Dr. Lumumba’S Dream of Incest

By Anna Purna

Why have a group of chimpanzees been chosen to participate in a religious study at Yale University? After a year of rigorous discipline, why do they suddenly disappear?
When Herbert Hickey, Professor of Anthropology at Yale University, and his beautiful wife Kathryn go to Africa to investigate, they are swept up in an adventure that leads them from the jungles of Africa to the tombs of Egypt and the caves of prehistoric Spain. Taken captive by the mysterious Dr. Lumumba, their lives will change forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456716646

Anna Purna

Anna Purna is a native of Southern California. Raised in an intellectual milieu not far from Hollywood Boulevard, her interests range from Homer and Doestoevsky to Lana Turner and Johnny Stompanato. In college she received a degree in philosophy. This has helped her synthesize a world view of her own: “As I see it, we’re all here by accident.” She is an avid swimmer (“I do my best thinking when in the water”) and enjoys being in the Great Outdoors. She has lately discovered that listening to the recordings of songbirds is “the best music of all.” The author currently resides with her husband and dog in a beach community not far from Los Angeles.

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© 2011 Anna Purna. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Revised Edition, first p ublished by AuthorHouse 4/11/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-1665-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-1666-0 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010919550

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Contents

Author’s Note

Origins

Cast of Characters

Prologue

PART I HERBERT

Chapter One The Coming of Khvetukdas Or Et Tu Khvetukdas?

Chapter Two The Propitiousness of Prayer

Chapter Three A Heated Discussion while Dining on Zebra

Chapter Four The Pelvis Unveiled Or The Lumumbian Theory of Evolution: It All Has To Do with Fucking.

Chapter Five Lumumba Decodes the Word of God

Chapter Six From Big Macs to God—A Logical Transition

Chapter Seven What the Great American Novel Has to Do with Incest Or How NASA Is Connected to the Vagina

Chapter Eight A Soliloquy on Orgasm Or Can Orgasm Lead to Time Travel and the New Laws of Physics?

Chapter Nine A Grizzled Dwarf Meets an Untimely End Or The High Price of Kaopectate

Chapter Ten Much Taboo about Nothing

Chapter Eleven Karonga Is No Match for a Kalashnikov Or Two Untimely Deaths at the Mount Kenya Safari Club

Chapter Twelve Lumumba’s Troops Suffer a Hit Or The First Fatality of Any Importance (Unless, of Course, You Count the Canary)

PART II GOLDSCHMIDT

Chapter Thirteen In Which It Is Told How a Certain Pariah Dog Proved Worth Her Weight in Gold

Chapter Fourteen The Return of Thoth

Chapter Fifteen In Which It Is Told Why Albert Reject’s Lumumba’s Thesis that Jesus Slept with His Mother And that the Word of God Is Actually a Penis

Chapter Sixteen In Which It Is Told Why Lumumba Sees a Commonality between God and the Mad Hatter

Chapter Seventeen In Which It Is Told How Father Albert Negotiates the Bargain of Bargains, and Why the Life of a Tour Guide Is Never Easy

Chapter Eighteen Did a Christian Fish Eat a Man’s Penis? Or A Few Carriage Horses Have the Last Laugh

Chapter Nineteen Nedele Solves the Mystery of the Sphinx

Chapter Twenty A Bad Day in Cairo

Chapter Twenty-One The Lumumba Certainty Principle and the Lumumba Constant Are Both Set Forth in a Second Soliloquy Or Lumumba’s Special Theory of Relativity as It Pertains to Orgasm (A.K.A. a Luminous Event)

PART III SODDHU

Chapter Twenty-Two Garlic Is Not the Only Remedy for Warding off the Devil Or The Mystery of the Alhambra: It’s All in the DNA

Chapter Twenty-Three In Which It Is Told Why the Truth about Bulls is Really No Bull, How Soddhu Pulls the Plug on Jesus, and Why the Cardinal Learns More about His Hat Than He Cares To Know

Chapter Twenty-Four In Which It Is Told How Kumasi Becomes Spain’s Greatest National Hero

Chapter Twenty-Five Why the Communist Party Welcomes Chimpanzees Or Altamira: Inside the Famous Cave There Is More than One Climax

Postscript

Bibliography

About The Author

Endnotes

Author’s Note

On a fateful evening several years ago, I happened to tune into a discussion on the radio concerning the practice of next-of-kin marriage— what today we call incest—by the Magi, the ancient priests of Persia.

I blinked my eyes. The Magi? The Three Wise Men who followed the star to Bethlehem? What would Christmas be without them? and without their word on the matter, would the little boy who was born in a manger be, well, just a little boy?

