Unspoken Read online

  “Now. I told her to give us a few minutes and we’d be right over.”

  I rolled my eyes, but something told me it’d be useless to protest. I had no idea what Matthews had up his sleeve, but this might be the time to tell him about my concerns. I could hint that Sema might not adjust, that she’d make better progress and be happier in her trailer . . . and maybe Fielding would support me.

  I told Sema I’d be back in a few minutes, then stood and closed the door. Fielding followed me down the hall and together we stepped out into the bright sunshine.

  With a gentle tap in the small of my back, he steered me onto the sidewalk that led to the executive offices.

  I fell into step beside him. “Do you know what this is about?”

  He shrugged. “You saw the press conference, so you probably know more than I do.”

  “You’re Matthews’s gorilla guy.”

  Fielding gave me a wintry smile. “Lay off, Glee. I’m not the enemy.”

  I was about to meet his remark with sarcasm, then thought better of it. Fielding was right—at this moment, Matthews was the enemy. I needed to focus on him.

  My skin contracted into gooseflesh the moment we entered the director’s air-conditioned office. I ran my hands over my arms and shivered. “Good grief. Is he raising penguins in here?”

  A sweater-clad secretary gave me a wan smile. “Ms. Granger,” she said, standing. “Glad you could make it. Let me tell him you and Mr. Fielding have arrived.”

  She walked away, leaving us to shiver in the frigid atmosphere. Avoiding Fielding’s eyes, I looked around the room. Aside from the wild animal prints on the walls and the Arctic temperature, nothing in this space reminded me of animals—no musty smells inhabited the carpet; no straw littered the floor; no chain-link fencing protected the windows. And though I had inspected the secretary from head to toe, I hadn’t spied even a spot of khaki.

  I looked up as she opened a paneled wood door. “Come this way, please.”

  She ushered us into a large wood-accented room dominated by a desk that must have weighed two tons. Animal prints adorned these walls, too, and a zebra-skin rug lay at an angle on the floor—an odd choice for a man reportedly concerned with the conservation of the world’s wildlife.

  “Welcome Brad, Glee,” Matthews said, standing. He gestured to two guest chairs before the massive desk. “Have a seat, please. I’ve been eager to talk to you about the latest developments with our extraordinary gorilla.”

  I was tempted to play dumb—after all, I might have missed the press conference entirely if I hadn’t gone home and turned on the television. But apparently Matthews assumed Fielding would fill me in on the details.

  The zoo director sank back into his chair. “The news about Sema was well received at the media event this afternoon.” He grinned at us above his folded hands. “Privately, I had a couple of people assure me that this could be the biggest thing to hit our field since the giant pandas arrived at the National Zoo in Washington.”

  Fielding spared me the trouble of asking for clarification. “I’m sorry, sir, but I missed the conference, and I’m a little confused. The newspaper reported that Sema would return to the zoo when we settled the lawsuit. So why all the excitement today?”

  Matthews’s feathery brows shot up to his hairline. “Because today we announced our plans to build a new complex for our talking gorilla.” He leaned back in his chair and swiveled to face me. “I’ve been talking to some of the leading experts, and they’re almost unanimous in their opinion that Sema will never be properly habituated. Her background’s too different, she’s too set in her ways to learn new behaviors, and she’s been imprinted with human patterns rather than primate.”

  Prickles of alarm nipped at the backs of my knees. What experts had he been talking to? Realizing that the situation was slipping out of my control, I gave him a forced smile and a tense nod of agreement. “That’s been my contention all along, Mr. Matthews. That’s why I think it’d be better—”

  “To build a special exhibit for the talking gorilla.” He finished my sentence and tapped the desk for emphasis. “It’ll be expensive, but the increase in attendance should pay for the project in less than a year. And you don’t need to worry about a thing, Glee—the gorilla will have her own play yard and a private night room in the back. I have an architect already working on the plans.”

