Through a Window (14 page)

It was inevitable that, sooner or later, Passion would encounter Gilka when there were no males nearby to help. It happened when Gilka, in the heat of midday, was resting with her infant in the shade. Orion was three weeks old. Pom arrived first, moving silently from the undergrowth. She stood watching mother and child for a moment, then lay down nearby. A more intelligent individual would probably have been instantly alert to danger. But Gilka, like Olly before her, was not characterized by any great intellectual prowess. She remained where she was, apparently not at all concerned. Five minutes later Passion appeared. Pom at once hurried towards her mother and reached to touch her back, a wide grin of excitement on her face. It was the sort of interaction that occurs between mother and daughter when they get close to a tree laden with delicious fruit. As one, Passion and Pom charged Gilka who, at first sight of Passion, had begun to flee. Gilka screamed and screamed as she ran, but there were no males nearby to respond to her desperate appeal for help.

Pom raced ahead of Gilka who veered to the side, trying to avoid her. At that moment Passion caught up, seized hold of Gilka and threw her to the ground. Gilka did not try to fight, but crouched protectively over her precious baby. Pom then flung herself into the fray, hitting and stamping on Gilka while Passion seized hold of the infant and bit at its head. Gilka vainly hit at her murderous attacker, while with her free hand she clung desperately to Orion. Passion bit Gilka's face and blood poured down from deep laceration on her brow. Then, working as a team, Passion and Pom together turned Gilka onto her back and, while the stronger Passion grappled with the mother, Pom seized the baby and ran off with him. Then she sat and bit deep into the front of his head. And so Orion was killed in the same brutal way as little Otta the year before.

Gilka wrenched herself free from Passion and raced after Pom but Passion was onto her in a flash, attacking her yet again, biting her hands and feet. Gilka, bleeding now from countless wounds, made a last valiant attempt to retrieve her mutilated infant, but it was hopeless. And then Passion, leaving Gilka, took the prey and hurried off, followed by Pom. Young Prof, who had watched the life and death struggle from the safety of a tree, climbed down and ran after his mother. Gilka limped after them for a short way but she was soon left far behind and after a few minutes she gave up and began to lick and dab at her wounds. The Passion family, meanwhile, vanished silently into the forest.

Probably we shall never know why Passion and Pom behaved in this gruesome manner. Gilka was not their only victim: Melissa lost one, possibly two infants to the killers, and, during the four-year period of their depredations a total of six other newborn infants vanished. I suspect that Passion and Pom were responsible for all these deaths. In fact, throughout that grim time only one female from the central part of the community range managed to raise her baby—Fifi. And then, after Passion became pregnant herself, the killings stopped. Not that she gave up immediately—we witnessed three further attempts but, for one reason or another, they failed. And then Pom also became pregnant and was no longer prepared to cooperate with her mother. After this the cannibalistic attacks came to an end and mothers, once again, could travel with their newborn infants without fear.

But for Gilka it was too late. She never really recovered from Passion's murderous attack. Although the lacerations on
her hands seemed to heal, a few months later suppurating sores broke out on her fingers. And no sooner did they show signs of clearing up than they reappeared, worse than before. She had been lame before. Now she was truly crippled—sometimes she could barely hobble. She developed a chronic diarrhoea which never really left her, and she became increasingly emaciated. She was only fifteen years old, yet so poor was her physical condition that she never again resumed her periods of sexual swelling. Her reproductive days were over. She had been lonely before but she was infinitely more so now. Her closest companions at this time were two other childless females, the big, sterile Gigi and the immigrant Patti, who had not, as yet, given birth. But though we sometimes came upon these three peacefully fishing for termites together, or feeding on some seasonal crop of fruit, it was only when Gigi and Patti were visiting the home valley, for Gilka almost never moved further afield—she was too lame. When her friends set off for new pastures Gilka was left by herself.

She began to haunt our camp, more for companionship, I think, than the possibility of a hand-out of bananas. She would sit, a small lonely figure, gazing out over the valley, watching and waiting. Sometimes I sat close beside her, hoping that she would understand that I cared, that I wanted to help. Such was my relationship with her, such was her implicit trust in this human who had known and loved her since the carefree days of her infancy, that she even allowed me to smear antibiotic cream onto the terrible ulcers on her hands.

