grinning at people who knew my name. I was a nobody; I was a novelty; I wasn’t who they thought I was. And nowadays when they
do
know who I am—it’s exactly the same. There’s the scrutiny, the handshake, the “Hey, Cheeta, how’s Tarzan, buddy?,” the
pause.
… If you want to know what being famous feels like, what it means—and I speak as perhaps the most famous animal alive today—then picture a human and a chimpanzee facing each other in awkward silence, with nothing to be said, the faint inanity of the interaction stealing over both of them. That’s what fame is.
Anyway, we stepped off the sidewalk and descended some stairs into a cavernous shelter. I’m not ashamed to admit I was already salivating at the prospect of this “legal” booze in the White Rose Tavern when my nose caught a thick whiff of leopard, with top-notes of monkey. No, not topnotes, I thought, as we entered the tavern, a great smoggy stench of monkey.
Mr. Gentry greeted a rather solemn young man in shirtsleeves and striped tie—the Son, I was later to learn, in “Henry Trefflich & Son: Animal Importers”—and was soon laughing with him about the mamba; DiMarco was doing pratfalls to illustrate. I could see Earl and several other men at the far end of a corridor wrangling a shelter onto a cart inside which Frederick was hopping and whining,I could see the wire mesh of shelters through which delicate little monkey-fingers curled. My heart sank. Quite obviously this wasn’t a “tavern” but some kind of further rehab center.
“And this is him, Henry, got him half trained already—the Cheater. The Cheater of Death,” said Mr. Gentry, unfurling me from his leg, which I’d quietly coiled myself around. He held me out to the pale young man. “Cheats, let me introduce to you the son of a friend of mine—Henry Trefflich the Younger.”
I sensed something unnatural or false in his gesture. It made me nervous and I scooted away from Trefflich back behind my protector’s leg.
“We’ll get acquainted later over a banana or two,” Trefflich said to me, threateningly. “But he needs a new name. Got a couple of Cheetas upstairs already.”
“Hell, they’re on a different order, ain’t they? You can’t be changing the Cheatster’s name,” said DiMarco. “Cheatster saved my life, man.”
“Well, maybe not, if he’s going with the L.A. order. I don’t know how much more stock MGM are after. But you wouldn’t believe what’s happening with the private buyers here. Dad says we sold more chimps in ‘thirty-two than the last ten years together. You know for why? It’s that great lummox Weissmuller. The ladies go crazy for him. It’s, uh… subliminal. They want Tarzan—they end up buyin’ a chimp.”
As Trefflich talked, I felt Mr. Gentry’s hand trying to detach my arm from his leg and I clung tighter, but I was just a kid, with a kid’s sinews, and there was another force in the room beyond Mr. Gentry’s strength, a gravity that was pulling me away from him and toward Trefflich.
“Dammit, Tony, you got yourself a friend there,” Trefflich said.
“Yeah. I’m going to miss you, little feller,” Mr. Gentry said, hisclawing fingers continuing to insist. He went on talking to Trefflich. “Me and the boys’ve been up all night snake-hunting….” Their nerves were shredded after the mamba, he said, and they needed to take the weight off for an hour or two before coming back to do the paperwork. “Come on, Cheats, off now.”
My grip finally went and Trefflich advanced with both arms out to shovel me up into his clasp, so I gave him a warning shriek and bit him as hard as I could on the side of his wrist. To no effect whatsoever, except to send a vibrating pain up the roots of my teeth, and a sharper, thinner hurt into the roof of my mouth. I
knew
they’d have some kind of magic protection. By the time the shock had subsided, Trefflich had hold of the back of my neck and I felt very strongly that I had
do
know who I am—it’s exactly the same. There’s the scrutiny, the handshake, the “Hey, Cheeta, how’s Tarzan, buddy?,” the
pause.
… If you want to know what being famous feels like, what it means—and I speak as perhaps the most famous animal alive today—then picture a human and a chimpanzee facing each other in awkward silence, with nothing to be said, the faint inanity of the interaction stealing over both of them. That’s what fame is.
Anyway, we stepped off the sidewalk and descended some stairs into a cavernous shelter. I’m not ashamed to admit I was already salivating at the prospect of this “legal” booze in the White Rose Tavern when my nose caught a thick whiff of leopard, with top-notes of monkey. No, not topnotes, I thought, as we entered the tavern, a great smoggy stench of monkey.
Mr. Gentry greeted a rather solemn young man in shirtsleeves and striped tie—the Son, I was later to learn, in “Henry Trefflich & Son: Animal Importers”—and was soon laughing with him about the mamba; DiMarco was doing pratfalls to illustrate. I could see Earl and several other men at the far end of a corridor wrangling a shelter onto a cart inside which Frederick was hopping and whining,I could see the wire mesh of shelters through which delicate little monkey-fingers curled. My heart sank. Quite obviously this wasn’t a “tavern” but some kind of further rehab center.
“And this is him, Henry, got him half trained already—the Cheater. The Cheater of Death,” said Mr. Gentry, unfurling me from his leg, which I’d quietly coiled myself around. He held me out to the pale young man. “Cheats, let me introduce to you the son of a friend of mine—Henry Trefflich the Younger.”
I sensed something unnatural or false in his gesture. It made me nervous and I scooted away from Trefflich back behind my protector’s leg.
“We’ll get acquainted later over a banana or two,” Trefflich said to me, threateningly. “But he needs a new name. Got a couple of Cheetas upstairs already.”
“Hell, they’re on a different order, ain’t they? You can’t be changing the Cheatster’s name,” said DiMarco. “Cheatster saved my life, man.”
“Well, maybe not, if he’s going with the L.A. order. I don’t know how much more stock MGM are after. But you wouldn’t believe what’s happening with the private buyers here. Dad says we sold more chimps in ‘thirty-two than the last ten years together. You know for why? It’s that great lummox Weissmuller. The ladies go crazy for him. It’s, uh… subliminal. They want Tarzan—they end up buyin’ a chimp.”
As Trefflich talked, I felt Mr. Gentry’s hand trying to detach my arm from his leg and I clung tighter, but I was just a kid, with a kid’s sinews, and there was another force in the room beyond Mr. Gentry’s strength, a gravity that was pulling me away from him and toward Trefflich.
“Dammit, Tony, you got yourself a friend there,” Trefflich said.
“Yeah. I’m going to miss you, little feller,” Mr. Gentry said, hisclawing fingers continuing to insist. He went on talking to Trefflich. “Me and the boys’ve been up all night snake-hunting….” Their nerves were shredded after the mamba, he said, and they needed to take the weight off for an hour or two before coming back to do the paperwork. “Come on, Cheats, off now.”
My grip finally went and Trefflich advanced with both arms out to shovel me up into his clasp, so I gave him a warning shriek and bit him as hard as I could on the side of his wrist. To no effect whatsoever, except to send a vibrating pain up the roots of my teeth, and a sharper, thinner hurt into the roof of my mouth. I
knew
they’d have some kind of magic protection. By the time the shock had subsided, Trefflich had hold of the back of my neck and I felt very strongly that I had
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