The One and Only Ivan. Katherine Applegate
to the circled marks. “I didn’t realise his name was Bob,” he said.
“Me neither,” said Julia. She smiled. “I had to draw him first.”
Bob and Julia
Bob will not let humans touch him. He says their scent upsets his digestion.
But every now and then I see him sitting at Julia’s feet. Her fingers move gently, just behind his right ear.
Mack
Usually Mack leaves after the last show, but tonight he is in his office working late. When he’s done, he stops by my domain and stares at me for a long time while he drinks from a brown bottle.
George joins him, broom in hand, and Mack says the things he always says: “How about that game last night?” and “Business has been slow, but it’ll get better, you’ll see,” and “Don’t forget to empty the trash.”
Mack glances over at the picture Julia is drawing. “What’re you making?” he asks.
“It’s for my mum,” Julia says. “It’s a flying dog.” She holds up her drawing, eyeing it critically. “She likes airplanes. And dogs.”
“Hmm,” Mack murmurs, sounding unconvinced. He looks at George. “How’s the wife doing, anyway?”
“About the same,” George says. “She has good days and bad days.”
“Yeah, don’t we all,” Mack says.
Mack starts to leave, then pauses. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a crumpled green bill, and presses it into George’s hand.
“Here,” Mack says with a shrug. “Buy the kid some more crayons.”
Mack is already out the door before George can yell “Thanks.”
Not Sleepy
“Stella,” I say after Julia and her father go home. “I can’t sleep.”
“Of course you can,” she says. “You are the king of sleepers.”
“Shh,” Bob says from his perch on my belly. “I’m dreaming about chilli fries.”
“I’m tired,” I say, “but I’m not sleepy.”
“What are you tired of?” Stella asks.
I think for a while. It’s hard to put into words. Gorillas are not complainers. We’re dreamers, poets, philosophers, nap takers.
“I don’t know exactly.” I kick at my tyre swing. “I think I may be a little tired of my domain.”
“That’s because it’s a cage,” Bob tells me.
Bob is not always tactful.
“I know,” Stella says gently. “It’s a very small domain.”
“And you’re a very big gorilla,” Bob adds.
“Stella?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“I noticed you were limping more than usual today. Is your leg bothering you?”
“Just a little,” Stella answers.
I sigh. Bob resettles. His ears flick. He drools a bit, but I don’t mind. I’m used to it.
“Try eating something,” Stella says. “That always makes you happy.”
I eat an old, brown carrot. It doesn’t help, but I don’t tell Stella. She needs to sleep.
“You could try remembering a good day,” Stella suggests. “That’s what I do when I can’t sleep.”
Stella remembers every moment since she was born: every scent, every sunset, every slight, every victory.
“You know I can’t remember much,” I say.
“There’s a difference,” Stella says gently, “between ‘can’t remember’ and ‘won’t remember’.”
“That’s true,” I admit. Not remembering can be difficult, but I’ve had a lot of time to work on it.
“Memories are precious,” Stella adds. “They help tell us who we are. Try remembering all your keepers. You always liked Karl, the one with the harmonica.”
Karl. Yes. I remember how he gave me a coconut when I was still a juvenile. It took me all day to open it.
I try to recall other keepers I have known – the humans who cleaned my domain and prepared my food and sometimes kept me company. There was Juan, who poured Pepsis into my waiting mouth, and Katrina, who used to poke me with a broom when I was sleeping, and Ellen, who sang “How Much is That Monkey in the Window?” with a wistful smile while she scrubbed my water bowl.
And there was Gerald, who once brought me a box of fat, sweet strawberries.
I haven’t had a real keeper in a long time. Mack says he doesn’t have the money to pay for an ape babysitter. These days, George cleans my cage and Mack is the one who feeds me.
When I think about all the people who’ve taken care of me, mostly it’s Mack I recall, day in and day out, year after year after year. Mack, who bought me and raised me and says I’m no longer cute.
As if a silverback could ever be cute.
Moonlight falls on the frozen carousel, on the silent popcorn stand, on the stall of leather belts that smell like long-gone cows.
The heavy work of Stella’s breathing sounds like the wind in trees, and I wait for sleep to find me.
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