Like any other rape in any other zoo, he knew the glass was there but didn’t understand why.
Or did he?
Glass was considered more humane than bars, but bars allowed at least the chance of touch. Glass didn’t even let scent through. It was colder, harder, and more thorough a cruelty than bars in the totality of its ability to separate.
Maybe that was the point. Keeping worlds apart prevented overlap.
Voyeurism trumped experience. They’d rather watch than smell, hear, and possibly be touched by the animals they kept, these humanoid primates.
Bars connote prisons. Glass is a window, a TV or computer screen, a form of separation so common it’s hardly noticed. It is reacted to only when it breaks.
Like any other ape in any other zoo, then, he was kept in a separated world by those who imposed windows.
He looked so sad, that mountain gorilla. His son did somersaults, swung from a rope, and rushed the glass, delighting in startling the ones in clothes who watched him. The father, though, was inconsolable.
He moved, disgusted by the gazes, before I could finish sketching him. Following, I found him in a low area, huddled into a corner, hugging himself. His head was down, face sad, lower lip drooping. It was a caricature of abject sorrow and regret.
I imagined him remembering the open forest.
His wife came to him. Sat beside him. Touched his shoulder. He gently but firmly brushed her away. She moved about ten feet from him, found a piece of grass, and took it to him. Shyly, she laid it at his feet.
He harumphed and ignored it.
She moved to an opposite corner and watched him, sad on his behalf, compassionate and unable to help.
I finished my sketch and left, unable to stand any more because I knew exactly how they felt.
/// /// ///
