluliou had just opened his eyes, had drawn a long breath, his throat gurgling. Then with a jerking cough he spat out a large clot of blood.

  Blood came forth from his nostrils, his temples and eyes even more hollowed out; a spoonful of muscat poured into his mouth was rejected. He began to mouth a series of unrelated syllables: Alix listened. Rhythmically, Gulluliou shook his right hand, weighed down on the arm of the chair. He spluttered out almost imperceptibly:

  “Minnili, Minni…li!”

  The young woman understood: she laid the doll on the ape’s knees. Gulluliou took the fragile toy which in his weakened hands seemed as weighted down. With his despondent eyes he gazed upon Minnili. Evocative of his distant childhood, was the little forest-bird not still singing in the mind of this exile from a foreign race? Minnili, Minni…li! There was in the clear morning light which accompanied the death of this brother of a lower order, human beings who stood in silence, in the grip of a great sadness: Alix holding back her tears, Murlich his hand squeezing that of Son-of-Doves, Darembert seeking a miracle, Maximin, stirred to the very depths of his poet-philosopher’s compassion.

  For a moment, having moved closer to Gulluliou, Maximin saw the ape’s eyes shift up, missing him, moving towards Alix’s and locking on them for a time, before closing under the shock of the bright light. For a brief second the same shudder united these three individuals born of a common fiber. Alix and Maximin were filled with pity for one another, and for the one on the brink of death, who left them with the sadness of having loved.

  Time crawled by, Gulluliou had been still. Darembert, taking on full responsibility, had vainly tried injections of caffeine and serum. The dying creature continued to weaken, burning up with fever, from time to time spitting up chunks of his lungs. The doctor took his temperature:

  “40-2-5” he whispered to a frightened Murlich.

  Around 11:30, Maximin felt it better to leave, knowing himself to be an outsider, and of no help in this prolonged deathwatch.

  Gulluliou began to struggle against his impending death: he was perfectly conscious, for his eyes remained fixed, with an expression of suffering and affection, now on Murlich and now on Alix. His hands clamped down in irregular convulsions along the arm of the chair. The haemoptysis worsened, became a near constant retching up of blood. It was horrible; the ape’s powerful death-rattle was impeded from emerging from his throat by a frothy gurgling. Twice more, he passed out, they thought it was over. Darembert had to check if his heart was still beating.

  The naturalist tried to encourage Alix to leave, to avoid witnessing such a death, but she insisted on staying.

  “No, no, I beg you, let me stay until the end, it’s the least you can do, dear cousin, to allow me to be near you in this time!”

  Highly agitated, she smothered her short sobs by biting into her handkerchief. Ah! what a horrible thing to see a soul perish; an inferior one perhaps, but one which loved her…Loved! Gulluliou loved her! But why then was she now crying? No! Impossible, monstrous, mad! No, she could not love Gulluliou.

  Yet, nonetheless, she cried.

  So as to no longer see, she turned and leaned her forehead against a window, looking at the sun-drenched garden.

  At last, when the familiar old coo-coo in the entrance hall tolled noon, Murlich, Darembert and the nurse saw Gulluliou, who had been passed out for a time, open his eyes. He looked straight ahead of him. His face, somewhat contracted, relaxed, his features taking on a human-like resignation, and through the gurglin
g of a clot behind his teeth, a barely audible voice came forth from between his slightly parted lips. He whispered:

  “Alix, Alix…”

  Then:

  “Boorli, Boorli !”32

  Frozen in place, he nonetheless seemed to stretch himself out towards some unknown point which only his pupils could perceive, his mouth only stirring weakly, while his entire huge body had collapsed, as if folded back into the chair. Murlich, tapping Alix on the arm, told her to open the window. Light flooded into the brightly-painted room, the freshness of clean air, the rustling of the birds superimposed on the patient’s death-rattles. And Gulluliou, his face in an almost idealized smile, plumbed the spring sky, up there, with his troubled gaze. For a few moments he seemed to listen to the garden’s thousand voices, repeating the soft and faraway song of Minnili, the little bird of the guava tress.

