Even after Julia and her father leave, I try to keep sulking. But it’s no use.
Gorillas are not, by nature, pouters.
“Stella?” I call. “It’s a full moon. Did you see?”
Sometimes, when we are lucky, we catch a glimpse of the moon through the skylight in the food court.
“I did,” Stella says. She is whispering, and I realize that Ruby must be asleep.
“Is Ruby all right?” I ask.
“She’s too thin, Ivan,” Stella says. “Poor baby. She was in that truck for days. Mack bought her from a circus, the same way he bought me, but she hadn’t been there long. She was born in the wild, like us.”
“Will she be okay?” I ask.
Stella doesn’t answer my question. “The circus trainers chained her to the floor, Ivan. All four feet. Twenty-three hours a day.”
I puzzle over why this would be a good idea. I always try to give humans the benefit of the doubt.
“Why would they do that?” I finally ask.
“To break her spirit,” Stella says. “So she could learn to balance on a pedestal. So she could stand on her hind legs. So a dog could jump on her back while she walked in mindless circles.”
I hear her tired voice and think of all the tricks Stella has learned.