Here was a scoop of the first magnitude. Remembering the great impression made on me in my childhood by the Nativity Scene at Christmas, what would little kids think today if they found out that the Three Kings in robes and crowns of gold were actually Three Dirty Old Men?

As I pondered over this daunting, titillating, remarkable, hilarious, silly, crazy and incredible newly discovered side of Melchior, Gasper and Balthazar, a puzzling question came to mind: how could a religion which defines itself by a puritanical code of ethics decide to elect the Magi as the harbingers of Christ’s divinity, men who even in their own day were looked at askance for the doctrine of Khvetukdas—next-of-kin marriage:

When the millennium is about to dawn, ‘all mankind will perform Khvetukdas, and every fiend will perish through the miracle and power of Khvetukdas.¹

As to the trustworthiness of a good work, the greatest are the most intimate of them, those of father and daughter, son and she who bore him, and brother and sister.¹

It seemed unlikely that the juxtaposition of these ancient priests in Bethlehem was a mere coincidence, or that the early Church fathers hadn’t a clue about the doctrine of Khvetukdas.

My determination to get to the bottom of this mystery led me to write this book. I hope the reader will find its revelations as amazing as I did in discovering them.

Origins

ma.gi (ma’ji) n. Pl. of magus.

mag.ic (maj’ik) n. 1. The art that purports to control or forecast natural events, effects or forces by envoking the supernatural. 2.a. The practice of using charms, spells or rituals to attempt to produce supernatural effects or control events in nature, b. The charms, spells and rituals so used. 3. The exercise of sleight of hand or conjuring for entertainment. 4. A mysterious quality or encnantment. - adj. 1. Of, relating to, or envoking the supernatural. 2. Posessing distinctive qualities that produce unaccountable or baffling effects. - tr.v. -icked, -ick.ing, - ics. To produce or make by or as if by magic. (ME magik < OFr. magique < LLat. magica < Lat. magice < Gk. magike < fem, of magikos, of the Magi, magical < magos, magician, magus. See MAGUS.)

mag.us (ma’ges) n. ma.gi (ma’ji’). 1. A member of the Zoroastrian priestly caste of the Medes and Persians. 2. Magus. In the Bible, one of the wise men from the East who traveled to Bethlehem to pay homage to the infant Jesus. 3. A sorcerer; a magician. (< ME magi, magi < Lat. magi, pl. of magus, sorcerer, magus < Gk. magos < Opers. magus. See magh-*.) - ma’gi.an (ma’je-en) adj.’

The American Heritage College Dictionary, Third Edition

magh-¹. To be able, to have power. 1. Germanic *mag- in: a. Old English magan, to be able: MAY1: b. Vulgar Latin *exmagare (ex- out of, expressing removal, EX-), to deprive of power: DISMAY. 2. Germanic suffixed form *mah-ti-. power, in: a. Old English miht, power: MIGHT¹; b. Germanic compound *maht-hildis, a feminine name, mighty in battle (held-, battle; see kel-2): MATILDA, (MAUD). 3. Germanic suffixed form *magena, power, in Old English maegen, power: MAIN¹. 4. Suffixed lengthened-grade form *magh-os-, that which enables, in Greek (Attic) mekhos. (Doric) makhos, device: MACHINE, MECHANISM. 5. Possibly suffixed form *magh-u- in Old Persian magus, member of a priestly caste (< mighty one): (MAGE), MAGI, MAGIC: ARCHIMAGE. (Pok. magh- 695)

magh-2 To fight. 1. Old Iranian *ha-maz-an-, the warrior (*ha-, the; see so-), possibly borrowed into Greek as Amazon. Amazon: AMAZON¹. 2. Greek makhesthai, to fight: TAUROMACHY. (Pok. magh- 697)

The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, New College Edition

Accordinq to Dastur Hoshangji (Zand-Pahlavi Glossary, p.65) the term magh is now applied to the stones on which the person undergoing purificatiion has to squat during ablution in the barashnum ceremony. Originally, however, Av. magha appears to have meant a shallow hole dug in the earth, near or over which the person squatted upon a seat, either of stone or some other hard material (see Vend. IX). The term for the hole was probably extended to the whole arrangement, including the seat, which latter has thus acquired the name of magh, although magh and maghak still mean ‘a channel of pit’ in Persian.

Sacred Books of the East, Edited by F.Max Muller, Vol V Pahlavi Texts, Part 1, pg. 205

It is curious to note that Pers. MAGH is now used of a taverner, the sense of a Zoroastrian priest having become contemptuous under the Arabs.

Ernest Weekley, Etymological Dictionary of Modern English

Danger and delight grow on one stalk. —John Lyly, 1580

The stalk, of course, is the penis, said Lumumba. Danger and delight are its attributes, and on this happenstance does civilization rest.

