"Now if you'll come over this way, I have someone that I'd like you all to meet..."

      Professor Miller entered the home stretch of his laboratory tour. It was Friday, and his last tour of orientation week. Normally the professor left such chores as guiding prospective majors through the labs to one of his graduate students, but this year some perverse impulse had persuaded him that it would be fun to talk to the young hopefuls personally, and he had volunteered. It wasn't likely to happen again. He deftly rescued a left parietal lobe jarred in formaldehyde from a pair of acquisitive hands and replaced it on a numbered shelf. Explaining primatology and the basics of his trauma lab to these gaggles of adolescents day after day had proved more exhausting than he’d expected. Still, Miller enjoyed the end of the tour, having saved the best for last, where some of the kids were already crowded in front of the plexiglass window of a large box made of steel, a portable room-cage.

      "Oh, wow--get a load of this, will you?" asked a hyperactive redhead.

      "Is he friendly? Wow, is he ugly!"

      "Takes one to know one," someone chimed in.

      Over their heads, through the plexi, Miller could see Bobo regarding the crowd with her familiar mixture of pleasure and anxiety. The gorilla almost filled the little chamber with her bulk. She flashed her teeth in a quick, nervous grin.

      "'She.' Yes, she's friendly. Bobo, say hello to your new friends."

      Moving through the knot of students, Miller rapped a finger against the plexi and flashed a series of hand gestures. Bobo returned the signal. The professor brightened. These brief moments of showing off brought out the closet magician in him, the sense of fun and the unexpected that had led him to science in the first place--as well as to the numbing, daily grind of lab work, recording data and churning out year after year of degree candidates. But subjects like Bobo made it all worthwhile.

      "Bobo is a special guest in this lab," Miller continued, "She’ll only be here a few days, until her new, permanent home is ready downstairs.”

      "You mean she lives here, on campus?" exclaimed a thin pimply blond.

      "Great, you'll finally have someone to talk to on your own level," scoffed the redhead.

      "Very funny, haw-haw," returned the blond.

      "As a matter of fact," said Miller, "your friend isn’t too far off. Bobo is a very special gorilla--have any of you heard of her before?"

      There was a moment of embarrassed silence until one girl, who had refused to relinquish the white rat Miller had taken out and given a few of them to hold, piped up.

      "She's some kind of monkey genius, right? They taught her how to talk?”

      "Well, not 'talk,' exactly. International sign language. And she isn't a monkey, she's from the family of great apes."

      "Sounds like Linda!" whispered someone, to a smattering of snickers.

      "We taught her sign language, because gorillas' throats aren't capable of human speech, but they are quite adept with their hands."

      "Definitely Linda," giggled someone else, cracking up the students. Miller pretended to ignore it.

      "She certainly is special, if not exactly a genius. She's already assimilated a vocabulary of almost a thousand words, some of which she's invented by combining other words to fit her needs. Here, I'll show you."

      Miller again gestured to Bobo, the sign for 'hello.' Bobo immediately returned the same sign, along with another sequence.

      "Oh, wow, what did she say?" squealed the girl with the rat.

      "She says hello to everyone, and she'd like a banana."

      The redhead guffawed. “Linda for sure.”

      Miller turned to him. With a forced smile he handed the boy a banana from a dish nearby.

      "Here, why don't you give her this?"

      The redhead's face turned a deep, unpleasantly mottled red.

      "Go on," said Miller, "don't be scared.”

      The redhead dangled it uncertainly in front of the plexi, showing it to Bobo.

      Miller took out a key chain and put one of the keys in the lock to the cage door.

      "You can give it to her in person, face to face--won't that be fun? Of course, you could feed her through this--" Miller indicated a small hatch in the door "--but that way you wouldn't be able to meet her up close."

      The kid looked as if he had just swallowed a live blowfish. Miller almost surprised himself with the perverse pleasure he was getting out of the kid’s anxiety.

      "She might even offer her head for a scratch or two," he continued smoothly, "just don't overdo it."

      "W-why?" stammered the redhead, "is she dangerous?"

      "Oh, no," reassured the professor. "Gorillas are really very gentle animals, very shy, actually. It's just good to be alert--sometimes they don't know their own strength. Bobo here could probably lift a truck if she felt like it."

      As if to illustrate the professor’s point, Bobo suddenly slapped her hand against the cage wall, shaking it and making everyone jump back. She grinned at them mischievously through the plexi and held her hand out for the fruit.

      "You see what I mean," said Miller, unlocking the latch and opening the door with a flourish. "I guess she must be pretty hungry."

      Summoning his courage, the redhead went in, brandishing the banana like a weapon in front of him. Bobo screeched delightedly. Whipping out a long arm, she swiped it away from him. The redhead stumbled backward out of the cage and slammed the door shut, twisting the latch shut with a metallic snap.

