Jennie (34 page)

We drove on the circle drive around the lake. The leaves were budding on the trees, like a green mist in the branches, and the daffodils along the lake shore were in full bloom. It was a soft, warm day. We stopped at the Lollipop Gardens, a park along the lake where the trees had been trimmed into fanciful shapes. The lake was very still and cold, and the trees and sky were mirrored in its surface, another world trembling on the surface of the lake, darker and more mysterious than our own.

As we walked along the balustrade by the lake, a pair of swans came gliding by, the ripples shattering the reflected images into a confusion of blue and green and black. Jennie was excited to see the swans. She signed
Play, bird play
at them, murmuring and squeaking with interest. The swans ignored us and soon disappeared
around the shore. Jennie was disappointed and signed
Phooey bad bird
.

We continued, each of us holding one of Jennie's hands. Jennie was in high spirits and she shook our hands free to climb up one of the lollipop trees. It was a yew cut into two stacked boxes, and Jennie sat on the top box screaming with joy, clacking her teeth and shaking branches, as if proclaiming her presence to the entire world. “I am here!” she seemed to announce. “I exist!” Her voice echoed across the lake and came back faintly from the far shore, transformed into something distant and sad, like the cries of a lost animal.

For some reason her boisterous happiness depressed my spirits. It occurred to me that this was probably the last time I would walk along this lake with Jennie, and the last time Jennie would see spring in New England. Harold was also subdued. I consoled myself with the thought that Jennie would be far happier in Florida with her own kind than forever imprisoned in the world of human beings.

At one point I turned to Dr. Epstein and said, “Harold, do you think we're doing the right thing?”

He had been so positive about this decision that I expected—and was hoping for—some reassurance, but instead he was silent, looking out over the lake.

“You know, Hugo,” he said, “I don't really know.” He looked to the Kibbencook Hills, blue beyond the water, as if looking for some kind of answer. Then he said quietly, “All I know is, I'm going to miss that chimpanzee.”

We drove back to the house without speaking.

Everything had been carefully planned beforehand. The guests would arrive at noon, and we would be there a half hour later.

As we pulled into the driveway, Jennie was instantly excited by the shining crowd of cars lining both sides of the street all the way
to the corner. I honked a warning that we had arrived. Harold and I walked Jennie around to the backyard, where everyone had lined up to greet her, all sixty of them. When we turned the corner and saw the people, Jennie stopped dead and stared. Everyone shouted in unison, “Happy Easter, Jennie!” and began to cheer.

Jennie was so overwhelmed she did not move. Then she saw Rev. Palliser, and she let out a shriek of joy and ran toward him. He was in a wheelchair and his nurse from the nursing home looked more than a little apprehensive. Jennie hopped into his lap and hugged and kissed him, while the old Reverend sobbed, the tears rolling down his wrinkled face. He knew who she was, in a vague sort of way, and he patted her on the head, saying over and over again, “Good girl, that's my girl. Good girl.”

Everyone crowded around. I had never seen Jennie so happy. Every person she recognized—and many she hadn't seen in a year or two—she hugged and kissed.

At one point Will bellowed out, “You bluidy rude ape, you haven't shook me hand yet!” and Jennie rushed over to get another hug. Finally the excitement was too much and she sat cross-legged on the ground, grinning from ear to ear, while everyone gathered around and applauded.

Dr. Prentiss acted as the master of ceremonies. All the treats had been hidden around the yard—apples, oranges, bunches of grapes, bananas, eggs, papayas, cooked yams and sugar beets, pineapples, pieces of sugarcane—all of Jennie's favorite foods.

She sat Jennie down and signed:
Jennie go Easter egg hunt?

Jennie hopped up and down and whirled about, so excited she could not get a sign out.

Easter egg hunt?
Dr. Prentiss signed again.

Hunt! Hunt!
she signed frantically, and whipped off to the crab apple tree with everyone in hot pursuit. She immediately found a banana, and then began discovering more treasures in the gnarled
roots. With each discovery she gave a short scream or hoot and stored it in the crook of her arm. Soon she was carrying so many fruits that she could barely walk, and with every step fruits would tumble to the ground and she would stop to gather them up, losing more in the process.