—Africa, 1999

Cast of Characters

Herbert Hickey, Professor of Anthropology, Yale University Kathryn Hickey, his wife

Soddhu Phalen, former dean of School of Medicine, Yale University, Kathryn’s father

Bob Grisham, Chair of Herbert’s department

John Slaughter, Professor of Philosophy, Yale University

John Wiggins, Dean of Divinity School, Yale University

Dorothy (Dotty) Wiggins, his wife

George Baxter, rich philanthropist, alumnus of Yale University Lydia Baxter, his wife

Greg Vandenberg, graduate student working for Herbert Louise Wallaroo, Kathryn’s mother Gordon Wallaroo, her husband

Apes: Research subjects at Yale: Bill, Tom, Albert, John, Freddie, Brian

Apes: African jungle: Lumumba, Tchibanga, Yendi, Okovango, Kumasi, Yalinga, Nedele, Kribi, Oyem, Mohele, Bata, Doba

Professor Xeno, researcher at Yale School of Medicine Jorge Cortina, Cuban/concert pianist Grizzled Dwarf

Dr. Crumb, researcher at Yerkes Center for Primate Studies

Bangassu Jamu, Assistant at Mahale Wildlife Research Center, Africa

Robert Goldschmidt, staff member at US Embassy in Nairobi

Mabu Odongo, Chief Customs Officer, Kenya International Airport

Constable Mwabiki, policeman at Kigoma Police Station

Marty Johnson, senior analyst at Bechtel

Vivian Johnson, his wife

Royce Dodd, senior analyst at Bechtel

Betty Dodd, his wife

Mr. Vreeland, music critic for New York Times Jacques, a pilot

Masuru, Maasai game warden at Mt. Kenya Safari Club

Bagamoyo, a rabbit

Abdel Zahr, Egyptian tour guide

Dr. Tom Baker, head of Patriot Act Neurological Intervention Corps (PANIC)

Mr. Ntimama, associate of Dr. Baker

Victor Muñoz, Professor of Molecular Biophysics at Yale University

Mohammed, a waiter at the Nefertari Hotel in Egypt

Mohammed Amal Nawal Asad, first officer on the Happy Pharaoh cruise ship, Mohammed’s uncle

Joe, alumnus of Yale University, friend of George Baxter Pamfilo and Refugia, tourists in Egypt

Pedro, steward on Iberia Airlines, chauffer for Juan Carlos, king of Spain Juan Carlos, king of Spain Queen Sofia, his wife

Dinner guests of Juan Carlos: Duchess of Caceres, Countess of Monte Cristo, Princess Hortensia of Bulgaria, Prince Mark of Macedonia, Countess of Salamanca, Lady Grandee of Cordillera, Duchess of Badajoz

Cardinal Gomez, Cardinal, Madrid

Mr. Brown, US Congressman

Basque terrorists: El Lobo, El Gato, El Pollo

The Osborne Group: Miguel, Angel, Luís

Terrorist Group in Egypt: Shining Path of Allah’s Virgins (SPAV)

Wambussi Gang, Africa

General Arriba, Commander of the Northern Forces, Spain

Commander Cox, officer in charge of US Navel operations, Tarragona, Spain

Karonga, a martyred elephant

Prologue

Okovango, Okovango! Where are you, Okovango?

Yalinga the ape called loudly to her son and signed the words to Bata who was sitting above me in the branches of a miombo tree. I watched with guarded interest as the second ape shook his head and shrugged indifferently.

Ask Mrs. Hickey, he signed, pointing in my direction. She’s still hiding in the nest Nedele made for her to sleep in last night.

In a fruitless effort to disappear I pressed deeper into the woven leaves and branches of what I preferred to call a hammock. Yalinga spotted me and signed disdainfully:

That she-bitch wouldn’t know a chimpanzee from an orangutan.

Nor would she care to, I replied. The words were signed with the slowness of a beginner, and Bata screeched with laughter.

But Yalinga glared angrily.

Okovango, you little monkey! If you don’t come down now I’m going to throw you from a tree!

Where the hell is Herbert, I thought. As I flattened myself even deeper a male chimp named Tchibanga suddenly appeared and grabbed Yalinga from behind.

Relax, he said, ² pulling her against his hairy torso. Okovango is at the fig tree playing with old Kumasi.

Yalinga looked relieved.

This is a new part of the mountains, she said, and who knows what strange creatures could be lurking behind the bushes!

You’re beginning to sound like Mrs. Hickey, Tchibanga replied. What you need is a good fuck.

Without further ado Tchibanga mounted her and the two went at it unmindful of my presence. As they thrashed about wildly I had a sudden vision of them tumbling into my hammock and commencing a merry threesome.

