GORILLA DREAMS

My first impression of Phillip was that he was blessed with ignorance. Ten months gone had merely produced a stalemate; I did everything for him, and he simply stared into the distance while I toiled at his upkeep. His coal-black eyes would sometimes follow me as I went through the routine of maintaining his immensity, but I was no longer afraid. I had quickly learned that if I turned and met his gaze, he would immediately look away, seemingly embarrassed that his voyeurism had been detected.

Phillip had arrived to great fanfare just over one year ago on a reproductive loan from the Saint Louis Zoo. He was in his prime having just turned twelve, and at nearly seven hundred pounds was quite large for a Western Lowland Gorilla. Silver streaks mapped the contours of his thick back, and I swear that Juanita, his intended mate, had swooned just a little when she saw him exit his travel cage. In a subtle gesture that in hindsight foretold so much about Phillip, he turned his back on Juanita and the rest of the world that first day and sat quietly in the shade.

When I was offered the opportunity to become Phillip’s primary caretaker, I jumped at the chance. A Primatology major in college, I dreamed of someday traveling to faraway, exotic places to conduct field research while living the bohemian lifestyle central to all my fantasies. Instead, I found myself slaving away at the San Diego Zoo, scraping exotic animal dung from my boots each night before falling wearily into bed. Phillip, I thought, would be my salvation from such drudgery.

At first I did all of my business with Phillip from outside his cage, or from behind a safety partition that could be raised to split his habitat in half. As I went about the myriad tasks required to keep Phillip healthy and happy, I’d talk to him about Juanita and how he should proceed with his mission. Due to my own lackluster love life, I would often converse with Phillip like some guttural protagonist:

“Look at her Phil, you should give Juanita some gorilla meat right now big guy! You know she wants it bad! Make her scream, eh?

I’d shoot him knowing looks as I talked, but Phillip would only stare at the ground, unmoved it seemed by any of Cupid’s arrows

Over the next eight months Phillip showed no interest in Juanita in spite of her best efforts to impress him. When he wasn’t slumbering outside under her watch, Phillip would move to the man-made cave at the rear of their enclosure to be alone. Poor Juanita seemed to know better than to follow, and would fret and stew like a spurned teenager until Phillip re-emerged.

When allowed, Juanita groomed his fur and cooed like a baby as she consumed the lice and bugs she found. She brought him bananas and corn husks stuffed with peanut butter as proof of her love, but to no avail. Phillip simply wouldn’t mate. I felt sorry for Juanita when she was eventually moved to another enclosure, the throb of her primal longing echoing deep within my own womb.

From that point on, my conversations with Phillip became quite pedestrian, yet I think we both looked forward to them.

“How’d you sleep Phil?”

“What’s the weather gonna do today big guy? I heard it’s gonna be a real burner!”

Phillip’s answers remained in character as he quietly stared at the ground and kept his own counsel. It was also about this time that I decided to go against Zoo regulations and not use the safety partition when I was in his cage, choosing instead to trust my own instincts which said Phillip trusted me. I was right, and so it went.

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Today is Sunday, an early pink-orange sermon of a morning, the perfect time to beat the heat and get a jump on cleaning Phillip’s enclosure. I find him posed like a big stone Buddha just outside his cave, all four fingers of one massive hand curled and clinging to the cliff of his lower lip, completely enraptured with some gorilla daydream known only to him. In my best street-jive lingo I offer up the day’s first platitude,

“Hey Phil, what’s hanging today my man?”

Phillip stares at the ground, and thusly assured that all is right with his world, I began my chores. The first item of business is to get a ladder and clear those eucalyptus branches from the top of the cave. I get the ladder and return to find that Phillip has retreated into his cave, so I whisper in tempo to the morning’s rhythm;

“See ya later Phil.”

I set the ladder in place and ascend to the second highest rung. Hmmm, higher than I thought. I ease myself onto the top of the ladder and press my body tight against the rock, my plan to stretch on tippy-toes still seemingly coherent. As I strain for the end of a medium sized limb I feel the first wobble...Abruptly, the ladder slips away, and for the briefest of eternities, I’m floating free, temporarily absolved of all past and future worries.

The first thing I notice is that my head feels like a broken melon looks, all sticky pain and jumbled contents.

The second thing I notice is shattered bone jutting through my left shirt sleeve, so white it looks like fresh snow. I can’t get up, I think I’m going to be sick...

The third thing I notice are coal-black eyes floating above me as strong arms lift me effortlessly from the dirt. Warmth spills from his body to mine, and I let myself collapse into pungent pain. He carries me into his cave and sits placidly with my broken body securely on his lap as I manage to weakly mouth “Hi Phil.” And now I understand as I see my reflection in those eyes. It’s me he sees, it has always been me.