  I glanced at Fielding, whose face had gone bright with color. “Mr. Matthews, I’m not sure—”

  “Best of all,” the director said, ignoring me, “the new facility will house a replica of an old-fashioned schoolroom. We’ll build a gorilla-sized desk and put a chalkboard on the back wall, complete with those old phonics charts that used to hang in every American classroom. Zoo visitors will look in through a one-way mirror so they can watch you work without interrupting your sessions.”

  Stunned by sheer disbelief, I couldn’t speak.

  Apparently taking my silence for gratitude, Matthews continued. “No need to thank me. I know you’re concerned about continuing your research, so we’ll arrange the schedule around your routine. We wouldn’t want you to stop training the animal.”

  “Training?” The word came out hoarse, forced through my tight throat. “You train a dog, a seal, a race horse. Training implies punishment and reward for predetermined behaviors. I have never trained Sema to do anything but use the toilet—everything else she’s learned has come from teaching .”

  Matthews gave Fielding a what’s-her-problem look, then shrugged. “Only a question of semantics, and it really doesn’t matter. Just continue your project and we’ll all be happy. The research has been your focus all along, hasn’t it?”

  I stared at him as my grand plan cracked and crumbled. What was wrong with this man? Yes, I cared about my research, but I cared most about Sema! I had nearly worn myself out warning him that she wouldn’t thrive in a gorilla group, and now he was behaving as though he’d believed my contention all along. But now, of course, he wanted to control the situation and he wanted the zoo to profit from my hard work.

  “This plan is stupid and cruel.” The words slipped from my lips before I had time to consider a more diplomatic reaction. “You’ll be condemning Sema to a life of loneliness.”

  “I’m afraid Glee has a point,” Fielding added. “We owe this animal a chance to bond with a family. Primates are social creatures, Mr. Matthews; they need each other. Sure, Sema’s background is unique, but she’s still a gorilla. I think it’d be grossly unfair to place her in a solitary habitat.”

  Uncertain how to proceed, I looked from Matthews to Fielding. I had wanted to use Matthews’s argument to defeat Fielding’s habituation plan, but if I stressed Sema’s uniqueness now, I would consign her to a fate far worse than life with a gorilla family.

  “Sema would be miserable,” I met Matthews’s gaze, “if you made her live alone. To keep her in a separate pavilion and expect her to entertain an unseen audience . . . it’s the worst thing I could ever imagine for her.”

  Matthews’s eyes gleamed. “You kept her alone at your place.”

  “Not really. I was with her nearly every waking moment. I can’t be that close to her if you put her in a separate pavilion, because you’ve given me other responsibilities, and I refuse to live at this zoo. You can’t ask me to live in a cage any more than you can keep Sema in solitary confinement. She’s more than an animal, Mr. Matthews; she’s a unique individual who deserves an opportunity to live the life for which she’s best suited.”

  When Matthews’s eyes glazed over, I suspected he was remembering similar comments offered by activists who spoke at nearly every meeting of the American Zoo and Aquarium Association. Most animal devotees are vehement in their beliefs, and they range from hard-core members of PETA, who protest any sort of animal experimentation or captivity, to anthropologists who believe animals should possess the same legal rights as human beings.

  Even though I agreed with many of those positions, I couldn’t let him lump me in with rabble-rousers who frequently caused trouble for zoo directors.

  “You see, Mr. Matthews,” I forced a smile, “the great apes are not so different from us. Over a hundred years ago, Thomas Huxley said apes belong in the same family as Homo sapiens . Now we know their genomes are similar to ours, and it’s entirely proper to refer to the great apes as fellow hominids. Not only are our genetics similar, but apes have complex emotional and social lives. Sema is living proof that they feel, they think, they can communicate. Sema is special, and she needs to be treated with respect.”

  Matthews studied me for a moment, then picked up a carved paperweight and idly thumped it on the desk. “Let’s see how the habituation progresses.” He peered over his glasses at Fielding. “If there’s any difficulty, let me know at once. We’ll remove Sema from the gorilla population, put her back in a separate living area, and see how she adjusts to a schedule of public exhibitions. If she manages and Dr. Parker finds no evidence of trauma, we’ll proceed to build a separate pavilion.”

