Judith Merril - The Year's Greatest Science Fiction & Fantasy 6

J. G. weighed three hundred and fifty-four pounds; and, when he remembered not to walk round-shouldered, he was six feet one inch tall. He had large blue eyes, and he could see a caterpillar one hundred yards away and tell whether it was a boy caterpillar or a girl caterpillar. He could hear a leaf rustle at a distance of an eighth of a mile and tell whether it was a birch or a beech. And he had a Reflex-Reaction-Time of 9.6.

He also had a very small brain—being a primitive anthropoid, he had a cranial capacity of only five hundred cubic Centimeters—and a shy and modest disposition.

His whole name was J. Gorilla Gorilla Primate, which included his generic order, his species and a “J” for decorative purposes; but his family and friends and his beautiful wife, Lotus, called him J. G., and so shall we.

Until he met the Explorer, J. G. had never seen a human being. And until the Explorer met J. G., he had never seen a Gorilla like J. G.

In both physique and temperament, J. G. was unlike the two known types of Gorillas: the Plains Gorillas who lived in Darkestafrica at the foot of Mount Kallahili and were skittish and the Mountain Gorillas who lived right below Lake Kivu and were moody.

Many thousands of years ago, J. G.’s tribe had become annoyed by the vulgarity of their neighbors—principally the Plains Gorillas and Pithecanthropus Erectus—and had moved higher and higher up Mount Kallahili in search of Peace and Quiet.

They migrated upwards past Lake Kivu, past the impassable cliffs east of Lake Kivu, and eventually settled down only a few hundred yards below the point where the snows never melt.

Centuries of living in the cold, thin, mountain air of a land where food was scarce and the only shelter was to be found in caves had effected certain changes in their appearance. For one thing, they were covered with a fashionable silver-colored hair, except for their chests and faces, which were a healthy pink. And for another, their noses had evolved small, but noticeable, bridges.

Because of the scarcity of trees in that region, they had given up climbing and swinging from branches and, as a result, their arms were shorter and their legs longer and straighter than less isolated members of their species. And, because of their isolation, they were neither skittish nor moody.

Otherwise they were like other gorillas, in that their small brains were not complicated enough to deal with advanced intellectual concepts such as Purpose, Competition and Improvement. When they thought, it was only in the most simple and logical terms.

Their limited mental equipment had naturally reduced the Silver Gorillas to a savage existence. None of them ever did, or had ever done, anything without a Reason. They spent most of their time eating, sleeping and scratching. But only when they were hungry, sleepy or itchy.

Civil authority was non-existent; they practiced the atavistic institution of monogamy and their language was abysmally brutalized. They used no adverbs; their verbs did not agree in number; and there was no rule against splitting infinitives. Their vocabulary did not even contain words such as: “unsuitable,” “traffic,” “liar,” “hurry,” “psychosomatic,” “poverty,” or “work.” They were, to put it bluntly, inhuman.

And, until the events which I am about to relate occurred, J. G. was no exception.

These events began one day in the middle of supper— which, in J. G.’s case, lasted from lunch until bedtime. He was shaking the snow from a lilac bush on the north slope of the plateau, when the sun was suddenly obscured by a huge, black cloud that seemed to be rushing straight toward Mount Kallahili from the east. Within a matter of minutes, the cloud had enveloped the top of the mountain in the wildest, most formidable storm J. G. had ever seen.

Gathering up an armful of lilac branches and some conchi nuts, he trotted back to the cave that he shared with his beautiful wife, Lotus, to wait for the storm to pass. When he arrived, she was not there; so he sat down and began to eat the lilac branches, saving the tenderest leaves and ends for Lotus.

He finished eating and there was still no sign of Lotus. Outside, lightning flashed in the blackness, followed by great rolls of thunder; farther down the slope J. G. could hear, even over the terrible roaring of the wind, the splintering and crash of falling trees. He plunged into the storm and went from cave to cave looking for his wife.

She was in none of them; but his friend, Zum, remembered that right after lunch she had gone down the north slope of the mountain toward Lake Kivu looking for cypress resin. J. G. sighed. Lotus had always had a sweet tooth. He thanked Zum and headed down the mountain in search of his splendid wife.

The next morning the storm had passed on, and J. G. had found no trace of Lotus. He came back to the plateau and found that she had not returned. He sighed again as he realized he would have to keep on looking for Lotus; because it was the only logical thing to do. He missed her.

He methodically covered every foot of the mountain down to the lake. This was not as difficult as it might seem; because, even on a hillside covered with obstructions, J. G. could move at a speed of twenty-five miles per hour without exerting himself.

When he had searched above the lake, he searched the mountain between the lake and the forests. Then he searched through the forests and crossed the river and searched the grass lands beyond the river and the dry plains beyond the grass lands. Finally he came to the end of the dry plains and faced the ocean. As he wandered along the beach, he came-upon a sign—footprints in the sand: Lad]/ Gorilla footprints, Lotus’s footprints.

J. G. raced along the beach, following the footprints southward until they disappeared in the surf. He went several miles down the beach but the footprints did not reappear. He came back to the point where they vanished and sat down.

He wondered if Lotus could have wandered into the water and drowned; but he doubted it, as she was an excellent swimmer. He wondered what to do next. He missed Lotus very much. He also missed his supper. And his breakfast. And lunch.

For the first time in his life, J. G. was unhappy. It required great concentration on his part, because it isn’t easy to be unhappy when you have such a tiny brain.

Just then the Explorer came out of a clump of cane onto the beach, accompanied by four Sailors. When they saw J. G., they all took several steps backwards rapidly. Then they stopped; and the Explorer, after a long pause, whistled softly to himself and took several steps forward.

J. G. nodded politely and looked away. He assumed the Explorer and his friends were suffering from malnutrition and eczema, and he didn’t want to embarrass them by staring.

The Explorer, seemingly against the wishes of his companions, who began backing farther away, advanced cautiously toward J. G. and offered him a banana. J. G. took it and thanked him.

The Explorer then made sounds and gestures which indicated that he wanted J. G. to accompany him, and J. G. did. He went, first, because it would have been impolite not to; and, second, because to find Lotus he had to go some place; and, third, because the Explorer kept giving him bananas.

After they had walked north on the beach for a half a mile, they came to an inlet where the Explorer’s ship was anchored. J. G., who now considered the Explorer an old and trusted friend, allowed himself to be rowed out and taken on board and so, unwittingly, began his strange adventure.

Although his curiosity was aroused, J. G. did not have time to properly examine the ship or its fittings. The Explorer insisted on showing him, at once, to a small cabin below decks. The cabin had an iron-barred door and no window. When he had bolted the door, the Explorer stepped back, exhaled loudly and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Then he shouted several times down the passageway.