Pongo and Jeeves

By R.N. Varhaug

The DNA of chimpanzees and humans are 98.5% identical. A mutation in only a few genes can give a chimpanzee a human-sized brain. Such a mutation would have little effect in the wild but if chance puts two such chimpanzees in a primate research center where they learn sign language and see educational TV. . .

What would you do if you were a chimpanzee with a human brain? A really smart human brain? Pongo and Jeeves accepted that chance had played a joke on them and they laughed right along with it. Not everybody joined in. The pompous and similar degraded specimens found that their encounters with the chimpanzees usually proved more entertaining to bystanders than to themselves..

Making the best of things, Pongo and Jeeves led full lives that included visiting Roswell as aliens, producing syndicated columns and even writing speeches for a presidential candidate. Along the way, they were able to thwart bad guys and generally do good. All told, lives well spent and justly rewarded.

Join Pongo and Jeeves. You'll enjoy their company.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 11, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462844869

R.N. Varhaug

R. N. Varhaug likes stories with a few chuckles and happy endings. The stories should be totally devoid of redeeming social value and fail utterly to probe the depths of human experience or illuminate the hidden crevices of tortured souls. He lives in Houston with his first wife. When not paddling a kayak or riding a bicycle he practices the art of being a generally genial retired person.

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Copyright © 2000 by R.N. Varhaug.

ISBN #: Softcover 0-7388-2110-1

eBook 9781462844869

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

THE PRIMATE CENTER

THE APARTMENT

ON THE ROAD

THE RANCH

TO FLORENCE

THE PRIMATE CENTER

Dr. Randolph Siddonberry strode briskly into his office at the Hughes Primate Research Center. He never, where others might see him, sauntered, strolled, or ambled.

Eager to begin a new day during which he would undoubtedly take another step on the path to fame, he strode to the coat rack. From it he took a white lab coat. It differed from the other anonymous lab coats by having ‘Dr. Siddonberry’ embroidered over the breast pocket in large blue block letters. Louis Pasteur was a doctor. So was Einstein. So are most winners of Nobel Prizes. As a doctor, he was already a member of that elite from which unknowns had rocketed to fame. In time, with only a little luck, he too . . .the thought trailed off in a haze of hope. He put on the lab coat, buttoned three buttons and regarded his image in the full-length mirror on the wall. It had been placed there because, he had made a point of explaining, chimpanzees liked to admire themselves.

He liked what he saw. A minor procedure had perfected his nose; Jorj kept his hair waved and trimmed; a personal trainer and a home tanning booth gave his six-foot-two body a look that drew open admiration from California’s golden girls. Not for the first time he reflected that life wasn’t fair. He had so much while others had so little. But that was life. Someone had to be above average and he thought he bore that burden with, what was the phrase? savoir faire. That was it. Savoir faire. Someday he would have to learn more French; the French had such a, well, French way of saying things.

As he did every day, he strode toward the office of his colleague, Dr. Patricia Thomas. Someday, he hoped, a just providence would push her under a bus—figuratively, of course. He didn’t actually wish any harm to come to her, he just wished that harm wouldn’t come to her some place else. Here, frankly, she was a pain, always prattling about treating animals with respect. They were animals, for Pete’s sake. Resignedly he thought, oh well, everyone has a cross to bear.

His right coat pocket bulged. Loathing the rumpled look of full pockets, he reached in to remove the offensive object, felt something squishy, and jerked his hand out. He stared at it, horrified and incredulous. With a shudder of revulsion he saw that his fingers were covered in what polite circles would call chimpanzee feces. At the moment he wasn’t in one of those circles and lapsed into those four letter Anglo-Saxon words found so offensive in refined society. Not wishing to offend any sensitive readers, his language won’t be repeated. Dr. Thomas, whose sensibilities he wasn’t considering, heard the outburst and said to herself, What in the world?

Siddonberry bounded to the sink and scrubbed his hand till it turned pink. Then, red faced and furious, he confronted Dr. Thomas, Did you do that?

Dr. Thomas drew herself up, indignant and aggrieved. We’ve had our differences but I had nothing to do with that, she said. But then, she giggled. Well, who wouldn’t? Well, Dr. Siddonberry, for one, and the giggle made him even madder.

This was the kind of prank that thirteen year old boys pull. As there were no thirteen year old boys at Hughes Primate Research Center, Dr. Siddonberry pressed on. Well, who did? Who else could have? The technicians haven’t come in yet so it’s you and the chimps. They sure didn’t do it, so who’s left?

I don’t know how that got in your coat pocket, but I didn’t put it there, she insisted.

