Joanes had moved back to the fire with the others, and from there he didn’t miss a single detail of what the new arrival and his pet were up to.
Under the poncho and the plastic bags, the stranger was wearing a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a jacket, which was also denim. The clothes were so filthy that they’d taken on a kind of drab, brownish hue. On his feet he was wearing a pair of heavy work boots. His pants were held up at the waist by a piece of cord, and attached to that was the machete’s sheath, which he also took off before sinking to the floor with a sigh. He rested his back against the wall and closed his eyes. The monkey hopped in front of him in one swift motion. The chain swept the trash on the floor to one side. The chimpanzee sat down, attentive to his master’s every move. Every now and then, he scratched his nose or looked over his shoulder at the others. He was soaked, and the water dripping from his chin formed a puddle beneath him.
“I haven’t forgotten about you, my friend,” said the stranger, opening his eyes.
He produced a threadbare towel from the backpack and began to carefully dry the monkey, who settled himself down between his mater’s legs and closed his eyes.
“Lift your arm,” said the man. “Lift it up,” he repeated before raising his own left arm by way of example.
The chimpanzee copied him so that his master could dry him properly. Afterward, they repeated the routine with the other arm. As he rubbed him down with the towel, the owner said, “That’s a boy. Today the heavens opened up right on top of us. Right, my friend?”
Once he’d finished with the monkey, he used the same towel to dry his own face and then wiped it across his beard and neck. He folded it, and put it away again. The man rummaged again in his backpack, this time pulling out a plastic bag, from which he then produced an onion. Using the machete, he peeled it and cut it in two, giving the group huddled around the fire ample opportunity to see the weapon in all its glory. In the places without nicks, the blade of the knife was perfectly sharpened. The handle was made of wood and had been reinforced with rope.
On seeing the master take out the onion, the chimpanzee began jumping up and down on the spot, making a few imploring squeals.
“You know it’s for you. Of course it is. Come here.”
The chimpanzee did as he was told, squatting back down between his master’s legs, his back resting against the man’s chest. The stranger set one half of the onion aside and with the other proceeded to massage the monkey, rubbing him with the side that had been cut. Not long after, the man began singing in English, in a deep, gentle voice.
“What are you doing that for?” the professor’s wife wanted to know.
“Don’t bother him,” said her husband.
But she repeated the question. The man had stopped singing.
“The lady isn’t bothering me,” he said, without interrupting the massage. “I do it because it relaxes him. And after what he’s been through today, he needs to relax. My very good friend here can’t handle these sorts of upheavals anymore. Right, my friend?”
The chimpanzee was indeed very relaxed. He’d slowly curled into himself, and now his chin was resting on his chest. He looked like he was just about to fall asleep. His hands were resting on his knees with his palms facing up, allowing the others to appreciate how extraordinarily long his fingers were.
“I thought you were Manco and Beluga, two friends of ours who come here sometimes.”
“What’s the monkey called?” asked the professor’s wife.
“Gagarin. Like the astronaut.”
“Gagarin.” She repeated.
“That’s right. It’s the name they gave him in the circus. At first he didn’t much like it. Me neither. But we’ve both gotten used to it. Isn’t that right, Gagarin?”
The chimpanzee threw him a sleepy glance then closed his eyes again.
“You worked in a circus? What did you do?” she wanted to know.
“That was a long time ago, ma’am,” said the man. “Gagarin did what monkeys do. I cleaned and did a little of everything.”
“Did you act? Can you do anything?”
“Darling,” said the professor. “Don’t bother the man.”
The stranger laughed, a sort of broken snort through his nose. The kind of laugh you could easily mistake for an irritated sigh. He stopped stroking the chimpanzee and offered him the half onion.
“Here, buddy.”
Gagarin opened his eyes, grabbed the onion slowly, and took a bite. He had enormous, yellow fangs. They could hear him chewing.
“No, ma’am, I didn’t act. I wouldn’t have known where to start.”
“Did you look after Gagarin?”
“That I did do, yes. And I liked looking after him a lot. We became real good friends.”
“Did you rub him down with onions?”
The man laughed again.
“Hear that, Gagarin? This good lady is asking if I used to rub you down. No. I learned that later on.”
“Did you escape together from the circus?”
The answer took so long in coming that they all thought he wasn’t going to give one. The man petted the chimpanzee, who was polishing off his half onion.
“Those sons of bitches told us they weren’t earning enough money and that they were going to sell to the animals. So we left.”
“Gagarin looks very tired.”
“He is, ma’am. Gagarin’s no spring chicken, and we’ve walked a long way today.”
Just like his owner’s, the monkey’s face was covered with wrinkles. The lines of his face sunk downward, as if it were collapsing, sliding off in sheer exhaustion. His eyes were watering.
“And he seems very sad,” the professor’s wife added.
The stranger nodded slowly.
“You’re right about that. We’re both real sad. Isn’t that right, my friend?”
“Why are you sad?” Joanes interjected.
“Gagarin’s lost his girl. She escaped three days ago. The two of us have been looking for her ever since.”
Joanes reacted without surprise. He’d already noticed some moments earlier that Gagarin’s collar was exactly the same as the one worn by the chimpanzee he hit.
“How did she escape?”
“Lolita was very smart. And a bit naughty, too. She worked out how to get her chain off.”
The man stopped short and gave his pet a few pats on the back.
“I’m sorry, Gagarin. I mean she is ver y smart.”
The monkey gazed into the distance with what they all understood to be a pining look.
“Are we to understand that this Lolita is also a chimpanzee?” asked the professor.
“That’s correct,” answered the stranger.
And then he asked, “Do you mind if I make use of the fire, friends?”
“No. I guess not,” replied Joanes.
From the odds and ends hanging from his backpack, the man picked out a grease-incrusted metal grill with four little support legs. He also took a pan, which he filled with water from the plastic jerry can that he was using as a canteen. Next he delved around in the backpack and took out a packet of instant soup. Carrying all of this, he moved over by the fire. He fueled it with more wood, placed the grill over the flames and the pot on top of the grill, and then sat down to wait for the water to boil. The chimpanzee stayed where he was, still linked to his master by the chain and dozy after the massage and his frugal dinner.
Joanes studied the stranger. He was an old man, or almost old. He could have been any age between fifty and seventy; his disheveled appearance made it hard to tell. Not only was his face covered in wrinkles, it also had fresh cuts and scars and infected mosquito bites on it. Two wide, gray bags hung from under his eyes. He watched the flame intensely. He looked as though he could’ve happily sat there in silence for the rest of the night.