      "You forgot to scratch her head," clucked Miller, offering to let him back in. Before the redhead could respond, the other students began to shout with excitement: as Bobo leaned forward to eat the banana, she revealed a smaller animal, previously hidden by her bulk, peeking nervously at them from behind her.

      "Hey, look!" someone shrilled, "what's that behind her?"

      "Is it her baby?" asked the girl with the rat.

      Bobo, suddenly aware of the attention to the little animal, reached back and scooped it up in a protective, almost maternal gesture.

      Miller mentally kicked himself for not having removed the little baboon from Bobo's cage before the tour. Experience had proved it was wiser not to let the tours see his lab baboons, but it was too late.

      "Oh, that," he said, edging away from the cage, "I'd forgotten it was in there--that's just one of our baboons, not an ape, a lower primate. Now, if we can--"

      "But what is it doing in there?"

      He wasn't going to get out of it that easily.

      "Well, with Bobo being alone so much, we thought she might like to have a--a pet, at least while she's our guest here. So, that about wraps it up--"

      "That's wild," said the blond kid, "she really likes that little guy. Did she ever give it a name, you know? Make one up?"

      "No, no I don't, good question, I never really thought about it," said the professor, wondering why he hadn’t. It was a good question, and if Bobo had named the baboon, that might be another attention-getting paper all on its own. He’d have to find out, after the distraction of the tour was over.

      "Could you ask her?" came an excited voice behind him.

      "Well, not right now. She's a little tired from all the excitement."

      "She must call it something!" A chorus of shrill voices pleaded with him.

      "Okay, alright, I'll ask her, but then we really have to let her be, okay?" Miller could tell Bobo was getting a little edgy from all the noise and attention. He rapped gently on the plexi. The gorilla looked up from petting the little animal. Miller flashed a series of signs to her. For a moment or two Bobo seemed to ignore him, concentrating on the baboon, but then she turned back to the window and made a series of excited gestures. Miller looked surprised.

      "Well, what did she say?"

      "I think she says it's…it’s her 'Bobo-friend-baby.’ That’s odd…I never taught her the gesture for baby."

      The girl with the rat clutched it tight against her breast.

      "Oh, isn't that just the cutest? Her friend-baby!"

      "Yeah, that's neat! Cool!” Came a volley of thrilled replies.

      Miller, feeling excited himself by the discovery and satisfied that the tours had been well worth it after all, at last conducted the students toward the exit.

      "Are you teaching language to the baboon, too?" Asked the redhead.

      "Oh, don't be stupid," retorted the blond, "baboons are too dumb to learn anything--you oughta be able to relate to that. Besides, They're used for, you know, 'ex-PER-iments'--GAAWK!"

      He drew a finger dramatically across his throat.

      The students stopped in their tracks. They were suddenly quiet, looking back to Bobo's chamber, and then to Professor Miller.

      “Is that true?” quavered the girl with the rat.

      Miller sighed, phrasing for the umpteenth time the platitudes designed to calm the indignant breast.

      "I'm afraid we do have to sacrifice some animals in the course of our studies. It's unfortunately a necessary part of almost all medical or physiological research--but as you can see, we try to treat them humanely."

      As he spoke, the girl with the rat looked with renewed and yet apprehensive appreciation at the specimen jars and the strange tools and machinery. She pointed to a particular device, a small metal table equipped with leather straps and a horizontal pneumatic piston aimed between the jaws of a padded vise.

      "Professor Miller--what's this for?"

      Miller tried to keep the testiness out of his voice.

      "Well, now, that's just used to determine, uh, study the effects of traumatic shock on the brain."

      "Shock? What kind of shock?"

      Miller rubbed his eyes.

      "Traumatic--you know, concussions, the sort of injuries that might happen in a car accident, or from boxing or football, that sort of thing. Come on, it’s time for you all to be on your way--"

      One of the girl’s hands had dropped from the white rat to the table, where it drifted inquisitively among the straps, along the cool, smooth metal, tracing the odd stains.

      "You mean that you put animals on here and--?"

      Her finger, finding a small red button, pressed it almost instinctively. With a sharp thump the piston jumped out of its chamber, striking the air between the jaws of the vise. She stumbled back in alarm, her eyes wide. Miller rushed over and pulled her away the table.

      "Don't fool with that!" He caught himself. "I mean, that is rule number one in a lab--any lab--is don't disturb anything you don't understand."

      He looked over to the other kids. They were staring at him and at the table behind him.

      "Look, I realize research of this kind can be disturbing at first. But you mustn't misunderstand how necessary it is." Why was he apologizing to these kids? he thought. But he wanted to end the day on a good note. After all, the news about Bobo naming her pet almost guaranteed a renewal of his research grant. “It’s all about helping people. Without animal research we never would have made many of the most important advances in health and medicine."

