Black Orchids

"He's not an orangutan; he's a chimpanzee. He doesn't often play with strangers. It means he likes you."

I had to go through with it. I took to the grass, was intercepted, dodged three times, said 'Mister' in as admiring a tone of voice as I could manage, and was by. Mister emitted a little squeal and scampered off to a tree and bounded up to a limb. I looked at the back of my hand and saw blood. The nephew asked, not with great concern:

"Did he bite you?"

"No, I fell down and must have scratched it. It's just a scratch."

"Yeah, I saw you trip over Moses. I'll get you some iodine."

I said it wasn't worth bothering about, but he took me across the terrace into the house, into a large living room, twice as long as it was broad, with big windows and a big fireplace, and enough chairs and divans and cushions for a good-sized party right there. When he opened a cupboard door in the wall near the fireplace a shelf was disclosed with a neat array of sterilized gauze, band-aids, adhesive tape, and salve…

As I dabbed iodine on the scratch I said, for something to say, "Handy place for a first-aid outfit."

He nodded. "On account of Mister. He never bites deep, but he often breaks somebody's skin. Then Logo and Lulu, sometimes they take a little nip-"

"Logo and Lulu?"

"The bears."

"Oh, sure. The bears." I looked around and then put the iodine bottle on the shelf and he closed the door. "Where are they now?"

"Having a nap somewhere. They always nap in the afternoon. They'll be around later. Shall we go out to the terrace? What'll you have, scotch, rye, bourbon?"