Wonder

Marcuse Institute. She passed through the building so that Dr. Marcuse would know that she was onsite, then headed out the back door, walking in her shorts and T-shirt across the rolling grass to the little drawbridge over the circular moat. Crossing that, she stepped onto the artificial island that was Hobo’s home.

In the center of the dome-shaped island was a large gazebo, with wire screens over the windows to keep bugs out; Hobo’s painting easel was in there. Off to one side of the island was the eight-foot-tall statue of the Lawgiver from Planet of the Apes. Scattered about were palm trees. And loping along on all fours, coming toward her, was Hobo himself.

Once the distance between them was closed, he wrapped his long arms around her and gave her a hug. When that was over, he gave her ponytail a gentle, affectionate tug.

She no longer cringed when he did that. Yes, a few days ago, he had pulled so hard that her scalp had ended up bleeding, but his brief violent period seemed to have come to an end.

She moved her hands, signing, How you?

Pelican! he signed enthusiastically. Pelican!

Sho looked around, but he signed, No, no.

Ah, he’d seen a pelican earlier—Hobo had a fondness for the birds, and had once painted one perched atop the Lawgiver statue. She knew that any day that began with a pelican sighting for him was off to a good start.

Sho had a trio of Hershey’s kisses in her pocket and took them out. Hobo was adept at unwrapping them although it took him a full minute for each one. He had learned to roll the tinfoil into little balls that he put in the trash pail inside the gazebo. She gave him another hug, then headed back to the Institute. Dr. Marcuse and Dillon, the other grad student, were deep in conversation about AAAS politics, and so she settled in to check her email. Even though Webmind had eliminated spam, her message volume was creeping back up, thanks to the popularity of the videos of Hobo on YouTube, showing him painting portraits of her.

She’d given up in disgust, no longer looking at the YouTube pages associated with the videos, as too many of the comments were about her, not him, and most of them were crude:

chimp’s fuggly, but i’d like to give that chick my banana—she’s hawt!

Pony tails make great handles lol

That monkey wench gives me a bonoboner! A chimp blimp! Guess that makes me Homo erectus.:)

Although there was one that Sho’s girlfriend Maxine liked for its simple sweetness; she said she might put it on a T-shirt:

Shoshana is the gorilla my dreams!

Sho couldn’t keep up with the deluge of email—much of it in the same jerk-ass vein as the comments posted with the videos—and so she scanned the “From:” lines, checking for names she knew.

There was one from Juan Ortiz, her opposite number at the Feehan Primate Center in Miami. And one from the HR person at UCSD, which provided her (small!) monthly paycheck; the irony of dealing with Human Resources at an ape research facility was not lost on her. And there was one from—

Caitlin Decter. Why was that name familiar? She’d seen it somewhere before, and recently, too. The subject line was even more intriguing: “Hobo and Webmind.” She clicked on the message:

Hi, Shoshana.

My name is Caitlin Decter. I’m the blind girl who recently got sight; you might have seen stuff about me in the news lately. You might have also seen me on ABC’s This Week yesterday.

Right! thought Shoshana. That clip had gone viral, and several people had forwarded it to her home account. Man, that was brutal.

If you haven’t, the interview (which I hate!) is here. As you can see, I’m clearly not the right person to be the public face for Webmind.

Hah! You got that right, sister…

Webmind was going to write you himself (as you can see, he’s CC’d on this letter), but I’m such a fan of Hobo, I asked if I could do it. You see, given Webmind’s past relationship with Hobo, it has occurred to him that perhaps your furry friend might be willing to take on the role I can no longer fill.

Shoshana’s heart jumped, and she reread the sentence twice. “Webmind’s past relationship with Hobo”? What the hell was that about?

Perhaps we can discuss possibilities? Can we set up a video conference call between you, me, and Webmind?

Thanks! Caitlin

“Well-behaved women rarely make history.”

—LAUREL THATCHER ULRICH

Astonished, Shoshana fumbled for her mouse and clicked on the reply button.

fifteen

Barbara Decter was sitting alone on the couch in the living room at 7:30 on Monday morning, reading the latest International Journal of Game Theory, when she happened to look up. Just outside the window there was a tree branch that still had some of its autumn leaves on it, and perched on the branch was a beautiful male blue jay.

For years, the Decters’ Christmas cards had always featured one of Barb’s photos, and this looked like it’d be perfect—way better than the picture she’d taken last month of the St. Jacob’s farmers’ market. But her SLR was up in her office, and she knew if she got up, she’d startle the bird.