During these grim times Gilka's relationship with her elder brother acquired a new significance. True they were not often together, but when they were, Evered provided her with a very special kind of companionship. When he was nearby she became, for a while, relaxed and self-confident. Evered had been her solace once before, when old Olly died. She had been nine years old then, quite big enough to cope with life, but very much alone for she had no younger sibling, no close friends. And so, day after
day, she had sought Evered's company. Often when she lagged behind, slow even in those days as a result of her polio, Evered had waited for her. And when, eventually, he had moved on and left her, she had sometimes seemed to trace his footsteps, following the same forest trails, stopping to feed where he had fed an hour or so before. Perhaps she had followed his scent, for chimpanzees can recognize individuals by their characteristic smell. Or perhaps she had glimpsed him, half a mile or so away, when both were feeding in the higher branches of tall trees.

As time went on Gilka and Evered had spent less time together, but always their relationship had remained friendly, characterized by long bouts of social grooming. Unlike other brothers, Evered was never seen to force his young sister to submit to his sexual interest during her periods of swelling. A few times he courted her, mildly shaking little branches, but when she ignored or avoided him, he left her alone. There had been many times when Gilka had clearly derived comfort from Evered's presence. After she had been threatened or attacked, for example, she had typically gone to sit close to Evered if he was in the same group. And then, quite visibly, she had relaxed. There was one occasion when Gilka and Fifi had an altercation in camp. We had set out a mineral lick and for a while the two females shared the block. But then Gilka accidentally bumped into Fifi who at once hit out at her. Gilka, enraged, hit back. In the face of such insubordination the higher-ranking Fifi attacked her childhood playmate. It was nothing serious, just a quick hitting and stamping, and Gilka, though she screamed and ran off a short distance, soon returned. She held out her hand, Fifi responded with a touch of reassurance, and both females resumed licking. Peace, I thought, had returned.

All at once, to my astonishment, Gilka gave a loud waa-bark of threat, and then, screaming, hurled herself at Fifi, hitting and grappling. Whatever was she up to? Then I understood: Evered had arrived. He stood surveying the battling females, hair slightly
bristling. Suddenly Fifi too noticed Evered: quickly she retreated from the conflict, uttering little screams of fear—or was it fury! Gilka remained smugly at the salt, directing a few derisive barks at Fifi, and settled down to lick beside her big brother. After a suitable interval Fifi quietly approached the siblings, groomed Evered for a few moments, then joined in the licking—carefully keeping Evered between Gilka and herself! That was a good day for Gilka. And it must have been even more satisfying when, under the watchful eye of her big brother, she even dared to threaten Passion—with Evered looking on there was absolutely nothing that Passion could do!

There was one incident, towards the end of Gilka's short life, that illustrated vividly her inherent courage. The sound of loud baboon calls and the screams of a chimpanzee sent me scurrying through the forest. Eventually I came upon an incredible scene. Up in a small tree was a young adult male baboon, Sohrab by name, feeding on the carcass of a small bushbuck fawn. Close beside him, on the branch, was Gilka. To my amazement Gilka was trying to take some of his kill. Every time she reached for the meat, Sohrab turned and threatened her, showing his fearsome canines, raising his eyebrows so that the white lids flashed. When he did this Gilka screamed—but she did not move away. Instead, she tried again. Now Sohrab pushed at her with both hands, the meat in his mouth. And Gilka, weak as she was, fell from the branch. Fortunately she landed safely on another below, and after a few moments she climbed right back. When Sohrab again flashed his eyelids at her she screamed, louder than ever.

I watched, astounded. Below the tree many baboons were milling around in search of scraps, squabbling among themselves. At a discreet distance were two other female chimpanzees who seemed intimidated by the commotion and were just sitting, watching from their place of safety. But Gilka, weak and crippled, continued to harass the big male baboon. It occurred to me that she might have come upon the fawn herself, only to have it
snatched from her by Sohrab. Surely only some sense of thwarted ownership could have led to such foolhardy behaviour.

