brief struggle for the page, while Jennie screamed again.
Hugo told me his wife, Lea, was adapting well. Now that is one fine woman, Lea. Very capable. Did you talk to her as I suggested? Quite an imposing figure, isnât she? She comes from an old Boston family. The Dickinsons. Emily was her great-aunt. And the first sexologist, before Masters and Johnson, was also a Dickinson. Very distinguished family. Of course, she is like all of those blue bloods, very diffident. Youâll never get her to admit it. And, of course, the Dickinsons lost their money when the Boston and Albany defaulted on their bonds in â32.
There is one thing a good Brahmin upbringing gives to the women, and she had it: a voice that could freeze water. Only when she wanted to, of course. When she disapproved of something, and that tone of voice was directed at you, it was zero at the bone. [Laughs.] With that voice, she controlled Jennie better than anyone. Jennie respected her. Hugo, on the other hand, was a bit of a pushover.
They were an odd pair, Hugo and Lea. She was a good three inches taller than Hugo, but he slouched while she stood as straight as a queen. What a presence! And her hair. It was iron-gray when I first met her, some thirty years ago, and it turned snow-white after that. But she was very beautiful. In those days, it was almost scandalous to be thirty and have gray hair. She never wore much makeup, or ever dyed that hair, and still she was radiantly beautiful. Sheâs still beautiful, but in a different way of course. They were an odd pair, but somehow just right.
Hugo asked me if he could bring Jennie to work from time to time. That was fine with me. I remarked that she was in a diaper and wondered how long that would last, but Hugo assured me theywere working hard on her toilet training, and that already Jennie loved to flush the toilet. Now if they could only get her to go in it, he said.
I was very much interested to hear the story of her capture. As a cultural anthropologist, I naturally saw the significance of it before Hugo did. He was only a physical anthropologist, poor man. [Laughs].
I remember clearly that first conversation we had about Jennie. Let me see if I can recall it for you.
I said to Hugo something like. âSo! You whelped the beast.â
Yes he had. And he said it with a great deal of pride, as if he were the father himself.
I asked him if Jennie had any contact with her mother after the birth.
Hugo said she hadnât. The mother was paralyzed and dying. He didnât even think the chimp had noticed her mother, she was so busy clinging to Hugo and looking into his face.
I asked him if she had met any chimpanzees later.
Hugo thought about that for a minute. No, she hadnât.
So, I said, Jennieâs never seen one of her own kind.
Thatâs right, Hugo said.
So I asked Hugo if he had read any Konrad Lorenz.
I had finally aroused Hugoâs suspicions. He wanted to know just what I was driving at.
I told him he should read Lorenzâs work on the greylag geese.
This, of course, irritated Hugo, who certainly knew of Lorenz but had never gotten around to reading him. As I said, he was a
physical
anthropologist. Behavior did not interest him.
When Hugo was irritated, he became very dignified and formal. He said he would âlook into it,â but I donât know if he did. Until much later, of course.
I, of course, recognized immediately the significance of Jennieâs birth and early upbringing. Konrad Lorenz, as any educated personknows, had discovered that a newborn greylag goose is imprinted with the first thing it sees moving. It will then follow that thing around thinking it is its mother. Normally, it is the mother. But Lorenz was able to show that anything would imprint the goslingâa football, for instance, or a vacuum cleaner. Lorenz himself offered his head for imprinting, and dozens of geese grew up following Lorenzâs magnificent bushy white
Hugo told me his wife, Lea, was adapting well. Now that is one fine woman, Lea. Very capable. Did you talk to her as I suggested? Quite an imposing figure, isnât she? She comes from an old Boston family. The Dickinsons. Emily was her great-aunt. And the first sexologist, before Masters and Johnson, was also a Dickinson. Very distinguished family. Of course, she is like all of those blue bloods, very diffident. Youâll never get her to admit it. And, of course, the Dickinsons lost their money when the Boston and Albany defaulted on their bonds in â32.
There is one thing a good Brahmin upbringing gives to the women, and she had it: a voice that could freeze water. Only when she wanted to, of course. When she disapproved of something, and that tone of voice was directed at you, it was zero at the bone. [Laughs.] With that voice, she controlled Jennie better than anyone. Jennie respected her. Hugo, on the other hand, was a bit of a pushover.
They were an odd pair, Hugo and Lea. She was a good three inches taller than Hugo, but he slouched while she stood as straight as a queen. What a presence! And her hair. It was iron-gray when I first met her, some thirty years ago, and it turned snow-white after that. But she was very beautiful. In those days, it was almost scandalous to be thirty and have gray hair. She never wore much makeup, or ever dyed that hair, and still she was radiantly beautiful. Sheâs still beautiful, but in a different way of course. They were an odd pair, but somehow just right.
Hugo asked me if he could bring Jennie to work from time to time. That was fine with me. I remarked that she was in a diaper and wondered how long that would last, but Hugo assured me theywere working hard on her toilet training, and that already Jennie loved to flush the toilet. Now if they could only get her to go in it, he said.
I was very much interested to hear the story of her capture. As a cultural anthropologist, I naturally saw the significance of it before Hugo did. He was only a physical anthropologist, poor man. [Laughs].
I remember clearly that first conversation we had about Jennie. Let me see if I can recall it for you.
I said to Hugo something like. âSo! You whelped the beast.â
Yes he had. And he said it with a great deal of pride, as if he were the father himself.
I asked him if Jennie had any contact with her mother after the birth.
Hugo said she hadnât. The mother was paralyzed and dying. He didnât even think the chimp had noticed her mother, she was so busy clinging to Hugo and looking into his face.
I asked him if she had met any chimpanzees later.
Hugo thought about that for a minute. No, she hadnât.
So, I said, Jennieâs never seen one of her own kind.
Thatâs right, Hugo said.
So I asked Hugo if he had read any Konrad Lorenz.
I had finally aroused Hugoâs suspicions. He wanted to know just what I was driving at.
I told him he should read Lorenzâs work on the greylag geese.
This, of course, irritated Hugo, who certainly knew of Lorenz but had never gotten around to reading him. As I said, he was a
physical
anthropologist. Behavior did not interest him.
When Hugo was irritated, he became very dignified and formal. He said he would âlook into it,â but I donât know if he did. Until much later, of course.
I, of course, recognized immediately the significance of Jennieâs birth and early upbringing. Konrad Lorenz, as any educated personknows, had discovered that a newborn greylag goose is imprinted with the first thing it sees moving. It will then follow that thing around thinking it is its mother. Normally, it is the mother. But Lorenz was able to show that anything would imprint the goslingâa football, for instance, or a vacuum cleaner. Lorenz himself offered his head for imprinting, and dozens of geese grew up following Lorenzâs magnificent bushy white
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