Audrey Schulman - Theory of Bastards

Three Weeks in December

Swimming with Jonah

A House Named Brazil

The Cage

Europa Editions
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New York NY 10001
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously.
Copyright Audrey Schulman, 2018
First publication 2018 by Europa Editions
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Cover Art by Emanuele Ragnisco
www.mekkanografici.com
Cover photo Carlush/Shutterstock
ISBN 9781609454388

Audrey Schulman

THEORY
OF BASTARDS

But sometimes a tool may have other uses that you dont know. Sometimes in doing what you intend, you also do what the knife intends,
without knowing.
P HILIP P ULLMAN

Most of the experiments in this novel are based on actual experiments performed by real researchers. Information about them is provided in the Appendix.

The characters, however, bear no resemblance to any real researchers. They are utterly created by my imagination.

W hen Frankies vehicle pulled in, she saw a whole group of them waiting for her, exactly what she hated. Dressed up, milling about, eager supplicants. Ten or eleven researchers in all, probably every Ph.D. at the Foundation.

When the door slid open and she stepped out, they blinked. A few glanced back inside the vehicle to search for another passenger, before returning to her. She didnt look much like her press photos these days.

Dr. Bellowsthe executive directorwas more prepared. Perhaps he had heard rumors or maybe her request for a wheelchair had been enough. He stepped forward to clasp her hands, saying how delighted, how truly honored he was to have her here. Hed read all her papers. The chair was pushed forward and Frankie sank into it. The group of them made lots of noise, talking all around her, each adding their tidbit of information: the Foundations illustrious history, the past researchers, the freedom and facilities she would have. Frankie barely had to say a word.

They wheeled her along, into a courtyard with a large catered meal. A woman stepped in front for a moment, framing the shot with her fingers, ready to take a photo, calling out, Smile.

Jesus, Frankie said and held her hand in the way, Just take me to the animals. Let me see them. I havent agreed to this job yet.

The silence awkward. The apologies profuse. They moved her toward the exhibits. The crowds of touristspushing strollers and eating popcornparted like water in front of them. The exhibits were connected by a wandering path through landscaped gardens. They passed the gorilla and chimp enclosures. She did not even glance at them. The orangutans watched the parade go by, their jowly faces swiveling like radar dishes.

This level of attention being paid to her was relatively new. Shed heard afterward that the MacArthur committee was made up of very smart but busy experts. When asked to come up with names, they were likely to scan headlines, to Quark some searches. The press about her last study had hit during the spring, probably when they were making nominations. Up until then, shed mostly been underfunded and ignored; she wanted very much to return to that. The desire wasnt out of kindnessa wish to make others comfortable. No, 33 years old and fresh from this last surgery, she had no use for other peoples jealousy.

The doctors had been so careful in what they said, trying to be exact85% chance of recovery, not from her disease, just the symptoms. Still she was so hungry for this opportunity. Waiting to see if the symptoms would return, there was the high-pitched hum of disbelief in her ears, like an extraterrestrial whod finally cracked the door open, about to take that terrifying first breath. The medicine she craved was distraction.

They arrived at the bonobo enclosure, the area blocked off from the tourists. Today these animals were for her appreciation alone. Inside the plexiglass walls was a hill with a climbing structure on it and a small pond at the base of it, a few milk crates scattered about. Realizing something was up, the 14 bonobos were clustered near the glass, watching the path for whatever change was about to arrive, the crowd of them reminiscent of the researchers waiting for Frankies car.

In appearance, they looked like the chimps shed passed, only the bonobos were a touch skinnier and less muscled. Their fur softer. Their lips red. Their eyes thoughtful.

Think of a video montage where a human turns into a wild beasthair sprouting, brow slanting, jaw jutting. If the chimp is the final image, the bonobo is a second earlier.

In front stood one bonobo. Her stance was not a chimps: bandy-legged as a cowboy with the barrel-shaped chest heaved up, her torso ready at any moment to fall back onto all fours. No, she stood as a human does, comfortably upright, legs straight, her face turned to the researchers as though theyd just called her name.

And, unlike the rest of the bonobos, her body was balding and her head utterly hairless. Perhaps an autoimmune disease or the effect of aging. What little hair remained on her body was no longer thick enough to be called fur, closer perhaps to the sparseness of chest hair. She stood there, wiry and short, her skin the grey of putty, a naked Gandhi with jug ears, staring into Frankies eyes.

Actually all of the bonobos were looking at Frankie. Staring not at the whole group of researchers, but at Frankie, her face. As though theyd followed the coverage in the Wall St. Journal and New York Timesthe upswing in genetic testing, the outings of public figures and past presidentsand were surprised to spot her here.

It took Frankie a moment to realize the animals must know all the researchers who worked here. She was the only stranger. Studies had shown even a sheep could recognize up to 50 faces.

Dr. Bellows began to speak, his voice awkward, The particular... umm... behavior youd be researching, the behavior that bonobos are famous for, happens primarily before mealtimes.

As though making excuses for them he continued, The behavior is used to ease tensions, to calm down any conflict over the food. Would you like me to...

Feed em, she said.

Bellows nodded and a researcher obediently jogged off around the corner of the building.

Frankie waited. The animals continued to study her, in their half circle, positioned as though she was about to lecture them or they about to interrogate her.

She gestured with her chin at the bald bonobos confident stance. She asked, Alpha female?

Yes, said Bellows, She runs the show. Thats Mama.

Mama? Frankie asked, the rising lilt of her question making her sound like a needy child.

Mama, answered Bellows, letting the word fall heavy like the name of a mafia don.

From the silence around them, she guessed most of the researchers worked with other apes here at the Foundation and felt uncomfortable with what was about to happen.

She pointed her chin at the kiosk next to Bellows. It displayed a large photo of a bonobo waving hi. There was a panel with many buttons on it. She asked, Whats that?

He said, Ahh, some of the bonobos were raised with sign language. This is a way to communicate with them.

Really? asked Frankie.

Seated, she couldnt see which two buttons he pressed but the avatar of a female bonobo appeared on the plexiglass between the humans and the bonobosoff to the side and a few feet up so she didnt block the exhibit. Her hands gestured in sign language as she spoke the words, saying, Human. Hello.