It was Herbert’s fault of course that all this was happening. Had he listened to my father and declined the now dubious honor to head up Project Mark I’d still be safely ensconced in my home in New Haven. But no, the prospect of fame and glory had been too great, so here we were, in the middle of nowhere, the captives of a mad ape and his dangerous troop of followers.

On the other hand, wasn’t this whole thing rather incredible, being here in this wild tangle of rain forest having a first-hand glimpse of how these wild creatures lived? That’s the sixth time, I thought, unable to take my eyes away from the activity above.

But at last they were done and the two disappeared. I considered going to find Herbert, then decided against it. Let him find me, I thought. Anyway, I didn’t feel like asking Bata to help me to the ground some twenty feet below.

The hammock creaked as I stretched and yawned. The sound of clamoring birds was everywhere. By now I could recognize what some of them were: parrots and canaries, bee-eaters with blue feathers and red wings, an African cuckoo making soft ‘hoop-hoop’ sounds, a green-colored woodpecker knocking loudly on the dark red bark of a hagenia tree with reddish flowers falling in long pendants like thick bunches of grapes.

The gaps left by the birds were filled in by the whirring of insects. There was something seductive about the sound, and as I listened to its relentless drone my mind began to wander. The events of the last few days seemed unreal. How had it happened? How had we come to be prisoners of a maniacal ape? He was maniacal all right. Passing himself off as a graduate of Yale! The nerve! I didn’t believe it for a moment. His story was full of holes. For one thing, how could an ape ever pass himself off as a human? And even if he could, how could he do it at Yale, the most prestigious school in the world? It was absolutely ridiculous!

Oh he had a good story all right, how he’d murdered Dr. Xeno and escaped from his lab. But wasn’t he just making use of a well-publicized story and using it to his advantage? Everyone and their mother knew about the case, how Professor Xeno, a brilliant researcher at Yale Medical School doing work on chimpanzees, was found decapitated in his lab. At first it was thought that some animal rights groups had been responsible for the crime. But then the evidence began to point to a disgruntled grad student who felt slighted when Dr. Xeno failed to credit him in a co- authored paper entitled A Study of the Resettlement of Arteries in the Arachnoid Membrane of Deactivated Chimpanzees.

Dr. Xeno never gives you credit for anything, the student had said as he was led away in handcuffs. Later he was released for lack of evidence, and now this mad ape was telling Herbert that it was he who had decapitated the professor. Impudent ape! I hated him for his lies.

As the momentary idyll of the afternoon faded into the deep forest twilight, I sat upright. The din of insects and birds now began to press in on me and I looked instinctively for Herbert.

Instead I saw Okovango hanging to the back of the old ape Kumasi.

You are a bad little boy, said Yalinga as she pried the little chimp off. Perhaps I should send you to bed without supper.

But in the same instant she pulled him to her breast and, leaning against the trunk of a tree, closed her eyes contentedly as the little chimp began to nurse.

A crashing in the bush startled no one but myself. Okovango’s eyes opened wide as Herbert emerged from the thick growth of forest, surrounded by an army of flies. He had the look of a happy idiot, a broad smile across his handsome face. With childish peevishness I decided not to let him see how relieved I was.

He came toward me holding a stem covered with delicate flowers that looked like pale stars. His pants and shirt were covered with slugs, but he paid no attention.

"Look, my darling, a rhodosticta for your glorious hair," he said triumphantly.

You call that glorious? Yalinga scoffed. I’ve seen better hair on a sun-scorched hippopotamus or a dung-beetle’s bottom.

She made a sudden lunge and snatched the flower from Herbert’s hand.

Herbert looked crestfallen.

C’mon Yalinga, I went through hell to find it.

A pity you didn’t stay there.

She tossed the flower back, I watched as he made his way slowly up the tree to the great merriment of the apes.

Their screeching annoyed me and as Herbert leaned toward me holding the flower in his mouth I gave him a push. A look of surprise crossed his face as he lost his balance and fell backwards, landing with a crash. Dazed but in one piece he got up and slowly brushed himself off.

Jesus, Kathryn, you could have killed me!

I’m sorry, darling, but you’re starting to smell like an ape.

This is a side of you I’ve never seen.

It must be the jungle, my dear. It brings out the beast in me.

I’ll say!

The rhodosticta lay crushed at his feet. He glanced at it and walked away. A sigh escaped me as I watched him disappear. Was I right to feel so angry, so unforgiving? Was our present predicament really the final page to a catastrophe which had started at Yale a year ago? Or was I judging too harshly? Was Project Mark no catastrophe at all but something good, something brilliant, something, as Herbert had said, which would change the world forever, make it a better place?

