Will Self - Great Apes

Simon awoke, as was the diktat of the camp commandant, at dawn. Before he was aware of whether it was light or not, he heard the sounds of the forest, the yammering of baboons, the chattering of parakeets, ibises and other birds, the guttural cries of humans — close by, and mingled with them the excited vocalisations of chimpanzees.

Flipping back the mosquito net, Simon leapt from the nest and pulled on his safari jacket. His horny feet clipping the concrete, he swaggered across the hut and, seeing that his allies were already up, swung open the door and plunged into the harsh grey day.

The scene that met his still encrusted eyes was at first difficult to take in. The compound was full of figures, the scampering setiform bodies of chimpanzees and the taller, more exiguous forms of their closest living relatives.

It was morning feeding time for the rehabilitated humans of Camp Rauhschutz. Over by the veranda of the main hut a feeding bin was set up. Two of Rauhschutz’s bonobos were managing this resource. The humans, moving with their characteristic zombie-like bipedal gait, slowly emerged from the surrounding tree cover. They ambled across the compound and over to the bin in small knots of two or three adults and as many sub-adults or infants.

The bonobos, using long poles, then prodded them towards the bin. If any of the humans showed any indication of trying to get more than its fair share of the bananas, bread and figs on offer, the bonobos would cut them out from the rest of their group and poke them away from the bin, using quite vicious thrusts of the poles, or so Simon thought.

Those humans that had secured their share of the food were standing in disordered ranks at the very edge of the compound. There must have been at least fifty or sixty of the animals, although Simon couldn’t be certain as the greyness of their skins made them difficult to pick out as individuals in the crepuscular light. There was that, and there was also the sight of their lumpen bodies and the languor of their movement. For a chimpanzee, used to observing fast-moving fingers and scampering limbs, the humans required a constant kind of double-take, to check that they were still there, still standing, knock-kneed, slack-jawed, arms akimbo, eyes glazed.

In amongst this throng of ghosts were moving some of the Dutch chimps. They rubbed up against the humans, and attempted to groom them. They uttered vocalisations that they presumably hoped the humans would understand in some way; low guttural cries that approximated to those of the animals. To Simon’s eye it seemed that the humans were totally unresponsive to these efforts. As he knuckle-walked closer to the scene his furled ears began to pick out the vocalisations of one species from those of the other. The Dutch chimps were grunting and pant-hooting, lip-smacking and panting, trying as best they could to impress upon the humans the joy they were experiencing at being in touch with them. While the humans, on the other hand, were merely garbling incoherently in their swinish way, “Fuckoff-fuckoff-fuckoff-fuckoff,’ ” over and over and over.

Simon didn’t have long to absorb this spectacle, for a familiar hand grasped his scruff and inparted, ‘“HooGraa” morning, Simon, up early as Madam dictated!’ Simon turned to see his alpha.

Busner seemed positively buoyed up by the ambience at Camp Rauhschutz, his muzzle creased with lines of intrigue and speculation. ‘Come,’ he ran on, ‘“grnnn” Madam awaits us on the main veranda, together with some of her “huh-huh” closer allies!’

They knuckle-walked back across the compound and swung on to the main veranda. Rauhschutz was there, wearing another vile mumu, together with a small group of humans. Simon felt quite unsettled by the proximity of the bald animals. He skulked along the edge of the veranda keeping his muzzle out. Rauhschutz was indulging in a kind of tea ceremonial, pouring out foaming tin mugs from a large aluminium pot and pushing them into the outstretched, swishing hands of the humans.

The humans did at least seem to be enjoying their tea. They knocked back the steaming fluid, their blunt muzzles pointing up to the corrugated-iron roof, heedless of the hot splashes that fell on their exposed teats. ‘Tea,’ Busner gently inparted Simon’s wrist. ‘Best drink of the day!’

Although the humans on the veranda were as diffident as their fellows across the compound, there was one who had some spunk. A short male with a red thatch of fur between his teats, and an equally revolting patch between his tuberous legs, took advantage of the brief matitudinal presenting that was going on between Busner and Rauhschutzto grab the battered bowl of sugar from the table and upend its contents into his tight, pink-lipped mouth. This male then executed what passed for a turn of speed among humankind, by swaggering off the veranda. ‘“Hooo” he’s got the sugar!’ Rauhschutzflourished, and all the chimps followed after the rogue male.

The sugar-stealer got an instant hit from his booty. This much Simon could tell by the way he began to stagger around in small circles, mewling and bellowing, “Fuckoff-fuckoff-fuckoff.” Busner, still at Simon’s side, inparted, ‘I think his blood-sugar level will peak fairly soon — these creatures have surprisingly fast metabolisms. They are unused to any kind of stimulus. “Grnnn” coffee and sugar can have quite dramatic effects on them.’

Simon didn’t know about dramatic — but they were certainly plain to see. The sugar-stealer now fetched up by the wall of the main hut; this he proceeded to muzzle and then rhythmically bash with his hydrocephalic brow, butting the resounding metal, “Bash-bash-bash”, as some giant tetrapod — an ox or a warthog — might butt a tree. Coming up beside them, the maverick anthropologist regarded the notionally rehabilitated human with an expression betokening nothing but frank admiration, before remarking, ‘“Hooo” see, the force and accuracy with which he butts the wall. I think it fair to sign that he seems to have a profound comprehension of the laws of physics.’

Together with Rauhschutz was Joshua, her head bonobo assistant. The rest of the Busner–Dykes group knuckle-walked up as well. They’d been down at the lake having a morning scrape. Seeing they were all assembled Rauhschutzconducted them, ‘“HoooGrann” you have been welcomed here, and I’m sure you,’ she picked out Alex Knight, whose camcorder was, of course, already whirring, ‘will give a sympathetic portrayal of the work we are doing “euch-euch”. But for now you had better get going. The human infant you are interested in tends to range a few hours south of here. If you wish to make contact with him and get back before nightfall you had better “hooo” get going. Joshua here will act as your guide.’

They knuckle-walked and brachiated all morning. Towards noon they descended the last, steep green hillside, under the hammering sun and came to a small bay. Huddled there was a forlorn group of six or seven adult humans and a couple of infants. Joshua, who had been ranging ahead of the rest of the patrol, broke from cover with a series of loud waa-barks, and scampering this way and that, like some simian sheep pony, managed to carve one of the human infants out from the rest and herd him towards where the chimpanzee patrol was bipedal, watching.

The poor infant ambled this way and that. He really was a most sorry specimen, Simon thought, as were most of the other rehabilitated humans he’d seen in the vicinity of Camp Rauhschutz. His pitiful naked skin was scratched and grazed by the tooth-edged grass, his muzzle stippled with insect bites, his head fur was tangled and matted. When Joshua had brought the human infant to within five metres of the chimpanzees he gestured, ‘Mr Dykes, this is the human that you wanted to see. The one that come to us from London. The one the boss denotes Biggles.’