Pan Satyrus

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Director spoke first. "In the name of the Society and the staff of the Park," he said, "I want to welcome you, Pan Satyrus, as our most distinguished alumni. I hereby confer on you Life Membership in the New York Zoological Society."

"Thank you," Pan said. At his side, Dr. Bedoian gave a little grunt of pleasure; his patient had decided to behave well.

The Director stepped back, and the Curator of Primates stepped forward. "I'd like to add my welcome to that," he said. "I remember you well, and your mother, Mary. I was there when you were born. I never had two animals more intelligent."

"But you sold us."

Dr. Bedoian sighed.

But these were not politicians or television personalities or generals or FBI men. These were zoo personnel. The Curator said, "You were too intelligent to keep in a cage, on exhibition, when our country needed primates of intelligence."

"Your country, doctor, not mine," Pan said.

The Curator said, "You have no other. Pan. Or would you rather I called you Mr. Satyrus? You have no other country, my friend and former charge."

"Africa is the natural habitat of Pan Satyrus."

"No one is quite sure of the natural habitat of Homo sapiens," the Curator said, "except that I'm sure we'd all be mighty uncomfortable if we had to go back and live there."

"Bravo!" Dr. Bedoian said.

Pan turned and grinned at him. "What do I say, touche?"

"You can imagine," the Curator continued, "I am — we all are — very excited about this. It is the first time we have ever had a chance to talk to one of our charges. You can do a lot to teach us how to take better care of primates."

"Turn them loose," Pan said.

"That we are not going to do, and you know it. And since we're not, you can do a lot for your people by instructing us."

"Don't call them people," Pan said. "We're apes."

"Very interesting," the Curator said. "I wondered whether the change in you would obviate the change in all chimps at your age. It hasn't. You are becoming belligerent."

"Intolerant of captivity," Pan said.

The Curator of Primates said, "Have it your own way. I was going to offer you a job. As head keeper of primates."

"Why not your job?"

The Curator sighed. "You don't have the degrees, my friend. But this discussion has gone on too long; we're keeping a number of people waiting. I want you to meet the board of the Society. Many of the staff you may remember."

"First meet my friends. Ape Bates and Happy Bronstein," Pan said. "And Dr. Bedoian."

The Curator shook hands with the sailors, exchanged a grin and a grip with the doctor. "Finally, Pan," he said, "you will have that conference with us?"

"Oh, yes. If you'll grant me a favor. I'd like to be alone in the Primate House a little while. To think of my mother."

"What are you up to?" the Curator asked.

"Happy and Ape can stay with me," Pan said. "And the regular inmates, of course."

The Curator looked at the two sailors, and then at Pan. "If you will pardon an expression somewhat vulgar, Pan, this smells of monkey business."

"I was going to accept that job with you," Pan said. "It sounds better than being a television actor,".

"If you are going through the maturity change of most chimps — all male chimps I have ever heard of — the job is no longer open. But if you get your wish, do we get our conference?"

"I respect your sincerity," Pan said. "As a matter of fact, you were always a right guy, for a man. You used to carry apples and little toys in your pocket for me when I was a young ape. Bring on your stuffed shirts."

The Curator sighed, and looked at Dr. Bedoian, who shrugged.

The ceremony went forward.

When it was over, they left Pan and Happy and Ape in the Primate House, and went away. The Curator went last, and as he closed the door he looked back at Pan, and he didn't look happy.

Pan went over and stood in front of the cage in which he had been born, staring at the new bronze plate: Birthplace of Pan Satyrus, first chimpanzee known to have mastered human speech, and thirteenth of his species to enter outer space.

"Pan Satyrus," he said. He looked up at the top front of the cage, where a sign said chimpanzee. Pan Satyrus, habitat Equatorial Africa. And then, the symbol for female.

Pan looked in the cage. She was young, about four, and nubile. And obviously eager.

"You been at sea a long, long time, Pan," Ape said softly.

Pan said, "O, my God." He was not swearing.

The chimp in the cage chittered and chirped and rattled her knuckles against the floor of the cage.

"Can you make out what she's signalling?" Ape asked.

"You don't need it interpreted," Pan said.

"Naw." Ape chuckled. "Like Sand Street when the fleet's in. This is the town where Sand Street is, huh?"

"Yeah," Happy said. "This is New York, which Brooklyn is a part of. I was born over there. Only, no brass plate." He looked at the female chimp, and then at his friend, Pan. "I got a screwdriver under my blouse," he said. "And there's no kind of padlock I can't open. It's the only way of getting a drink on a ship," he added. "Medical stores. Compass alcohol."

"I could probably pull the lock off," Pan said. "It's placed out of reach of the. inmates, but not of visitors. I guess I am the first chimpanzee visitor the old Primate House ever had. If I am a chimpanzee."

"After my first hitch," Ape said, "I couldn't wait to get back to the old crummy neighborhood I was born in. And then there wasn't anything to talk to the guys about. I was a sailor, and they was just wise guys on a corner."

"This is not about talking," Pan said. "I am very young. Hooten and Yerkes believe that the chimpanzee, in a state of nature, lives to be fifty. A long time ahead."

"Listen," Happy said, "just because you didn't go for those dames down in Florida, don't let it get you down, Pan. They were strictly two-dollar, marked down from two-fifty. There are better ones."

"Better than that television actress?"

