I Keep Thinking It's Tuesday

by BarnaWilde

  It puts it's trunk into my pocket. "Looking for donuts," says the keeper in my ear. "That's what it's doing. Looking to see if you've got any donuts."

  Gail has her camera in her hand and snaps away as I try to fend off the huge animal. "Beware table tennis players," I whisper to it as I back away.

  We stroll along the pathways looking at the animals in their cages and compounds. Most of them are asleep or else invisible. Actually, half the cages look empty. We stand in front of cage after cage peering at scraggy bushes and trampled grass looking for armadillos and lemurs, wombats and macaques, but often all there is are two sparrows and a crisp packet. There is litter everywhere. I'm beginning to think that half the animals don't exist at all. It's just a giant confidence trick. Putting names on empty cages to kid us that the zoo is full.

  Gail seems to be enjoying it all though. She oohs and aahs at anything sleek and furry and snaps away if any animal is cooperative enough to move into a patch of sunlight.

  I keep noticing the litter. There are drink cans and food wrappers along every pathway. The litter bins are pristine, and empty. The zoo has only been open for an hour. I think they've got the wrong animals inside the cages.

  We stroll along to a compound which is like a small paddock. There are a couple of mangy looking goats in it, and a large bird. The notice on the railing says `Ostrich. Please do not feed. These animals bite.`

  A small boy is running back and forth across the front of the compound. He has an icecream in one hand and a yellow plastic water pistol in the other. He is trailing the water pistol along the fence to annoy the giant bird.

  It runs back and forth alongside him on the far side of the fence. The boy is giggling furiously. He appears to be on his own. I see him as a donut. The parent donuts seem to have abandoned him.

  As he reaches one end of his run, the boy stops for breath. The ostrich stretches it's long neck over the fence and siezes the boy's ice cream. It swallows it in one easy movement. The bulge can be seen travelling slowly down it's extended neck. The boy reacts by thwacking at it with his water pistol, but the ostrich is quicker. The water pistol follows the ice cream cone somewhere into the birds scruffy body.

  "Do something," says Gail.

  I find it difficult to know how to react to this command. My inclination is to let them fight it out. Frankly I'm rooting for the ostrich.

  Did you know that an ostrich can kill a man just by staring at him? Or is that a dodo? I decide not to get too close, just in case.

  The alternative might be to take a photo. Maybe the papers would be interested. 'Ostrich mistakes boy for donut' has a certain ring to it. But the problem resolves itself. The bird loses interest and starts foraging around inside it's compound.

  Gail makes towards the boy, but before she can reach him he is off.

  He heads towards a low brick building signed 'Reptiles and Amphibians'. "Let's go there," I say. Gail gives a shudder at the prospect, but follows without demur as I stride purposefully towards the entrance.

  Inside the building it takes a moment to adjust to the gloom. There are people shuffling along in front of shop windows. There is litter here too. Behind the windows are alligators and snakes. Some of the windows have lizards and salamandars. None of the creatures are moving. I am almost coming to the conclusion that they are models. There are notices on the windows saying 'Please do not tap on the glass.'

  I stare at one huge alligator for a full minute. It definitely isn't moving. I watch it's sides to see it breathing. Nothing. I watch it's eyes to see it blink. Nothing.

  Either it's a model or it must be dead. Perhaps if I go closer to the glass it might react. I press my face against the window. It's surprisingly warm. It must be like a sauna in there. Still no movement.

  I'm determined to get a reaction. I stick out my tongue. I put my fingers in my mouth. I roll my eyes until only the whites are showing, but then I can no longer see the alligator, so I have no idea whether this is successful. When I look again the alligator is still there, unmoving as ever. I turn to talk to Gail.

  But she's gone. Instead there is an official zoo donut in a blue uniform, and a small crowd. I look round to see what has attracted the attention, but there's nothing to see. Several people are sniggering. It seems to be me that is the source of the attraction.

  "Contact lens," I say. "Damned thing's slipped right round." I clutch my left eye with my right hand and feel my way along the front of the window.

