Yann Martel - The High Mountains of Portugal

Well, then, if the past and the future hold no appeal, why shouldn’t he sit on the floor and groom a chimpanzee and be groomed in return? His mind settles back into the present moment, to the task at hand, to the enigma at the tip of his fingers.

“So, yesterday at the café, why did you throw that cup to the ground?” he asks as he works on Odo’s shoulder.

“Aaaoouuhhhhh,” the ape replies, a rounded sound, the wide-open mouth closing slowly.

Now, what does aaaoouuhhhhh in the language spoken by a chimpanzee mean? Peter considers various possibilities:

I broke the cup to make the people laugh more.

I broke the cup to make the people stop laughing.

I broke the cup because I was happy and excited.

I broke the cup because I was anxious and unhappy.

I broke the cup because a man took his hat off.

I broke the cup because of the shape of a cloud in the sky.

I broke the cup because I wanted porridge.

I don’t know why I broke the cup.

I broke the cup because quaquaquaqua.

Curious. They both have brains and eyes. They both have language and culture. Yet the ape does something as simple as throw a cup to the ground, and the man is baffled. His tools of understanding — the yoking of evident cause to effect, a bank of knowledge, the use of language, intuition — shed little light on the ape’s behaviour. To explain why Odo does what he does, Peter can only rely on conjecture and speculation.

Does it bother him that the ape is essentially unknowable? No, it doesn’t. There’s reward in the mystery, an enduring amazement. Whether that’s the ape’s intent, that he be amazed, he doesn’t know — can’t know — but a reward is a reward. He accepts it with gratitude. These rewards come unexpectedly. A random selection:

Odo stares at him.

Odo lifts him off the ground.

Odo settles in the car seat.

Odo examines a green leaf.

Odo sits up from being asleep on top of the car.

Odo picks up a plate and places it on the table.

Odo turns the page of a magazine.

Odo rests against the courtyard wall, absolutely still.

Odo runs on all fours.

Odo cracks open a nut with a rock.

Odo turns his head.

Each time Peter’s mind goes click like a camera and an indelible picture is recorded in his memory. Odo’s motions are fluid and precise, of an amplitude and force exactly suited to his intentions. And these motions are done entirely unselfconsciously. Odo doesn’t appear to think when he’s doing, only to do, purely. How does that make sense? Why should thinking — that human hallmark — make us clumsy? But come to think of it, the ape’s movements do have a human parallel: that of a great actor giving a great performance. The same economy of means, the same formidable impact. But acting is the result of rigorous training, a strenuously achieved artifice on a human’s part. Meanwhile Odo does— is —easily and naturally.

I should imitate him, Peter muses.

Odo feels —that he knows for certain. On their first evening in the village, for instance, Peter was sitting outside on the landing. The ape was down in the courtyard, examining the stone wall. Peter went in to make himself a cup of coffee. It seems Odo missed his departure. Within seconds, he raced up the stairs and flew in through the door, eyes searching for Peter, an inquisitive hoo on his lips.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Peter said.

Odo grunted with satisfaction — an emotional wave that rippled over to Peter.

And the same yesterday, during their walk in the forest, the way Odo raced along the path, looking for him, clearly driven by the need to find him.

There is that, then, the ape’s emotional state. From this emotional state certain practical thoughts seem to follow: Where are you? Where have you gone? How can I find you?

Why Odo wants his presence, his in particular, he doesn’t know. It’s another of his mysteries.

I love your company because you make me laugh.

I love your company because you take me seriously.

I love your company because you make me happy.

I love your company because you relieve my anxiety.

I love your company because you don’t wear a hat.

I love your company because of the shape of a cloud in the sky.

I love your company because you give me porridge.

I don’t know why I love your company.

I love your company because quaquaquaqua.

Odo stirs, waking Peter from his grooming hypnosis. He shakes himself. How long have they been on the floor like this? Hard to tell, since he’s not wearing his watch.

“Let’s go see Senhor Álvaro.”

They walk to the café. He not only wants a coffee, he also wants to organize regular deliveries of food. They sit on the patio. When Senhor Álvaro steps out, Peter orders two coffees. When these are brought out, he stands up and says to Senhor Álvaro, “Posso…falar…com você um momento?”

Of course you can speak with me for a moment, the café owner signals with a nod. To Peter’s surprise, Senhor Álvaro pulls up a chair and sits at the table. Peter sits back down. There they are, the three of them. If Odo produced a deck of cards, they could play poker.

Though his language is halting, his message is easy to seize. He sets up with Senhor Álvaro weekly deliveries of oranges, nuts, raisins, and especially figs and bananas. The café owner makes him understand that, in season, he will have no problems getting apples, pears, cherries, berries, and chestnuts from fellow villagers, as well as all manner of vegetables. Eggs and chickens, if his macaco cares to eat these, are available year-round, as well as the local sausage. The small grocery store always has canned goods and salted cod, as well as bread, rice, potatoes, and cheeses, both regional and from farther south, and other dairy products.

“Vamos ver do que é que ele gosta,” says Senhor Álvaro. He gets up and returns from the café with a plate. It has a chunk of soft white cheese on it, drizzled with honey. He places it in front of the ape. A grunt, a quick grasp of the hairy hand — honeyed cheese all gone.

Next Senhor Álvaro brings out a large slice of rye bread on which he has dumped a can of tuna, oil and all.

Same thing. In an instant. With louder grunts.

Lastly Senhor Álvaro tries strawberry yoghurt on the ape. This takes a little longer to vanish, but only because of the gelatinous consistency of the delicacy and the hindrance of the plastic container. It is nonetheless scooped out, licked out, slurped up in no time.

“O seu macaco não vai morrer de fome,” Senhor Álvaro concludes.

Peter checks the dictionary. No, indeed, his ape won’t starve to death.

Voracious, then — but not selfish. He already knows this. The lovely cut flowers so graciously left on the table by Dona Amélia? Before devouring them, Odo extended a white lily to him.

They return home, but the day beckons. He stocks the backpack and they depart, for the plateau this time. Once they reach it, they turn off the road and strike out into the open. They enter an environment that is, technically, as wild as the jungles of the Amazon. But the soil is thin and impoverished and the air dry. Life treads carefully here. In the folds of the land that are too shallow to shelter forests, there is thicker, spinier vegetation — gorse, heather, and the like — and man and ape have to navigate the maze-like channels in the vegetation to cross it, but out on the savannah, amidst the High Mountains of Portugal proper, only a golden grass abounds, for miles and miles, and on this grass it is easy for them to walk.