Well, I’m going to call Security and I’m going to get to the bottom of this. And I’m going to make sure Dr. Hughes knows about this infantile prank. Throwing the violated lab coat into a waste basket, he strode back to his office without even a glance at the chimpanzees.

The chimpanzees watched the scene with interest. Things were generally pretty boring. This made a change. A careful observer would have noticed that two of the chimpanzees were more absorbed in the scene than the others. Our careful observer would have seen that they looked at each other and moved their hands a lot. If the careful observer understood sign language he would have been amazed to see, I say, Pongo old chap, our Randolph seems to be a bit upset.

Yes, said Pongo. His reaction to our little jests always seems so intense. You wonder why that is. We do go to some trouble to break the tedium of this place with little surprises, yet our Randolph always takes it badly.

We may have been a trifle excessive this time, though, said Jeeves. He seems intent on blaming Patricia and I would be sorry if our efforts got her in trouble.

We’ll have to be more careful next time, said Pongo, make sure that the finger of guilt doesn’t point, even indirectly toward her. You remember what this place was like before she came.

Oh, yes, said Jeeves, I do remember. However, in time our Randolph will see that she is innocent. It will be interesting to see what he does when he confronts Patricia’s innocence. As, in his words, ‘the chimps sure didn’t do it and the technicians couldn’t do it’ he has another of those mysteries that seem to dog him. I wonder if he will develop some sort of complex.

Pongo and Jeeves were adept at sign language. Although lacking the ability to speak, they could understand speech very well indeed. In their minds they heard their signing in the accents of British comedies. They were, as surely you have divined by now, not ordinary chimpanzees. Unlike others of their species, they had a special fondness for British comedies and even gave themselves the names of their favorite characters and signed as they imagined those characters would talk.

To resume. Patricia, of course, was telling the truth. She wouldn’t have done it. She might have, had she thought of it, but she never would think of such a thing. She was nice. Petite, pretty and bright, but nice. Practical jokes were not her style. She could be an appreciative audience, but not a performer. She smiled, then she giggled. Randolph Siddonberry had been entertaining. But now she grew serious. Where, she wondered, would it all end? She didn’t have the chimpanzees’ faith in innocence. She’d noticed that innocence was not a reliable shield: lamb chops, after all, came from innocent lambs. And she knew that Siddonberry would find some way to complain to Dr. Hughes about her.

It was incredible how wrong things had gone. With her brand new Ph.D. she had been delighted to be working with Dr. Siddonberry. He seemed so confident and up-and-coming and he was handsome. At first she was genuinely admiring and deferential and all went well. But she had a fatal weakness: she actually liked and respected the chimpanzees. She knew that chimpanzees were genetically nearly human and she treated them almost like children. Siddonberry didn’t care how close chimpanzees might be to humans. Even an infinitesimally small difference was enough. A human was a human, an animal was an animal. Period. Because chimpanzees were animals, they should be treated with no more consideration than some primitive worm. To do otherwise and attribute human qualities to them only got in the way of the work. As no bridge could span the chasm between their views, Patricia had often considered asking for another assignment. Perhaps now the decision would be taken out of her hands.

Thor Olson, the captain of security, had been a lieutenant of police. He’d planned to give it thirty years then retire, perhaps to Montana. An assignment to provide security at a museum aroused an interest in Mayan inscriptions. The interest became an obsession with which police work interfered. He retired at twenty years and found a cushy job at Hughes, where his duties seldom interfered with his passion. Laboring ceaselessly in his office, he was the very model of industriousness. Staff members passing his office were amazed that security at this quiet place should take so much work.

Mindful of his image, Olson hustled right over when Siddonberry called. Their contacts had been few but Siddonberry had invariably conveyed the message that he was dealing, albeit with patience and civility, with an inferior. Olson understood the message perfectly and ached to give the plastic surgeon another chance to work on the Siddonberry nose but he had, thus far, denied himself that pleasure.

When Olson knocked on the door frame, Siddonberry continued writing for a few seconds before looking up. Ah, Olson, thank you for coming. Please come in

Yes, sir. Thank you. How can I help?

I need you to investigate a transgression and identify the perp.

Perp? Siddonberry had obviously been watching too many TV cop shows. Yes, sir. A transgression. What, he said in his best TV cop manner, was the nature of this transgression?

Well, this morning I found chimpanzee feces in the pocket of my laboratory jacket.

Chimpanzee feces? What was with this guy? Why didn’t he just come out and say it in plain English? He was talking to a security officer, not to the Mother Superior of the Convent of the Holy Spirit and All Saints. Feces? Is that a technical term, sir?

Feces, you know, excrement, waste.

Oh, you mean dudu.

Yes, dudu. Good grief. Did this dolt have the vocabulary of a six year old?

In the pocket of your lab coat?