  "Been giving me trouble all morning," I add, but already I've ceased to be amusing. The people start to move away. As they disperse I spot Gail in the distance.

  "Almost lost my lens," I say as I rejoin her.

  "You don't wear lenses, Tom," she replies.

  We seem to have left the reptile section. The windows here are much smaller. They are more like large aquariums really, and they have newts and toads. Very ugly some of them. Hard to think of them as donuts at all.

  Inside every tank is a foil tray with food. It was the same in the reptile exhibits. The trays are filled with fruit or insects or mealworms according to the diet of the inmates. It must be lunch time.

  And then I see them.

  Poison Arrow frogs. Or at least I see the label. I don't believe it. But there it is. On the front of a large aquarium is a label saying 'Poison Arrow Frog, South America.' There are other labels too. There are at least three types of frog in the tank.

  Inside the aquarium someone has made a half hearted attempt to reproduce a small pool. It seems to be made from a pie dish. There are a couple of half submerged pebbles in it and a branch leaning against the side of the tank. There is another pie dish with grass growing in it. Poor frogs. I doubt that they are fooled.

  And there are frogs. Several of them. There are bright green ones, and yellow and black striped ones and mottled brown. Which is which?

  I need Frank. Why are people never there when you need them?

  I wonder about ringing for a pizza, but I don't have the number with me.

  "Oh Tom," says Gail. "Aren't they pretty."

  "I don't suppose the zoo would let him in anyway," I reply.

  "I'm sorry, Tom?" she says in puzzlement.

  "Probably a concession. Wouldn't allow you to bring your own food in."

  "Food? Are you hungry?"

  "No. Not hungry. No. Not at all. I wasn't even thinking about pizza."

  "But we had pizza last night, Tom."

  "Was it only last night?" I reply. "It feels like longer."

  I look back to the frogs. I'm almost sure one of them winked at me.

  CHAPTER 19

  On the whole I’m a law abiding man. I've never been in trouble with the police. Well, except yesterday of course. What I mean is I've never broken the law. OK. I've never broken the law except speeding. What I mean is I've never stolen anything. Except those tracksuits. Yes. But that was a desperate situation. There was no alternative.

  What I mean is I've never stolen anything with premeditation. What I’m trying to tell you is that I am basically an honest man. I try always to be fair and I try not to hurt people. All I ever asked from life was to be loved. And the person I loved the most lied to me. And even when I found out she was cheating me, I still loved her. And she kept right on lying. So now I don't trust her any more. I still love her, but trust is like a teacup, once it's cracked no amount of repair can ever unbreak it.

  That's why I have to get that frog.

  Listen. I don't expect you to understand. This is just something I have to do. I have to get free, and I'm not brave enough just to walk away.

  Listen. I would pay for the frog, but it might be a bit difficult to explain. "I say, my man. Could I purchase one of your delightful little frogs?"

  "Which type would you be wanting, sir?"

  "Those Poison Arrow frogs look rather nice to me."

  "Not sure I'd recommend that, sir. Very temperamental, Poison Arrow frogs. Have to be kept at precisely eighty seven degrees centigrade day and
night, and then they only eat the nymphs of the Lesser Moonwing Moth, of course."

  "Well I'd only be wanting the one."

  "Ah, well. You see, sir, they're a social animal really. Hunt in packs in the wild. Wouldn't really be fair on the poor creature unless you was to take a dozen or more."

  "Perhaps I could take one on trial. Say forty eight hours approval?"

  "Not at this time of the month, sir. Coming up to the full moon is usually when they start their moult. Wouldn't be fair to ask you to cope with that. They get very moody during their moult. Sudden temper tantrums, things like that. Give you a nasty suck they can when they gets in one of their moods. No, sir, if I was you I'd start with something much easier, like a python perhaps."

  It will be easier to steal one. Believe me.

  We emerge from the gloom of the reptile house into the sun. It's a nice day, just as the weatherman predicted. I spot a sign to the restaurant and steer Gail towards it.

  There are seats outside on the terrace. The restaurant is called The Happy Donut. There is a large cutout picture of a donut with arms and legs and a big smiling mouth standing by the steps up to the terrace. I try not to look at it, but I give it a friendly pat as we go past.

