Half Brother

  “There’s no purpose to this discussion. Zan cannot come back here to live with us.”

  I looked at Mom. “Do you know how much they paid for him?”

  “I really don’t, sweetie.”

  I said, “I’ve got money. All that money you paid me.” “That wouldn’t be enough,” Dad said. “So you do know how much he cost.” “Thousands, Ben.”

  I tried to do the math quickly, but couldn’t. “Okay. If you never paid me allowance again, would that be enough?” “Ben …” Mom began sadly.

  “The only real issue here,” Dad said, “is that Zan is not coming back. Where would we put him? He can’t sleep in a normal house any more. We’d need to build cages, concrete walls. Even if I had all the money in the world I wouldn’t do it. It’d turn our home into a prison—and we still wouldn’t have the space or staff Helson does. Zan’s better off there.”

  “We could buy the field behind the house.”

  Dad looked at me carefully. “Ben, I’m concerned about you. I really don’t think it’s healthy to dwell on this.”

  “No, it’s healthier to forget, isn’t it? Just make people disappear.”

  And I walked off.

  That night Mom cried. A lot.

  I set my alarm for six so I could call Peter before Mom and Dad were awake. I went downstairs and took the living room phone on its long cord into the laundry room, and closed the door. Peter was an hour ahead and I knew he liked to get up early.

  “How’s Zan?” I asked right away.

  “He’s doing all right,” Peter said. “Yeah. Helson’s decided he wants me to work with him and this other family.”

  I didn’t understand. “You mean to live with them?”

  “No, no, just in the mornings. I take him over and he spends an hour with them. I’m like the babysitter and teacher and interpreter.”

  My jealousy was instant. Zan had another home, another family?

  “Do they have kids?”

  “No. That’s the point, sort of. They’re, um, well, the man and woman are both in psychotherapy and they’re having problems with their marriage and Helson wants to find out the effect Zan has on them. This couple lost their own son nine months ago, so Helson wants to see if Zan helps them grieve.”

  I didn’t care about them and their dead son. I hated them, having Zan in their house when he should have been in mine. “Are they nice to him?”

  “Mostly. Zan seems to like it. I mean, he likes being in a house again. He likes the chairs and carpets and beds, and he gets to drink from cups. Anyway, that’s a little side project of Helson’s. In the afternoon I take Zan back to the ranch and work with his signing. And I’m slowly introducing him to Igor and Caliban so I can see if they’ll sign together.

  “Does he seem happy?”

  “He’s doing okay, Ben, really.”

  “Has Zeus hurt him? Or Sheba?”

  “No. They keep them apart. But he and Rachel are really close.”

  “That’s good.” He had a mother, sort of.

  “And how are you doing, my man?” Peter asked me.

  “Dad wants me to see a therapist.”

  “What?” Peter exclaimed.

  “He doesn’t think I’m dealing with things well. He thinks I’m too angry.”

  “Don’t go, man,” said Peter. “That’s all crap.” “Mom wants me to go too.”

  “They should be going, not you. Anyway, these therapists, what do they know? They’ll fit you into some diagnosis and put you on pills. Happened to my cousin. Used to be energetic and creative and now he just sits in a chair, watching TV with the sound turned down.”

  I chuckled. “Really?”

  Peter laughed. “No. But you’re fine,” he said to me. “You don’t need a therapist. Your heart is normal. You’re entitled to be as angry as you want.”

  I wasn’t sure it was good advice, but I loved him for giving it to me.

  I rode my bike around a lot, just to empty out my head. Sometimes bits of things would circle around. Just words. Sometimes Zan’s words.

  Go. Go, go. Hurry.

  There dog. Go dog.

  Tree. Apple tree.

  Water. Dirty. No drink.

  Look. Listen.

  Birds.

  Birds eat. Eat birds eat. Listen birds.

  When I rode, I was kind of hoping I’d run into Tim Borden and Mike and their gang. I wanted to see how deep my anger was, how hot it would burn if Mike provoked me. I wanted to display. I wanted to hit. Toes. Fingers. Face. Scrotum.

