Unspoken Read online

  “Thanks, big brother.” I stepped to his side, then rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. I caught a whiff of some expensive cologne and smiled—the only scent clinging to my skin and clothing was eau de gorilla.

  “I’ll stick around until we know something,” he said, speaking in a lower tone because Sema’s eyes had closed. “Come on up when you’re done and I’ll tell you what I’ve learned.”

  I took his raincoat from the peg on the wall and handed it to him, then stood back and watched him go.

  2

  While Sema slept, I turned off the computer, put the flash cards away, and swept the remnants of my girl’s morning snack (shredded wheat biscuits and Jell-o) from the table and into the trash can. When the trailer had been cleared of clutter from our enrichment time, I snapped the padlocks on the fridge and the cabinet doors, then stood back to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

  I’d been trying to forget the threat hanging over our heads, but something in my heart melted when my gaze crossed Sema’s sleeping form. At 250 pounds, she bore little resemblance to the bug-eyed ball of fluff that had ridden on my hip as an infant, but our connection had never been stronger. When I scooped her up from the bloodied straw where her mother had abandoned her, Sema weighed four and a half pounds. Wet and shivering, she looked like any pink-skinned, helpless infant, and I fell madly in love.

  At the time of Sema’s birth I’d been a part-time animal technician at Thousand Oaks Zoo. As a graduate student working toward a degree in anthropology, I’d been heavily influenced by Dian Fossey and Penny Patterson, so I’d jumped at the chance to work with the higher primates. The area of language development fascinated me, and in Sema I saw an opportunity to follow in Dr. Patterson’s trailblazing footsteps.

  After a week of caring for the abandoned infant, however, ambition became the least of my motivations. In the first few days of Sema’s life, her survival was all that mattered. Captive gorillas do not always make good mothers, but inexperienced graduate students are not much more qualified. I broke several rules when I ventured into the gorilla night room and snatched Sema; I broke others when I insisted on caring for the infant myself. Fortunately, the gorilla curator was not eager to undertake the twenty-four-hour care of a newborn, so I became Sema’s nanny. I moved a cot into the office area, learned how to bottle feed a gorilla infant, and pestered the zoo veterinarian until we found a formula that suited Sema’s finicky stomach. In the back of my mind, I hoped the intense experience would help us bond, but I had no idea how completely our lives would intertwine.

  I nursed her, played with her, crooned to her. With Sema nestled in my lap, I read picture books aloud, watching with delight when her round brown eyes began to focus on the brightly colored pages. As she grew older, I signed to her, then manipulated her fingers and showed her how to form the signs I was using. Because gorilla hands are shaped differently than human hands—the thumb is farther away from the fingers—we modified standard American Sign Language, also known as Ameslan, to create signs Sema could use and understand. During her first year, she learned an average of one new sign per month.

  Since sign language is not an exact mode of communication, interpreters primarily derive the meaning of basic signs from context. Fluent signers develop their own “shorthand,” just as we do in spoken speech, and when teaching Sema, I didn’t bother with conjunctions such as and or worry about pronouns like you, I , or him and her . Neither did we trouble with tenses, which are designated by time indicators. Because Sema and I spent so much time together, we had little trouble understanding each other.

  After a year, I realized I could only do so much while Sema lived at the zoo. The gorilla curator had kept her out of the general gorilla population, but I knew he’d be unable to justify the expense of maintaining a gorilla that remained inaccessible to the public. He suggested that I arrange a demonstration of Sema’s linguistic abilities, and after Alden Johnston, the zoo director, saw how far my girl and I had progressed, he graciously allowed me to transfer Sema to an environment where we could continue our work without interruption.

  Mr. Johnston and I sealed the deal with a handshake—I would cover the expense of Sema’s training, medical care, and food while the zoo retained ownership. “We have plenty of gorillas,” Dr. Johnston told me as Sema toddled behind me and clung to the back of my lab coat. “What we don’t have is an abundance of visionary researchers. Take her, my dear, and let us hear from you every few months. We’re expecting great things.”