  He hadn’t listened to a word I said, but one thought had crystallized in my mind: until an hour ago, I had wanted our habituation attempt to fail for my sake. Now, I desperately needed it to succeed . . . for Sema’s.

  According to the terms of our settlement, the zoo couldn’t fire me for twelve months after Sema’s transfer. After that period, however, what would prevent Matthews from dismissing me? I’d be powerless to stop him, especially since I’d made no secret of my disagreement with his policies.

  And Fielding was right—what if something happened to me? Sema would be kept alone in her pavilion, fed in the mornings and evenings, trotted out to perform for the crowds with an interpreter like Claire, and led back into her room. They wouldn’t treat her as the special personality she was—no one but me seemed to appreciate her uniqueness as an individual.

  Without another word, I rose from my chair in one fluid motion and left Matthews’s frigid office.

  After returning from Matthews’s office, I stepped into Sema’s room, handed her an apple and a box of orange juice, then crouched to look her in the eye. “I’m going home,” I told her, signing as I spoke. “I need to sleep in my bed, OK?”

  I desperately needed a night to cocoon in safety. As much as I loved Sema and wanted to comfort her during this transition, at that moment she was better adjusted and more at peace than I.

  Sema bit into the apple and chewed, watching me with a somber expression. Then she set the apple on her blanket. Claire play with Sema?

  “No, sweetie, Claire has already gone home.”

  Brad play with Sema ?

  “Brad’s here now, but he’ll be going home soon.”

  She gaped at me as if I’d just asked her to explain algebra. Sema go home?

  My eyes burned with frustrated tears. “Afraid not, sweetie. You need to stay here.”

  Her mouth opened in a half smile. Gorillas stay with Sema?

  I nodded, grateful I could give her at least one positive answer. “Yes, the gorillas will be down the hall. Remember the rooms we visited the other day? That’s where they’ll be.”

  Sema considered a moment, then gave me a big smile. Sema sleep with gorillas! Hurry, hurry, visit gorillas.

  “Not tonight, girlie. You need to sleep in this room. Maybe later this week you can visit the gorillas. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? But now I’m going to put a movie in the VCR and let you watch television.”

  She looked down at the floor, then picked up her apple.

  The sight of her sad acceptance hurt worse than her pitiful questions. “Sema, can I have a hug?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around me.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll miss you while I’m gone.”

  She gave me a kiss before pulling away, then went back to eating her apple. I stood and pulled the movie I’d chosen from my purse. I’d selected a Natural Wildlife video on African animals because I thought Sema ought to be acquainted with the different creatures living at the zoo . . . and because the DVD would run for two hours. By the time the film ended, Sema would be drowsy and ready for sleep.

  I punched the play button, waited to be sure the DVD loaded properly, then backed away and squeezed Sema’s shoulder. Still munching on the apple, she watched the opening credits.

  I had done everything a responsible caretaker should do; my charge would be safe and content until morning.

  Why, then, was I feeling suffocated by guilt?

  17

  I had just stepped out of a steaming bubble bath when I heard a knock at the door. Muttering under my breath, I peeked out the bathroom window and saw a black Toyota 4-Runner in the drive—Fielding’s vehicle.

  What was he doing here? Spurred by the thought that something might have happened to Sema, I pulled on my robe and threw a towel over my dripping hair, then hurried to the door. “What’s wrong?”

  Fielding held up a white paper bag as if it were a charm to ward off evil spirits. “I’ve got chips, salsa, tacos, and a six-pack of Diet Coke. Can we talk?”

  My anxiety melted into irritation. I wanted to shoo him away, but the smell of food triggered a hunger pang that twisted my stomach. For lunch I’d had nothing but an apple and some celery, and it’d been ages since I had really good tacos.

  I opened the door wider. “I figured you for a beer man.”

  “Used to be.” He stepped past me and entered my small foyer. “Used to be a lot of things. These days it’s diet soda or water for me.” He glanced at my robe, then grinned. “Nice outfit. Much better than the uniform.”

  “Shut up.” I closed the door and gestured toward my cluttered kitchen. “Make yourself at home while I get dressed. You’ll find the glasses—never mind, you already know where they are.”

