The cloakroom was crowded and musty. There was a line for the three stalls, but it was difficult to tell who was waiting for the loo and who was vying for a coveted spot in front of the mirror. Girls handed lit cigarettes back and forth. A flask was passed overhead. There was a harsh cackle. Hettie searched the room for Eliza, but didn’t see her anywhere. She pulled at the neck of her sister’s dress. Suddenly, it felt tighter. After waiting her turn, Hettie returned to Ferris on the perimeter of the dance floor.
“Here,” he said, handing her another cup of punch.
Ferris leaned against Hettie and loosely draped his arm across her back. Hettie stood more stiffly as Samuel and Colleen continued to dance near the stage. The trumpet section joined the melody, standing up from their chairs and swinging their flared brass mouths in time with the music. Despite the accelerated tempo, Colleen continued to rest her head on Samuel’s shoulder. It looked as if they were caught inside the invisible sphere of their own story where no other characters existed; there was no other plot except for their unexpected meeting and instantaneous mutual admiration. Hettie swallowed the rest of her punch in a few swift gulps. A pain near her right temple started to throb. Hettie glanced at the clock that hung over the main entrance of the hall. The gilded hands read ten o’clock. It was getting late, and Hettie’s thoughts turned to the early morning she would have the next day. Despite everything, Rose and Hettie regularly attended the eight fifteen Sunday service at the Carnmoney Parish. Ever since Anna’s death, Rose had preferred it this way, because there were always fewer congregants in attendance at the earlier service, making for fewer chances for someone to mention Anna or ask about Thomas and his whereabouts.
“Mr. Wright’s here,” Ferris shouted over the music.
“Where?” Hettie asked, her attention still fixed on Colleen and Samuel.
“Over there,” Ferris said, pointing across the room. “Look.”
Hettie peered across the dimly lit hall. At first, she found herself looking for Mr. Wright in his familiar zoo uniform with his red double-breasted coat and black jodhpurs. Instead, here on the dance floor of the Floral Hall, Mr. Wright looked like another person altogether, like a distant brother who might have flown in from Zurich or Rome for a lavish ball or an urgent business matter. He was dressed in a blue serge suit with a yellow bow tie. Instead of wearing his usual fedora, his chestnut hair was slicked back, all gloss and shine. A young woman was on his arm. She wore an orange floral dress that dropped to her knees and matching high heels. A stack of copper ringlets was elegantly piled on top of her head, and she wore bright red lipstick.
“Mr. Wright,” Ferris said, waving a hand over his head. “Mr. Wright.”
Despite the loud music, Ferris managed to catch their boss’s attention. Mr. Wright marched across the floor as if he were leading a parade, the woman staying in step right behind him. When he arrived where they stood, Mr. Wright broke into a smile, and a gleam flickered in his eyes. Hettie felt like it was the first time he was truly pleased to see her.
“Well, look who we have here,” Mr. Wright said, vigorously shaking Ferris’s hand and then turning to Hettie. He grasped her hand, crushing her fingers a bit, and she had to work not to wince at the pressure. After he released it, Hettie shook her hand out by her side.
“I thought I spotted Jack Fleming and Bobby Adair earlier,” he said.
“They’re around here somewhere,” Ferris said, surveying the crowd.
“And I ran into Eliza Crowley on our way in,” he said. “She was just leaving. It looked like she had found herself a respectable fella.”
Eliza left already? Hettie thought with a dart of annoyance.
“This is Agnes Berns,” Mr. Wright said, motioning to the woman at his side. “She works at Copeland’s linen mill off the Shankill Road. Ferris and Hettie work with me at Bellevue. They take care of some of my animals.”
“How lovely,” Agnes said. “Frank speaks so highly of the zoo—and his people.”
It took Hettie a few seconds to understand whom Agnes was referring to, because it was the first time she had ever heard someone call Mr. Wright by his first name. At the zoo, Mr. Wright was always Mr. Wright.
“Agnes hasn’t made it up to the zoo yet,” he said. “Hettie here takes care of our new young elephant.”
“How wonderful,” Agnes said. “I remember reading about her in the newspaper. She sounds like quite the elephant.”
