His lip twitched into a smile. “Because you’ve both been listening to the same mother from the day of your birth. I’m not referring to your biological mother, of course, but rather to your cultural mother. Mother Culture speaks to you through the voice of your parents—who likewise have been listening to her voice from the day of their own birth. She speaks to you through cartoon characters and storybook characters and comic-book characters. She speaks to you through newscasters and schoolteachers and presidential candidates. You’ve listened to her on talk shows. You’ve heard her in popular songs, advertising jingles, lectures, political speeches, sermons, and jokes. You’ve read her thoughts in newspaper articles, textbooks, and comic strips.”
“Okay,” I said. “I guess I see what you mean.”
“This is, of course, not peculiar to your particular culture, Julie. Every culture has its own nurturing and sustaining educational mother. The ideas being nurtured in you and Alan are very differe
nt from those being nurtured in tribal peoples who are still living the way their ancestors lived ten thousand years ago—the Huli of Papua New Guinea, for example, or the Macuna Indians of eastern Colombia.”
“Yes, I see.”
“The things to be brought forth from you and Alan are the same, but they’re at different stages of development. Alan’s been listening to Mother Culture for twenty years longer than you, so what is to be found in him is naturally more fully fixed and articulated.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Like the way a fetus is more filled out at seven months than at two months.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay. So now what?”
“So now I’d like you to go away and let me think about how I’m to proceed with you.”
“Go away where?”
“Anywhere. Wherever you like. Home, if you have one.”
This made it my turn to frown. “If I have one? What makes you think I don’t have one?”
“I think nothing,” Ishmael replied coolly. “You bridled at my calling you a child, and you tell me you’re old enough to steal cars, have an abortion, or deal crack cocaine. Therefore I thought it best to make no assumptions about your living arrangement.”
“Wow,” I said. “Do you take everything so literally?”
Ishmael took a moment to scratch the side of his jaw. “Yes, I suppose I do. You’ll find that I have a certain sense of humor, but statements of comical exaggeration tend to be lost on me.”
I told him I’d keep that in mind—indulging in some comical exaggeration. Then I asked him when I should come back.
“Come back whenever you please.”
“Tomorrow?”
“By all means,” he said. “Sundays are not days off for me.
The little twitch around his mouth told me this was meant to be a joke of some kind.
Mom was in a comfortable haze by the time I got back. I guess she feels it’s her motherly duty to take an interest in how I spend my time away from home, so she asked where I’d been. I told her the lie I’d prepared, that I’d been with Sharon Spaley, a friend.
Did anyone think I was going to tell her the truth? That I was having a cozy little chat with an ape?
Gimme a break.
The people of The Curse
When I got to Room 105 the following morning, I put my ear to the door. I wanted to know if Alan the dork was ahead of me. When I was sure he wasn’t, I went in.
Nothing had changed. This means I was knocked down by the smell, which I now knew was gorilla smell. I don’t mean I disliked it. I didn’t. I wish I had a bottle of it. You know, put on a dab before going to parties. That would make folks sit up and take an interest in things.
Ishmael was where I’d left him. I wondered if there was anywhere else for him to be in that joint. I figured there had to be a room behind the one I could see into. The room behind the glass was too small for anyone to live in, much less a gorilla.
I sat down, and we looked at each other.
I said, “What’ll you do if Alan comes while I’m here?”