  "Keep smiling," I say.

  "Pardon?" says Gail.

  "Nothing," I say. "Just talking to the donut."

  She gives me one of her looks. "I think it's warm enough to sit outside," she says.

  "Fine," I say. "Do you think there is a loo anywhere?"

  "Inside, I expect," she replies.

  "Can you order the coffees?" I ask. "I just need to go and look for the loos." I walk across to the door leaving Gail at one of the empty tables. "Oh. No donuts for me," I call back to her, but there is no reaction.

  Instead of going into the restaurant, I slip round to the side and double back towards the reptile house. It takes only a moment before I'm back in the gloom and litter. There are fewer people around than earlier, that should make it easier. I stand in front of the frog tank and peer in at the inhabitants. They peer back. I wish I knew which was which.

  There is no obvious way into the tank from the front. Somehow I have to get round to the rear. There is a door at one end of the row, which is partially open, but there is also a uniformed attendant that I have to get past. He has taken off his hat, and left it hanging on the back of a chair. It gives me an idea.

  Listen. Have you noticed how things always go in threes?

  For instance, there was that cartoon about the hippos. The ones who kept thinking it was Tuesday. And then I kept thinking it was Tuesday. And then it was Tuesday. You see?

  Or there were the peephole bras in Exchange and Mart. And then there were Sandra's tassels. And then there ..... Well things do go in threes. Often.

  Listen. What I was trying to explain was that when I lost my trousers I had to disguise myself as a runner. With my tie. Remember? And now I'm going to do it again. Disguise myself I mean. But not as a runner this time, and not with my tie.

  Listen. I know that's only twice. But things do go in threes often. I just mentioned it that's all. I thought you might be interested.

  I take off my jacket and stuff it into a gap between two of the exhibits. Noone is watching. I roll up both the sleeves on my shirt. From amongst the litter on the floor I retrieve a foil dish half full of chips. I also pick up pieces of orange peel and some pinkish popcorn which I add to the chips in the dish.

  I stride confidently towards the uniformed attendant. As I pass his chair I grab his hat and put it on my head. He is staring vacantly into space and doesn't see me coming until I walk past him towards the door to the back of the exhibits. "Lunch for the frogs," I say as I sweep past.

  "They've already been fed once," he says. "Seconds," I say. "They phoned out for seconds."

  "Oh," he says. "Ha. That's a good one. Phoned out for seconds. Ha. Ha."

  I push on through the door, and he makes no attempt to stop me.

  It's like a different world on the other side of the door. There are pipes running everywhere. Huge steam pipes and smaller water pipes. There are cables and junction boxes and whole banks of switches. I don't spend long looking around though. Gail will worry if I'm not back soon. The exhibits look different from the back. I'm not certain I can remember which is the correct one. I think it was the third on the right.

  I count along the row. I'm too short to see over the top, and there are no labels on this side. I reach over experimentally and feel around with my hand. I can feel something, but it seems too big for a frog. Whilst I am fiddling, a small hatch swings open in front of me and I find I can see into the tank. I can see my fingers wiggling around in the air, and I can see something big with teeth looking at them. This isn't the frog tank!

  I can also see right through the tank to the viewing area. A little crowd is staring into the tank apparently watching to see my arm get eaten. In the background I just catch a glimpse of the attendant walking over to see what the attraction is. I withdraw my arm and shut the hatch.

  I've obviously counted in the wrong direction. The frog tank is third on the right from the front, but that means third on the left from the back.

  I retrace my steps, and just as I reach the frogs, the door opens and the attendant peers in.

  "You alright mate?" he asks.

  "Just got a bit muddled doing it backwards," I reply.

  "Oh," he says. "New here aren't you?"

  "Newish," I say.

  "Oh," he replies. "Thought you were."

  He stands, half in and half out of the doorway, watching me. I still have the little foil dish in my hand.

  "Bob down," he says suddenly.

  I duck instinctively to a crouch and look around to see what the problem is. I see nothing untoward. He looks surprised and takes a step towards me.

