Rami’s camp was included in the territory of one of the siamang families, so he saw more of these animals than any of the others. The siamang family consisted of an enormous male, a female only slightly smaller, and their three children. The oldest was a seven-year-old female almost completely grown. The middle child was a male, two years younger and still a playful juvenile. The youngest child, a female, was not yet two years old, still an infant. Rami never grew tired of watching the siamangs. Their behavior seemed almost human, and he began to see the animals as distinct individuals, even giving them human names. He called the mother Tarag and the father Toba. He did not name the two younger children because their personalities were not yet completely formed, but the oldest child he called Singkil. Singkil was the coastal town where Rami’s cinnamon was sold, and the word sounded beautiful to Rami’s ears. It seemed fitting to give a beautiful name to his favorite siamang. At twenty-two pounds, Singkil was almost as large as she would ever be, about average size for a female siamang. Her black fur was exceptionally long and soft-looking. When Singkil moved through an open place, her fur shone in the sunlight. Like all siamangs, she was built for traveling through the trees. Her arms were extremely long. Her hands too were elongated, with very long fingers. Her face was black and nearly hairless, with dark, sad-looking eyes. This morning was Rami’s first at his jungle camp in many weeks. He arose before the first light and prepared his breakfast. From his location on the ground, Rami could just make out the forms of the siamangs high overhead. The animals were still asleep. Tarag slept sitting up on the middle of a branch. The youngest member of the family, the little female, slept with her. The baby clung to Tarag’s chest, encircling her mother’s body with four long, skinny limbs. Tarag wrapped her own arms around the baby, so its head and body were totally protected. On a branch nearby, the five-year-old male lay curled into a tight ball. Toba, the father, slept sprawled along the same branch, with one hand on his sleeping son. Twenty feet away from the rest of the family, Singkil slept alone. To Rami, Singkil looked like a lonely outcast. And in a way, she was exactly that. At seven, Singkil was almost mature, and like all grown-up siamangs, she would be forced to leave her family. Tarag and Toba were mates for life. They were good parents, but so jealous that they could not tolerate the presence of another adult siamang. Even the fact that Singkil was their own child made no difference. She would soon be driven away, and the strong bond between her parents would be undisturbed.