Aerogrammes and Other Stories - By Tania James Page 0,10

that her little coconut could be a hazard to anyone.

So for a time, there was Pearl, Neneh, and Henry. In Canton, Henry adapted well to their lives, eating at the dinner table and watching television in earnest, especially if a nature documentary appeared on PBS. He enjoyed simple pleasures—a fried egg sandwich, a Dole fruit cup, the dial tone of an unhooked phone. Pearl grew so frustrated with finding phones off the hook that she gripped Henry by the arm and scolded him; he avoided her eyes. After she released him and sat down to watch the evening news, he leapt into her lap and planted an open-mouthed kiss on her lips.

Those were difficult years, when most of Pearl’s friends and family stopped visiting, their phone calls dwindling. Pearl made them uncomfortable. Once, in her mailbox, she found a folded drawing of herself as a chimp, with a sloping forehead, flaring nostrils, a bun. She’d had smart-ass students before, but this somehow made her face simmer with shame. She rolled up the paper and used it to twirl out the spiderwebs inside the mailbox.

Pearl forged ahead. She took it upon herself to homeschool Neneh in all subjects, well through the fourth grade. Neneh was a poor student, and sometimes Pearl wondered if she was progressing sluggishly on purpose, reluctant to join a school with children her own age.

When Neneh turned ten years old, she enrolled at Walden Middle School, a short bus ride away. On the second day of class, Jurgen Roberts turned to her and asked, “Is it true your brother’s a chimp?” Just as Neneh was about to answer, Miss Davis demanded to know why Jurgen would ever say such a thing about someone’s brother.

Neneh left school that day with the distinct impression that the answer she had almost given Jurgen Roberts was wrong. The correct answer to his question would have been: Henry’s not my brother, he’s my pet. She considered treating Henry as she had seen other people dealing with their dogs and cats, as though she were an authority whose job it was to tame his behaviors. One such behavior was his proclivity to blow kisses at the blond mailwoman who slipped their mail through the slot and blew him a kiss in return. It was weird. What if, by some slim and lovely chance, Natalie Sharpe came over to play one day? Would Henry, beguiled by her flaxen hair, try to kiss her, too?

But Natalie Sharpe moved to Indiana, and Jurgen Roberts started going with Allie Sanfilippo, the girl who sat in front of him, at which point he stopped turning his head farther than forty-five degrees. Everything about the world of school was mercurial, the alliances tenuous, the cafeteria a minefield; at home, Henry was always waiting for her on the foyer stairs. He was her brother, whose leathery soles she liked to tickle until he gave desperate, panting bursts of laughter. A brother who winced when the trunk door fell on her head, who rubbed his own head in sympathy. A brother who stole the last grape Popsicle before she’d had even one, but at the very least, if she complained, he would break off a melty half and hold it out to her on his palm. “The half with the stick,” Neneh would insist, and, playing innocent, he would look away, as if he couldn’t understand her.

Seven years later, Pearl was forced to donate Henry to a zoo. The county police department had been pressuring her to do so, ever since Pearl’s neighbor had informed the sheriff that Pearl was harboring an adult male chimpanzee, who, if angered, could lash out with savage strength. It didn’t matter when Neneh and Pearl tried to explain Henry’s many gentle aspects, how patient he was, how delighted by buttered popcorn, so much so that he stood rapt before the microwave, watching the flat envelope spin in the humming light, growing pregnant with his favorite food. He even knew how to press the Minute-Plus button, as well as Start and Open.

“Popcorn?” the sheriff said, as if to imply that Pearl was choosing popcorn over local security.

But gradually it became difficult for Pearl to ignore that she was aging. Her veins rose blue against her thinning skin, and various glands and muscles made her wake with a start in the night. She was seventy-two years old and Neneh was seventeen, too young to care for a fully grown chimp on her own.

After many disappointing zoo tours,