The One and Only Ivan

twelve

I lie in my cage, with Bob on my stomach. We are watching Julia do her homework.

She doesn’t seem to be enjoying it. I can tell because she is sighing more than usual.

Again, for the hundredth time, or maybe the thousandth, I wonder what is missing from my painting.

And for the hundredth time, or maybe the thousandth, I don’t have any answer.

“Dad,” Julia says as George passes by with a mop, “can I ask you a question?”

“May I,” George corrects. “Ask away.”

Julia glances down at a piece of paper. “What’s the difference between the word spelled P-R-I-N-C-I-P-A-L and the one spelled P-R-I-N-C-I-P-L-E?”

“The first one is the head of a school, like Ms. Garcia. The second one is a belief that helps you know what’s right or wrong.” He smiles. “For example, it’s against my principles to do my daughter’s homework for her.”

Julia groans. “If I’m going to be an artist when I grow up, why do I need to know how to spell?”

With a laugh, George heads off.

Poor Julia, I think. Gorillas get by just fine without learning how to spell. All those endless letters, those sticks and circles and zigzags, filling up books and magazines, billboards and candy wrappers.

Words.

Humans love their words.

I leap up. Bob goes flying, straight into my pool.

A word.

“You know how I feel about wet feet!” Bob yells. He scrambles out of the water, shaking each foot in dismay.

I look out my window at the billboard. I can still hear Mack’s voice in my head: “COME TO THE EXIT 8 BIG TOP MALL AND VIDEO ARCADE, HOME OF THE ONE AND ONLY IVAN, MIGHTY SILVERBACK!”

I count to twelve, and then I count again, just to be sure.