As Bata chewed on a leaf, his black fur glistening in the sunlight which filtered through the treetops, I lay back and closed my eyes. The events leading up to this moment passed through my mind one by one amidst the drone of insects and chirping of birds.

PART I

HERBERT

Chapter One

The Coming of Khvetukdas

Or

Et Tu Khvetukdas?

Oh sweet Jesus!

It was early morning, the first light of dawn had barely crept into the bedroom. Herbert was making love, and as wave after wave of ecstasy swept over me Jesus came into focus and turned into a man of flesh and blood: well, in such godlike moments, what else but think of god?

When the religious moment was over Herbert went back to sleep. But I was too excited. Hardly more than 12 hours ago a freight truck had pulled up behind Kline Hall and Herbert called out to me:

They’re here, my love! Come and take a look at the little creatures.

It was Sunday afternoon and the campus was deserted. He kissed me as the truck backed up and came to a stop.

Too bad Pagálu and the dean can’t be here, he said as he signed the invoice. This is one of those moments that will go down in history.

Signing an invoice? said the driver.

No, no, my good man. Teaching religion to our closest relatives, the apes.

It was only to be expected, I suppose, a natural progression of one thing leading to another, first the groundbreaking experiment in the sixties when a chimpanzee named Washoe was taught to communicate with humans in American Sign Language. Later the astounding news that chimpanzees shared 98 percent of the same DNA as ours. So now what else was left but to teach them religion, or at least to try?

Sounds nuts to me, said the driver.

These were the exact sentiments of my father: Ah yes, he had said, the chimpanzee has 98 percent the same DNA, and yes, it has been taught to communicate in sign language. But to teach it about God? To give it a Christian conscience? Why, it’s pure poppycock, my dear Kathryn, balderdash and poppycock!

There was no point in arguing. Daddy knew everything, and his own involvement in a recent scandal had done little to humble him. But there were others who were just as convinced otherwise: John Wiggins, dean of the Divinity School, for one, and Soddhu Págalu, Professor of Anthropology for another. Granted, both men had a stake in the project: the dean had agreed to be the primary mover while Págalu, along with Herbert would form the rest of the team.

But they had their own following, not least of whom were the Baxters, George and Lydia; a prominent couple at Yale (George was a Fellow of Yale College), they were also the masterminds behind the idea: Isn’t it time, said George at one of the Yale Corporation meetings, to extend the Yale mission beyond our own human experience?

The genius of this notion had been recognized at once, and all 19 members had voted unanimously in his favor.

I closed my eyes. Whatever happened, I thought, no matter who was right, Project Mark was bound to be interesting.

Later that morning the chimps were taken on a tour of their new surroundings. Several small labs on the 10th floor had been converted into a single room. This is where they would sleep and have their classes. But it was decided they would take their meals in the North Dining Room two floors above.

If they’re going to think like us, said Bob Grisham, chairman of the Anthropology department and Herbert’s boss, they might as well eat like us.

As the chimps continued their tour of the floor, Dean Wiggins tried to appear serene. But it was obvious his trip to Atlantic City over the weekend had not been a success, and he reprimanded the chimps often for venting their natural curiosity.

The biology students will get angry if you touch their experiments, he signed slowly. And again: If you break that vial you will probably die.

He spoke as he signed ³—one of the primary goals of the project was to teach the chimps to understand spoken language—but his voice was harsh and impatient and the chimps put their head in their hands and began to whimper.

Now see what you’ve done? said Professor Págalu, his eyes red from jet lag. About every eight weeks he made a flight to India. Dean Wiggins shot him a dirty look.

Listen here, you fire-worshipping idiot, if I had my druthers… .

Your druthers? said Soddhu sarcastically. Oh how shameful, he forgot to put on his druthers!

He winked at me and smiled. It was hard not to like him, he was such a handsome fellow. But Wiggins wasn’t impressed.

"I know he’s going to try and teach them his pagan religion," he muttered.

"My pagan religion? What about yours? Anyway, if it weren’t for mine you Christians wouldn’t have a leg to stand on."

That’s bullshit, the dean replied. There’s not the slightest resemblance between Christianity and Zoroastrianism.

Are you kidding?! Why, it would take a couple of days just to name all the similarities.

Unfortunately we don’t have the time, said Herbert, checking his watch. Unless you want to pass on lunch.

I’d rather be tortured by the Reverend’s Sunday homilies than do that, said Soddhu rubbing his stomach and looking hungrily in my direction.

Kathryn? he said, offering me his arm as the dean ran off to take care of some business.

With the help of four grad students we walked up the two flights to the dining room and led the chimps to a table which had been reserved for us by the window. A panoramic view of the campus and city spread in all directions. The rugged bluffs and tangled woods of East Rock Part rose off to our left.

