I caught up with the talking ape in his treehouse residence in Rexdale. He was trying to get away from all the publicity that his emergence into society had generated. At first, the ape resented my intrusion into his home and refused to speak.
"My editor is willing to cough up big bananas for this interview," I told him, which brightened the ape considerably.
"Well," the ape, still a little suspicious, said, "okay, but only if you're not from television. I hate those guys."
"No," I assured him, "I represent a newspaper."
"Always poking their microphone in your face," the ape muttered. "And, those stupid questions! 'How long you been able to talk?' or 'What does it feel like to be a talking ape!' What does it feel like to be a talking ape? You tell me! Give a guy credit for some intelligence, why don't you?"
"Umm," I said, hoping to change the subject. It didn't work.
"The last time I was interviewed by a TV crew," the ape went on, "The lights for the camera nearly burned down my treehouse! You'd think there'd be enough light up here, but no!"
"I assure you, I'm not a television journalist," I said, pulling out my official looking reporter's notepad ($1.39 at Grand & Toy).
"Well, okay," he said. "Pull up a branch, and let's get to it."
I made myself as comfortable as a person who doesn't use his feet to grab things can, and began, "How would you like me to address you?"
"Please," the ape affably told me, "call me Conrad."
"Okay, Conrad," I began, crossing several questions off my list right away, "uhh, are you finding life as a talking ape difficult?"
Conrad looked up at me sharply. "That's a pretty TVish kind of question," he remarked.
"Well," I hastily backpedaled, "I eventually want to hear your opinion of the difference between apes and humans..."
"Why didn't you say so?" Conrad asked. "I...know a little bit about that subject. It's my experience that humans and apes smell differently. Yes, there is a definite nasal difference..."
I looked up from my notepad. Conrad was grinning broadly. "It's a joke," he explained. "I like to use humour to break the ice in an interview, you know?"
"Oh. Okay," I said, returning my attention to the notepad.
"Actually," Conrad allowed in a more considered tone, "I've given a lot of thought to this human situation. It has been my experience that human beings are less happy than apes."
"Do you have any idea why that might be?"
"Apes don't have lawyers," Conrad explained. "But, I think that's just a symptom of a larger problem. Personally, I think you should never have come down out of the trees."
"Why not?"
"Well," Conrad lectured me, "the moment you hit the ground, you become hunters and gatherers, don't you? But, that can only satisfy a species for so long, and, before you can say, 'Holy Evolution, apeman!', you've got agriculture and the domestication of animals. And, we all know what that leads to..."
"Lawyers?"
"Lawyers...bankers...a $24 billion national deficit. Domesticate animals and the rest is inevitable."
I was having trouble knowing when the ape was serious and when it was pulling my leg. "What do you think we can do about this human condition?" I asked. Serious or not, this talking ape would make good copy.
"You should never have come down from the trees," Conrad explained. "Of course, in hindsight, we can see that this was a mistake. However, I'm not knocking our mutual ancestors. They saw the opportunity for mohawk haircuts and cheap long distance phone rates and fled from the tress in large numbers. Given such incentives, you or I might have been tempted to join the mass exodus...well, you might have, anyway..."
"So," I summed up, "you think that humans would have been happier if they had never come down out of the trees?"
"It has been my experience," Conrad shrugged, "that apes that come down out of the trees these days are immediately put into cages in zoos. Soon after, they begin to exhibit the same neurotic behaviours that one sees in office workers, especially temps. That's why, incidentally, no matter how famous I may get, I'm going to stay up here..." Conrad affectionately patted a branch. "Here where my roots are. Besides, I...I couldn't take zoo food."
I put my notepad aside for a moment and looked the ape in the eye. "That's an interesting historical perspective," I said, "but, how can we relate it to our lives in the present? You aren't suggesting that humans return to the trees. Are you?"
"Naaw, of course not," Conrad replied. "For one thing, there isn't enough branch space to accommodate all of you. For another thing, most of you wouldn't last two weeks; you know, it's a jungle up here. Let's face it: you can't turn back the clock. Society has to move forward."
"So, what would you suggest?"
"Cultivate your inner forest," the ape recommended.
