Half Brother (34 page)

“Make it all about me and Zan,” I said. “I go to that reporter and tell him I’m trying to buy my chimp back. Because I miss him and he’s like my little brother, and I’m afraid
one day
he
might
end up in a lab. I’ll say I want to send him to a sanctuary where he’ll always be safe.”

“It’s a hell of a story,” said Peter. “Everyone loves a good story.”

“People loved Zan, Dad. They’d give money. We’d have our money in no time.”

Dad looked only at Mom as he said, “You know how risky this is for us?”

She nodded.

Dad took a deep breath. “It could ruin us.”

The next morning, Peter got in touch with William Eckler, and he agreed to help us out.

The rest was up to us. To me, really.

It started well. I called the local reporter and told him my story over the phone. He came out to the house and talked to me and Peter, and a photographer snapped us all playing happily with Zan. When they ran the article two days later, they included the address and phone number where donations could be made.

The next day CTV and CBC sent camera crews out to do a story, and three local radio stations wanted me to come in and talk about Zan and why I wanted him back and why I was afraid he might come to harm. I never mentioned Jack
Helson by name, or the universities or the names of the labs. I tried to keep what I said as general as I could.

Donations started coming in.

In three days we had $2,000.

Some of Dad’s old students came back for free to help us look after Zan.

In five days we had $4,000.

Dad went and sold the Mercedes and drove home in a used Toyota. “They say they last forever,” he said.

Sometimes envelopes just came through our mail slot. A ten-dollar bill from Tim Borden—I’d always known he had a good heart. Fifty from a local school for the deaf, whose students had once visited and signed with Zan.

One day I was in the kitchen when I heard the mail slot clunk. When I opened the unmarked envelope there was thirty dollars in cash and a handwritten note saying,
For Zan, from Jennifer.

I opened the door and saw her in a station wagon as it pulled out of the driveway, driven by big Hairy Cal. We just had time to wave before the car turned the corner.

The next day Shannon and her mother drove by to make a donation too. While Shannon’s mom talked to mine, I took Shannon out back and introduced her to Zan, who was with a couple of student volunteers. Luckily, Zan seemed to like Shannon right away, and her expression was sheer delight as Zan hugged and tickled her. Then we went back inside and talked a bit in the kitchen. Before long her mother called out from the living room that it was time to go.

“Thanks, Shannon,” I said, and I kissed her on the mouth.

She looked happy, and I felt a surge of something between us that made me think:
Chemistry.
The donations kept coming.

After eight days William Eckler called and told us we had ten thousand.

And the story kept spreading. It had already been covered in a couple of the big Canadian papers, and then the Associated Press did a story that got picked up all across the United States.

On the day before Helson’s deadline, we’d raised $12,000 and only had to use $8,000 of our own. Tomorrow we’d wire the money to Jack Helson, and Zan would be ours.

Peter and I were outside with a couple of other students, signing and playing with Zan. I felt great. Ten days ago, everything had seemed so desperate, but we’d done it.

Around three o’clock I heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. I went around to see who it was. It was Dad, home early. The moment he stepped out of the car I knew something was wrong. He looked grey.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Let’s go inside,” he said.

In the living room with Mom and Peter, he told us.

“Helson’s not selling. He wants Zan back. He saw a piece in the paper implying he was
planning
to sell Zan to a lab. So he’s just issued a statement to the press, saying he never had
any
such intention. He claims he wants to continue his language
studies with Zan and other chimps. He said his chimp was stolen by its former owner, and he’s suing us for defamation. He wants Zan on a plane with Peter by Sunday or he’ll pursue all his legal options.” He nodded at Mom. “Including pressing charges against you for theft.”

“What can we do?” I asked.

“Nothing,” said Dad. “Zan has to go back.”

I
’d never been camping in my life, and had no idea what I was doing. I filled a knapsack with food cans and a can opener, some plastic cutlery and a cup, a Thermos with water. Extra clothes. Zan’s blanket and a few of his toys. I had three hundred dollars in cash.