The chimps screeched excitedly as their bowls of warm oatmeal were placed infront of them. They ate greedily but with good manners. I was amazed to see them using a spoon.

Perhaps the Baxters know what they’re doing afterall, I said.

Just because they can grasp a spoon doesn’t mean they’ll be able to grasp the Epistles of Paul, said Greg Vandenberg. He was a grad student working on a master’s degree in Anthropology.

Listen, said Herbert. If all they do is learn the Lord’s Prayer I think I’ll have tenure.

As we talked the chimp’s eyes went from one face to the next. It almost seemed as if they were carefully recording our conversation so they could review it later in the privacy of their cages. All except the smallest ape who kept looking away, toward the bluffs.

I think he’s homesick, said Págalu. He’s the only one from Africa. All the others were bred in captivity.

How can you tell them apart? I asked. Except for the little one they all look alike.

Dear lady, Soddhu replied. That’s because you are not yet a mother.

Hurray for that, I replied.

Ah yes, American women like to wait. And why not, when they are as beautiful as you? Motherhood, as saintly as it is, does take its toll on a woman’s body.

As his eyes bored into me, I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

What are the chimps’ names? I asked quickly.

The chimps were asked to introduce themselves; they gave their names as Bill, Tom, Albert, Brian, John and Freddy. Each one politely shook my hand.

You are from Africa? I said to Albert. The little ape nodded and made a y sign with his right hand, which meant yes.

I hope you’re not feeling homesick, I signed.

I miss my sister, he signed back. Herbert shrugged helplessly.

We didn’t want any distractions, he said There’s a time limit on this project, you know. Speaking of time… .

He got to his feet.

Hurry up, boys, he said to the chimps, it’s time to start your lessons.

As Págalu held my chair I found myself staring at him curiously. Up until now our acquaintance had been casual, I’d seen him at parties, sometimes in the hallway. We always said hello, but that was about all. Rumor had it that a secret wife lived in India, which is why he was always traveling there. Indeed his latest trip was the eleventh or twelfth one in a period of just as many months.

Did you have a good time? I asked as we left the dining room.

In India? Actually I did. It was a little more productive than usual.

The day was warm and Soddhu’s shirt was half open. As I entertained the thought of him coupling with his wife my eyes were drawn to his undershirt which appeared to be made of fine muslin.

I’m doing research on a book I’m writing, he continued.

Is it about the fire temples?

Ah, so you know about them?

Only a little, this much maybe.

I held my index finger about an eighth inch above my thumb.

I can see I’ll need to educate you.

Start with yourself, Professor. Everyone says you are married.

If only it were true, but I’m still waiting for the right woman.

Herbert says that Zoroastrians never marry outside their religion.

"Unfortunately that is true, which is why there aren’t many of us left, only about 200,000 maybe. Our blood is purer than Evian, we are the original Aryans, Mrs. Hickey. The word Aryan means people of Iran, and Iran was originally Persia, which is why we Zoroastrians are also called Parsis since we and our religion originated in Persia."

"You are the Aryans?" I exclaimed.

None other. How Hitler got his blond, blue-eyed people mixed up with us is beyond me.

You should do a book on that.

The one I’m working on is much more important.

What’s it about?

I should like to tell you, Mrs. Hickey, but only when I know you better.

His hand went reflexively to his undershirt.

You may be the only man on campus who still wears one, I remarked.

This is not your ordinary undershirt, he replied. It’s called a sadreh, or a next-to-skin shirt. It’s part of our ancient tradition, and to wear it means I’ve committed myself to a life of Good Thoughts, Good Words and Good Deeds. The only time I take it off is when I shower. Here, look. There is a little bag just below the neck of the sadreh which I fill up daily with good deeds.

I could see there was something in it, which looked like dried leaves. But before I could comment we entered the lab, and the grad students sat the chimps down in chairs. A few minutes later John Wiggins came in with his wife Dorothy. As he held the door, three workmen pushed in an upright piano. The dean was beaming.

God has shown us the way, he said. We will teach them their first lesson through song. Isn’t that how young children learn in Sunday school?

Why, that’s brilliant! said Herbert. You know, taming the wild beast through music and all that.

The dean nodded and signaled to his wife. Her large behind barely fit onto the bench as she sat at the piano. She was about to play when the dean stopped her.

Let us take a moment to pray, he said. Please, Lord, help us to lead these fellow creatures from the darkness of their ways into the divine light of thy great wisdom. Bless us this day with a miracle.

Should anything happen overnight I would be very much surprised, said Soddhu matter-of-factly.

The Lord works in mysterious ways, Wiggins snarled.

Is that how you got your job? Soddhu retorted.

Why, you insolent creature! said the dean’s wife. If you don’t apologize to my husband I shall not play.