“She is,” Hettie said, a warmth spreading in her chest. “She’s remarkable.”
Mr. Wright moved his gaze to the bobbing sea of dancers on the floor.
“Such an important job for a young woman,” Agnes added.
Ferris winked at Hettie, who smiled with delight. Without saying another word, Mr. Wright and Agnes slipped into the continuous movement of dancers. Once again, Mr. Wright surprised Hettie: He was a very good dancer. He led Agnes across the polished floor, and the other couples parted for the impressive pair. For a moment, it felt as though the glow of the spotlight rested on Mr. Wright and Agnes rather than on Stella Holliday.
“Did you know he could dance?” Hettie asked Ferris.
“I had no bloody idea,” Ferris said, his arms crossed over his chest and a grin spread across his face. “Look at him.”
The couple twirled in fluid, measured circles, their feet sliding together and apart at exactly the right beats. Mr. Wright lifted his hand up in the air and Agnes traveled under the arc of his arm before effortlessly landing into his sturdy embrace.
“There’s a lot more to Mr. Wright than what we know,” said Ferris enigmatically.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s a man who carries a lot of unspoken stories,” Ferris said. “Doesn’t he strike you that way?”
Hettie nodded in agreement. She had never thought of Mr. Wright’s aloofness in these terms, but in some ways, it seemed as if Mr. Wright might be more like her father than Hettie had first recognized, that he wasn’t the type of man to reveal his true character to the people around him.
The song ended, and the band and Stella Holliday segued into another upbeat tune. The dancing pairs whirled across the floor with more distinctive, quick movements—and Mr. Wright and Agnes Berns became a part of the collective pulse of the crowd. Hettie touched her lips, remembering the red shade of lipstick that Eliza had applied earlier. She wondered if it still looked all right, and then wondered where Eliza had gone with the gentleman. The young woman on the other side of Ferris nodded toward the dance floor and extended her arm for him. He glanced over at Hettie.
“Go ahead,” she said. “It’s all right.”
Ferris nodded toward one of the other young men standing on the floor’s perimeter, suggesting that Hettie find herself a partner, too.
Then she felt a tug on her elbow and turned around, pleased to be confronted with Samuel Greene. But then her smile faltered. His ruddy complexion glistened and his slightly bloodshot eyes looked as if he had just been weeping uncontrollably. Samuel leaned into her and whispered in her ear. She smelled whiskey on his breath. His words lost their edges underneath the music. Colleen White stood next to him, swaying, with a vague expression on her face, her vacant eyes seemingly fixed on some indiscernible point on the other side of the hall.
Samuel grabbed Hettie’s hand. He temporarily lost his balance, one foot fumbling over the other, but then regained his composure as he led her, stumbling, to the front entrance. His palm felt warm and soft in hers. The nocturnal air pressed against her cheeks as Samuel started down the slope in the direction of the zoo.
“Where are we going?”
“I want a tour of your zoo,” he said. “A formal introduction to your elephant.”
“What about Colleen White?”
“She won’t miss me,” Samuel responded. “I promise you.”
Samuel gripped Hettie’s hand more tightly as they continued down the hill. The song of Stella Holliday faded behind them. Hettie felt slightly rattled and unsure about walkin
g down to the zoo with Samuel. He adjusted his grip and threaded his fingers in between hers.
“Hettie Quin, Belfast’s first female zookeeper,” he said proudly. “It has a good ring, don’t you think?”
Hettie managed to find more buoyancy in her step. Samuel flashed his familiar smile. She recalled Anna’s advice—Live a little, you know. Have some fun. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Even though the temperature had dropped, Hettie no longer felt cold. Then she realized that she had left behind Anna’s coat hanging on one of the chairs in the dance hall. She cursed silently and made a mental note to fetch it afterward; her leather wallet was tucked inside the deep pocket of the coat. Rose would never forgive her if she lost Anna’s winter coat that her sister used to wear to church when they went together as a family on Sunday mornings.
Samuel and Hettie reached the pathway that circled toward the sea lions, the aviary, and the polar bears. One of the sea lions released a whining peal and then flapped his clumsy flippers together. A flock of parrots squawked, their dazzling green feathers hidden within the shadows of the aviary. One of the birds repeated: Good night. Good night. Good night to you.