I wished I knew how to drive—not that it would’ve done me any good. Mom and Dad were out with the car, getting tranquilizer drugs for Zan. Peter was at the radio station doing another interview, trying to set the record straight about Jack Helson and Zan and all the accusations and charges flying around.

In four hours Zan was going to board a plane that would take him back to Helson’s ranch.
Come out. Play,
I signed to Zan.

I think he was surprised I was leading him to the front door instead of the back. Outside we walked to the garage. I climbed on my bike, slung the knapsack over my shoulders,
and then held out my arms. Zan hooted with excitement and jumped up onto my lap. His long arms went all the way around my back, underneath the knapsack.

I pedalled hard. Out onto West Saanich Road, towards Beaver Lake.

It was a crummy plan, and I knew it, but I had no other. Beaver Lake became Elk Lake and all along the western shore was parkland. There were paths and picnic areas in some of it, but mostly it was pretty dense forest and that was where I was taking us.

I could not take him back to Africa, but I could take him into a forest on the outskirts of Victoria. And maybe he’d be safe there. For a while, anyway.

It was a weekday, around two o’clock, and the roads were almost deserted. We only passed a few cars. I hoped no one would notice Zan, clinging and hooting and panting. I’d been a bit nervous he’d try to jump off, but if anything he held me too tight, afraid maybe, because he’d never been on my bike before.

I was worrying about the entrance to the park, where the cars came in and out. That was where we were most likely to be seen. Get past that bit, and I could veer onto one of the forest paths.

In fifteen minutes we were at the entrance—no cars in sight. But coming towards us was another bicycle, and on it was Tim Borden.

I tried to pretend I didn’t see him, but he called out.

“Ben!” And then again, “Hey, Ben! Is that Zan?”

He’d turned and was following me and I knew it was no
good. I rode a ways into the trees before I stopped, just so no one else would see us.

“What’re you doing?” Tim asked.

“Just taking Zan out for a ride,” I lied.

“I heard about what’s going on,” he said. “About him having to go back.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the money you sent. You’ll get it back.”

He shrugged like he didn’t care. He looked at my bulging knapsack.

“You’re running away,” he said.

“Yep.”

“Into the forest?”

I sighed. “That was the idea.”

He nodded. Zan hooted pleasantly at him, and Tim hooted back. They’d always seemed to like each other. Zan hopped off my bike and climbed onto Tim. Tim giggled.

“Man, he’s getting strong, huh?”

“Stronger than us. And he’s only two.”

“I know a place,” said Tim. “Deep in. There’s even a creek so you’d have fresh water.”

I looked at him hard, wondering if I could trust him—and knew I could.

“Show me?” I said.

We cycled until the path disappeared, then dismounted and walked our bikes. Zan stayed close to me, sometimes on my back, sometimes at my side, but never straying far. He’d never been among so many trees before and I think it freaked him out. There were all kinds—pines and oaks and chestnuts. Mostly I didn’t know their names. I caught Zan, from the
corner of my eye, signing to himself.
Tree. Bird. Listen. Bird. Big tree. Water.

Water. We’d reached the little creek.

“Thanks, Tim.”

“No one comes here. You got food?”

“Not much. Enough for a day or two.”

I had this idea that when the food ran out, I could sneak off to the concession stands near the beach and buy burgers and fries until my money ran out.

“I can bring you guys food and stuff,” Tim said.

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

“Here, I’ve got money.” I pulled some bills from my pocket and handed them to him.

“Just tell me what you need and I’ll bring it to you here.”

“We might move around a bit,” I said.

“Well, if you’re not here I’ll just hang it up—” he looked around “—on that tree over there.”

“Okay,” I said. “Tim. You won’t tell anyone, right? Not even my parents, okay?”

“No way,” he said. “This is cool. You’re doing the coolest thing. So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stuck out his hand and we shook, and then he was off.

It suddenly felt like real wilderness. I couldn’t hear people or cars or anything. Zan seemed content, as long as I wasn’t more than ten feet away. He would swing from trees and collect broken boughs and make them into a big nest. Then he’d get bored with that and start on another nest.