It’s all right, Dotty, said Wiggins. Such is to be expected from a man who worships fire and other forms of magic.

Turning Christ into a wafer isn’t magic? Soddhu retorted.

It’s the other way around, said Dotty. The wafer turns into Christ.

Forgive me, dear lady, I always forget the intricacies and nuances of Christianity.

It’s hardly a nuance, she replied haughtily. The chimps who had followed everything began to whimper.

Hit it, Dottie, while there’s still time, said the dean.

What shall I play?

Try ‘Jesus Loves Me,’ it’s one of my favorites.

His wife turned her ample bosom toward the piano. As her large hands pounded the keyboard, Herbert and Págalu signed the first verse, which went like this:

Jesus loves me, this I know,

For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to him belong.

They are weak but he is strong.

When Mrs. Wiggins finished, the apes looked at each other and scratched their heads.

Do you boys have a problem? the dean asked, looking directly at Brian. There was an edge to his voice and Brian squirmed uncomfortably.

Who is Jesus? Brian signed.

He is the son of God, Dean Wiggins replied.

Who is God?

He is Jesus’ father.

Oh, now we understand! said Brian nodding to the other apes.

Are you putting me on, or what? said the dean.

C’mon, Dr. Wiggins, they’re just little chimps, said Greg. Maybe it would help if they could see a visual representation of God.

He left the room and returned with a picture book of the Sistine Chapel. Turning to the famous painting of God and Adam he showed it to the apes. Albert looked surprised.

God is a very old man? he signed. If he were a chimp we’d chase him away from the females.

The dean cleared his throat.

No more stalling, he said. This is serious business. Dorothy, hit it again.

She banged through the song a second time, and for a second time the chimps sat and stared at the signs with frozen expressions.

Perhaps a song wasn’t such a good idea afterall, said Greg.

God gave my wife a sign, said Dean Wiggins. We’ll try it one more time.

Three was the charm. With a sudden lurch the chimps began to bend their fingers and touch their palms. Amongst the many words I recognized the sign for Jesus. Dean Wiggins made a sound in his throat like he was choking.

I think they’ve got it! Dotty, keep playing!

The chimps began to sign faster, but when they tried to sign ‘love’ all they could do was cross their wrists.

Your wife’s going too fast, said Greg.

"Yes, yes, you’re right. Dotty, take it slow, like this:

Jesus…..loves…..me…..this…..I…..know…..For…..the…..Bible…..tells….me…..so….Little…..ones…..to…..him…..belong…..They…..are…..weak….but…..he…..is…..strong.

With the new tempo the apes signed the song back without making a single mistake. Then they did it again and a final time on their own. Herbert hugged me deliriously.

Tenure, tenure! he whispered. Dotty glared at Soddu. And you said there’d be no miracles!

I didn’t think it would be this simple, he replied. Maybe it’s a fluke.

It’s no fluke, said the dean. God has led us to a new category of converts, the Lord be praised!

At three o’clock the lessons ended, and after a few more handshakes and congratulations, Wiggins and his wife departed. The chimps yawned and stretched.

C’mon boys, let’s go to the park, said Herbert. The chair of our department thinks you should have daily exercise. Good for the mind and good for the soul.

Perhaps they’d rather rest, I said.

Orders are orders.

Must they always be obeyed?

I love that rebellious streak in you, Herbert said.

Yes, it turns me on too, said Soddhu smiling.

Outside Kline Hall, half way across the lawn Albert stopped to look at a large abstract sculpture made of metal.

What is it? he signed twisting his head underneath to get a better look.

Damned if I know, Págalu replied.

Several cars stopped to gawk as our procession continued down Hillhouse Avenue over to the little park behind the Anthropology building. Stately trees still graced the lawns of what had once been elegant mansions. Now the houses were part of the campus. The one to our right, for instance, belonged to Dr. Levin, the school president. It had a beautiful sunken garden paved with bricks and lined with flowers. A large planter sat in the center, and off to the side stood a brick wall with arches and reflecting mirrors.

Fall was coming but the days were still warm. For a long time we sat on the grass watching Págalu and the grad students play with the apes. They ran this way and that, and it wasn’t long before the men took off their tops.

I must tell Soddhu, said Herbert, that undershirts went out in this country about seventy years ago.

It’s not an undershirt, darling, it’s called a sadreh, and it’s part of his religion.

When did he tell you that?

Actually just today, right after lunch. Don’t be jealous, darling, it was all done in the interests of science.

Just then the chimp named Bill ran down a small flight of steps into the garden belonging to the president. Before we could stop him he jumped into the planter and threw a stone at himself in one of the mirrors. There was a loud crack.

