Half Brother Read Free

was an Air Force base in New Mexico. They had lots of chimps. Inthe fifties and sixties they brought a whole bunch into the country to use them for the American space program. But that was twenty years ago, and now it seemed like they didn’t need as many. One of their adult females was about to have another baby and they didn’t want to take care of it.
    It was perfect for Dad. He needed a baby chimp that could be taken away from its mother, days after birth.
    He wanted a baby he could raise like a human.
    We ordered in pizza that night, and ate it in the living room, on the orange shag carpet. We had our sofas now, but it seemed more relaxing—and kind of decadent—to sprawl out on the floor with our shoes and socks off, like hippies. Mom especially looked like a hippie, with her long hair, bell-bottoms, fringed vest, and the Native medallion hanging from a leather necklace.
    Dad was pretty straitlaced. I’d seen some of the other professors in Toronto wear jeans, but Dad always liked a proper suit and tie for work. His hair was short. He didn’t go in for all this touchy-feely stuff; he preferred facts. Like Mom, though, he was good-looking, even though he was getting close to forty. They were certainly a lot younger than most of the other parents I knew, because they got married so early, when Dad was a grad student and Mom was still in undergrad. Mom was just twenty-one when she had me.
    And now she had another baby.
    I looked over at the little bassinet, where the baby chimpwas fast asleep, his tiny fingers twitching every now and then. I’d never even had a pet before. No cats or dogs in our house. Dad hated the idea of pets.
    “What’re you going to call it?” I asked.
    “Well,” said Mom, pouring herself some more red wine, “they’d already named him Chuck at the base, after Chuck Yeager.”
    “The guy who broke the sound barrier?” I said. She nodded. “But I don’t think he looks much like a Chuck.” “The name’s not important,” Dad said. “He just needs one.” “Well,
I
think the name’s important,” said Mom. “How about naming him after where he came from?” “New Mexico?” I asked.
    “No, the place he would’ve been born in the wild.”
    “A bit sentimental, don’t you think?” said Dad. He hated sentimentality. He said it got in the way of the truth. It was the enemy of science. He wanted to strip it all away and show things and people as they really were. It was better that way, he said. Healthier and more honest.
    “Congo,” said Mom.
    I frowned, trying to remember my map of Africa. “Isn’t the country called something else now? Zaire?”
    She nodded. “But the Congo’s also the river that runs through central Africa. There’s a theory that the river separated two different groups of chimps. And that’s why they evolved into different species.”
    Dad shook his head. “Congo sounds a bit too much like Bonzo—the chimp in that awful Ronald Reagan movie. I don’t want the association.”
    “How about Kong?” I suggested. It was sort of fun, thinking up names.
    Mom chuckled. “King Kong? For this tiny little thing?” “Tarzan, then!” I said.
    This time Dad laughed. “Keep in mind, I have to use this name in all the scientific papers. It’s a bit hard to take Tarzan seriously.”
    “For someone who said the name didn’t matter, you’re being awfully picky!” Mom said, giving Dad a playful jab with her finger.
    I thought some more. “Just the last bit, then. Zan!”
    “I like it,” said Mom right away. “Does that meet with your approval, Richard?”
    “Sounds like something out of
Star Trek,”
said Dad, “but sure, I can live with Zan.”
    I wonder if can,
I thought, looking at the sleeping chimp.
    Mom poured a little splash of wine into my empty cup.
    “You’re old enough to have a sip,” she said. She raised her glass. “To our new teenager.”
    We all clinked glasses and drank. It was probably the worst thing I’d ever