A Beautiful Truth Read online

  Looee walked up the stairs.

  Tell me about James, now. What’s next.

  Looee walked up the stairs thinking this one’s mine, and this one, I know this one makes noise.

  He looked for a surprise in his room.

  The following year, summer settled early. Cottonwood seeds had blown from the banks of the stream at the end of the Ribkes’ land. Maple, beech, white oak and elm, everything was rooting deep and surging beyond this world of English and taxonomy.

  Walt sat on the porch, late afternoon, Looee sat way up high in the oak just there. The feeling of warmth and promise on Looee’s face, kind needles on lips and cheeks, was identical to that on Walt’s. And while Walt was saying nothing, Looee was saying it all in a medley of heart-deep hoots and ultramontane trumpets, sounds never heard in the forests of Vermont. Millennia ago they had never seen a naked ape nor centuries ago a Frenchman.

  Looee’s shouts of victory made Walt think of summer, peaches in the mouth and almost-kisses, howling with his friends in the forest. He felt his arm outside the window of the car, pleasure in the moments when he knew he was stronger and smarter than some. He and Looee felt all of it the same, and none of it by name. Judy came out on the porch with a Coke for Walt and said sounds like someone’s enjoying the weather.

  Mm.

  I should water those fuchsias she said.

  I should kiss your lips.

  If I sit on your lap do you promise to be good.

  No.

  Good.

  Smack smack.

  I’m getting heavy she said.

  The more you push on me the closer you are to my heart.

  Walt said all the right things.

  Judy looked down at her thickening ankles and silently blamed the heat. Did you read about the mayor in Burlington she said.

  No.

  Had an affair with a young woman.

  Did he.

  It was in the paper she said.

  Well Walt said.

  Looee saw Judy from up in his distant tree and hooted.

  Judy said I guess just because he wears a sash and necklace doesn’t mean he’s not a man.

  Walt was in the middle of summer. He reached up and took her by the chin and turned her face so she could watch him say I don’t know how you keep surprising me, but I’ll tell you this: you keep surprising me.

  It was Looee’s first summer that he could take to the next summer—his first real season of memory. He could look down at Judy from his tree and choose not to run to her, knowing now that he could do so later. And later he could sit on the porch and clean Walt, suck the salt out of his jean cuffs and think back to being in the tree. Memories were blue and yellow sheets hanging from the line (don’t pull those down please Looee): fixed but restless colours blowing soft across his face. Memories made him pound on the porch, wanting to make more. He wanted to roll through all those flowers.

  Looee found Walt’s spare key to the front door one night that summer and ran away.

  He was afraid of the stream so he ran through the woods to the Wileys’, the neighbours on that side. It was dark in the woods and he wanted to see another house. He ran through the woods in his pyjamas.

  No lights were on in the house, and the front door was open because the only people who locked their doors in that valley were the ones who housed chimpanzees. The hall smelled like bread and Looee was scared and excited. He found their kitchen in the dark.

  There were no locks on the fridge like at home.

  Looee’s food grunts alone would have been enough to waken the Wileys upstairs but they had been stupefied by chicken and brandy and were lost in nonsense dreams of things less likely than a chimpanzee at their fridge.

  Looee sniffed the leftover chicken, licked it and put it back. He dropped a jar of Mrs. Wiley’s pickles and liked the way they spilled. He put one in his mouth and it tasted like the bitter insides of Walt and Judy’s ears. He screamed and spat it out.

  He ate carrots, a jar of jam, half a bottle of cream, some raw eggs that he mopped off the floor with Mrs. Wiley’s raisin loaf. He opened a can of beer with his teeth and almost liked it, opened another and liked it more.

  He heard a noise upstairs and remembered he wasn’t at home. He had seen the Wileys a few times and they were very tall and grey and he had never been close enough to touch them. He thought about going upstairs to see if they wanted to play.

  He heard the howling of a dog outside and got frightened. He wanted to go to bed and thought maybe the Wileys have a bed for Looee.