Happy said, "I got more than a screwdriver concealed about my person, like the cops say." He reached under his blouse and produced two pints of gin and a pint of vodka. "This was for the rhesuses, but your need is stronger than mine."

Pan began his laugh, if that was what it was. "Put up another bronze plate," he said. "Pan Satyrus, who, at seven and a half, resigned himself to spectator sports." He turned his back on the lady chimp, who began screaming with rage. "This way to the rhesus monkeys, gentlemen. Give them the vodka."

There were about sixteen of them, all in one cage. There were a couple of old grandpas of rhesuses; there were four or five babies clinging to their mothers' backs; and there were plenty of adult rhesus folk, in the full Bush of life.

Pan vaulted the railing designed to keep the spectators and the monkeys at a proper distance from each other. He swooped a long arm back and got the vodka from Happy, started to put it between the bars. Then he thought better of it and removed the cap. "Here, my little cousins," he said. "In the time of your life, live." He turned to Happy. "That's a quotation from a cousin of Dr. Bedoian's," he said.

Across the Primate House the lady chimp pressed on her water fountain with one short thumb and put the other thumb on the bubbling stream that resulted. The water shot across the house and hit Pan squarely in the back of the neck. He wiped it away negligently.

The three of them sat on the railing and watched. Once Ape said, "A girl'd charge fifty bucks for that," and once Happy said, "If a guy went around in orbit long enough, could he get to be a rhesus?" But mostly they watched in awed silence.

The two sailors kept their eyes on the rhesus cage as Pan quietly slipped away.

The squalling and chattering in the Pan Satyrus cage stopped. There was a metallic clang as something that sounded like a padlock was thrown on the cement floor. Ape let out a long, relieved sigh.

"What was that all about?" Happy asked.

"He ain't human all the way, and he ain't exactly chimp any more," the chief said. "Neither kind of dame appeals to him."

"Oh. Hey, look at that red-faced monk. What a man!" Happy tilted the gin bottle up and drank deep. "The next dame I pick up is in for some surprises."

"I wish I'd knowed about this twenty years ago," Ape said. "Pass me the bottle."

After a while, Pan came back. "Enjoying yourself, Ape?"

"I'll never be happy at sea again."

But one by one the rhesus succumbed to the liquor; before the pint of gin that had followed the vodka was gone, they were all asleep. The sailors stood up, and Ape tipped his chiefs cap to the dormant cage. Happy looked up at the sign. "Macaca mulatta mulatta, sleep well," he said, "I'll never forget you."

When they passed the Pan Satyrus cage, no occupant was visible. She had apparently retired to the privacy of the room behind the display cage, her sleeping quarters.

Pan halted before a cage in which two orangs stared out belligerently. "This used to be a gorilla cage," he said. "Now they have a house of their own. A great attraction for visitors, gorillas. So human."

Ape said, uneasily, "Take it easy, Pan."

"Sure, sure. I don't include either of you, in any case."

The two orangs had been whispering in low voices. Suddenly they both sprang forward, hurling themselves at the bars, chattering furiously, reaching through. Pan jumped back.

"What the hell?" Ape asked.

"They don't like seeing me with you," Pan said. "They think I'm a traitor."

He shambled towards the door, the sailors following him. As usual, he walked more or less on all fours — that is, his knuckles took most of his weight. But now his head was down, too, and he looked less human than usual, less ape-like, really.

"You better cut out and get some whiskey, Happy," Chief Bates said.

"We're outa dough again."

There's a guy name of McGregor, Dandy McGregor, he's Jewish, over on Sand Street. He'll loan against my pay."

'Ill call Landsman McGregor at the first chance," Happy said.

Outside they found that Mr. MacMahon and three of his merrier men had joined up with them again, were standing a little apart from the Director and the Curator and a few other members of the staff.

Everyone's face lit up when they saw Pan and the two sailors. The Curator said, "What were you really doing in there, Pan?"

"Saying a little prayer for my— Getting the rhesus monkeys drunk, sir. I promised my two friends here a show. It happened once by accident when I was living here."

"And well I remember it," the Curator said. "We fired the keeper. But we can't fire you, because you never really intended to work for us, did you?"

"You can't ask a simian to keep other simians captive," Pan said. "Only man applies for a job as jail keeper. It is how you distinguish him from the lower animals."

"Ouch," the Curator said.

"How did you know I was up to no good in there?"

"I've known you since birth. Very well. And — always liked you, but you were never my most serious-minded primate."

"Listen," Pan said. "There's something you ought to know. For your records. That female Satyrus in there—"

The Curator held up a long hand, for silence, and took a small notebook from his side pocket. He showed Pan an entry, for that day and date: Mated Susy to Pan Satyrus.

Pan looked at it, shook his head. "Yes," he said.

"Of course you'd know… I don't like the idea of my child being born in a zoo."

"Don't be so serious," the Curator said. "Be more chimp-like."

"I'm the age when chimps get serious. And anyway, for your files, it was no good. I've gotten too human. But not human enough to want a girl." His skin twitched all over, like a horse's in fly time.

"You will help me with a better diet for the chimpanzees?" the Curator asked.

"Gladly." Pan looked over. Ape was talking, very seriously, to Mr. MacMahon. The FBI man nodded, took out his wallet, gave the chief a bill. Ape handed it to Happy, who went trotting away.

"Where's Dr. Bedoian?"

"Talking to our veterinarian. Come on."

Pan went.