  All I cared about was the end of the year, so I could go down to visit Zan.

  I dreamed about him all the time.

  In my dreams I carried him everywhere. He wanted to be held, so I held him. I didn’t put him down once. We walked and walked, and when I sat, he sat on my lap, and we signed and I read to him and showed him pictures from his favourite books. Sometimes we just listened to the sounds the world was making.

  “How long is this appointment?” I asked. “About an hour,” the therapist said.

  He was a colleague of my father’s, so I already thought he was a jerk-off, even if he did have friendly eyes. I’d promised Mom I’d go. But I’d only made the promise so I could piss off Dad.

  I took a magazine from my knapsack and started reading. I wasn’t really reading. I was just looking at the pictures and turning the pages every once in a while.

  “Ben?” said Dr. Stanwick.

  I looked up. “Yeah?”

  “Do you want to talk?”

  “Not really.”

  “Do you want to be here?” I shook my head. “Why not?”

  “Because it was my father’s idea. He thinks I’m having problems because I miss Zan and want him back. I think most people would be upset if they saw their brother locked up in a cage.”

  “You see Zan as your brother?” Dr. Stanwick asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Did you consider him human?”

  I sighed. “He’s a chimp. But I still loved him. Dad didn’t.” I shrugged. “He didn’t even want me. He wanted rats.”

  “Do you feel he cares more about his work than you?”

  “Is this how it’s going to be?” I said. I didn’t like being rude to him, because he seemed like a nice guy.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You asking me questions and me answering so you can write a report for my father.”

  “I’m here to see if I can help you, Ben.”

  “You can’t help me,” I said. I felt the anger coursing through me again.

  Dr. Stanwick said, “If you’d prefer, you can just talk and I’ll listen. Whatever you want to talk about, that’s fine.”

  “I can save you some time,” I said. “Because I know my father’ll want to know what we talked about. Tell him I hate him.”

  The therapist said nothing, just watched me.

  “Tell him, ‘Screw you, screw you, and screw you.’” I wiped my nose. I was crying. “You can write that down,” I said, pointing at his pad. “Write it down and you can do a graph or something.”

  On the weekend, I helped Mom do the grocery shopping at the Cordova Plaza. As we passed the pet shop she stopped to admire a puppy in the window.

  “Check out this guy. He is so cute,” Mom said. “I had a cocker spaniel when I was young.”

  “I don’t want a dog, Mom,” I said.

  “Who said anything about getting a dog?” she replied with a shrug.

  It was nice of her to try; she wanted to distract me, make me feel better.

  “We’re still going to visit Zan once school gets out, right?” I asked her.

  “Absolutely. A road trip to Nevada. It’ll be a blast.”

  “Will Dad come?’

  “Just you and me, I think.”

  That suited me fine.

  “Do your parents know we talk so much?” Peter asked a couple of weeks later.

  “No.”

  “They will when they get the phone bill.” ?
??I’ll worry about that later,” I said. “How’s he doing? How’s he getting along with this new family?” “Well, they decided to stop seeing him.” “What happened?” I asked, worried. “Helson’s calling it a therapeutic triumph. The couple were able to grieve properly over their son, they learned more about themselves, and now they’ve decided to get divorced.”

  “Wow. That’s a triumph?”

  “Helson was pretty excited.”

  I twisted the phone cord round and round my wrist. “So is this what he’s going to keep doing with Zan—loan him out like a teddy bear?”

  There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. “I don’t think the couple liked Zan. He tormented their cat.”

  I couldn’t help smiling.

  “I mean, Zan loved the cat,” said Peter. “It’s just that he tended to stroke it and hug it kind of hard. Also, he bit the woman.”

  “Badly?”

  “Three stitches, antibiotics, nothing on what he did to Ryan.”

  Part of me was glad. Zan was mine, ours, and I didn’t like sharing him. I also didn’t think it was good, introducing him to all these new people and then just taking him away—and I told Peter so.