It was warm, and the light coming through the branches
dappled everything and made it beautiful. I felt hopeful. We could live here forever. We had each other. As long as we stayed warm and had food, why not?

As the afternoon went on, the sounds changed. Different bugs, different animals, and birds scuffling around. Things could sound really big in the undergrowth. Two tiny birds sounded like cougars and scared Zan and me half to death.

We ate some food and had some quiet time, grooming each other and signing.

Darkness was coming on and, even though it was summer, it started to cool off. Probably I should’ve brought more blankets. I’d ask Tim for some tomorrow. I’d make a list and gradually I’d get everything right. We’d be all set up.

Night came faster in the forest, because of all the trees.

We had a little more food and some water from the creek, and then Zan arranged his blanket in his nest and we cuddled up together at the base of the tree. It was really, really uncomfortable. There were mosquitoes. I whispered stories to Zan. I told him the story of our day, like I used to.

It got darker still, until I could barely see. I was cold. Even with Zan smushed against me I wished I’d brought my own blanket. I hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight either. More things for the list.

After a while, I couldn’t see anything. I wondered if Zan could.

We clung to each other. I think Zan was as terrified as I was. All through that night we woke up and listened to noises. I had no idea what kind of animals made those noises. You could get all sorts of things around here. Snakes. Black widow
spiders. A cougar had been sighted once, I remembered that.

I lay there and felt desperate. What the hell was I doing? We couldn’t stay out here forever. I wasn’t Tarzan.

Slowly the light came back.

I was exhausted, Zan asleep in my arms. With the dawn, my confidence returned a bit. Maybe we could do this after all.

We ate. We drank from the stream. I didn’t even bother to change Zan’s diaper, just took it off. He didn’t want pants or a shirt on either.

We climbed trees. I marvelled at how fast and easy it was for him. I was in his world now. He was the dominant species, and I lagged behind. I couldn’t go as high as him; I didn’t know where to grip and pull. My arms and legs, my toes and fingers were feeble compared to his.

I tried to see the forest as he saw it. Hear it as he heard it. I couldn’t. Chimps were our closest living relatives and I could often guess what he was thinking, but sometimes he was half brother, half stranger to me.

Mid-morning came and we heard new sounds. Zan caught them before I did. He gave a series of low pants.

Regular cracklings. Footfalls.

And then human voices.

Tim had said nobody came out here.

My bike was laid flat under a screen of branches. My knapsack too.

I took Zan’s hand and led him behind a big tree. There was laughter, a shout, and then a bang, which made both of us jerk. A second bang. More laughter.

Quiet,
I signed to Zan.

I peered round the trunk and saw three kids. It took me a moment to recognize Mike. He and his two friends were taking turns with a gun, shooting at squirrels and stuff. It was a BB gun, like the one Tim had.

“There’s the little bugger,” said Mike, and he took a shot at something.

I hoped they would just wander off, but they were coming closer.

Zan gave several low hoots of fear.

“What’s that?” one of the kids said. “Over there!”

I held Zan’s hand. He hooted louder.

I was afraid they might start shooting at us, so I said, in as low and manly a voice as possible: “Just some people hanging out over here, man.”

Maybe they’d think I was a crazy, dangerous hippie drifter, and get freaked out.

“Come on,” I heard one of Mike’s friends mutter to him, like he wanted to get going.

But I heard footsteps coming closer, and then Mike walked around our tree, giving it a wide berth, the gun crooked under his arm. He stared at us.

“Look at this!” he crowed. “It’s chimp boy and his chimp!”

The other two cautiously emerged from around the tree.

Zan curled back his lips with displeasure and gave a warning hoot.

“Looks like little Ben’s gone native,” said Mike. “Just leave us alone, Mike,” I said. I was scared, but I tried not to show it.

“Your dad’s not around to save your ass this time.”

He still had the gun pointed in our general direction. He shouldn’t have stepped any closer, but he did. If he’d thought Zan would forget being hit by a rock, he was wrong. Chimps had long memories. They carried grudges. They were just like us.