“Zira!” Lewis shouted, but she didn’t hear him. Or if she did, she no longer cared what any human had to say. She staggered along the deck until she reached Cornelius, and sank down beside him, her hand in his, her muzzle next to his breast.

That was how Lewis Dixon found her; and that was how they were buried, with the infant beside them.

TWENTY-THREE

“Nearly ready to roll, Armando.”

“Very good. I will not be long, but I wish to see to Heloise and her baby.” The sounds of a circus on the move were around him: grunts and snarls from disturbed animals, the roar of the motors warming up, shouts from the drivers. The dogs barked in excitement—circus dogs, who enjoyed being on the road again.

He carried the newspaper to the cage door. Beyond the bars a female chimpanzee fondled a baby. “You will not understand,” Armando said. “But I will tell you anyway. They buried them. A scientist who proposed that they be stuffed and exhibited in a museum barely escaped with his life from his own students, while policemen stood by and did nothing! They were buried.”

The chimpanzees made contented sounds. The baby nuzzled closer and began to suckle. “You will be fine with Heloise,” Armando said. “And—later, Armando will teach you himself. Armando will teach you everything. Papa Armando and Mama Heloise, eh? But now you stay with your mama.”

The baby looked up at him with bright eyes. Armando nodded. “Intelligent creature. But then you should be.” He peered into the semidarkness and caught a glint of light from the baby’s breast. “Saint Francis protect you, Milo. St. Francis and Mama Heloise—” He turned away. “Ready to roll!” he shouted to his crew.

Behind him the infant chimpanzee toyed with the St. Francis medal on its silver chain around his neck. “Ma-ma-ma? Ma-ma? Ma-ma! Mama!”