It was comical to watch. When she finally could not move with all she was carrying, she sat down and screeched with frustration.

Dr. Prentiss gently signed
I hold food for Jennie. Jennie give me food. I give food to Jennie later
.

After a long moment agonizing over the offer Jennie dropped the armload of fruit and continued her search, bringing each armful back to the growing pile. Everyone had a marvelous time trailing after Jennie and giving her hints as to where things were hidden.

When the hunt was over Jennie sat at her pile and began to eat, stuffing the fruits into her mouth, with the juice dribbling down her chin. When she ate fruits like oranges she often spat out the fruit pulp, a practice we had tried to discourage. Soon the ground around her was littered with wads and boluses of chewed fruit, but this was Jennie's day and we were determined not to discipline her.

While the barbecue was cooking Jennie took turns playing tickle-chase with various people, and soon almost everyone had joined in the chase. I brought out my movie camera and filmed Jennie having the time of her life.

When the party was over, I had everyone line up and wave good-bye and blow kisses, while Jennie waved back. As people left, Jennie stood at the front door and shook their hands or kissed and hugged them. I was surprised to see just how many people became emotional and even wept as they said good-bye; Jennie had touched many lives.

Harold, Dr. Prentiss, and I had discussed for some time how best to bring Jennie to Florida. We ruled out the car, because the drive was over twenty-four hours and would be exhausting to us and
Jennie. A commercial plane was out of the question, since airline regulations required Jennie to be in a crate in the cargo hold. We did not want Jennie to arrive at her new home traumatized.

We decided to charter a light plane, a six-seater Beechcraft. Jennie, we regretfully decided, would have to be sedated for the journey; in a small plane, a rambunctious chimpanzee could be dangerous. The flight was scheduled for that Wednesday. Dr. Prentiss, Lea, and I would accompany Jennie to Florida and see her settled in her new home.

On Wednesday morning we arose at five o'clock. Jennie was grumpy, having been woken up much earlier than was her wont. We brought along her favorite blanket, a thick cashmere throw, much chewed and threadbare, which had been a wedding present from an old college roommate of mine. We also brought a duffel bag packed with her clothes and favorite toys.

We had worried about what Jennie might make of these preparations, but she was too sleepy and grumpy to pay them much mind. As soon as we were in the car she wrapped herself in the blanket and fell asleep.

We arrived at Nobleboro Field just as the sun broke through the ground mist. We were the only people there. Frost lay on the tarmac and the sky was a flawless ultraviolet. The pilot taxied to the runway, and we wrestled Jennie's duffel bag of toys into the cargo bay and climbed aboard. Jennie became quite alert when she saw that we were getting into a plane. Dr. Prentiss signed
Jennie fly?
and Jennie gave a low hoot and signed
Fly
back.

We got Jennie buckled into her seat. Dr. Prentiss took out a syringe and needle and administered an injection of Sernalin, a mild sedative, in her right arm. Jennie had always been cooperative about shots and this was no exception. As soon as she fell asleep the pilot revved up the engines and took off. He banked away from the sun and we flew right over Kibbencook, over our house, over the golf course and the meandering brook. The Kibbenbook Episcopal Church spire threw a long, blue shadow across the town square,
and then the town was gone, and we were droning over the endless inner suburbs of Boston, jammed with traffic. The town had looked so peaceful, and I wondered if Jennie would ever again see that small, unimportant place on the earth, her world.

Dr. Prentiss and I took turns sitting near Jennie, ready with another dose of sedative in case she should wake up. Lea sat in the front. We were worried that Jennie might take fright at her surroundings, but she slept through the entire five-hour flight.

George Gabriel met us at the airport in his Jeep, and during the ride to the Tahachee center Jennie finally roused herself. She was groggy and irritated at first and gave a short scream of anxiety when she saw we were traveling. Lea soothed her and stroked her forehead, and she calmed down.