  “I agree,” he said. “He seems a bit down now that it’s over. He likes living like a human. He misses it. But it might be for the best.”

  “How?”

  “Well, now he can really try to fit in here, and I’m having some success. I had him and Igor in the same cage for an hour or so.”

  “And?”

  “They just ignored each other. But they didn’t fight!”

  “That’s good!”

  “It’s progress. I take him out every day to the field, and we talk and play. And he’s still learning signs. He knows harmonica now.”

  “Harmonica?”

  “He loves the thing. Loves listening to it, loves playing it.” We talked a bit more about what was going on up here, and he actually told me to do my best at school, which I didn’t like.

  “You’re a smart kid, Ben.” “I’m not smart.” “You are. Don’t waste it, man.” I wished I could believe him.

  “I wanted to tell you something about your dad,” Mom said.

  I was half asleep when she came in and sat at the edge of my bed. It was a Saturday night, and Dad was away in Vancouver at a conference.

  “Why?” I mumbled.

  Mom’s breath smelled strongly of wine, and I wondered if she was a little drunk.

  “I just thought it might help.”

  I’d seen the therapist three times now. I kind of liked it. I’m not sure if it was helping me, but it felt good to talk, and he didn’t seem to mind what I said, or how angry I got, or if I swore or cried. I wondered if Dr. Stanwick called my dad after every session and made a report. I didn’t care.

  Mom said, “He was the first to hold you when you were born. I was wiped. I was shaking so hard I was afraid I’d drop you. So the nurse got you all wrapped up and passed you to Dad and he got to be the first. He said you were totally awake. Your eyes were completely focused on him, on his eyes. He held you like that for a long time, and you just looked at each other and he said your name over and over again. He loved that.”

  I turned my face to the wall. “Dad never told me that story.” “Well, it’s not the kind of thing Dad talks about.” I snorted.

  “Your dad’s a very … controlled person,” Mom said. “He keeps it in. He doesn’t show what he feels very well. Or often enough. I think the way he was brought up …” She hesitated. “There wasn’t much money, which isn’t the end of the world, but I’m not sure he got enough love either. Your dad grew up very self-sufficient. He wanted to do well, and he did. His work means a lot to him. Too much maybe.”

  I didn’t know what to say for a while. I wasn’t quite sure what Mom wanted.

  “So I’m supposed to forgive him now?” I asked. “Because he had a crappy childhood, and he loved me for ten minutes when I was a baby?”

  “He loves you now, Ben, and you know it.”

  I didn’t know if I believed her.

  “I’m a slow learner,” I said. “Just ask Dad.”

  At the end of May the school held the last dance of the year. I didn’t know why, but I went.

  I slow danced a lot with Shannon. Maybe she felt sorry for me. Maybe she honestly liked me. With her arms around my neck, she pressed herself close, and I could feel her breasts. I felt myself stiffen between my legs.

  “You want to go upstairs?” I asked, surprising myself.

  She nodded.

  In the darkness, Jennifer was already up there with Hugh, necking. I made sure to shove against her knees as I passed with Shannon, made sure she looked up and saw us.

  Shannon and I found a place in the shadows and kissed. I was hungry and thirsty for her mouth and tongue and I could tell she liked it too, and pretty soon our hands were on each other, necks and cheeks and shirts, and a terrible thought came into my head.

  I thought: She likes me so much, I could control her. I could make her do anything I want.

  For a crazy moment I thought I was going to cry, because I knew you couldn’t really control anyone or anything. You couldn’t make people like you or love you, no matter how hard you tried to please them, no matter how much you wanted it. And sometimes, the people who did love you got taken away, and there was nothing you could do about that either.

  But I forced these thoughts away and kept kissing and touching her until we were parched and breathless and a teacher came up to clear us all out of the gallery.

  June was beautiful. In Toronto it always went from winter to summer in about two weeks, but here in Victoria the spring started in February and went into May and everything was all green and flowery and smelled good.

  Just two more weeks of school and then Mom and I would be driving down to visit Zan.