      The girl was near tears, stroking the rat furiously.

      "What do you learn from bashing monkeys' heads in?" challenged the redhead.

      "Look, it's more than just--just bashing heads. This research helps us learn about traumatic paralysis, blindness, lots of important things--"

      "You don't have to smash someone's head to know it doesn't do them any good!" the girl blurted out, wiping her wet cheeks on the rat.

      It had gone as far as Miller was going to let it. He had learned again and again that there was no way to win this kind of thing, and he wished he had ended it earlier, even if it meant being rude. Reaching over, he took the soggy rat from the girl and put it away in its cage. He ushered everyone sternly to the exit.

      "Yes, well, I'm afraid some things just can't be understood at first glance. If you have any further questions, you’re welcome to visit me during office hours. Thank you all for coming, and I hope you found it worthwhile. Right, goodbye."

     

      As the last of the students shuffled out into the hall, Miller closed the door heavily and leaned against it, facing into the lab. The metal table was in front of him. He glared at it. He fished out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead, pressing hard with his fingers against his temples. He suddenly had a thundering headache.

      Across the room Bobo tapped the glass and motioned for another banana. The baboon was asleep in her lap.

      Miller took a banana from the bowl, unlatched the door and gave it to Bobo. Then he signed for her to give him the baboon. She hesitated, then gently, trustingly lifted the sleeping creature into his arms. She bowed her head for a scratch. Miller then took the baboon out and shut the door. The key was sticky in the lock, and he had to jiggle it one-handed to get it out. Turning away, he did not notice the cage door ease open half an inch, apparently having come unlocked when he'd jiggled the key out.

      Chewing three aspirin, Miller got to work. The afternoon had passed, and later that night he’d begin outlining the paper about Bobo’s naming of the baboon, maybe devising a few more tests and double-blinds to be sure. But before that he had other work to do. He hated to do it, he knew Bobo would probably be upset, but this was his last baboon and it had to be done. Well, Bobo had only bonded with the little thing for a day or two, she’d get over it. He'd get her a new one soon enough.

      "Alright, be good, this won't hurt a bit--just quiet you down a little."

      Bobo looked on from her cage with curiosity as the professor administered a small injection to the baboon, after which the animal settled down. He carried it to the table with the straps. Suddenly the baboon awoke. Confused, it leapt out of his grasp and began racing erratically around the room.

      "Oh, hell! Come back here, you little shit!"

      Miller went to a cabinet and took out a prepared syringe. A short, frantic chase around the lab ensued. The baboon careened wildly along the floor, over tables and along shelves, bouncing glass jars to the floor where they broke and disgorged their noxious contents. Miller followed in an exaggerated, high-speed tip-toe, holding up the syringe, trying not to step in the spilled specimens. In her cage, Bobo trilled in delight at the comic spectacle, jumping up and down and slapping her hands against the walls.

      As the baboon reversed directions and slipped between his legs, Miller swiveled in a formaldehyde slick and landed hard on his rear, soaking his pants and smearing something nasty across the floor. But he got a hold of the baboon, trying to restrain it without getting scratched or bitten, and stuck in the syringe. The baboon struggled for a few seconds, then went limp.

      Miller got up with it and put it onto the metal table. He fastened each of its limbs separately and fixed its head snugly in the vise. This done, he went to the sink and tried to clean the formaldehyde off his pants, which were beginning to chafe. He regarded the wreckage around him balefully--he was already feeling behind on his work, and now this.

      Pulling on a new lab coat, he dug new jars out of the cabinets, attempting to salvage what had not been ruined and could still be identified, and mopping up the spilled liquids and glass. Bobo continued to watch this strange little game, casting occasional glances at the baboon strapped to the table. By the time Miller finished cleaning up, the sedative had begun to wear off, and the baboon was straining against its confines, whimpering softly.

      Miller examined the baboon's eyes with a flash-light and tested its reflexes with a series of probes to make sure it was over the effects of the injection. Then he arranged a lamp over the table, set a pressure gauge attached to the piston, double-checked the position of the animal's head, and made a few preliminary notations in his laptop.

      Almost as an afterthought, he pressed the red button. The piston shot out, but this time instead of a hollow thump there was the crack of metal against flesh and bone. The baboon let out a sharp cry, its eyes suddenly wide and fixed, its body quivering. Blood started from its ears and nostrils. Miller, careful not to let it stain his new lab jacket, repeated his examination of the baboon's eyes and reflexes, noting his findings. He worked quickly, almost absent-mindedly. It was a familiar procedure, and he just wanted to get it done and go home.