  After locking myself in my bedroom, I pulled on a pair of jeans, then paused before the closet. Which should I choose, a soft sweater or a sweatshirt? I had no reason to impress Fielding, but no man who spent his days in a primate palace could prefer looking at a woman in utilitarian fleece.

  I pulled a soft pink sweater from a shelf and slipped it over my head, then towel dried and combed my hair. After a quick zip of lipstick and a smear of mascara, I thought I might look presentable.

  Fielding was sitting at my kitchen bar, glass in hand, when I padded into the room in bare feet. The air smelled of fried foods and Mexican spices.

  “Chips, salsa, and tacos?” I frowned at the takeout he’d spread on a paper plate. “That’s not what I’d call a balanced dinner.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t want to order too much—I wasn’t sure you’d let me in.”

  “If I hadn’t been starving, you wouldn’t have made it through the door. Hang on, maybe I can whip up a salad.”

  I busied myself at the counter, washing a slightly wilted head of lettuce, chopping tomatoes, and trying not to wonder why he’d come. We were coworkers and we did have a history, so either of those things might account for this visit . . . or maybe he’d come to talk about Matthews’s latest harebrained idea.

  His reasons didn’t matter. I was so desperate for answers I was willing to hear anything he had to say.

  “You know,” he called, “I looked in your fridge.”

  I chopped the nub off the head of lettuce, then twisted out the stem. “Isn’t that a little like going through someone’s medicine cabinet?”

  “You even eat like a gorilla. Fruits and veggies—you’re disgustingly vegetarian.”

  I laughed. “I learned to eat like that because of Sema. After a while, it became easier for me to eat her food than shop for two species. But I do share fast-food burgers with her now and then— even pizza every once in a while. And she loves those portable pudding cups.”

  “You’ve ruined her, you know. If she shares what she knows with the other g’s, we’ll have the only gorilla group in the country demanding to eat pudding with a spoon.”

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?” I glanced over my shoulder at him while I tore the lettuce. “When Sema has a baby, I’m hoping to see signs of cultural transmission. I think Sema will teach her babies to sign, to read, yes, even to use a spoon. Free-living gorillas teach their offspring how to interact, forage for food, and care for the elders.”

  “The jury’s still out,” he said, picking up a tortilla chip, “on how much of that behavior is learned and how much is instinctive.”

  “I think most of it is learned—and other species also demonstrate cultural transference. Did you know that bottlenose dolphins eat by swimming rapidly through schools of fish? Well, there’s a group of bottlenose dolphins off the coast of western Australia that teach their young to protect themselves by spearing soft sea sponges with their long noses before they go charging into a school of fish. That behavior hasn’t been recorded with other dolphin groups, and the reason is cultural. If dolphins can teach their young to wear sponges, why can’t Sema teach her children everything she knows?”

  Fielding propped his elbow on the bar, then rested his head on his hand. “Ease up, Glee. It’s been a long day. You don’t have to make your case with me.”

  Sighing, I turned toward the sink and stared at my reflection in the window. I don’t know why we always seemed to end up in an argument. And he was right—it had been a long day, though at the end of it we had both been on the same side.

  I dropped the lettuce into a bowl, tossed in a handful of chopped tomatoes, then sprinkled the lot with grated Parmesan cheese. Simple, but it’d have to do. After plucking a bottle of Italian dressing from the fridge, I grabbed two plates from the cupboard and set them on the counter.

  I slid onto the stool next to Fielding. “So—did you come here to enjoy my company or do you have something on your mind?”

  His mouth shifted just enough to bristle the whiskers on his cheek, then he reached for the salad tongs. “Let’s eat first, and then talk. I can’t argue on an empty stomach.”

  We filled our plates and ate in an almost-companionable silence. I found myself looking around my kitchen and wondering what he thought of the place. I’d never been exceptionally domestic, but I knew where everything was, and the place was clean. The curtains didn’t match the dish towels, though, and my steps had completely worn away the pattern on the floor mat in front of the sink.