  One night at dinner Dad said, a bit gruffly, “There’s no way Helson would’ve allowed this visit if it weren’t for your mom.”

  “Because of her research?” I said. I knew she wanted more information about how Zan was adjusting to the chimp colony, after being cross-fostered with humans.

  “Let’s just say he likes your mother’s company,” Dad said.

  There was a twisted edge to his voice that I wasn’t used to hearing. I said nothing, just looked from Dad to Mom.

  Mom seemed surprised. “I can’t see Jack Helson caring for anyone’s company but his own, frankly.”

  “He flirts with you,” Dad said. “He has a reputation.”

  I remembered now the way Jack Helson kept looking at Mom.

  Mom shrugged. “Well, he holds no attraction for me, I can tell you. I’m going so I can see Zan.” She almost smiled. “You’re not jealous, are you, Richard?”

  Dad ignored her and turned to me. “Ben, I’d like you to stop calling Peter so much. It’s expensive.”

  He must’ve gotten the phone bill. “But it’s the only way I know what’s happening with Zan.”

  “It’s useful to me too,” said Mom, “hearing how he’s fitting in.”

  Dad said, “You’ve been calling him three times a week. Once is enough, okay?” “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

  I called Peter the next morning, early as usual.

  “He’s been having a bit of a bad patch, Ben. I’m not going to lie to you.”

  Zan and Rachel were still getting along, and they shared a cage at night, but apart from her, the other chimps weren’t accepting him. Part of it was Zan. He didn’t want to fit in. He liked spending time with Peter outside the chimp house, but that was about it.

  “But you said last time he was making progress,” I said, confused.

  “Sometimes there’s a kind of delayed thing,” said Peter. “Helson says he’s seen it before. They’re okay for the first little while, then they freak out. Maybe we were delaying it with Helson’s human therapy experiment. I thought it was a stupid idea myself, but he’s technically my thesis supervisor, so I can’t really say n
o to him. Anyway, Zan’s gotten kind of … antisocial.”

  “What do you mean exactly?”

  “He doesn’t seem to enjoy much,” said Peter. “He’s not eating so well. He pulls out the hair on his arms a bit.” I swallowed. “Why would he do that?”

  “Helson said it’s common. It’s a trauma reaction. It passes. He, um, also rocks by himself sometimes.”

  I remembered that film I’d seen last year, that tiny chimp in a tiny cage, hugging himself and rocking and rocking, desperate for any kind of contact and comfort. The rip in my chest started opening up again.

  “What about Rachel? Doesn’t she hug him?”

  “Yeah, when Zan lets her, but sometimes he just wants to be alone.”

  “He misses us,” I said.

  “I’m there with him every day, Ben. I’m taking flak from Helson because I’m carrying Zan around everywhere and feeding him by hand. He just wants to toss Zan into a cage with the other adolescents and be done with it.”

  “What would happen?” I asked, horrified.

  “They’d fight, they’d scream, but then Zan would finally realize he’s a chimp and get on with his life. That’s Helson’s theory. Not a big fan of babying.”

  “We’ll be down in two weeks,” I said.

  “I know. Helson’s pissed off, though. He thinks you’ll just set him back.”

  I didn’t care about Helson. I needed to see Zan, but it killed me to think my presence might hurt him more.

  I fought to keep my voice steady. “Do you think I shouldn’t come?” I asked.

  “You come,” he said. “You need to see him.”

  “Does Zan need to see me?”

  “I can’t think of anything in the world that would make him happier,” said Peter.

  Before falling asleep that night, I worried about Zan, and when I woke up, I worried about him some more.

  I crashed and burned on my final exams. I had hardly opened the books. I’d told Mom and Dad I was studying, but I wasn’t.

  Report cards came two days before Mom and I were to leave for Nevada.

  Dad said, “Your marks can’t be very pleasing to you, Ben.”

  I took a deep breath. “The data is correct, Dr. Tomlin. I am unexceptional. Project Ben was a failure. But don’t worry. I’m sure there’s somewhere you can send me.”