We had discussed in almost endless detail the best way for Lea and I to help Jennie make the transition to her new life. Dr. Prentiss, Dr. Gabriel, and I felt a quick departure would be better than a long good-bye, but Lea objected. She wanted to stay and make sure Jennie had begun adjusting to her new surroundings before we left. She also wanted to see how Jennie was going to react to meeting other chimpanzees. We decided to stay for two days, during which we would be with Jennie at the center, play with her, and allow her free run of the place.

We drove down a long, dilapidated road. The palmettos gave way and we passed through the center's rusted iron gates into a large expanse of green lawn sprinkled with buildings. Like the Barnum property, it had once been an estate, and it retained a parklike feeling. The main house, a stuccoed Spanish hacienda, had been converted to offices and living quarters. A long barn housed the chimpanzee cages, each with an outdoor run. The caretaker's and gardener's cottages had been converted to bungalows for visiting researchers, and we stayed in one of those with Jennie.

The first, and most critical, part of Jennie's adjustment would be her meeting other chimpanzees. We planned to introduce her to a small chimpanzee named Fred, a former Barnum colony animal.
Fred was very gentle and the lowest-ranking male in the chimpanzee hierarchy. As she learned to trust Fred, then she would be introduced to the others. When Dr. Gabriel felt assured there would be no conflicts, she would be released on the island to begin her new life.

We could not avoid putting Jennie in a cage when we left, because we all knew she was going to have a difficult time seeing us go. She had never, during her entire life, been separated from all the family members at once. How long she would take to calm down we did not know. In the meantime, Fred would inhabit the cage next to hers, and we expected they would soon become friends.

We spent the first night with Jennie in the bungalow. She was alert and excited, and a little apprehensive. Nothing like this had happened to her, and she did not quite know what to make of it. During the night she was restless, and around midnight wandered into our bedroom and snuggled under the covers between us. The next morning we ate breakfast with her at the main house and walked over the grounds. At noon, it was time for Jennie to meet her first live chimpanzee.

Fred was in a cage, where he would be safe should Jennie take a dislike to him. We brought Jennie around to the back of the complex, where the cages had outdoor runs. We were walking along, each holding one of Jennie's hands, when we rounded the corner and Jennie saw Fred.

She stopped and froze. Instantly all the hair on her body was standing on end. Fred glanced at her and continued with his business, sucking on a banana peel, not terribly interested.

But Jennie
was
interested. I heard a sound rumble up from deep in her throat, a sound I had never heard before. It was almost a growl, such as one might hear from an angry tomcat. Then she slowly backed up and went behind Lea's legs and crouched down, gripping her legs, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

We sat down about ten yards from the cage. Jennie was, I believe, terrified of Fred, and continued to hide behind our backs, sometimes peeping around the side to take a surreptitious look. We tried grooming Jennie—which usually soothed her—but she shook us off. She ignored the banana we offered her. All she did was stare at Fred and growl.

I pointed to Fred and signed
What's that?

She stared for a long time and then signed, slowly and clumsily
Black bug, black bug
. We sat there for a good part of three hours without any visible change of behavior. Jennie had received a deep shock to her psyche.

After seeing Fred, Jennie's behavior changed dramatically. Wherever we went in the compound she was quiet and alert. When we tried to play with her on the lawn she pushed us away and sat down, looking all about her, as if afraid Fred would suddenly materialize from behind the palm trees. At the squawk of a bird or the rustle of wind she was up and looking about, her hair bristling, issuing a soft
“Wraaaa”
bark. She completely lost her appetite.

Dr. Gabriel reassured us that Jennie's reaction was not unusual. He said that chimpanzees are suspicious of each other when they first meet, even if they are used to being with their own kind. The main point, he felt, was to give the relationship time and not push it. Jennie would set her own schedule, and when she was ready to meet Fred on friendly terms she would. When we left, he would put Jennie in a cage next to Fred and let them get used to each other over a week or two.

Lea was uneasy about putting Jennie in a cage, but Dr. Gabriel explained that there was no alternative. The cage was huge—almost as big as a small house, with both outdoor and indoor facilities. Jennie would have all her toys and lots of good food. Dr. Gabriel and the staff would visit and play with her every day. With Fred in the adjoining cage, the two chimps could have continuous contact with each other without danger. He expected a quick adjustment.