Дуглас Престон - Jennie

“See, Dad? She can turn on the TV.” Then he added, “Jennie, I can’t see.”

Jennie looked around at the sound of her name but continued to block the screen.

“Move over!” Sandy shouted.

An advertisement came on. It depicted a ruggedly handsome man inhaling a cigarette to a chorus of voices singing about smoothness and taste. He exhaled with a sigh of satisfaction and the singing crescendoed. “Hooo heeee heee,” Jennie said, as if singing along.

“Jennie! No! Dad, make her get out of the way,” Sandy said.

The Three Stooges returned to the screen, to the theme song of “The Three Blind Mice.” Under Sandy’s protestations Jennie finally went back and sat down next to him and held his hand, with a worried look on her face. Already Sandy was becoming her best friend. She admired him and wanted to do whatever he did.

“What rubbish,” I said jokingly. “Maybe we should have left that poor animal in the jungle.”

But Sandy and Jennie were so engrossed in the unfolding drama that they did not hear me at all.

Jennie’s arrival had shaken the complacency of our suburban neighborhood. The first to show his interest in Jennie was our neighbor, the Episcopal minister from across the street. His name was Hendricks Palliser. He came calling on orders of his wife — a formidable woman. At the time neither Lea nor I knew Palliser well at all, and not being religiously inclined we had not cultivated a relationship with him. In one way, at least, he had intrigued me: in World War I he had volunteered for the French ambulance corps and, it was said, had known Hemingway. I had not been able to reconcile the cheerful, round-faced suburban rector across the street with the heroic volunteer who was, apparently, wounded at the second battle of the Ypres salient. This was the battle in which the Germans first used poison gas, and (it was said) he rescued a group of men from the gas with his ambulance.

The door chimes rang. The Reverend stood on the stoop, gray Borsalino hat clasped in hand, a nervous and apologetic look on his round face. Lea invited him in. He vigorously shuffled his feet on the doormat and ducked into the house.

Jennie was invariably excited by the arrival of strangers, but she was also shy. I saw a flash of black as Jennie shot down the hall toward the kitchen. Normally we did not allow her in the kitchen, but it seemed prudent, at the time, to pretend Jennie did not exist. We both instinctively felt that the subject of Jennie might be on the Reverend’s agenda, and the later that subject was introduced the better.

We settled into the living room. Lea offered him tea “or something else?” and he asked for sherry. His voice was soft with a slight stammer, and he had an air of embarrassment about him. He was bald, in his mid-seventies, with several large moles on his nose. His blue eyes were nervous and squinty, as if he were in bright sunlight. He was not a handsome man. And yet there was something pleasing about the face.

As Lea poured the sherry, we heard a thump in the kitchen. I remember the Reverend’s eyes darted toward the kitchen and back. We all knew there was a chimpanzee in there, but none of us wanted to be the first to mention it.

“Thank you kindly,” said the Reverend, accepting the glass, while laying his Borsalino on the coffee table. “How was your trip?” he asked me.

At that moment there was another thump in the kitchen, and the Reverend’s nervousness seemed to increase.

I chatted about the trip, how successful it had been, and what we hoped to achieve in terms of further research. I could see that the Reverend was having trouble concentrating on the conversation. Clearly his wife had put him up to this visit, just as she made him weed the dandelions out of our yard when she believed we were not home. I felt quite sorry for Palliser, with such a wife.

In the middle of our awkward and halting conversation, a tremendous crash sounded from the kitchen, the merry sound of broken glass. The chimpanzee could be ignored no longer.

“Oh dear,” said Lea, and went off to see what had happened. There was a momentary silence and then a black form moving at high speed tore into the living room and disappeared under the chaise lounge. We could hear Lea calling for Jennie in the kitchen, in a scolding tone of voice.

“She’s in here,” I called out. I turned to the Reverend. “She’s still adjusting to life in America.”

“Yes, indeed,” he said, very nervously.

I then added: “I think that crash may have been the punch bowl Lea’s mother gave us as a wedding present.”

“How unfortunate,” said the Reverend.

It sounded so insincere that I couldn’t help adding, “At least I hope so.”

To my surprise the Reverend issued a loud and most undecorous laugh. Lea came in, looking flushed.

“She got into the refrigerator and broke the milk pitcher,” she said, and turned to the Reverend. “She loves milk.”

“Yes, indeed,” said the Reverend.

“Whooooo,” said Jennie from under the chaise lounge.

“Jennie,” I said, hoping to draw the visit to a close as soon as possible, “come out and meet Reverend Palliser.”

The Reverend could hardly disguise his curiosity. He leaned forward as two hairy hands and the top of a fuzzy head came out from under the chaise lounge and stared up at us.

“Jennie, come here,” I said in a firm tone of voice.

The chimp slid out, stood up, pursed her lips, and strolled over, as coolly and nonchalantly as a movie star.

“Shake hands,” I said.

The chimp condescended to hold out a limp hand, looking more like she expected to have it kissed than shaken.

“Why, how nice to meet you,” said the Reverend, his face wrinkling with delight. “What a charming animal you are!”

“He he,” said Jennie.

“That’s a good girl,” I said.

Quick as a flash she swept the Reverend’s hat off the table and whipped it onto her own head.

“No, Jennie,” Lea said. “No.”

Jennie picked the hat off her head and looked inside, sniffing loudly.

“Jennie!” Lea said, standing up abruptly. Lea had that peculiar ability to freeze you with a certain tone of voice.

But it was too late. Jennie reached inside the hat, and with one swift movement tore out the silk lining, tossed it like a piece of garbage into the Reverend’s lap, and clapped the hat back on her head.

“Whoops!” said the Reverend. “Oh my!”

“Jennie! No!” I cried, and lunged at the chimp while making a grab at the hat. But the ape was too fast for me, and she retreated under the chaise lounge.

To our great surprise the Reverend laughed, his face turning bright red. “Oh dear,” he said. “Oh my. Oh my dear.” The tears streamed down his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Lea said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. We’ll get you a new hat.”

The he he he he! of chimpanzee laughter issued from under the chaise. I got down on my hands and knees and could see her in the corner, sucking her toe with the hat on her head.

“Jennie! Bad, bad girl!” I said. “Come!”

“It’s quite all right,” stammered the Reverend, recovering his composure. “She’s such a sweet animal. The hat is nothing.”

I called Jennie again and she finally poked her head out, still wearing the hat, which now had a large dustball clinging to the crown. The crease had been knocked out, giving it the look of a hobo bowler. The only thing visible under the hat were her lips and whiskered chin.

“Jennie!” I yelled again, and the chimp ducked under the chaise.

“It suits her quite well,” said the Reverend.

Lea was busy convincing the Reverend that Jennie’s behavior was out of the ordinary, not her usual shenanagins. “Isn’t it terrible!” she said. “I just can’t understand what’s gotten into her. She’s never acted like this before.”