  He knew exactly how to get home.

  He held a can of beer and an egg in his lips, held another can of beer in his hand, and walked on threes through the front door, closing it gently, Looee, gently.

  He wanted to walk farther that night but his cargo of eggs and beer prevented him. Murphy barked once when he saw Looee come through the door at home and Looee dropped the egg from his lips and it broke on the floor by the stairs. Murphy lapped it up and Looee was sad, angry and jealous. He made noises he wasn’t aware of, but Walt and Judy heard nothing. He forgot to lock the door behind him.

  In his room he hid the beers under the bed so Judy couldn’t have them.

  The next morning, Judy was perplexed by the eggshells at the foot of the stairs. Murphy held his head low when she was sweeping them up, so he must have been somehow responsible. Looee was sleeping in, which was nice. She noticed they had forgotten to lock the door last night, but she knew that Looee was in his room.

  When she checked on him later there were food stains on his pyjamas. Where’d you get those from she said. Looee gave her lots of kisses on her neck, which he didn’t always do first thing in the morning. She loved it.

  That night Judy made sure she locked the door, and Looee used Walt’s key again and went out into the warm darkness.

  Tonight he knew clearly that he was going to the Wileys’ fridge, and the now known goal made the journey more fraught and rich. He noticed sounds he hadn’t heard the night before.

  In the woods at night he could see no farther than a boy could. Two white-tailed deer had seen his blue pyjamas coming long before he might have seen them run. Looee’s nose wasn’t sensitive enough to smell their timid spoor, his hands and feet were dull and dumb compared to those of the raccoons that mapped those woods with constant touching and probes. He heard sounds in the dark, and throughout the state and country was a generation of people either supporting or reviling the superstitions of others. The sounds in the dark made Looee think of the drain in the upstairs bathroom, the drain that made him scream for reasons Walt and Judy could never understand. Looee feared that if he didn’t move quickly he would be swallowed by a drain.

  There are leopards in the memory of every ape, leopards we’ve never seen. Some look like dragons and some look like drains.

  Mr. Wiley was sitting on his porch in the dark with his shotgun across his lap. Last night his kitchen was taken apart by a bear or some hippie desperate for beer.

  Looee came to the outer edge of the woods with the mind of a four-year-old boy, the coordination and strength of an eighteen-year-old, a throat, tongue and teeth that could never form consonants, and even if he was able to speak he could never tell those deer how deep those woods can look in daylight. And the deer could never tell Judy that the soft blue pyjamas she bought her boy were actually fierce and electric and the world was a long horizon of threats.

  Mr. Wiley will kill that bear or hippie.

  He’s not too old to get angry.

  He was staring at the distant road thinking if it’s a man he’ll come from there. He figured if it had been a bear that came into the kitchen, why would it have taken the beer and not the chicken. And what kind of a bear opens and closes the front door without leaving a scratchmark or two. What kind of a man would come into the home he bought for his retirement and not respect the fact that he would offer food to anyone in need.

  He didn’t want to kill someone, but he’ll shoot. He wil
l stand tall and fire.

  Looee came out of the woods unfrightened, thinking there are no locks on that fridge. He walked across the lawn.

  Mr. Wiley saw a bear coming out of the woods wearing a grey garment. He had enough time to think that he might be getting cataracts again and of course the bear isn’t clothed; enough time to think that’s a smallish bear and mother won’t be far behind.

  A bear, he could shoot without regret.

  He stood taller and Looee saw him.

  Jesus Christ what is that.

  Mr. Wiley thought he was looking at a nightmare, a perverted little outcast, half-bear, half-man, and he was hot with pity and terror.

  He aimed squarely at Looee.

  Peace is a result of curiosity, when one ape wonders about another.

  Mr. Wiley got down on his knees and said Christ it’s the neighbour’s little gorilla.

  He wished his wife were awake.

  Looee kissed his hand and put his arm around his waist and tried to get him moving towards the fridge. And Mr. Wiley had no idea what to do.

