Among the things they were looking for was evidence of self-awareness in the parrot's speech. Parrots were known to be self-aware. They recognized themselves in mirrors. But speech was different. Parrots did not reliably use the wordI when referring to themselves. Generally, when they used the personal pronoun it was to quote someone else.
The question was whether a transgenic parrot would ever use the wordI unambiguously. And it seemed to Gail Bond that Gerard had just done exactly that.
It was a good start.
Her husband,Richard, showed little interest in the new arrival. His sole reaction was to shrug and say, "Don't look for me to clean that cage." Gail said she would not. Her son was more enthusiastic. Evan immediately began to play with Gerard, putting him on his finger, and later on his shoulder. As the weeks went on, it was Evan who spent time with the bird, who bonded with it, who kept it on his shoulder much of the time.
And, it seemed, who got help from the bird.
Gail set upthe video camera on a tripod, adjusted the frame, and turned the camera on. Some grey parrots were able to count, and there were claims that some had a rudimentary understanding of the concept of zero. But none was able to do arithmetic.
Except Gerard.
She had to work very hard to conceal her excitement. "Gerard," she said, in her calmest voice, "I am going to show you a picture and I want you to tell me what it says." She showed him one sheet from her son's homework, folding it to reveal a single problem. She covered the answer with her thumb.
"I did that already."
"But what does this say?" Gail asked, pointing to the problem. It was fifteen minus seven.
"You have to say it."
"Can you look at this paper and tell me the answer?" she said.
"You have to say it," Gerard repeated. He was hopping from one leg to the other on his perch, getting irritable. He kept glancing at the camera. Gerard didn't like to be embarrassed.
Gail said, "It says fifteen take away seven."
"Eight," the parrot replied, at once.
Gail resistedthe temptation to turn to the camera and shriek with delight. Instead, she calmly turned the page to reveal another problem. "Now. What is twenty-three take away nine?"
"Fourteen."
"Very good. And now..."
"You promised me," Gerard said.
"I promised you?"
"Yes, you promised me," he said. "You know..."
He meant the bath.
"I'll do that later," she said. "For now..."
"You promised me." Sulky tone. "My bath."
"Gerard, I am going to show you this next problem. And ask you: What is twenty-nine take away eight?"
"I hope they are watching," he said, in an odd voice. "They'll see. They'll see and they'll know and they'll say, 'Why, she wouldn't even harm a fly.'"
"Gerard. Now, please pay attention. What is twenty-nine take away eight?"
Gerard opened his mouth. The front doorbell rang. Gail was close enough to the bird to know that Gerard himself had made the sound. He could imitate all sorts of sounds perfectly - doorbells, phone rings, toilet flushes.
"Gerard, please..."
The sound of footsteps. A click, and a creak as the front door opened.
"You look good, baby, I've missed you," Gerard said, imitating her husband's voice.
"Gerard," she began.
A woman's voice: "Oh Richard, it's been so long..."
Silence. Sound of kissing.
Gail froze, watching Gerard. The parrot continued, his beak hardly moving. He was like a tape recorder.
The woman's voice: "Are we alone?"
"Yes," her husband said. "Kid doesn't come back until three."
"And what about, uh..."
"Gail is at a conference in Geneva."
"Oh, so we have all day. Oh, God..."
More kissing.
Two pairs of footsteps. Crossing the room.
Her husband: "You want something to drink?"
"Maybe later, baby. Right now, all I want isyou. "
Gail turned, and switched the video off.
Gerard said, "Now will you give me my bath?"
She glared at him.
The bedroom door slammed shut.
Creaking of the bedsprings. A woman squealing, laughing. More creaking springs.
"Stop it, Gerard," Gail said.
"I knew you would want to know," he said.
"I hate thatfucking bird," her husband said, later that night. They were in the bedroom.
"That's not the point," she said. "You'll do what you want, Richard. But not in my house. Not in our bed." She had already changed the sheets, but even so, she didn't want to sit on the bed. Or go near it. She was standing on the other side of the room, by the window. Paris traffic outside.
"It was just that one time," he said.
She hated it when he lied to her. "When I was in Geneva," she said. "Do you want me to ask Gerard if there were other times?"
"No. Leave the bird out of it."
"There were other times," she said.
"What do you want me to say, Gail. I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry."
"I don't want you to say anything," she said. "I want you not to do it again. I want you to keep your fucking women out of this house."
"Right. Fine. I will do that. Can we drop it now?"
"Yes," she said. "We can drop it now."
"I hate that fucking bird."
She walked out of the room. "If you touch him," she said, "I'll kill you."
"Where are you going?"
"Out."