Katherine Applegate - The One and Only Ivan

I haven’t had much practice being a real gorilla, much less a silverback.

“Do you think the other elephants will know any jokes?”

“If they don’t,” I tell her, “you can teach them.”

Ruby flaps her ears. She flicks her tail. “You know what, Ivan?”

“What?” I ask.

“I think I’m going to go in the box tomorrow.”

I gaze at her fondly. “I think that’s a good idea. And I think Stella would have agreed.”

“Do you think the other elephants will know how to play tag? I love tag.”

“Me too,” I say, and I think of my nimble sister racing through the brush, always just out of my reach.

photo

Late at night, Mack opens my cage. The full moon falls on his sagging shoulders. He seems smaller somehow.

Bob, instantly alert, leaps off my stomach and dives under Not-Tag.

“Don’t bother hiding, dog,” Mack says. “I know you sleep in here.” Mack settles onto my tire swing. “Might as well stay one more night. Your buddy’s leaving tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? My stomach drops. I’m not ready. I need more time. I haven’t said my good-byes. I haven’t thought this through.

Mack pulls a small photo out of his shirt pocket. It’s me when I was young. Mack and I are in the front seat of his convertible.

I’m wearing a baseball cap and eating an ice cream cone.

I was a handsome lad, but I have to admit I look ridiculous. Nothing like a real gorilla.

“We had some laughs, didn’t we, guy?” Mack says. “Remember when we went on that roller coaster? Or that time I tried to teach you to play basketball?” Mack shakes his head, chuckling. “You had a lousy jump shot.”

He stands, sighs, looks around. He puts the photo back in his pocket.

“I’m going to miss you, Ivan,” he says, and then he leaves. He doesn’t look back.

leaving

Early in the morning, Maya arrives with many other humans.

Some have white coats. Some have rustling papers. They are hushed, busy, determined.

Ruby enters her box first.

“I’m scared, Ivan,” she calls from inside the box. “I don’t want to leave you.”

A part of me doesn’t want her to leave either, but I know I can’t tell her that.

“Think of all the amazing stories you can share with your new family,” I say.

Ruby falls silent.

“I’ll tell them your elephant joke,” she says after a long pause. “The one about the refrigerator.”

“I bet they’d like that. And be sure to tell them about Bob and Julia and me.” I clear my throat. “And Stella.”

“I’ll remember everyone,” Ruby says. “Especially you.”

Before I can say any more, they roll her cage out to a waiting truck.

It’s my turn.

Bob is hiding in a corner, behind my pool. The humans don’t even notice him.

While they’re busy making sure my box is ready, Bob sneaks over. He licks my chin, just in case there are any leftovers.

“You,” I whisper, “are the One and Only Bob.”

I reach for Not-Tag. She is a limp rag without her stuffing. Dribbles of paint cover her fur.

I hold her out to Bob. He tilts his head, confused.

“To help you sleep,” I say.

Bob takes her in his teeth and slips away.

good boy

“Good Ivan, good boy,” Maya says when I lumber into my box. I hear the clicker, and I’m rewarded with a tiny marshmallow.

When I’m settled, Maya gives me a sweet drink that tastes of mango and something bitter.

My eyelids grow heavy. I want to see what happens next, but I am sleepy, so sleepy.

I dream I’m with Tag and we’re swinging from vines while Stella watches. The sun slices through the thick ceiling of trees and the breeze tastes like fruit.

moving

My eyes flutter open.

The box is moving.

I am in the grumbling belly of some great beast.

I fall back asleep.

awakening

I awake to glass and steel. It’s a new cage not unlike my old cage, except that it’s much cleaner.

Maya’s here, and other humans I recognize.

“Hey there, Ivan,” Maya says. “He’s coming to, guys.”

I have three walls of glass. The fourth wall is a curtain of wooden slats strung together.

This doesn’t look like the zoos on TV. Where are the other animals?

Where are the gorillas?

Is this where Ruby ended up? In a cage just like her old cage, still alone? Is she cold? Hungry? Sad?

Is there anyone to tell her stories when she can’t get to sleep?

missing

I miss my old cozy cage.

I miss my art.

But most of all, I miss Bob.

My belly’s cold without him.

food

The food is fine here.

No soda, though, or cotton candy.

not famous

I have no visitors here, no sticky-fingered children or weary parents.

Only Maya and her humans come, with their soothing voices and soft hands.

I wonder if I have stopped being famous.

something in the air

Endless days pass, and then I notice something.

A change.

I don’t know what it is, but I taste it in the air, like faroff rain clouds gathering.

a new tv

Maya brings me a TV. It is bigger than my old one.

She turns it on. “I think you’re going to like this show,” she says, smiling.

I’m hoping for a romance, or maybe a Western.

But it’s a nature show, one without human voices or ads. It’s a show about gorillas being gorillas. I watch them eat and groom and play-fight. I even watch them sleep.

I wonder why Mack never put on this channel.

the family

Every day I watch the gorillas on the TV screen. It’s a small family and an odd one, just three females and a juvenile male, without a silverback to protect them.

They groom each other and eat and sleep, then groom each other some more. They are a contented group, placid and good-natured, although, like any family, they bicker from time to time.

excited

This morning, for some reason, there is no gorilla show on TV.

Maya and the other humans are excited. They chirp like birds at dawn.

“Today’s the day,” they say.

I’ve watched many humans watch me, but never have they looked so happy.

Maya goes to the wall of wooden slats.

She grins goofily.

She pulls a string.

what I see

Gorillas.

Three females and a juvenile male.

It’s the family I’ve been watching. But they’re not on a TV screen.

They’re on the other side of the glass, watching me watching them.

I see me.

Lots of me.

still there

I cover my eyes.

I look again.

They are still there.

watching

Every day, I watch them through my window, the way my visitors used to watch me.

See how they chase, groom? See how they play, sleep? See how they live?

They’re graceful the way Stella was, moving just enough, only as much as they need.

They stare at me, heads tilted, pointing and hooting, and I wonder: Are they as fascinated by me as I am by them?

she

Her hoots make my ears hurt.

I admire her intact canines from afar.

Her name is Kinyani.

She is faster than I am, spry and probably smarter, although I am twice her size and that, too, is important.

She is terrifying.

And beautiful, like a painting that moves.

door

Today the humans lead me to a door.