That’s what I said.

I know you did, sir, but we have to get the facts down. He made a point of writing in his notebook, ‘Dudu in pocket of lab coat’. And you think, sir, that it was chimpanzee dudu?"

Well, of course. Siddonberry could barely contain his impatience. We have chimpanzees, a couple of dozen of them. We don’t have gorillas or orangutans or rhesus monkeys.

That’s a very good point, sir. And you are sure it was dudu.

Yes, I’m sure. Positive. We have lots of it. I know dudu.

I’m sure you do, sir, something about the way Olson said that made a slight frown cross Siddonberry’s face, but we do have to get our facts straight. So many investigations go astray because the basic facts aren’t correctly established at the beginning. You do appreciate, sir, that starting with the wrong facts will certainly lead us to the wrong conclusion.

Yes, of course. Was Olson putting him on somehow?

Where is the lab coat now, sir?

I threw it in the waste basket over there.

Olson retrieved the lab coat, folded it and put it in a plastic bag. Exhibit A, sir. We’ll have to give it a thorough forensic examination. There may be traces of foreign fibers and maybe other clues. He paused, Who do you think might have been the perpetrator or perpetrators?

I have my suspicions but no proof, so I’d rather not point a finger. I will say, in complete confidence, of course, that my colleague may be able to help you.

Of course. That would be Dr. Thomas wouldn’t it sir?

Yes. I’m not saying she’s guilty, mind you, only that she may be able to help.

I understand. Now, if I may, I’d like to interview the other members of the laboratory staff.

Paul Jackson and Beverly Sanders had come in just after Siddonberry. They told Olson that Siddonberry was the last to leave the lab the previous day so the offense could not have been committed before today. They could offer no help beyond, with scarcely concealed grins, agreeing that Dr. Siddonberry had every right to be upset. That left Thomas.

Dr. Thomas, I’m Olson of Security. Do you have a minute?

Of course, please come in. She stood and extended her hand. Call me Pat."

Okay, Pat, I’m Thor.

Thor sat down and looked at Pat. He hadn’t paid much attention before, but this was a very pretty girl. She came to about his shoulder when she stood. Shoulder length shiny auburn hair framed an oval face with gorgeous green eyes. He didn’t want to recklessly say she was perfect on such short acquaintance but there were no obvious defects. He’d have to make a point of checking further before committing himself to a firm judgement. Right now he considered her a ten. Did you do it?

No. I’ll admit I would have been tempted if I’d thought of it. As others can tell you, we’ve had our differences. But no, I didn’t do it.

The technicians couldn’t have done it. Do you think Siddonberry did it himself?

He’d love to get me in trouble with Dr. Hughes but I don’t think he could make himself get his hands dirty even in such a good cause.

Well, it’s not the crime of the century. Let me think about it a little, said Thor and left.

That was a doll, a bit young, perhaps, and that Ph.D. added to the distance between them, but she seemed so natural and unaffected. Maybe . . .

Back at the office, Thor reviewed the night shift logs. Nobody had come in or gone out. The perimeter security cameras showed nothing but a few cats and raccoons. What about people in other laboratories at Hughes? Would somebody there do it? He’d need to talk with Pat again.

She didn’t think it likely. The other labs did molecular biology and cell studies and so on. There was really very little interaction between them. Of course, it didn’t take much interaction with Siddonberry to annoy others, still she found it unlikely.

What, exactly, did the Siddonberry lab do?

We’re studying the way chimpanzees learn. We want to map the difference between chimpanzee learning skills and human learning skills. The idea is that, by studying chimpanzees, which have smaller brains than humans, we might learn something about how human brains work. Perhaps, long in the future, we may be able to help people with certain kinds of brain disorders.

He loved to hear her talk. She was so animated and vivacious. He wanted to hear her some more. Just how do you study chimpanzee learning skills? he asked.

There are several approaches. What we do here is to try to give chimpanzees the same experiences that a human infant would have. Lately we’ve been focusing on studies of language. Chimpanzees don’t have human voice boxes so they can’t say human words. But speech isn’t necessary for language. The deaf, as you know, communicate very well with sign language so we try to compensate for their lack of a voice box by teaching the chimpanzees to sign. Once they learn to sign, we can study the sorts of concepts they grasp, sketch the boundary between chimpanzee understanding and our own. As you might suspect, it’s not a razor sharp line, it’s more like a line that somebody might draw with a spray can, heavy in the center and fading away at the edges.

From what you know about these chimps, could one of them have played a joke on Siddonberry?

I don’t know how they could have. They’re in the habitat, which is locked up when we leave. I don’t see how they could get to the coat.

Suppose, Olson said, that they could get out. Would they do it?