The One and Only Ivan

puzzle pieces

After a long while, I grow quiet. I sit. It’s hard work, being angry.

Julia looks at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.

I’m panting. I’m a little out of shape.

“What the heck was that?” George demands.

“Something’s really wrong,” Julia says. “I’ve never seen Ivan act this way.”

“He seems to be calming down, thank goodness,” George says.

Julia shakes her head. “He’s still upset, Dad. Look at his eyes.”

My pictures are scattered all over the floor like huge autumn leaves.

“What a mess,” George says, sighing. “Wish I hadn’t bothered sweeping tonight.”

“Do you think Ivan’s okay?” Julia asks.

“Probably just a temper tantrum,” George says. He reaches under a chair to retrieve a brown and red picture. “Can’t say I blame the guy, stuck in that tiny cage all these years.”

Julia starts to answer, but then she freezes. She cocks her head.

She stares at her feet, where my pictures lie in disarray.

“Dad,” she whispers. “Come see this.”

“I’m sure he’s another Rembrandt,” George says. “Let’s pick these up and get going, Jules. I’m exhausted.”

“Dad,” she says again. “Seriously. Look at this.”

George follows her gaze. “I see blobs. Many, many blobs, along with the occasional swirl. Please, can we go home now?”

“That’s an H, Dad.” Julia kneels down, straightening one picture, then another. “That’s an H, and here”—she grabs more pictures—“put this one here, and, I don’t know, maybe that one. You have an E.”

George rubs his eyes. I hold my breath.

Julia is running now. She picks up one picture, sets down another. “It’s like a puzzle, Dad! This is something. It’s a word, maybe words. And a picture of something. A giant picture.”

“Jules,” George says, “this is crazy.” But he’s looking at the floor too, wandering from picture to picture and scratching his head.

“H,” Julia says. “E. O.”

“Hoe?”

Julia chews her lower lip. “H, E, O. And that looks a lot like an eye.”

“H, E, O, I.” George writes in the air with his finger. “I, E, O, H.”

“Not the letter. An actual eye. And that’s a foot. Or maybe a tree. And a trunk. Dad, I think that’s a trunk!”

Julia runs to my window. “Ivan,” she whispers, “what did you make?”

I stare back. I cross my arms.

This is taking much longer than I’d thought it would.

Humans.

Sometimes they make chimps look smart.