Yann Martel - The High Mountains of Portugal

“It’s a deal,” says Peter. He extends his hand. Lemnon shakes it, looking like he’s enjoying the greatest joke in the world.

Peter glances at Odo. As he begins to move off, he sees from the corner of his eyes that the ape is turning his head. Peter looks again. Odo is staring at him once more. A quiet thrill goes through him. He’s been aware of me all along. To himself as much as to the ape, he whispers, “I’m coming back, I promise.”

They walk down the corridor. A last observation forces itself upon him as he looks left and right, something he didn’t notice on his way in: He’s struck by the chimpanzees’ great diversity. He assumed that one chimpanzee would pretty much look and be like the next. It is not so, not at all. Each ape has its own body shape and bearing, its own coat of hair with its own colour and pattern, its own face with its own tone, complexion, and expressions. Each, he sees, is something he hadn’t expected: an individual with a unique personality.

Bob sidles up to Peter at the door of the compound, looking worried and discombobulated. “We sell them,” he whispers, “but not for that—”

Lemnon waves him away. “Git, git!”

They return to the car. Peter comes to a quick agreement with Lemnon. He will be back in a week or two, as soon as he can; he needs time to make the necessary arrangements. He promises to mail a cheque for a thousand dollars as a deposit. Lemnon agrees to get all the papers ready.

As the car drives away, Peter turns and looks out the rear window. Lemnon still wears his triumphant smirk. Then he turns to Bob and his expression changes. Bob is evidently about to be fully dressed down. Peter feels bad for him.

“Had a good visit?” the driver asks.

Peter sits back in a daze. “It was interesting.”

He can’t believe what he has just done. What will he do with a chimpanzee in Ottawa? He lives in an apartment, five floors off the ground. Will the other residents accept having a large, unwieldy ape in their building? Is it even legal to own a chimpanzee in Canada? How will the ape take to Canadian winters?

He shakes his head. Clara has been dead for just over six months. Did he not read somewhere that people who are grieving a major loss should wait at least a year before making important changes in their lives? Has grief caused him to throw away all good sense?

He’s a fool.

Back at the hotel he tells no one, neither the Oklahomans nor his fellow Canadians, about what he has done. Nor does he tell anyone in Ottawa upon his return the following morning. He spends that first day at home alternating between denial and disbelief, and completely forgetting about it. The next day he hits upon an excellent idea: He will buy the chimpanzee after all, and donate it to a zoo. He’s quite certain the Toronto Zoo doesn’t have chimpanzees, but another zoo — Calgary? — will surely take the animal. It will be a stupidly expensive gift, but he’ll make it in Clara’s name. That will make it worth every penny. There, the matter is settled.

He wakes up early on the third morning. He stares at the ceiling from his pillow. Odo looked right into him with his reddish-brown eyes, and Peter said to him, I’m coming back, I promise. That wasn’t a promise to drop him off at a zoo; it was a promise to take care of him.

He has to go through with it. Dammit all, he doesn’t know why, but he wants to go through with it.

Once the first, central decision is made, all the ones that follow are easy. He mails the deposit cheque for Odo to Lemnon.

It’s obvious that they can’t stay in Ottawa. In Oklahoma, science was the excuse to keep the ape in a cage. In Canada, it would be the weather. They need a warmer climate.

It’s good to think in terms of “they” again. Is it pathetic? Instead of throwing himself at another woman right away, on the rebound, as the expression goes, as if he were a ball in a pinball machine, is he doing worse by throwing himself at a pet ? It doesn’t feel that way. Whatever term might be given to their relationship, Odo is no pet.

Peter never thought he would move again. He and Clara had never talked about it, but they didn’t mind the cold weather, and the idea was that they would stay in Ottawa into their old age.

Where will they go?

Florida. A lot of Canadians retire there, precisely for the purpose of fleeing Canada’s winters. But the place means nothing to him. He doesn’t want to live between a strip mall, a golf course, and a sweltering beach.

Portugal. The word illuminates his mind. He’s of Portuguese origin. His family emigrated to Canada when he was two years old. He and Clara visited Lisbon once. He loved the tiled houses, the luxuriant gardens, the hills, the streets of rundown European charm. The city felt like a late-summer evening, a mix of soft light, nostalgia, and slight boredom. Only Lisbon, like Ottawa, is no place for an ape. They need a quiet spot, with lots of space and few people.

He recalls that his parents came from a rural area — the High Mountains of Portugal. A return to his roots? He might even have distant relatives there.

The destination fixes itself in his mind. His next step is to deal with his attachments to Canada. He considers what these attachments are. At one time they were everything: his wife, his son, his granddaughter, his sister in Toronto, the members of his extended family, his friends, his career — in a word, his life. Now, other than his son, he is surrounded by material relics: an apartment with stuff in it, a car, a pied-à-terre in Toronto, an office in the West Block on Parliament Hill.

His heart beats with excitement at the idea of getting rid of it all. The apartment is now unbearable to him, imprinted as it is in every room with Clara’s suffering. His car is just a car — the same with his studio apartment in Toronto. And his job as a senator is a sinecure.

Distance might improve his relations with Ben. He isn’t going to spend the rest of his life waiting around Ottawa for his son to find more time for him. His younger sister, Teresa, has her own life in Toronto. They talk on the phone regularly, so no reason why that should stop. As for Rachel, his granddaughter, for all he now sees of her or hears from her, he might as well live on Mars. She might be tempted to visit him one day, lured by the appeal of Europe. That’s a valid hope.

He takes a deep breath. It all has to go.

With alarming glee, he sets about throwing off the chains that hold him down, as he now thinks of them. Already, when he and Clara moved from Toronto to Ottawa, they rid themselves of many personal possessions. Now, in a frenzied week, the rest goes. Their apartment in Ottawa—“ Such a good location!” the agent beams — finds a buyer quickly, as does his place in Toronto. Books are carted away to a used bookstore, furniture and appliances sold off, clothes given to charity, personal papers donated to the National Archives, and knick-knacks and baubles simply thrown away. He pays off all his bills, closes his utility and phone accounts, and cancels his newspaper subscription. He gets his visa for Portugal. He wires a Portuguese bank and makes arrangements for opening an account. Ben helps dutifully, all the while grousing about why on earth Peter would pick up from his ordered life and leave.

Peter walks away from it all carrying nothing but a suitcase of clothes, a family photo album, some camping gear, a guidebook to Portugal, and an English-Portuguese dictionary.

He books their flight. It appears that it would be easier if he and the ape fly directly from the United States to Portugal. Fewer borders to cross with an exotic animal. The airline tells him that, provided he has a cage and the animal is calm, they will carry it. He consults with a veterinarian on how to sedate a chimpanzee.