      Absorbed in his observations, he had forgotten about Bobo, whose sat eerily motionless, watching his actions through the plexiglass. His notations made, Miller readjusted the pressure gauge and triggered the piston again. This time the cry was weaker, the tremors less pronounced. The eyes, unblinking, continued to stare, the tear-ducts releasing a dilute, pink flow. The professor repeated the sequence two more times. When all the notations were finished, he spun open the vise and unstrapped the baboon’s inert body, taking it over to a dissecting table nearby, where an arrangement of surgical tools were already prepared.

      Before the professor could commence with the pathology, however, the phone interrupted. He considered ignoring it--probably one of his graduate students trying to escape weekend duty--he was in no mood to be disturbed.

      "Yes, what is it?" he snapped. "Oh, hi, Joan--" he modified his tone as he recognized his wife's voice. "No, no, nothing's wrong--you just caught me at a bad moment...what? Just doing some work—no I haven't forgotten dinner at the Thompson's tomorrow night...yes, yes, I will be on time...no, I promise...what?" He felt his headache about to return.

      Bobo paused for a moment before venturing to edge her head and one arm through the doorway. Miller had his back to her. Her immediate interest lay on the dissecting table. Padding softly over to it, she studied the baboon’s body, almost seeming to caricature the professor’s earlier manner. Its eyes were still open, but glazed, the fur on its head wet, dark and matted, leaking thin blood onto the white formica. Delicately, she took one of its arms and tugged on it, trying to make it sit up, do something. But it just lay there. Bobo lifted it, rocking it in her arms as she had before. The smell of its blood made her nostrils suddenly flare.

      "No," said Miller, rubbing his eyes, "I won’t be too late tonight.”

      Distraught, Bobo carried the dead animal slowly back to the metal table. Her thick finger felt along its hard edge and cold, gray surface, prodded the leather straps. She plucked a tuft of moist hair from the piston, sniffed it, tried to replace it in the baboon's coat.

      Miller was tapping his foot impatiently.

      "Look, honey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap, it's just that...yes...look, the sooner you let me go, the sooner I'll be home. Right, goodbye."

      As he replaced the receiver, Bobo fingered the red button. The snap of the piston made both of them jump.

      "Bobo! What are you doing out here? Come on, give me that."

      He signed to her to bring the dead baboon over, but she didn't move, other than to continue stroking it. Her hands were now both wet with blood. Miller signed again.

      "Bobo, he can't be your pet, anymore. No more Bobo-friend-baby."

      But Bobo just crooned softly, folding her arms around the baboon.

      Again the professor signed for her to give it up, and again she ignored him. Finally, he took a step toward her and reached out to take it from her.

      "Come on, now, Bobo, I don't have time for this!"

      At this she let out a shriek, pulling back and slapping the metal table hard, hitting the activating button. The snap of the piston punctuated her outburst. She stared at Miller, her face immobile. Miller was mystified. She had never acted up like this before. He talked to her in a firm, calm tone, accompanied by strong gestures.

      "Bobo, put that down and get back to your room."

      She lowered her eyes and placed the little animal gently on the floor behind her. Sitting down, she turned to face the professor. Exasperated, he started around her to retrieve the body. Her shriek brought him up short, as she again slapped the table and the button. Miller was getting angry. His head was killing him, and this wasn't helping.

      "Bobo, stop this!"

      Bobo’s hand shot out, and Miller found his arm caught in a remorseless grip.

      "Now look, Bobo, calm down, let go, that's a good girl--"

      Miller tried to jerk himself free, but Bobo held fast, yanking down hard in response, dropping him sharply to his knees. Before Miller knew what was happening, Bobo’s long, thick arm had wrapped itself like a python around his chest, and he found himself hoisted up into the air.

      "What the hell?" he gasped, barely able to breathe in her embrace. He was more surprised than worried, until he felt a sharp pain raking along his back. It took him a moment to realize that the gorilla was dragging him onto the metal table. Miller's confusion gave way to panic.

      "Bobo, put me down! Ow! Help! Somebody! Help!"

      Miller’s cries were cut short as Bobo seized his neck in a crushing grip. He struck and kicked at her but his blows glanced off the gorilla like a child's.

      "No!" he gurgled, "No--no--no--no!"

      Bobo jammed the professor’s head between the jaws of the vise which, set for the baboon, were too narrow. The professor felt the skin of his temples peeling off, his skull squeezed out of shape, his temples were thundering from the pressure. He struggled wildly now, kicking out with all his strength, but Bobo was too strong. Her face swam into his view, inches away, her lips drawn back in a horrible grin. Miller stared, transfixed, into her dark, intelligent, enraged eyes as her hot breath washed over his face, oddly banana-sweet.

      "No, Bobo, no!" he gasped, signing frantically, "You don't understand! Bad Bobo!"

      A starburst of unimaginable pain exploded behind the professor's eyes as Bobo pressed the red button and signed her own, heartfelt answer.