  With Dr. Johnston’s generous encouragement ringing in my ears, I used a chunk of my inheritance to buy a small house on an acre of rural land. I put an empty trailer beside the house, arranged for a contractor to build a gorilla-sized playground complete with swings, elevated platforms, and hanging ropes, and moved Sema into the trailer nestled beneath a hundred-year-old live oak. We covered the windows with mesh fencing, replaced the carpeting with linoleum, and installed an exercise bar in the space that would be Sema’s bedroom. Sema and I were both thrilled with the exercise bar—she had been using my body as a jungle gym, and my muscles needed a break.

  After settling in, Sema and I began the serious work of teaching, learning, and playing—after all, a wise teacher makes learning fun, and Sema loved to play.

  To my great delight, by her third birthday Sema had begun to invent her own signs. One of my proudest moments occurred when she pointed to a bracelet I was wearing and called it an arm ring . On another occasion she pointed to my hairbrush and called it a scratch comb .

  Because Dr. Patterson’s Koko loved kittens, I introduced Sema to a friend’s cat, only to have her back away and shake her head nooooo . My girl, I discovered, preferred dogs and puppies. But she used her innate dislike of felines creatively—once I fed her an olive, only to have her spit it out and tell me she hated those cat grapes .

  While we learned together, I kept an eye on Dr. Patterson and the much older Koko. Koko took photos for National Geographic ; she appeared in television documentaries and held online chats with astonished fans. As people watched Koko think, speak, and paint surprisingly realistic paintings, they began to understand how much humans and the higher primates had in common.

  In the last decade of the twentieth century, gorillas moved from obscurity into the international spotlight. The film Gorillas in the Mist , featuring the story of Dian Fossey’s life and work, helped focus the world’s attention on the plight of endangered gorilla species. Zoos that had previously displayed gorillas in steel cages spent millions to create habitats that would not only give the animals room to roam but present them with interesting challenges. Best of all, zoos began to exhibit their gorillas in groups. Animals that had spent years battling boredom in solitary confinement found themselves reestablishing contact with others and creating families.

  Far from the hot light of gorilla publicity, I taught; Sema learned. Her vocabulary grew; she learned to read simple words and produce vocal speech through a computer. I finished my master’s degree and began working for my doctorate.

  By the time we entered our eighth year of partnership, I had finished the required coursework for my degree. All that remained was my dissertation, but Sema and I hadn’t quite accomplished my objectives.

  My grand plan was simple—I wanted to step beyond Dr. Patterson’s work and teach Sema to read simple sentences. I dreamed of the day when my girl would be able to pick up a copy of Green Eggs and Ham and sign the story to a class of kindergartners.

  Sema’s ability to read would imply much more than a simple facility with language—reading would demonstrate that gorillas could imagine, assimilate abstract concepts, and even appreciate meter, rhyme, and humor.

  When I could demonstrate that gorillas possessed the intellectual and emotional range of human children, I would publish a book that would establish my place in the annals of anthropology. Offers to speak and write and consult would pour in, along with a steady income. Sema would be able to relax; we would grow old together on
my one-acre tract.

  One day I would retire, knowing that with a little help from Sema and Dr. Seuss, I had forever bridged the gulf between humans and animals.

  Satisfied that Sema was sleeping soundly, I flipped the light switch and stepped onto the small wooden porch outside the trailer. The rain had stopped. The exercise area to my right lay under a blanket of quiet; the tire swing stirred in the breeze. Central Florida had proven to be a wonderful place for raising gorillas—given the species’ susceptibility to pneumonia and other respiratory infections, the mild climate was perfect. The heat could be stifling, particularly in late summer, but Sema’s ancestors came from equatorial Africa. With their shorter body hair, smaller nostrils, and narrower chests, lowland gorillas were better adapted to the sultry climate than Fossey’s mountain-dwelling friends.