What have you to say for yourself? Herbert asked when Bill was brought before him. After thinking for a moment, the recalcitrant chimp smiled broadly and replied in sign language: Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. When he finished he ran off to join the others, where a game of hide and seek was going on.

I guess you’ll need to teach him about sin, I reflected. My eyes searched for Págalu.

Yes, it’s a pity but I suppose we’ll have to, Herbert replied with a sigh. He put his arm around me.

Happy, darling?

Deliriously, I replied as I watched Soddhu trying to climb a tree and catch Freddy. It was hard to take my eyes off the sadreh now that I knew what it stood for.

I think we should celebrate, said Herbert. Project Mark is going to be a great success, I can feel it in my bones.

Greg came running toward us.

Have you seen Albert? he asked.

He’s over there inside that hollow tree, I said, gesturing behind the president’s house.

I think that was me, Greg replied. It was my turn to hide.

He can’t be far, said Herbert. But after combing the immediate area there was no sign of him. The other chimps were hurried back to the lab and a search party was formed: Herbert, Págalu, Greg and myself.

I had a sudden inspiration.

Do you remember how he was looking at the bluffs today?

We took off for the park. A police car with flashing lights passed us at the river. Soddhu reached into his sadreh and pulled out some leaves.

I didn’t know you chewed tobacco, I said as Herbert took one and threw it in his mouth.

Only when I’m nervous, darling, it helps me to relax.

A monument dedicated to war soars about sixty feet in the air near the edge of the bluffs. There are four statues about twenty feet from its base, and it was on this level where we saw Albert. We heard his screeches before we saw him. Each time he tried to get a handhold on the slippery mortar above his head he had to drop back. His fecal matter had soiled the statues and the police had drawn their guns.

Don’t shoot, Herbert cried racing up to the captain. He belongs to the university.

What’s he doing up there then? the captain asked.

He got away, isn’t it obvious? said Soddhu.

Captain, said another officer, I think we should shoot him. By the time they get him down there’ll be shit all over the place.

Oh come on, said Greg. Haven’t you ever peed or pooped in your pants when you were scared? Look, I’m doing it now.

Sure enough, poor Greg’s pant legs were all wet and there was a pool of water next to his foot.

Maybe we’ll have to shoot you too, said the second officer.

Look, Captain, said Herbert. That chimp—his name is Albert— understands American Sign Language. If you give us a minute we can get him to come down.

We can get him down quicker than that, said the captain.

Another officer had come to join us. This just came in sir, he said handing the captain a dispatch.

The policeman read it and turned to Herbert. Your Albert has some powerful friends, he said. We’re not supposed to harm a hair on his body.

Herbert tried to see whom the dispatch was from, but the captain quickly stuffed it into his pocket. Without much enthusiasm the men put their weapons away and a few minutes later the squad cars left the park.

It was late that evening when we fell into bed. We were too tired to celebrate but not to make love, and as always, Jesus came on cue.

Instead of bringing Dotty the next day, Dean Wiggins brought two children’s books which had simple pictures on each page. Locking his eyes onto Tom he said:

Which would you rather read, ‘Jesus and the Family Trip’ or ‘Jesus and the Grumpy Little Man’?

Are you the grumpy little man? Brian signed innocently.

Págalu laughed, and two of his shirt buttons popped off exposing what appeared to be the end of a string wound around his waist. Tom grasped it and began to pull.

No, no! Págalu exclaimed, pushing the chimp away. Leave my girdle alone, you little rascal!

Ha! said Wiggins triumphantly. Into cross dressing, eh, Professor?

Not at all, dear Dr. Wiggins, Soddhu replied. Actually this is part of my religion.

"A girdle?"

"A sacred girdle. We call it the Kusti; we put it on each morning to remind ourselves of our sacred commitment to live a morally responsible life."

From what I’ve heard, it hasn’t helped you much.

Spoken like a true Christian.

"Gentlemen, please, said Herbert. The chimps are waiting." But Págalu continued to lean into Wiggins’ face.

Perhaps I shall take the chimps to New Rochelle one of these days. A true Zoroastrian has no conception of bigotry.

If they ever set foot in one of your heathen fire temples, the dean exploded, you’ll be back in Bombay so fast you won’t know what hit you!

I think George Baxter might have something to say about that.

To hell with George Baxter!

The chimps began to whimper.

See, you’ve done it again, said Soddhu.

The words struck home. Poor Wiggins hung his head in remorse and would have stayed that way had Albert not slipped up to him and taken one of the books from his hand. The ape signed to Herbert:

I already know about books. Is this a good one?

The dean quickly recovered his wits and moved in on the chimps.

The best there is, he replied. He turned to page one and began to read.

The ease with which the chimps took to these books was a shock to everyone. But it was the pleasantest