Elizabeth Hand - Winterlong

“Look,” Miss Scarlet said as the girl pulled another chair beside hers and sat. The long black hairs on her neck stood up out of her high collar. I smelled the ripe odor she gave off before a performance, fear and arousal and anticipation all at once.

“I see,” said Jane, letting the chimpanzee crawl into her lap. I looked back at the screen. A woman in long blue robes floated there. She reminded me of the images of the Magdalene I had seen at the House Miramar, except that she had wings. I wondered if the Magdalene was that old; if before the First Ascension Her followers had worshipped at the Cathedral as others did now.

The blue lady on the screen said, “If you learn to be brave, honest, and unselfish, then you will become a real boy.” Miss Scarlet stared raptly. I knew that if she had been capable of weeping—one of the many things she dreamed of—she would have cried. I stared down at my knees. I could never have chosen such a world for myself.

A little longer and the story ended. We sat in silence, Jane and Miss Scarlet and I. After a minute or two Jane leaned forward and clicked something so that the screen went black and the machine’s hum was stilled. Miss Scarlet slid from her lap to the floor and walked a few steps away from us.

“Well,” said Jane as she stood and stretched. “I figured I’d find you here. I see that Scarlet has shown you her favorite story.”

I nodded, continuing to stare at the empty screen.

“She loves that one. When she was only a few years old;— after the operation …”

She lowered her voice. “One of the Keepers set up a cinematograph in her room. That was the first one she ever saw, that one you just watched.” She pointed at the machine, then glanced over at Miss Scarlet standing by herself at the edge of the room, her back to us.

“She thinks it’s true,” Jane whispered. Her dark eyes glazed with pity as they met mine. “You could never tell her otherwise—not that I’d want to, it would break her heart. And really, look at her! She’s famous, the entire City knows her and loves her, you would think that would be enough.

“But she never thought it was enough. She’s like the Paphians. Dreams that someday the Magdalene will come to save them all: overthrow the Ascendants, teach the Curators a lesson in humility, turn a chimpanzee into a woman.” She shrugged, sighing. “Turn me into a fox, if I had my wish! Then I wouldn’t have to worry about all this nonsense tonight. Ha!”

She laughed, shaking the hair from where it flopped into her eyes. “They found the lynx,” she called to Miss Scarlet. The chimpanzee turned, face rumpling into a smile. “But not before it killed Anatole Equestris’s favorite bird-of-paradise.”

“Oh dear,” said Miss Scarlet. “Poor Anatole! I meant to ask him for another of those feathered flywhisks he made for me last year.”

She rejoined us, tsk-tsking over the state of Jane’s breeches and a fresh bloody cut upon the girl’s arm. “I don’t know how you can stand it, Jane. Those—”

She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Those animals, those barbarians! You with your carnivores and now you’ve got Wendy looking at snakes… .”

She shook her head. “But what time is it? Wendy and I should be thinking about meeting the others and setting up for The Tempest.”

Miss Scarlet gasped when Jane told her the hour. “And I meant to visit Koko and Effie!”

“Oh, there’s still time for that,” insisted Jane. “They’re right on the way to the amphitheatre.”

Miss Scarlet looked discomfited, but after a moment sighed. “I suppose I should: it’s been almost a year. It’s just so hard …”

I followed them, looking back regretfully at the terrarium where the peepers clung to the glass until we had passed out of the Herp Lab, when I heard their ringing song once more.

Outside it had grown cooler. Dark clouds sailed across a blue sky rapidly turning gray. But there was a buoyancy to the air as we crossed the wide avenue where the Zoologists strolled, wearing clean tunics of green and russet and yellow, laughing and calling to Jane and Miss Scarlet, and even acknowledging me with bright smiles.

“They know you are one of Toby’s troupe, Wendy,” Jane proudly announced as we passed a group of laughing women carrying hooded gerfalcons, like small gloomily cowled monks perched upon their wrists. The women giggled. One who was hawkless pressed three fingers to her lips and winked, then rubbed her fingers across her palm to show her interest in me. I looked away.

“Aidan, I mean,” Jane corrected herself, glancing to see if I had taken offense.

“That’s all right,” I said. “As long as no one else hears you.”

“Oh, they won’t,” said Jane. “No one ever listens to me. Here, Scarlet—a new shortcut to the Primate House since you’ve been back. Follow me.”

The Zoologists had laid an orderly path of smooth stones, with goldenrod growing alongside it and the day’s ration of autumn leaves already raked up and burning nearby. Miss Scarlet coughed at the whiff of smoke and hung back from Jane and me. At the end of the path stood the Primate House. Not a large building, but constructed of glass and steel and other metals so that it seemed more massive than it really was. Over the centuries most of the glass had broken, to be replaced by boards and makeshift walls of iron bars salvaged from other cages. A sort of dry moat separated us from the overgrown habitats, empty except for sparrows and squirrels who dug industriously for acorns beneath the leafless oaks.

“They’re inside for the winter,” Jane explained. Miss Scarlet kept her head down, still walking a little behind us. Jane raised her eyebrows. “Scarlet, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“No, no,” the chimpanzee replied. She gazed at a small area barren of grass, the dun-colored earth hacked up and spattered with dried feces and rotting carrots. “I’ll feel worse if I don’t.”

We entered by a heavy metal door, guarded by an older man who yawned and nodded as the gate clanged after us. “Hello, Jane,” he said. “Scarlet Pan, how are you?”

She nodded, face drawn. Although this building was as neat and well-swept as the Reptile House, and better lit, she lifted her skirts with a grimace, as though afraid to let them touch the floor. I wrinkled my nose at the smell. A heavy musky air, cool but not very fresh. It was noisy, too, as we ducked down the corridor that led into the great covered courtyard where the primates were housed.

“Ah, Magdalene,” Miss Scarlet said beneath her breath.

Jane bit her lip. “They’re really very well cared for,” she told me. “What can we do? We are their Keepers, they all would have died years and years ago if not for us.”

On every side immense bars rose from floor to ceiling. Behind them, on sloping concrete floors stained by centuries of damp and mold and urine, squatted figures much like Miss Scarlet. Only these creatures were huge, bigger than a man, with sorrowful heavy-browed faces that scarcely took note of us as we stopped to look at them. One cradled a little animal, a miniature of the great monsters rocking or sitting on the floor about her. The baby peered at us with inquisitive black eyes, but its dam gave us only a passing glance as she bowed her head to the infant. Her huge arms curled about the baby, her fingers moving in front of its wizened face in a repetitive series of gestures. When she dipped her head I saw that a number of black wires protruded from a shaved portion of her skull. Beside me Miss Scarlet shivered. My hair stood on end when I heard the creature in the cage mutter hoarsely, “ Men, men, men. Go.”

Jane Alopex looked away. “Come on, Scarlet, there’s no need for this … ”