  I left Sema’s trailer and strode across the field of ankle-high grass. Rob’s BMW looked out of place on my property—one gleaming boy toy among so many gorilla-sized playthings—but my brother had never been shy about flaunting the fruits of his labor.

  Thoughts of Rob reminded me of the zoo, the letters from the difficult and extremely unimaginative new director, and the threat of losing Sema. A cloud settled over my brain, as oppressive and dark as the sky overhead. I wanted to rant and rave, but I couldn’t yell at Rob. He had warned me that I’d have to face the zoo officials sooner or later . . . I suppose I’d hoped that if I kept tossing their letters aside, they’d eventually give up and leave me alone. Mother always said it took two to tussle, and tussling was the last thing I wanted to do.

  A sudden thought quickened my step as I hurried toward the house. Rob was on the phone when I came through the kitchen doorway, but he lifted his pencil in greeting as I wiped my feet on the rug.

  “I’ll present this to my client.” He glanced at a scrawled page in his notebook. “We’ll get back to you. Thank you for your time.”

  He lowered the phone, then drew a deep breath.

  “Wait.” I slipped into the chair at the head of the table. “Before you tell me what they said, listen to this—why are they so all-fired interested in having Sema back now? I could see why they might want her if they were developing a new habitat or something, but I think the gorilla population at Thousand Oaks has remained steady over the last few years. They’ve had a couple of deaths, but they’ve also had new additions. They’re not short on animals.”

  Rob lowered his pencil. “I asked about that. They said Sema is now breeding age, so she needs to be habituated to a gorilla group.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t buy it. They already have two mature females, and both have bred successfully. There is no shortage of western lowland zoo gorillas, so what’s their real motivation?”

  Rob shrugged. “All I know is what they’ve said, but I can tell you this—they are determined to see this thing through. Their lawyer filed suit, but he’s willing to settle. He seems to think you wouldn’t want this to go to trial.”

  “If it means being allowed to keep Sema, I’d like nothing better.”

  Rob picked up his pencil and rolled it between his fingers. “Brad Fielding’s name came up.”

  I stared at Rob. “What’s Brad Fielding got to do with anything? He’s in San Diego.”

  “Not anymore—he’s been working for Thousand Oaks for about six months. He’s the new gorilla curator.”

  I brought my hand to my mouth.

  Rob cocked a brow. “Want to tell me the story behind that look, or are you going to keep me in the dark? I know you two used to date.”

  I snorted. “I don’t think you can call what we did dating —all we ever did was argue.”

  “What about?”

  “Everything. Fielding’s a zoo guy down to the bone. He lives and dies by rules and policies, and I drove him crazy because I couldn’t care less about the rules. We did go out a couple of times, but mainly to argue about the animals.”

  “So . . . do you think they’re involving him in this dispute because he’s now in charge of the gorillas? Or is there something else I should know?”

  I closed my eyes and exhaled a deep breath. “Fielding and I got along pretty well at first, but we had a huge blowup when Sema was born. He was on duty that night; he saw that Amma had given birth. When he came into the office and told me, I freaked. He wanted to leave the baby in the night room, hoping Amma would catch on and start nursing. I wanted to take the baby out right away—every minute we let her lie there, she would grow weaker. I knew that most mothers pick up their infants immediately and start nursing, but Amma was completely uninterested. Since I’d heard reports of mother gorillas eating their young, I didn’t think we had any time to waste.”

  Rob’s eyes rested on me, alive with speculation. “So what happened?”

  I shrugged. “Fielding had more authority, so I shouldn’t have done anything. But when he picked up the phone to call the vet, I slipped out of the office and went into Amma’s night room. She was asleep, so I grabbed Sema and ran out. Fielding was furious when he saw me with the baby. If Sema had died, I’d have been fired for sure—I think Fielding wanted to fire me anyway. Lowly part-time techs, you see, weren’t supposed to enter the night rooms when the gorillas were inside, and we weren’t ever supposed to touch the animals. But I knew I had to do something.”

  “Good grief, Glee—I knew you were a troublemaker at home, but I had no idea you broke rules at work.”