  So how do I … You’re wearing some pyjamas on yourself.

  Looee was making his I like you I’m excited noises and stayed still for a moment while he pissed in his pyjamas, calmed by what we would call the kind and curious shyness about the eyes of Mr. Wiley.

  And now he would get what he wanted.

  He urged Mr. Wiley towards the door with his hand on his lower back.

  Okay okay.

  Mr. Wiley felt as though an excited friend was saying I want to show you something. He opened the door and Looee took his hand and pulled him towards the fridge. Mr. Wiley couldn’t help but smile and think that really is a hand.

  Looee was grunting and making excited noises.

  I guess you know the place pretty well.

  He watched Looee look for things in the fridge. Whenever he wanted something he looked up at Mr. Wiley as though he were asking.

  You want the sour cream. Go ahead. I like it on baked potatoes, but you’ll. Yeah. You’d need a baked potato with that to like it.

  Looee grabbed a beer and Mr. Wiley said how old are you and reached for one himself.

  Looee pulled on Mr. Wiley’s belt and persuaded him to sit on the floor.

  That creature is neither wild nor owned, he said to his wife the next day.

  That beer is for sipping now, sip it. Sip it.

  He had driven past Walt and Judy often and seen their little pet, but now that he was sitting across from him he was thinking that right there is not a pet. He was feeling just the right mixture of fear, curiosity and confusion required to make meeting a stranger memorable. I want to get to know that little fella more than I ever wanted to know a cat or even my brother-in-law James.

  He watched Looee get restless, and when he settled again Mr. Wiley touched himself on the chest and said Joseph.

  Joseph.

  Looee stared.

  Looee and the Wileys became good friends. Their fridge was a memory that stayed with him.

  When Walt and Judy were awakened in the middle of the night and found Mr. Wiley on the porch with Looee they were angry and embarrassed. Looee was very affectionate with Judy.

  They found the spare key in his diaper.

  He can come over any time said Mr. Wiley. Just maybe not alone and not in the middle of the night.

  Only Looee and Mr. Wiley knew what it was like to walk through those woods hand in hand.

  He’s a nice … it’s an … he’s an unusual situation, was all Mr. Wiley could offer.

  Judy felt the urge to close the door on the outside world.

  Walt was just plain mad.

  Goddamnit Looee, you can’t walk out like that.

  To Judy, in bed, he said we’ve got to make him understand.

  They both felt surprisingly betrayed—that he would want to run away, that he would be curious about another home, that he always hid things from them.

  He’s always wanting what other people have said Walt.

  He’s only little said Judy.

  He’s gotta learn.

  I agree.

  Daylight offered some clarity.

  I’m gonna think about what to do said Walt.

  He went out that day to buy the same tractor Larry had bought last month. It was better on gas and was blue, kind of handsome and unusual.

  nine

  Please be my friend Podo.

  Please come down Dr. David.

  Please machine make movie.

  Money name-of that.

  Dog name-of that.

  You have that. Ghoul has this.

  Money buys dogs.

  Money buys friends.

  Yellow colour-of dog.

  Money is bowing without bowing.

  Podo watches Jonathan stand and sees his pink needle. Mouths are wet and chests are aching. Podo is alert to the wants of others today. Fifi feels good on his lap. A wind creamed with birds and clouds blows over the belly of Fifi and she is heavily fond of everyone.

  Fifi is pink, and men delay their breakfast.

  Burke is confused and needs to be alone.

  They left their bedrooms this morning and Fifi was the last to leave and when they were out in the World they saw why: rosé behind her as large as a goon, splendid as a picnic of plums and cherries and soft as a person’s neck. Podo was the first to run to her but she did not fall forward right away. He touched her rosé with his finger, put his eyes close to her heat, and when she sat he felt the breathless give-and-take of being protector and abuser together.

  They rested in the shade while the others grew to realize that this would be a day of permissions, of careful walking and making up tasks that kept them away from Podo.

