Jon Bilbao - Still the Same Man

“I suppose you’re also here because of the hurricane,” said the professor.

The man eyed him over the pot, which he was slurping into noisily.

“This is nothing but a little drizzle. Now Wilma, Wilma was a hurricane. Dean, too. This is. .”

He made a gesture with his hand, as if something unimportant were floating away into the air.

“I understand,” said the professor. “But this little drizzle has put a stop to your search for your colleague.”

The man assented as he stirred what remained of the soup with his spoon.

“Where did it happen? Where did you lose her?”

“In Tu lu m.”

“Really, well, there’s a coincidence! We’ve come from around there, too. Our hotels,” said the professor, “were in Cancún.”

He paused to let the information sink in. Then he added, “How long have you and the chimpanzees been together?”

“What’s it to you?”

The professor shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

“A black man?”

The expression on the professor’s face didn’t move an inch.

“An ex — circus employee who’s traveling Mexico in the company of two chimpanzees.”

The man finished off his soup. He placed the pot to one side, wiped the spoon again with his shirt, and put it back in his pocket.

“A long time. Years.”

“You must be very upset at the loss of your female companion.”

The man wet his index finger and thumb with saliva and used them to remove the grill with a single, slick movement.

“Of course we’re upset. Tomorrow we’re going back to the coast to look for her.”

“Tomorrow? This little drizzle will have stopped by then?”

“Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow. . whenever we can, we’ll go back. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little tired.”

The others gave a consenting nod as the man got up. He picked up the pan and pushed the grill with his foot, leaving it next to his backpack. They all watched as he unrolled a rubber matt and laid out a patched up sleeping bag on top of it. Fully clothed, without taking off his boots or untying the chimpanzee’s chain, he laid down on top of the sleeping bag. Before going to sleep, he double-checked that all his belongings were within reach, especially his cane and the machete. His shuffling stirred the monkey.

“Good night, Gagarin. Sleep well.”

The professor leaned in toward Joanes.

“Let’s talk,” he whispered. “In the other room.”

“Just say whatever you have to say.”

“It’s better if we do it in private.”

“Just tell me what it is you want to say,” repeated Joanes.

The professor looked at the stranger and the chimpanzee. He gestured toward them with his eyes.

“Here? Are you sure?”

A second later, Joanes picked up the flashlight.

“Don’t be long,” said the wife.

Joanes walked to the adjacent room, tailed by the professor. He opened the metal door, taking care that it creak as little as possible. Once they were both inside, he closed it again. They remained standing, one in front of the other, in the middle of the little room. Joanes held the flashlight down at his side; it cast shadows over both of their faces.

“Well then?”

“I understand that our situation hasn’t exactly improved over the last couple of hours. You need your telephone more than ever now, in case you need help getting out of this place.”

“I thought I’d made myself clear.”

“Perfectly clear. But I still need to know what’s happened to my son, urgently,” said the professor, who underscored his words with wild, hacking gesticulations. “You must understand. If there’s something about me that displeases you, if I’ve offended you in some way, or if you simply don’t like me, at least think of my wife. Try to imagine what she must be going through.”

Joanes didn’t say a word but simply looked at him in disdain, and so the professor took a deep breath and went on.

“It’s better if we resolve this by talking. Just the two of us. You and I. Much better.”

“It’s already resolved. There’s nothing more to say.”

“No,” said the professor firmly. “It is not resolved. Not by far. How could you possibly think it’s been resolved? I want that telephone. I need it, now,” he said, holding out his hand for Joanes to turn it over.

Joanes let out a laugh.

“I need it,” the professor insisted. “Something serious has happened to my son. I’ve got a terrible feeling about it.”

“A feeling? repeated Joanes. “A feeling? That’s not like you. You, who are so pragmatic,” he said, tapping his temple with his index finger. “Pragmatism, that’s what you always drilled into us in class, remember? Of course you remember. ‘Pragmatism,’” said Joanes, putting on the professor’s voice. “Just like Alan Turing and his pragmatic mathematics. A good book. Very interesting. If a little biased in its contents, don’t you think? But nonetheless very revealing, there’s no doubt about it. Revealing in many ways. Not just of poor Turing. You know what I’m talking about.”

The professor listened with a stony face. When he answered, he did so as if Joanes’s words had gone in one ear and out the other, or as if he hadn’t heard them at all.

“How do you think that man out there would react if he knew that you killed the monkey he’s looking for?”

“Don’t involve him in this. This is between us.”

“Between me and you?” said the professor, raising his voice. “Of course it isn’t! They are other people implicated here. For starters, the people sitting right there in the next room.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” repeated Joanes.

“Give me the telephone. That black man out there could be dangerous. Didn’t you see his machete?”

“Forget it.”

The professor left the room, and Joanes stepped out after him.

“Ah, my friend!” said the professor, approaching the man. “Are you awake?”

The first one to react was the chimpanzee, who got straight to his feet and stood with his arms hanging by his sides and his legs bowed, like a gunslinger from the Wild West ready for a duel. The man opened his eyes and as a ref lex snatched the machete.

“Don’t touch me,” he said.

The professor stopped dead in his tracks.

“Calm down, I wouldn’t dream of touching you. I just want to tell you something that might be of interest.”

With his free hand, the man grabbed the chain that connected him to the monkey and pulled it taut to keep Gagarin under control. Without letting go, he sat up, leaning his back against the wall.

“What do you want to tell me?”

“You see that man?” asked the professor, pointing to his former student. “You see him?”

The man nodded. From her bed, the woman asked, “What’s going on? What’s going on?”

“That man,” the professor went on, “was out driving the day before yesterday along the costal highway, the one that skirts Tulum. That’s where you lost your animal, the female. Is that correct? Good, well that man was right around Tulum when a monkey, a chimpanzee, jumped out onto the road. And he hit it with his car. He didn’t kill it in the act, but he left it badly hurt. And do you know what he did next? Or, to put it correctly, what he didn’t do? He didn’t ask anyone for help. No one! He stayed there watching as the poor animal breathed its last breath. And then he got in his car and carried on driving as if nothing had happened.”

As the professor spoke, the man got to his feet, still holding on to the monkey and the machete.

“Now, that’s not exactly what happened,” said Joanes, his voice tense. “I didn’t stay there watching while—”