CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Three figures were coming down the passage: Zira, the female chimpanzee, and two other apes, one of whom was plainly in a high position.

He was an orangutan, the first I had seen on the planet Soror. He was shorter than the gorillas and slightly round-shouldered. His arms were relatively longer so that he often touched the ground with his hands as he walked, which the other apes did only rarely. He thus gave me the odd impression of using a couple of walking sticks. His head adorned with long coarse hair and sunk between his shoulders, his face frozen in an expression of pedantic meditation, he looked like a venerable and solemn old pontiff. He was also dressed quite differently from the others, in a long black frock coat with a red star in the buttonhole and black-and-white-striped trousers, both somewhat dusty.

He was followed by a little female chimpanzee carrying a heavy brief case. Her attitude suggested that she was his secretary. By this time no one is surprised, I imagine, by my repeated reference to significant attitudes and expressions among these apes. I am convinced that any rational being confronted with this couple would have concluded, as I did, that the one was a learned elder and the other his humble secretary. Their arrival gave me an opportunity of noting again the sense of hierarchy that seemed to exist among the apes. Zira showed every sign of respect for this superior of hers. The two gorillas went forward to meet him as soon as they caught sight of him and bowed low before him. The orangutan gave a condescending little wave of his hand.

They made straight for my cage. Was I not the most interesting subject of the lot? I welcomed the great authority with my most affable smile and addressed him in ringing tones:

“My dear orangutan, how happy I am to find myself at last in the presence of a creature who exhales wisdom and intelligence! I am sure we are going to understand each other, you and I.”

The old dear had given a start at the sound of my voice. He scratched his ear for some time and peered suspiciously into my cage as though scenting some trickery. Zira then addressed him, notebook in hand, reading out the particulars she had jotted down about me. She did her best, but it was plain to see that the orangutan refused to be convinced.

He uttered two or three sentences in a pompous manner, shrugged his shoulders several times, shook his head, then put his hands behind his back and started pacing up and down the corridor, passing and repassing my cage and darting glances in my direction that were far from kindly. The other apes waited for his decision in respectful silence.

In seemingly respectful silence, at least—for their respect appeared far from genuine when I intercepted a furtive sign from one gorilla to the other, the sense of which allowed no room for doubt: they were making fun of the boss behind his back. This, combined with the annoyance I felt at his attitude toward me, inspired me with the idea of putting on a little act designed to convince him of my mental ability. I started pacing to and fro in the cage, imitating his gait, my shoulders hunched, my hands behind my back, my brow wrinkled in an air of profound meditation.

The gorillas choked with laughter and Zira herself was unable to keep a straight face. As for the secretary, she was obliged to plunge her muzzle into her brief case to hide her amusement. I was congratulating myself on my demonstration when I suddenly realized it was dangerous. Noticing my mimicry, the orangutan looked very annoyed and in a dry voice uttered a few sharp words that restored order immediately. Then he stopped in front of me and started dictating his notes to his secretary.

He went on dictating for a long time, punctuating his phrases with pompous gestures. I was beginning to have enough of his blindness and resolved to give him fresh proof of my capacities. Stretching my arms out toward him, I spoke up to the best of my ability: “My Zaius.”

I had noticed that all the underlings who addressed him began with these two words. Zaius, I subsequently learned, was the pontiff’s name, “mi” an honorific title.

The monkeys were flabbergasted. They no longer wanted to laugh, least of all Zira, who seemed extremely perturbed, especially when I pointed a finger at her and added “Zira,” a name I had also remembered and that could only be hers. As for Zaius, he was completely flustered and started pacing up and down the corridor again, shaking his head with an air of incredulity.

Having finally recovered his composure, he gave orders for me to be subjected in his presence to the tests I had been given the previous day. I acquitted myself well. I watered at the mouth at the first blast of the whistle. I leaped back at the sound of the bell. He made me repeat this last operation a dozen times, dictating countless comments to his secretary.

In the end I had an inspiration. At the moment the gorilla began to ring the bell, I unfastened the clip that connected the electric wire to my cage and threw the cable outside. Then I held on to the bars and stayed where I was, while the other warder, who had not noticed my trick, struggled to turn the handle of the now harmless generator.

I was very proud of this move, which was bound to be irrefutable proof of wisdom to any rational creature. In fact, Zira’s attitude showed me that she, at least, was extremely impressed. She looked at me with singular intensity and her white muzzle turned pink—which, as I learned later, is a sign of emotion in chimpanzees. But there was nothing I could do to convince the orangutan. This fiendish ape again started shrugging his shoulders nastily and shaking his head energetically when Zira spoke to him. He was a methodical scientist; he refused to listen to such nonsense. He gave further instructions to the gorillas and I was given another test, a combination of the first two.

I knew this one, too. I had seen it practiced on dogs in certain laboratories. The idea was to bewilder the subject, to provoke a mental confusion by combining two reactions. One of the gorillas emitted a series of blasts on his whistle as the promise of a reward, while the other rang the bell that announced a punishment. I recalled the conclusions of a noted biologist concerning a similar experiment: it was possible, he said, by so abusing an animal, to produce in him emotional disorders strangely reminiscent of neurosis in men, and sometimes even to send him out of his mind by repeating these maneuvers fairly often.

I took care not to fall into the trap: but, clearly pricking up my ears at the sound of the whistle, then at that of the bell, I sat down halfway between the two, my chin resting in my hand, in the traditional attitude of the thinker. Zira could not help clapping her hands. Zaius took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow.

He was sweating, but nothing could shake his stupid skepticism. This I could see from his expression after a vehement discussion he had with the she-ape. He dictated some more notes to his secretary, gave some detailed instructions to Zira, who listened to them with a far from satisfied air, and finally went off after darting another churlish glance at me.

Zira spoke to the gorillas and I quickly realized she was giving them orders to leave me in peace, at least for the rest of the day, for they went off with their equipment. Then she came back to my cage by herself and observed me again, in silence, for a long time. After which, of her own accord, she stretched out her hand in a friendly gesture. I seized it with emotion, meanwhile gently whispering her name. The blush that mantled her muzzle showed me she was deeply touched.