“Good night to you, too,” Samuel said, saluting the parrots.
The carpet of stars brightened the sky. Twigs and dead leaves crunched underneath their feet. For a moment, Hettie forgot about Colleen White, Ferris Poole, Mr. Wright, Agnes Berns, and Eliza Crowley.
“Where to, Harriet Quin?”
The only other person who called her Harriet was her older sister, and Anna resorted to the formal name only when she had grown frustrated or impatient with Hettie, whether it was for leaving dirty dishes behind in the kitchen sink or wearing one of her favorite blouses or skirts without asking. That said, the use of her formal name brought a measure of inherent intimacy, as if Samuel might know Hettie as well as her older sister had, even though he didn’t.
“Which animals do you want to see?” Hettie asked.
“You decide,” Samuel slurred. “After all, you’re the zookeeper.”
Hettie decided on the polar bears first even though she knew there was a good chance that the pair might be sleeping. Surprisingly, the bears were awake when they arrived at the edge of their enclosure.
“Meet Felix and Misty,” she said. “Felix and Misty, meet Samuel Greene.”
Felix pawed the air before diving into the dark pool. Splashes from his submersion grazed her cheek. Samuel reached over and wiped the wetness from her skin. For a second, it seemed as if his intoxication had drained away and he was the version of his former sober self that Hettie had encountered a few hours ago in front of the Floral Hall.
Samuel took a step closer to Hettie and kissed her on the same spot on her cheek. “Felix got you.” He kissed her again before breaking away and staring at the polar bear again. Felix was now climbing to the top of the boulders. Hettie touched her cheek with one hand and then glanced over at Samuel. He smiled at her. A quiet shiver traveled across her shoulders. He kissed her again on the cheek, and Hettie turned so his lips grazed hers.
“What’s next?” asked Samuel.
“The giraffes,” Hettie said, leading the way.
Above, there was a deep flutter of wings. Then a shriek. Stella Holliday’s silvery voice drifted through the darkened treetops, and the sounds of the big band dissolved into the hillside. Hettie imagined Stella Holliday standing onstage in front of the shiny rows of trombones and trumpets, and the tuxedo-clad musician sitting behind the small city of drums. Samuel and Hettie arrived at the giraffes. The animals stood silently in the far corner of the enclosure, their long yellow necks barely visible in the darkness.
“They’re asleep,” Hettie said.
Suddenly Rajan appeared, like a large mountain looming over the horizon, with the shadowy loop of his trunk swinging from side to side. He released a low rumble, its vibrations traveling through the ground like a peal of thunder. As Rajan lumbered closer to the edge of the enclosure, Hettie could see the migration of pale spots across his forehead. Maggie followed closely behind him.
“Who do we have here?” asked Samuel.
“Rajan, our bull elephant,” Hettie said. “He weighs a little over thirteen thousand pounds.”
Maggie walked several feet closer and reached her trunk through the wrought-iron bars. The end of her trunk wandered like the hand of a blind man.
“This is Maggie,” Hettie said. “She weighs about eight thousand pounds. Came from an animal dealer in Italy.”
Maggie shifted her weight from one foot to another, her large ears folded against the sides of her head. The elephant chirped and wheezed. Hettie knew that Maggie was expecting to be fed. Hettie spotted a bale of hay sitting on the pavement for their first feeding of the morning. She walked around the edge and tore several fistfuls of hay and extended the bundles toward Rajan and Maggie. Both elephants walked closer and retrieved the hay from Hettie, tucking the tufts into their cheeks and grinding away at it with their diamond-shaped teeth.
“Looks like you have what they want,” Samuel said with a chuckle.
The tip of Rajan’s trunk suctioned Hettie’s hand. She reached for another fistful of hay. The bull elephant swiftly deposited it into his mouth and then kicked his foot against the bars of the enclosure. The loud clang made Hettie jump, then laugh nervously.
“Hello, big fella,” Samuel said, taking a step closer to Rajan. “You can’t hurt anyone, can you?”