  "What is it?" I ask.

  "What's what?" he replies bending down to my level. We crouch there looking at each other while droplets of water drip from pipes around and above us. I feel rather foolish hunkering down amongst the zoo plumbing holding a dish of second hand chips whilst the owner of my hat is stooped down facing me just three feet away.

  "Are there bats in here?" I ask.

  "I don't think so," he replies. "They're mostly over in Nocturnal World."

  "They get tangled in your hair," I add. "Impossible to get them out once they've done that. Have to get your whole head shaved once that happens."

  "Wonderful how they can see in the dark though," he says. "One of nature's miracles."

  "You'd be alright if you wore a hat I suppose," I say. Damn! Why do I always do that? Why did I have to mention hats?

  "Or a hair net," he says thoughtfully. "A hair net would probably work just as well."

  We crouch there talking to each other in the semi dark, damp and, it has to be said, faintly smelly atmosphere at the back of the reptile house. My legs are beginning to ache, too.

  "So it's not bats then," I say.

  "Bats?" he responds. "Why do you keep going on about bats? And why are you hiding down here anyway?"

  "You told me to. You said 'duck down'. I thought it was probably bats."

  "I never told you told you to duck down. I was just trying to be friendly like. Just introducing meself."

  "I'm Bob," he says holding a hand out towards me. "Bob Downe."

  "I'm already down as low as I can get," I say. "And to tell you the truth, Bob, my legs are starting to hurt."

  I have to stand up. My legs are killing me. As I rise the penny drops. "Ha!" I cry. "It's your name, isn't it? Bob Downe. Get it? I thought you said bob down, and what you really said was Bob Downe."

  "Sorry?" he says.

  "Bob Downe. Not bob down. I thought you were telling me to bob down because of the bats, and there aren't any. Ha. Ha. I suppose that must happen all the time?"

  "No," he says. "Never to my knowledge. I don't think we've ever had a bat in here. Not in my time anyway."

  I think this conve
rsation may have run it's course. I did hear a joke once about two men called Ben Doon and Phil McCavity. I didn't understand it, and now is probably not the time to bring it up. Good grief. The time! Gail will be getting anxious. I have to get back, and I haven't even got the frog yet.

  "I must feed the frogs," I say.

  "It's the one right behind you," says Bob.

  I reach over and put the tray into the tank he is indicating. He seems to lose interest, and wanders back out the door towards his former post. He shakes his head as he leaves. "Just trying to be friendly like," he mutters as he goes. "Waste of bloody time."

  I fumble around in the tank and encounter what is obviously one of the inhabitants. It's easy to catch, and I put it into my shirt pocket. I scrabble around and quickly find a second. There isn't time to go for a third or to check which type I have caught. I need to get back to Gail.

  "Er, which ones are the Poison Arrow frogs?" I ask Bob nonchalently as I walk past. "Not that I want one, of course. Just professional curiosity you know." The frog in my hand is starting to protest about being held so tightly. I suddenly wonder whether it has teeth. I think those little beads of perspiration might be about to make a comeback.

  "The yellow and black ones," he says sulkily. "And you want to get another hat, mate. That one's miles too big for you."

  As I push back out into the sunshine I take off the hat and give it to a small boy who is coming in. He looks familiar. I'm sure I've seen him before somewhere.

  The frog in my hand is wriggling furiously, and the one in my shirt pocket is trying to climb out. I shove it back with my other hand as I run back towards the restaurant. In my haste I stumble and sprawl full length along the path. As I hit the ground the frog in my shirt pocket is bounced free. It's a yellow and black one! I watch helplessly as it hops off the edge of the path and through the fence of the ostrich compound. Fortunately I still have the other one tightly held in my right hand.

  I sit up and try to look between my fingers to see the colour of the frog I'm still holding. A little foot thrusts it's way through the gap. It's olive brown.

  So close. So close. I had one and I let it go.

  People are helping me back onto my feet, but I scarcely notice. I'm peering through the railings into the ostrich compound looking for the escapee. I think I can see something moving in the grass.