Rick Moody - The Four Fingers of Death

“Pal, you got to do better than that.” And here Larry, from the corner, carefully lofted the lightweight basketball up so that it made a gentle swish , which Morton believed was the proper term, passing through the basketball net unperturbed. “There’s an agility part of the game, a gracefulness, I’ll grant you that,” Larry said. “But the main thing with the game is the part that has to do with wanting it . You have to want the game, pal. Don’t just sit there thinking you’re a chimpanzee and you’re on the gravy train here, with the free room and board, and you have interesting and brilliant people who want to come in here day in and day out to ask you questions. You can’t just accept that arrangement, pal. You have to try to make more of yourself than that. Some people just never get past the free room and board, and they become a drag on federal resources. You don’t want that.”

He passed the ball to Morton, and this time Morton successfully caught the ball, and then, without dribbling, Morton, with the ball gathered into him as though it were a little baby chimp, headed straight for the basket. Upon standing under the basket, where he intended to shoot the ball, according to what he understood of the game, Morton instead collided with Larry, who batted the ball out of his grasp, so that it again bounced away, caroming off the trash bin on the other side of the cell.

“What did I tell you? I told you that you had to try to dribble, somehow. That means you have to bounce it. Every step or so. You think you can try to do that? I’m going to make some notes, for Dr. Koo, about your physical agility here, you know, so maybe you can try to do a little bit better than how you’re doing.”

When the ball rolled back from the wall, Morton snatched it up. He tried to throw the ball at the backboard, but it bounced harmlessly from the wall nearby. The basketball then fell into human control, and the human being bounced it around a little bit, according to the strictures of dribbling, before brazenly, premeditatedly fouling the chimp, with his upper body. That is, Larry knocked Morton onto his posterior. While Morton rested in that condition, Larry went in for the layup. He grabbed the rim when he was through with the shot. This, Morton later understood, was known as the dunk .

“Okay, bub, you are obviously not wanting it sufficiently,” Larry said. “And that means that I am going to have to tell you a little bit about what you’re up against here. What you are up against is a well-armed opponent, an opponent who has all the rules and who has made up all the rules, the kinds of rules that basically insure that he is going to win in every situation. The opponent has even determined that you are playing, even though you have said nothing consensual about wanting to play. Your opponent has decided that your not saying anything about playing means you are playing, and that the man basically can do whatever the hell he wants to do. And he isn’t even going to bother to give you all the rules.”

Larry moved in close to Morton.

Later, Morton would plead that despite the evidence to the contrary, he was still a chimpanzee. However substantial his language skills. The human animal was his rival. There would always be a moment in the chimpanzee’s life when the chimpanzee felt this, felt the antagonistic force of the human animal, and in this oppositional moment, the chimpanzee feels the boiling in his blood that in human circles signifies impulse control difficulties , though there is no reason to believe that the same terminology should apply to the chimpanzee, in whose world there are no laws for anger management . On the contrary, the chimpanzee celebrates impulse control issues . He (or she) has accepted that free and complete acquiescence to the impulse is how the primate lives. A chimpanzee will be slaughtered by the members of the tribe that he or she has only lately frolicked with, and the tears shed by his or her acquaintances will be brief, if in fact there are any. Which doesn’t mean that the chimpanzee doesn’t care , but simply that the chimpanzee embraces the violent gesture. This was why Morton, having attempted only hours before his first love poem, didn’t consider, not even briefly, suppressing his urge to smack Larry around. With upper body strength five times what Larry was capable of, it wasn’t at all difficult, upon approaching the human animal, for Morton to push him against the wall with inordinate force, so that the back of Larry’s head struck the wall with an unsettling thud, whereupon Larry, completely unsuspecting, lost his footing immediately. Larry was putty before Morton, who seized him by the shoulders, lifted him up, and then shoved him rudely to the ground anew. There was some protesting from Larry— Pal, listen to me, I was trying to help! I was trying to tell you the kinds of things you’re facing in the laboratory, I swear. I wasn’t— but Morton was no longer listening to this human rationalizing, and he took Larry’s hand, deprived it of the basketball it held (which now bounced to a stationary position across the cell as the physical conflict raged), and bit it nearly as hard as he could bite it. This bite immediately raised a half circle of bloody perforations on Larry, which in turn caused the human adversary to cry out, as if the video cameras in the laboratory could help him now. Still, this was in the category of flesh wounds, as far as Morton was concerned. After all, chimpanzees were in the habit, occasionally, of eating their enemies, or at least parts of them. Although Morton didn’t want to eat Larry, he could do so if he had to. There were viands associated with the human animal that might be palatable. The eyeball of the human animal would perhaps make a good snack, a little jelly snack. And despite his omnivorous fondness for melons and other fresh fruits, he would have to admit that he had a more primitive and atavistic taste for the liver. The liver was high in cholesterol, Morton understood, but when he looked at Larry, he imagined a large, doughy liver full of residuary toxins. The violence of the removal of Larry’s liver held a certain attraction, however, and there were perhaps a few other parts that might be rather tasty too. A kidney belonging to Larry, for example, once voided of its contents, which voiding would likely take place as soon as Larry verified that he was about to be eaten, could taste pretty good. You didn’t have to cook kidneys, really. Indeed, this human obsession with cooking things, that was for animals who were conflicted about being primates. Once you committed to having the innards of the enemy all over you , the fluids lacquering you, the organs laid out around you on the forest floor like a meats department display, then you were really happy with the freshness of the steaks as they were harvested straight from the organ cavity of the enemy. If you could eat the heart, Morton supposed, while it was still beating, or at the briefest possible interval after its last beating, if you could eat the heart having lately watched it pump its last gush of oxygenated blood out into the room, then, Morton supposed, the heart would be at its most succulent. With these delectations in mind, Morton decided to finish Larry off by bashing his head apart on the floor of the cell.

Larry, it should be said, had collected himself — when he saw the way the interaction was to proceed. He attempted to run for the door, shouting on the way that he needed help . But Morton was on him in a pair of bounds, at which point he took Larry’s head in his hands and began to bang it against the wall, gently at first, because he wanted Larry to hear a few words before he went to his human afterlife, the woefully conceived afterlife that had not a single nonhuman animal in it, according to the accounts you read in the classics. And here is what Larry would have heard during his last few moments of consciousness: