Now that she and Maxine had watched the final Planet of the Apes movie, she had a better appreciation for the statue of the Lawgiver that lived on Hobo’s little island. Although the statue was seen only in the first two movies, the final one opened and closed with sequences in which John Huston played the Lawgiver, reading from a parchment scroll, talking about his hope for apes and humans to live in friendship, harmony, and peace “according to divine will.”
As she crossed the drawbridge, Hobo came barreling toward her. She desperately tried not to flinch, but he seemed his old affectionate self. She gathered him into a hug, and, when her hands were free for signing, she said, Ready?
That oh-so-human nod of his, then: Hobo ready. Hobo ready.
She reached out a hand and let him interlace his long fingers with hers, and they started walking toward the bungalow. She allowed herself a glance back over her shoulder. The Lawgiver was watching them go, his expression beatific.
When they entered the house, Hobo hugged Dr. Marcuse, who squeezed the ape more tightly than Shoshana would have ever dared. Even though she knew how strong Hobo was, ape musculature was different from human, and he always looked scrawny and fragile to her, but the Silverback had no compunctions about giving him a bear hug. When they were done, Shoshana took Hobo’s hand again.
Dillon was standing over by the front door, Shoshana saw; she wondered if he actually had the keys in his car’s ignition, ready to make a getaway. Hobo regarded Dillon for a moment, and he opened his mouth and showed his sharp, yellow teeth, and—
And then he seemed to catch sight of something else. In what had been the living room, back when this had been someone’s home, there was a wall with paintings Hobo had made hanging on it, since they were something visitors to the Institute always wanted to see. Hobo flexed his fingers, indicating that he wished to disengage his hand from Shoshana’s; she hesitated for a moment, then let him go, and he walked on all fours into the living room and over to the wall of his canvases.
Sho saw Dr. Marcuse’s mouth form a concerned circle—after all, the five paintings currently on the wall would collectively fetch over a hundred grand on eBay or in galleries when they were eventually put up for auction; they were a big source of the funds that kept the Marcuse Institute going.
Of course, the one showing Dillon dismembered was not on display; it wasn’t the sort of thing to show to prospective donors or the press. No, the first three were clearly pictures of Shoshana in profile, each with her ponytail sprouting from the back of the head and a single blue eye positioned like eyes were on ancient Egyptian paintings. The fourth was one of Hobo’s rare attempts at painting something else: it was, in fact, the Lawgiver statue with a large brown bird—maybe a pelican—resting on its head, a sight that had apparently amused the ape. And the fifth, at the far right, was that strange abstract painting Hobo had made recently of colored circles of various sizes connected by straight, brightly colored lines.
Hobo came to a stop in front of that painting, and he looked at it for a moment, and then he lifted his long, thin left arm, holding it straight out with his hand drooping ever so slightly, and, still gazing at the strange picture, he lightly touched the tip of his index finger to the canvas.
And then, after a long moment, he turned. An ape’s gaze is hard to follow, but from the angle of his head, Shoshana thought he was looking at Dillon. It was too much, she supposed, to hope Hobo would run over and give him a hug, but he did nod at him in an affable way, and then he started walking back toward Shoshana.
She, in turn, helped close the distance between them, and then led him over to the high-backed swivel chair positioned in front of the particleboard desk. There was a twenty-one-inch Apple LCD monitor on the desk, with a high-quality wireless webcam clipped to the top of its bezel. It was the same setup that had been used to make the first interspecies webcam call, but now Hobo wasn’t going to speak to just one other ape. No, now he was going to speak to the whole wide world.
Shoshana went to her own desk. She had a webcam clipped to her monitor, too, and turned it on. There was no way to get Hobo to just talk into his camera; he didn’t understand what it did. But he’d talk to the image of Shoshana on his monitor, which was almost good enough—again, with his dark eyes, no one could tell that he was actually looking at the moving image of her rather than the camera lens just above. Shoshana signed into her own camera: All right, Hobo. Go ahead.
Hobo was quiet for a moment, perhaps composing his thoughts. Hobo, he signed. Hobo good ape.
Shoshana nodded at her camera—and nodded at him from his monitor—encouraging him to go on.
Hobo mother bonobo, he signed. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, Hobo father chimpanzee.
Shoshana was supposed to keep her attention focused on her camera, to provide an eye line for Hobo, but she found herself turning in astonishment to look at Dr. Marcuse. The Silverback’s eyebrows had climbed high up his forehead, and Dillon, whose specialty, after all, was primate hybridization, had his jaw hanging open. They had never discussed his mixed heritage with Hobo, figuring it would be beyond his comprehension.
Sho turned back to her own monitor—which was showing her the view recorded by the webcam Hobo was now facing. He spread his hands, and then looked at each of them in turn, almost as if visualizing the two halves of himself. Hobo special, he signed. And then, very slowly, very carefully, the signs made with great care, as if he understood how important they were, Hobo choose.
Shoshana felt her heart pounding.
Hobo choose to live here, he said. Friends here.
Hobo got off the stool. Dillon quickly swooped in, popped the webcam off the top of the monitor and followed Hobo as he approached Shoshana. Sho swiveled in her chair to face him, and Hobo continued to close the gap between the two of them. And then Hobo reached out a long, hairy, powerful arm, and he passed it behind Shoshana’s head, and—
Sho heard Marcuse suck in his breath. Shoshana desperately tried not to tense up, as—
As Hobo tugged ever so gently, ever so lovingly, on her ponytail. She broke into a giant grin and opened her arms, and Hobo jumped up into her embrace.
Shoshana spun her chair around, taking her and Hobo through 360 degrees. Dillon had moved over and was now aiming the camera at Hobo from next to Shoshana’s workstation. Hobo good ape, he said once more, looking now at Dillon. And Hobo be good father. He shook his head. Nobody stop Hobo. Hobo choose. Hobo choose to have baby.
Dr. Marcuse was standing off to one side, doubtless doing exactly what Shoshana was doing: imagining how this was going to play on YouTube. He grinned broadly, and said, “The defense rests.”
forty-two
“You’re going to make a great mother someday,” Matt said in a joking tone. They were down in Caitlin’s basement again; Matt had indeed come over after school, and she’d just helped him clean up a glass of Pepsi he’d accidentally spilled. She was beginning to feel like she was under house arrest—even if it was protective custody.
She smiled, setting aside the towel she’d gone to fetch, but—