  Then, a hiccup rose in his throat, he stopped moving, his suffering ended.

  Darembert bent over, and raising his head, deeply moved, mumbled:

  “It’s over.”

  He held Murlich and Alix’s hands.

  His eyes full of tears, Murlich said, simply and truthfully:

  “My poor child!”

  And the man bemoaned the death of the one who had allowed him a glimpse at the mystery of the future: Gulluliou was gone, he was back in his land of warm humid light, where things were more beautiful, where his race would continue to ascend.

  Before the mortal remains of this strange soul, human beings cried.

  Marie-Charles-Joseph de Pougens (1755-1833) was a diplomat who was posted to Rome in 1776, where at age 22 one of his paintings earned him entry into the local Art Academy. At 24, he almost died of smallpox, which left him partially blind. Back in France, he started his own printing business and he also wrote books on art, diplomacy, business, physics, botany, geology, mineralogy, poetry, archeology, mythology, and the history of criminal justice. He is, however, best remembered for his novella Jocko (1824), which inspired a blatantly derivative and eponymous play by M. Gabriel and M. Rochefort, staged at the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin on March 16, 1825 before Madame la Duchesse de Berry. The portrayal of the ape’s behavior in the novel is supported by extensive footnoted “proofs” cited from numerous scientific sources of the day.

  C. M. de Pougens: Jocko

  I had been living for some years on the island of […] but as I don’t wish to be identified, I will abstain from mentioning its name or what post I held, thereby excising any details which might reveal my identity to a capricious public which might either not care a whit or react maliciously. I will, however, recount the following anecdote, because my memories of it are dear to me, painfully dear…and also because it includes a remarkable instance which in part accounts for my present opulence.

  It was the hottest portion of the summer; 5 p.m. had just struck on the parish church’s large clock. The Sun’s rays still pierced to the ground. Tired of the strain my duties imposed on me, and naturally of a melancholy character, I left home and went to wander about the […] Forest, not far from where I had resided since my arrival on the island. Barely 200 paces into the darkened alley, where a delightful coolness prevailed, I heard a small noise to my left. A living creature seemed to be fleeing and slipping through the foliage. I tended my ear, but soon heard nothing more; so I continued my walk and took up my former train of thought. Since I had left my guests, my so-called friends, boisterously crowded around a table loaded with exquisite wines, I was no longer alone, but was with myself and my memories.

  I heard a second rustling similar to the first. I stopped and made out, between a number of interlaced branches, a small, almost round head, two charming almond-shaped eyes gazing caressingly towards me,33 a short though not stumpy nose, two moist lips, and small milky-white teeth,34 a figure, if not pretty, at least somewhat spicy. On first glance, the skin seemed a mousy yellow, highlighted by a light silvery sheen.

  The figure moved, showing itself almost to the midriff. I stepped forward to catch it, but in a fraction of a second she had climbed, or rather launched herself, to the top of a coconut tree. Her limbs were supple and limber. I would add that, as best as I could tell, she was somewhere between 4’2” and 4’ 3”35

  Gracefully ensconced between several heavily leaf-laden limbs, she observed me attentively. I signaled to her to come to me and she imitated my gesture, inviting me to come to her. I would have been hard-pressed to comply, for if I was still quite lithe, my agility was far from equaling hers.

  Naturally of a curious disposition, my many voyages had led to frequent opportunities to observe the different families of monkeys,36 orangs,37 jockos,38 and pongos.39 I quickly recognized the individual before me belonged to the latter species; however, I later dubbed her Jocko, as it seemed a prettier name.

  I had the habit of always carrying a little bread in my pockets, which it pleased me to distribute amongst the small birds I encountered along the route of my long and solitary walks. Seeing that she was still examining me with great attention, I threw a bit of the bread her way. She descended from the coconut tree in which she had taken refuge, and leaping, quick as a flash, to the ground, she took up the small piece of bread, sniffed at it a few times,40 looked at me, pondered over it with an expression of mistrust,41 and refused to eat it. I knew of this natural hesitation among the jocko and pongo species: to put an end to it, I took a second piece of bread, ate half of it and tossed her the rest. With a remarkable dexterity, she caught it on the fly, and promptly ate it. Then, picking up the first piece which had remained on the ground, she sniffed at it a second time, then avidly swallowed it.

