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

J. G. said he didn’t understand what she meant but, in any. case, he hadn’t done anything to any girls. He was sure.

“Urn,” said Miss Ambush. “When I read about it, I got so mad at Pappa I coulda killed him. Look, I brought you something.” She gave him the bananas and then opened the box. Inside was a chocolate cake.

J. G. said he certainly appreciated her thoughtfulness and ate the bananas.

“I baked it myself,” Miss Ambush said as J. G. started on the cake. “I like to cook and sew and stuff. I’m not like those dirty minded girls who make up all those things about you in the papers. Ya sure you didn’t do—you know, like they said—to them?”

Oh, no, honestly, he didn’t, J. G. said.

“Um,” she said. “It must be awful to have dirty minds like they have.”

She clucked her tongue and began unwrapping the bundle she had carried in. “I figured you’d be chilly here,” she said. “I brought you one of Pappa’s coats. It’s from his lodge outfit and he’ll never miss it, ‘cause they blackballed him outta the lodge for losin’ his temper.” She unfolded a long, black coat with gold buttons and gold piping on the lapels. She trotted around behind J. G. and held it up. “Try it on,”‘ she said. “It oughta fit, I let out the back as far as I could.”

J. G. said it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and that it fit him fine. He even managed to get one button buttoned.

“Gee,” said Miss Ambush, “you look swell.” She stood back and admired him. “Are you sure you never did any of those things like those dirty minded girls made up you did?”

J. G. said he was sure. Miss Ambush swallowed and then said brightly, “Well, I gotta hurry back now. Besides Pappa watching me, I gotta date with this boy friend who’s a handsome Surgeon and a Doctor and he’s gotta big Cadillac and is crazy for me and wants to make advances and put his arms around me ... and...” Suddenly Miss Ambush stopped and stared pathetically at J. G. The place where her chin should have been quivered, and two large tears formed in her eyes, and trickled down her thin cheeks.

J. G. became alarmed. He asked if something was wrong and if he could do anything to help.

Miss Ambush’s tiny mouth opened several times and finally she said, “I gotta go home,” and, clutching her purse tightly against herself with both hands, she left and walked rapidly down the corridor.

J. G. shook his head. He wondered if Miss Ambush was sick. He wondered if he had done anything to make her unhappy. He hoped not because she had truly been very kind to him, bringing him food and the beautiful coat. He rubbed his hand over the piping on the sleeve and thought how proud his wife, Lotus, would be to see him so dressed up.

The next morning J. G. had his third and last visitor. “It’s McKooly,” the Guard said. J. G. asked who McKooly was and the Guard looked at him curiously. “He does things for Mr. Onnatazio,” he said. He left the door unlocked and in a few minutes McKooly walked in and stood frowning at J. G.

McKooly was perhaps fifty years old, had straight dark hair, graying at the sides, heavy eyebrows, large, black eyes behind steel rimmed glasses, and his head barely came to J. G.’s shoulder. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. “All right,” he said, “what’s the big idea?”

J. G. shuffled his feet and said he didn’t have any idea— not even a little idea.

“You can get in big trouble using Mr. Onnatazio’s name around here,” he said. “Or anywhere else for that matter.” J. G. said there must be some misunderstanding. “You bet there is,” McKooly said, “I checked on you yesterday. No one in the Syndicate ever heard of you. You got no record.” McKooly suddenly thrust his forefinger at J. G. and said in a hard, flat voice, “What’s your angle, pal?” J. G. ducked away and crouched warily in the corner. McKooly started at him, then shrugged. “It strikes me,” he said, “that you’re a wee bit stupid.”

J. G. traced an invisible circle on the floor with his non-opposed thumb and admitted this was true. He said he was sorry he had such a small, stupid, useless brain; but, being a Gorilla, there was nothing he could do about it.

McKooly took a step forward and regarded J. G. with fresh interest. “A Gorilla?” he said softly. “A real Gorilla? You know you could be at that, though I’d of sworn you were Hibernian. Could it be, do you suppose, that you’re an Irish type of Ape?”

J. G. said no he was just a Gorilla type of Primate. McKooly’s attitude changed completely and he clucked sympathetically. “Imagine,” he said, “putting a dumb beast in a miserable jail. It’s a violation of your Civil Rights. You should be in a nice Zoo.” He threw his cigarette on the floor and stamped on it. “It’s a disgrace,” he said indignantly. “I’m going to see what I can do for you.”

For some reason, possibly because he had little liking for his own kind, possibly because he had no family, possibly because he was small, McKooly felt a deep and sincere affection for animals. He fed stray cats, adopted lost dogs, kept three white mice in his hotel room and put bread crumbs on his window sill for pigeons.

“I tell you what,” he said suddenly and J. G. sat up. He had been desperately hoping someone would tell him what.

“I’ll have Tort get you out of here as soon as I can get in touch with him,” McKooly said. He looked at his watch. “As soon as you get out you come and see me. Here’s the address.” He wrote “Hotel Van Dixon” and a street number on an envelope and gave it to J. G. “I’ll talk to Mr. Onnatazio,” he said, “and maybe you can go to work for him. He can always use someone your size.”

He opened his wallet and handed J. G. a five dollar bill. “This’ll keep you from starving to death in the meantime.” McKooly then shook hands, said once again that it was a disgrace the way J. G. was being treated and left.

J. G. looked at the five dollar bill suspiciously and then ate it. It had a pleasant green taste, but he didn’t think it would keep him from starving. Not for long anyway.

That afternoon J. G. was taken from his cell to a large, high ceilinged room with worn oak paneling. A sign on the high double doors said, “General Sessions Court. Judge Ponder presiding.” A dozen people were huddled on benches which faced a high desk, behind which sat a kindly looking man wearing a black robe.

Ponder, the Judge, was a kind man who took his responsibilities seriously and was even trusted to a limited degree in some sections of the Jungle. When J. G. was brought before him, he inspected him thoughtfully, called for the arresting officer’s report, read it and then asked J. G. to hold up his hand so he could see his thumb.

“Bailiff,” Ponder said, “in my opinion the officer’s original suspicions were correct. The defendant does indeed seem to be an anthropoid of the family Simiidae. To wit, a gorilla. An unusual specimen, to be sure, but certainly a gorilla.”

The bailiff stared, horrified, at J. G. “Stand back, your honor!” he shouted. “I’ll get the riot squad. We’ll capture him!”

“Don’t be silly,” Ponder said. “He is in no need of capturing. He seems quite rational and, as he has been subjected to due process of law so far, he is, according to precedent, entitled to the full extent of that due process. Proceed with the case.”

“Against an ape, your honor?” the bailiff said.

“I have devoted my life to serving the principles of liberalism upon which our system of jurisprudence is founded,” Ponder said. “Am I to deny this creature, or any creature, the right to fair and equitable justice because he differs from us in race, creed or species? Would you have it said that I practiced discrimination?”