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

“Pappa,” she said, “cut that out.”

“Hokay,” said Ambush. “You howa good time, you bet, and—” He suddenly stopped. He had moved from behind the counter and he was staring at the bare banana stalk.

“Hey!” he said. “What’s hoppen to fruits?”

“Now, Pappa,” Miss Ambush said.

Ambush slapped both hands to his head. “And canna-loops. Gone! and plumses!” J. G. had a feeling that he had done something wrong again.

“Now, Pappa, cut that out,” Miss Ambush said desperately. “We’re going to the movies.”

Ambush took a deep breath and held it while he ground the rest of the sandwich into the counter. “Hokay,” he said exhaling. “Six dollar bananases. Wholesales. Four dollar plumses ... Hokay. Who cares?” he finished jovially.

“Let’s go,” said Miss Ambush. “C’mon.”

J. G. finished the last cantaloupe and turned toward the door but Ambush grabbed his arm.

“Hey! Sport!” he said sternly. “Jost a minutes. What’s you name?”

J. G. told him.

“Primates. Hey, thot’s Greek name, ha?”

J. G. said he didn’t think so.

“Hokay,” said Ambush after a moment. “Who cares? Hey, what you take up on Compuss? Medical? Engineer? Foots-balls?”

J. G. said he didn’t really know, as he had just been a guest of Quimble, the Professor, for a short time, and actually he was only interested in trying to find his beautiful wife, Lotus, who had been lost in—

Ambush interrupted with a horrified shout “HOO?” he said. “You got already wife?”

J. G. said oh yes, of course, and Ambush made a strangled sound and pounded his fist against his head.

“Let’s go. C’mon. Let’s go,” said Miss Ambush, leaning against the small of J. G.’s back and shoving. “Let’s go.”

“No gone nowhere!” yelled Ambush. He peeled her away from J. G. and dragged her backwards. “You crazy?” he yelled swinging a backhand blow at her head which she ducked automatically.

“Pappa,” she wailed, “you cut that out. He’s a nice feller.”

J. G. decided he had better be going before these People got angry with him, but Ambush leapt to the door and blocked it.

“Hokay, Sport,” he said ominously. “You eat oop all fruits. You owing ten bucks.”

J. G. understood that he was supposed to give something in return for the bananas and fruit he had eaten; he produced his deck of cards and offered to deal a stacked hand of Pittsburgh Rummy.

Ambush pounded his head again. “Where’s my fifteens bucks? You got expansive fur coat so pay opp.” He held out a quivering palm. “Hand over.”

J. G. regretfully indicated he had nothing to hand over. Ambush opened the door enough to get his head outside and began to yell. “Poliss! Holp! Poliss!”

“Pappa, Pappa,” bawled Miss Ambush, rushing to J. G.’s side. “You let him alone, Pappa.”

“Poliss. poliss. POLISS!”

Now J. G. was sure that he had done something wrong. He wondered what it was this time. Perhaps he was so stupid that he would never learn How Things Are. He scratched his head and noticed that he was shedding again.

Kelly, the Cop, came to the door then; and, when Ambush explained the situation, Kelly sternly told J. G. that he must pay Ambush the twenty dollars he owed him. J. G. could tell that everyone was displeased with him. He felt so lonely and ashamed he could do nothing but stand and stare at the floor.

“Let him alone, Pappa,” said Miss Ambush. “I’ll pay for the fruit.”

“Shoddop,” shouted Ambush. “Go in back room! You hear? You crazy.” He addressed Kelly, who was busy dropping apples into a paper sack he carried about for that purpose. “Ron him in,” he said.

“I don’t know if it’s strictly legal and all,” said Kelly. “It strikes me this creature isn’t no human being. It strikes me he’s more like a ape.”

Miss Ambush waved her finger defiantly at Kelly. “It takes one to know one,” she screamed.

“Ape?” jeered Ambush. “Does ape have eyeglasses? Ha?”

“Well, no,” said Kelly. “I admit you have a telling point there.”

“Ron him in,” said Ambush and turned to his daughter, who was bawling at the top of her voice. “Shoddop,” he said paternally.

And so Kelly took J. G. by the arm and escorted him toward the Station House.

On top of everything else, J. G. was still hungry.

At the station house, Kelly took J. G. before the Sergeant who was seated behind a high desk. The sergeant leaned over and peered closely at J. G. “Name?” he said.

J. G. told him and he laboriously inscribed it in a ledger. “Occupation?” he said and J. G. told him he was a Gorilla. “Oh,” said the Sergeant with a note of respect in his voice. He looked at J. G. more intently and motioned to Kelly. “You recognize him?” he said.

“Not me,” Kelly said. “Maybe he’s a Outta Towner.”

“How about that?” the Sergeant said. “Where you from?”

J. G. said that he had only recently arrived and that originally he was from Mount Kallahili.

The Sergeant looked at Kelly and nodded. “Better call Mr. Onnatazio,” he said in a low voice. He wrote something else in the ledger, then scowled and said to no one in particular: “Heldovergeneralsessionscourt — tuesdayalloweda-makeonephonecall.”

A guard tapped J. G. politely on the shoulder and escorted him through another room, where a small, surly man shouted, “Hey,” held up a camera and flashed a bright light at them. Then they went into an elevator. From the elevator they went down a long corridor, up a flight of iron steps and into a small antiseptic-smelling cell. “I’ll let you know as soon as Mr. Onnatazio sends someone,” the Guard said. “It usually don’t take more’n a hour.”

The Guard was wrong. No one sent anyone for J. G. After a while he decided not to wait and curled up on the concrete floor and went to sleep instantly.

The next morning the newspapers carried headlines which said: daring robbery foiled by grocer and ape man CAPTURED BY HEROIC POLICEMAN and RECENT CRIME WAVE laid to ape man. There were pictures of J. G. and the Sergeant on the front page.

J. G. was awakened at ten o’clock by another Guard, who brought him a bowl of oatmeal and four slices of cold toast. “You got a visitor,” he told J. G. J. G. jumped up, thanked the Guard and attempted to smooth down his hair. Perhaps it was his old friend the Explorer, or his friend Quimble, the Professor, or maybe his unknown friend, Mr. Onnatazio.

“It’s Flack, the Publicity Agent,” said the Guard.

Flack was a young man in a depressing suit who was accompanied by three attractive girls. From a distance, they inquired about J. G.’s health and then left. The afternoon editions of the newspapers had larger headlines which said: TV ACTRESS IDENTIFIES APE MAN AS ATTACKER and TORE clothes off says model. There were pictures of the TV Actress in bed, with a dotted line leading from the window to her bodice. There were larger pictures of the Model demonstrating how her clothing had been disarranged.

The late-afternoon editions had even larger headlines: ASSAULTED TWELVE TIMES IN HOUR SAYS MODEL. There were pictures of the Model, whose name was Wanda Axelrod, the Model’s roommate, the Model’s parents, a scratch on the Model’s knee and the Model’s High School Chemistry Teacher. There were no pictures of the Sergeant, or J. G., or the TV Actress.

That evening, right after supper, J. G. had another visitor. It was Pipola Ambush, the Grocer’s daughter. She came in carrying a bag of bananas, a bundle wrapped in brown paper and a large box. “I couldn’t get away before,” she said. “Pappa is watching me like a bloodhound. Did you really do—like they said to those girls in the paper?”