  As I remained motionless for a few moments, she thrust forward her little hand towards me, shaking it in a seemingly impatient manner. She seemed to invite me to repeat my gifts. Indeed, I tossed her a number of other small pieces of bread, which she continued to catch with great dexterity, but as soon as I took a step forward, she ran off at some distance, never letting herself be approached. I reversed my steps, walking backwards while still throwing her bits of bread from time to time. The lovely little paw remained constantly extended towards me. She would shake it slightly and draw it back towards her, also, from time to time, voicing soft, pearly, silvery cries,42 which she varied across different scales, and which surely meant something. Finally, seeing I was no longer throwing her anything, she left, streaking off to the magnificent coconut tree, tearing off several nuts and letting them fall at my feet. I opened one up with a large knife I carried; I drank some of the milk and ate a piece of the flesh. I then moved off to give pretty little Jocko the liberty to acquire the rest for herself, which she was in no way loath to do, though in a manner which suggested this food was no less than old hat to her, and that this wasn’t the first time she ate the flesh and drank the milk of a coconut.43 As it was getting dark, I made my way towards the city. The charming little creature followed me, letting me hear from time to time that silvery cry I found so pretty. Seeing that I no longer responded to her calls, she turned around sadly and moved off slowly.

  The next day I returned at about the same time. My dear little Jocko was waiting for me just inside the woods: lying in the middle of a tuft of young shrubs, she had parted the branches and was looking through the leaves. As soon as she saw me, she ran up to meet me with great demonstrations of joy. Her forward progress was so quick that she almost touched my clothes. Frightened by this somewhat involuntary approach, she ran off and took refuge atop a tree over 100 paces away. Fearing to further frighten her, I took on an indifferent mien and threw two or three small pieces of bread on the path. She came down slowly, sniffed at them, undoubtedly to ascertain if they were of the same nature as yesterday’s, and ate them with gusto. I had brought an ample supply of soft biscuits. I threw her half of one,44 which she caught on the fly, as she had done the day before, sniffed at it, appeared undecided and did not eat it. I put part of the remaining half in my mouth and threw the rest to her. She disposed of it in a wink, al
ong with the piece she already held. Her pleasure was then made manifest by gambols and little leaps;45 she spun like a top and leapt from the ground with remarkable agility, describing lovely and graceful lover’s knot patterns. She would then take a couple of steps towards me, extending her two little hands so I might give her more biscuits.

  This scene repeated itself every afternoon: I arrived with my pockets full and left with them empty. Every time I gave her a new kind of cake, she showed the same hesitation, the same doubts; she would not eat until she had witnessed me doing so.

  Attentive to my arrival in the forest, one day she came up to meet me, placing before me, albeit at some distance, some lovely coconuts, placing a kind of sharp stone beside them. I admired her instincts. I broke open the two best nuts, took one and moved some distance off, so she could come up and take the other. I drank the milk, ate part of the flesh; she imitated me. While she ate she gazed at me with a satisfied appearance and let me hear that lovely cry which had been pleasing to my ear from the first.

  These occurrences suggested something to me for the morrow. Besides my usual provisions of biscuits, cakes and tarts, I brought a flask of excellent Calcavallo wine, which I had brought from Lisbon. I poured some in a glass and pretended to drink a portion of it. Then I put the glass down at my feet and I drew back a few feet. My little Jocko drew closer, took up the glass with great dexterity and drank the wine in several sips.46 Looking at me then with a surprised and satisfied demeanor, she at the same time let her tongue slip back and forth across her tiny lips. When she had finished drinking, she put the glass down in the same spot she had picked it up from. I picked it up and went to wash it in a hollow which contained a bit of rain water.