Rajan released a deep roar. Hettie and Samuel took a step back, and the giraffes lifted up their heads, crossing their necks, like a pair of winding vines.
“Where’s your elephant?”
“Follow me.”
Samuel walked beside Hettie, humming to himself. He paused by one of the benches, retrieved a flask from his coat pocket, and took several swallows before wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. Without saying anything, Samuel extended the flask in her direction. The silver side caught the moon’s reflection. Even though Hettie didn’t like the taste of alcohol, she accepted the flask from Samuel. The liquor scraped against her throat; it tasted like rust and fire.
“Stole it from my pa’s liquor cabinet,” Samuel said. “He’d kill me if he knew.”
Hettie took another sip. Then a third. It now tasted warm, like a spot of sunlight. One of the sea lions cried. Hettie imagined Sammy perched on the highest rock, training his whiskered mouth toward the star-filled sky.
“This way,” she said, taking Samuel by the hand.
Ahead, the outline of the Elephant House came into view. A flock of birds lifted up from the nearby stand of trees. Off in the distance, the black bear growled. Samuel took another sip from his flask. Hettie opened the gate that led into the Elephant House and then tried the door. It wouldn’t give. It was locked. Hettie felt for her coat pocket and the metal teeth of her keys, and remembered again that she had left Anna’s coat up at the hall, along with her keys and wallet.
“Vi,” Hettie yelled. “Are you in there? Violet.”
“Hey Vi,” Samuel joined in. “Where are you?”
The elephant trumpeted.
“That’s my girl,” Hettie said to herself. “There she is.”
Violet released another trumpet call and kicked her feet against the dusty ground.
“Stay here,” Hettie said to Samuel.
“Don’t you have another kiss in you?” Before she could say anything, Samuel leaned toward her and his lips met hers once more. His kiss felt hard and soft at the same time, like a bruise was forming on the far corners of her mouth.
“Let me go around,” she said. “I’ll let you in.”
A buzz intensified behind her eyes. Violet released another trumpet call. Hettie walked around the periphery of the Elephant House and then along the strip of dirt that separated the gray concrete building from the three-foot moat. She slid closely against the concrete wall. Moisture dampened her dress. One of her feet slipped, but she managed to regain her footing. Gripping the bars, Hett
ie rounded the corner of the Elephant House and stepped onto steady ground. She opened the gate and stepped inside the musty structure. Samuel was right behind her.
“Where is she?”
“Shush—” Hettie whispered.
In the dark corner of the Elephant House, she spotted Violet. She lay in the corner of her stall, which took up half of the structure’s interior. A thump hit the ground, and then a gurgling cut the air. That night, the modest house felt even smaller and tighter, and it smelled dank and dirty like an abandoned basement that rarely saw light. Hettie felt a stirring of unease in her stomach, but she told herself it was just the alcohol.
“She doesn’t smell so good, does she?” Samuel said.
He unscrewed his flask and took another swig before offering it to Hettie again.
“No, thanks.”
Strands of hay crunched underneath Violet’s feet as she walked toward Hettie. She extended her hand, and Violet threaded the tip of her trunk through the opening of her stall’s wooden boards and tapped Hettie’s palm.
“Hey, Vi,” she said. “It’s me. I wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine.”
The elephant released a soft whinny before kicking one of her hind legs against the stall.
“Feisty, isn’t she?”
“She needs to get to know you first, that’s all,” Hettie said.
“Always a sound strategy,” Samuel said.
Suddenly Samuel shoved Hettie, pinning her shoulders against the far wall between the supply closet and the washbasin. Violet trumpeted. In one swift gesture, Samuel slipped his lips on top of Hettie’s and plunged his tongue into her mouth. It was warm and wet, and squirmed with the force of a snake. He tasted like cigarettes and whiskey. Although startled, Hettie did her best to kiss Samuel back. After all, she liked him, she was attracted to him, she wanted him to kiss her rather than kissing Colleen White. Samuel bit down on her lower lip, and Hettie tasted the metallic twinge of her own blood. She heard Violet’s tail switch against the gate that led to her stall. Hettie pulled away from Samuel, her hand at her mouth. She felt traces of wetness.
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