  Fifi lay on her side and Podo sat with his hip to her back and they contemplated the sky (pink), the flowers (pink), the sun soaking trees, and the heat from skin to ground to skin, limpening hair and engorging everything else.

  Podo made a noise. Fifi looked at him. Podo opened his legs and flicked his wakening cock. Here. Fifi made a noise that was appealing. She rolled and leaned forward, pushed her rosé up to the sky and felt the counter-push that balanced the world and the quick hard dance of very serious laughter.

  Magda’s back was turned and she sat in different shade.

  Mr. Ghoul sat close to Mama, thinking thoughts that were like the movies of fish, so quick and incomprehensible.

  And if the growth of every seed and leaf, every pump of hungry wing, could be amplified to sound the unremembering surge of life, it would find its equal orchestra in the core of Jonathan’s body as he squeezed his erection between his legs and wondered what to do. He had seen her rosé as she painted a line from her bedroom. He could taste her smell and could eat no fruit and he rested his chin on the ground.

  No good would come from whimpering or complaining but the whimpering came nonetheless. He put his hand across his mouth to hide his smile of fear. He walks away and sits. He lies down and tries to rest but all he can think of is Podo’s broad back between him and what he wants. He thinks about ways to please Podo, things to offer his great black protector to secure his benediction and pin fat Fifi with impunity.

  He barks without thinking, hoots before he thinks of why he barked, and is suddenly aware that he is making a great noise. Podo turns, Magda gets up to join Jonathan, movement is created. Nothing comes of it, except a small good feeling.

  He thinks again of Fifi. He thinks of her bent over, her plump and muscled flower.

  He lies down again.

  Jonathan will never get what he wants unless Podo wants to let him.

  He stands and looks at Magda.

  Jonathan is looming, stubborn black cloud, bedoulerek radish pointing hot and urgent from under his belly.

  Magda runs away and Podo watches.

  Mr. Ghoul walks to Podo, a supplicant. He holds out his hand, which Podo touches. Mr. Ghoul grooms Podo and they are both now aware that Mr. Ghoul, at some point, might stick it to F
ifi but probably not today.

  Mr. Ghoul knows that the new one has a mother. Mama.

  Mother.

  When Mama came out from the Hard she had an eety little new one and she fed her from her chest. So did Magda, and Fifi fed Burke from the bottle.

  When Mr. Ghoul looked at the new one he felt new confusions.

  Mama feeds the new one.

  She rides Mama’s back through the World.

  Mr. Ghoul had a mother named Dave.

  Mr. Ghoul and Mama learned the people’s culture for longer than some of the others.

  Be nice.

  Don’t bite.

  What’s the name of this. Look at me. What’s the name of this.

  You can’t always have what is yours.

  There were sticks and electric sticks and the short woman Mary with thunder in her mouth. Mary taught them signs with their hands and when Mr. Ghoul or Mama wasn’t interested she would slap you in the snut or grab you hard under the mouth to make you look at what she was saying. Always moving her sharp bald hands.

  They wanted Mama and Mr. Ghoul to talk to each other with their hands. They only did it sometimes when Mary was around so she wouldn’t hit them.

  Then Mary disappeared, like Orang and the others.

  Dave liked the dirty machine, and Ghoul liked Dave.

  They made the Hardest bigger and brought new toys and paints and Mama made paintings and Ghoul liked watching her make them.

  Dave taught them colours, and colours were the way you could describe the pictures that can’t be pictured.

  Mama liked red.

  Dave would talk through the machine and hold up the fire truck.

  ? Mama what colour-of fire truck.

  Red colour-of that.

  ? Mama what colour-of lipstick.

  Red.

  And then Dave held up one of their favourite things, the whistle. Dave could put the whistle to his mouth and fling a twirl into the air that made your ears and hair and back stand up and look for what no one could see. And Ghoul knew the whistle was black.

  ? Mama what colour-of whistle.

  Red.

  ? Mama what colour-of whistle.

  Red colour-of that.

  No.

  Dave held up a black pen.

  ? Mama what colour-of pen.