CODA

Annulus

2007

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

In a dimly lit hall, I looked out at the dour faces of those who had come to hear my presentation. It was eight o’clock on a Saturday morning during the seventy-sixth annual meeting of the American Association of Physical Anthropologists. It was also the last day of a very long conference. Those that had made it out of bed looked anything but excited by my title, “Exploring diachronic change in the population-specific vocalizations of chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes).”

As I stammered through descriptions of chimpanzee call structure, vocal analysis, and phonetic change, I couldn’t help but think that I wasn’t doing a good job conveying what I had witnessed. I flipped through slides of spectrograms, regression charts, and pictures of nebulas. I looked over to see my coworker, who had helped me with my research, roll her eyes at the nebula slide. I looked back down to find that I had lost my place in my notes.

This was the second presentation I had given on my research in two weeks. The first had been at a conference in Chicago. There, I was able to have everything nicely laid out on a poster. I was supposed to station myself in front of the poster and give my presentation to anyone interested.

When I got there, I found that I was beside a researcher who had apparently trained several lab chimps to perform an extremely hard puzzle that he had constructed. This seemed to amaze the conference guests. In fact, his crowd spilled over in front of my poster. While he was talking, I suppose that he got too hot because he took off his coat and hung it over my poster. My results, along with a picture of Little Mama, were completely concealed. This was too much. While he waxed on about his chimpanzees’ amazing cognitive skills, I looked at my poster, looked at him telling a joke to the crowd, and looked at the crowd laughing at his joke. Just as I was about to throw his coat at him, I looked over and saw the open bar. Perhaps, I thought, that was a better idea. I slipped away, completely unnoticed, and ordered an Irish whiskey and club soda.

As I stood there, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. When I turned around, I saw that it was a primatologist who, for three decades, had been instrumental in several of the language-trained ape projects. The now elderly man asked me if I was the one who had analyzed the chimp dialect.

I nodded.

He then said something to the effect of, if he had only realized that he could have just listened to what the animals were saying, he wouldn’t have spent so much time and money trying to teach them to talk. He slapped me on the back, laughed, and walked away.

I smiled and took a sip of my drink. I looked over at my poster. The researcher’s coat had fallen off my poster and was now on the floor. The coat was being stepped on by several people. Little Mama’s picture was now visible again. I raised my glass and thought to myself, Cheers, Little Mama!

2007

Loxahatchee, Florida

Echoing across the islands, the cries of a newborn chimpanzee broke the still of the night. The sound alerted all of the chimpanzees in Higgy’s group to the top of the shelter where Gin had just given birth. By the time the group reached the shelter, Gin was cleaning her new offspring by the light of the stars in the sky. Higgy sat beside Gin and the new baby.

The group, now numbering eleven, were all able to fit on top of the shelter. They all crowded around Gin, attempting to get a glimpse of the newest member of their group. Gin picked up the infant female and put her to her breast. The infant immediately began nursing. Higgy cocked his head to the sky and produced a bellowing call which reverberated across the sky.

Bamboo, now four, cut through the crowd and got close to the new baby. Gin didn’t seem to notice so Bamboo stretched out his arm and touched the infant’s leg. Gin gave an abrupt, climactic yelp. Bamboo immediately ran away. Higgy ran after Bamboo. When he reached him, Bamboo reached out toward him and gave a low-pitched buildup, a quiet climax, and a low-pitched descent.

“I need to be groomed,” he vocalized.

Higgy responded with a calm buildup, climax, and descent of his own, “I’m happy with you.” Then he began to groom Bamboo.

After a while, the crowd of chimpanzees had dispersed. The only one left beside Gin and the new baby was Little Mama. She sat on her burlap with her hand resting on Gin’s arm. The baby was now sleeping on Gin’s chest, her eyes closed tightly. Little Mama bent over and put her head right next to the sleeping baby. Beneath the starry sky, Little Mama grunted softly. The baby opened her eyes and looked over at the elderly chimpanzee. At this, Little Mama adjusted the burlap over her head, crawled down to her nest, and went to sleep.

What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.

—LUDWIG WITTGENSTEIN