  I shook my head. “I knew I was risking my neck and my job, but if you’d seen her, Rob, lying helpless in that straw . . .” I looked away as a lump rose in my throat. “I’d do the same thing again, no matter what Brad Fielding says. No way I could sit there and do nothing.”

  “Why did they make such a big deal about what you did— couldn’t they return the baby after you checked it out?”

  “Not really. A mother who isn’t interested in an infant at birth isn’t likely to develop an interest after time has passed.”

  “So . . . Fielding could testify that years ago you broke the zoo’s rules and disobeyed his order. Could he do any other damage?”

  “If he’s honest, he’d have to admit I’ve always had the animals’ best interests at heart. But I don’t trust him, especially if he’s working for Thousand Oaks again. He could say anything.”

  Rob glanced at his notes. “What do you know about Kenneth Matthews?”

  I gave my brother a black look. “He’s been the zoo director for about three years. I don’t know him personally, but the fact that he’s pressing for custody of Sema proves he’s nothing like Dr. Johnston.”

  “Do you know much about him?”

  “Just that he’s a retired businessman and a politician. I see his picture in the paper all the time—he’s always attending parties to raise money for the zoo’s educational and conservation programs.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Sure, if the money benefits the animals. I don’t think raising thousands of dollars for more lemonade stands in the park is terribly commendable.”

  Rob gave me a let’s-be-reasonable smile. “I think your prejudices are showing.”

  “Okay . . . he has done some good things. I haven’t followed the news too closely, but I do know Thousand Oaks has won certification from the American Zoo and Aquarium Association since he took over. AZA approval is a big deal, and it will do a lot to elevate the zoo’s status. But I reserve the right not to like the guy.”

  “Well . . .” Rob shifted his position in his chair. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this, Sis. These folks from the zoo aren’t going to give up on their gorilla—they want her, and they want her as soon as they can get her. But if what you say about Ken Matthews is accurate, perhaps we can offer to buy Sema.”

  I felt the corner of my mouth twist. “We’re not all made of money, Rob. I can’t afford to buy her. Besides, I’m afraid they’ll ask for more than a reasonable fee. They’ll say Sema is worth more because of her linguistic abilities.”

&nb
sp; “I could lend you the money.”

  Overwhelmed by the unexpected gesture, I gaped at my brother. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  How could I explain? Cheri, my pencil-thin sister-in-law, loved my brother . . . and his money. You wouldn’t have to be psychic to pick up her conviction that I’m insane and Sema’s nothing but a smelly ape.

  I offered a less hurtful explanation. “Thanks, but no thanks. I can’t take a loan from you, because I have no idea when I’ll be able to pay it back.”

  “Call it a gift, then. We could establish that nonprofit foundation you mentioned, and I could write the amount off on my taxes.”

  From the width of his grin, I strongly suspected he was teasing. Would have served him right if I took him up on his offer, but I couldn’t. First, Cheri would never forgive him . . . or me. Second, it wouldn’t be fair.

  When our parents died in ’95, their will directed that the estate be evenly divided between me and Rob. Everything Rob has brought in since then is his, hard-earned and well-deserved.

  I gave my brother an indulgent smile. “I’m not going to take your money, Rob, so forget it. You and Cheri probably need every dime to pay off that McMansion you’re living in.”

  He waved away my concern. “We’re doing okay. And the house wasn’t as expensive as you seem to think it was.”

  Under other circumstances, I’d have argued the point. Six months ago Cheri persuaded Rob to sell their modest home in an older part of town and move into a gated golf course community. I kept asking Rob when he was going to take up the sport; he kept insisting he was still looking for the perfect pair of plaid pants.

  Touched by his concern, I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “You’re doing enough representing me pro bono. Let that be your charitable contribution for my cause.”

  His eyes melted into mine for a moment, then he closed his notebook. “Tell you what. Let me work on this a couple of days, and then I’ll get back to you. We’ll do our best to hammer out a satisfactory agreement.”