Suddenly Gilka, screaming, raised both hands and slapped the baboon hard. Sohrab, infuriated, again seized the meat in his mouth and leapt at Gilka, grappling with her. This time both of them fell and landed together on the ground. Instantly one of the watching females raced over, grabbed the meat and pulled. Sohrab kept tight hold of one leg but the female managed to tear off the rest of the carcass and raced away with it. Many of the baboons and the other chimpanzee followed her. But Gilka climbed back into the tree after Sohrab. This, it seemed, was the last straw for him. Infuriated, robbed of the greater part of his prey, he leapt at this small audacious female, so that, once again, they both fell to the ground. And now he attacked her in earnest, pressing her to the ground and trying to bite her. Fortunately, though, he still had the meat in his mouth otherwise it would surely have gone badly for Gilka. As it was she was unharmed, though she screamed louder than ever, throwing a tantrum in her frustrated rage. All at once, Sohrab had had enough and ran off with the remains of the kill. There was no way that Gilka could keep up with him. She sat a while and stared where he had gone. And then she went to join the other chimpanzees, begging for a share. But they repulsed her with irritated threats and she soon gave up. Slowly she limped back to the scene of her conflict with Sohrab and searched the ground for any scraps left over from the feast. But the baboons had taken them all.

If only Evered had been nearby to hear her calls for help the incident would have had a very different ending. But he was far away, for it was the time when, after his defeat by Figan and Faben, he was forced to spend long weeks wandering in the north of the community range. Whenever he ventured back, he was invariably assaulted yet again by his two powerful adversaries. Then he would leave once more and stay away even longer. I had not realized, until then, that relationships between community
males, individuals who had grown up together, could become so hostile—it seemed that the two brothers were actually trying to drive Evered from the community.

It was during these troubled times that I learned how the close, friendly relationship between Evered and his weakling sister sometimes benefited him as well as Gilka. One day, for example, I was in camp when Evered made one of his rare appearances. Perhaps it was no coincidence that, at the time, Figan and Faben were in the south of their range. But, even if he suspected that the brothers were not around, Evered was tense and nervous, glancing repeatedly from one side of the clearing to the other, startling at every rustle. Suddenly he stood, every hair on end, staring to the east where something was moving in the undergrowth. But it was only Gilka, and as she approached, uttering soft panting grunts of greeting, Evered relaxed. They groomed each other for a while, then left camp.

I followed them. For the rest of the day the two wandered about together, Evered, quite clearly, adjusting his pace to that of his sister. Several times he started off while she was still feeding, but after glancing back, lay down patiently until she had finished. Each time he got too far ahead during travel, he waited until she caught up. In Gilka's familiar, unthreatening presence I believe that Evered found the same kind of relaxation and comfort that he would have derived from being with his mother had she been alive. Surely this gave him added courage when, the following morning, he once more faced his bitter enemies.

But he was defeated yet again. Once more, he retreated to his refuge in the north and Gilka was left alone.

She was not quite twenty years old when she died. I saw her one day lying very still beside the swift flowing waters of the Kakombe Stream and I knew, even before I got close, that she would never move again. As I stood there I reflected on the long series of misfortunes that had dogged her, almost from the start. Her life, begun with such promise, had unfolded into a tale of
infinite sadness. She had been an enchanting infant, filled with fun and an irrepressible gaiety despite the rather staid and asocial character of her mother. As a child she had delighted in male society, been intensely excited when, from time to time, Olly had joined a big group. Then, a born show-off, she would twirl and pirouette and somersault in an ecstasy of joy. And this was the chimpanzee who, her elf-like face transformed into that of some gargoyle, had become a pitiful cripple, and, of all the chimpanzees at Gombe, the most lonely.

It was dim and green in the forest, dappled with shifting brightness where the rays of the late afternoon sun fell through the rustling leaves of the canopy above. There was a murmuring of running water. And then, catching at the heart, the pure, hauntingly beautiful song of a robin chat. As I looked down on her, I knew a sudden sense of peace. Gilka, at last, had shed the body that had become nothing but a burden.