Violet was now huddled in the far corner and dropped a puddle of runny manure. Samuel lunged after Hettie, toppling her through the gate into Violet’s stall, and onto the hay-strewn floor. She cried out, alarmed, and, for the first time, was truly scared. When she looked up, the elephant’s foot stomped right next to her head. Rage surged within Hettie, and she quickly stood up and shoved Samuel. He lost his balance and tumbled through the gate, too.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” Samuel said, pulling himself up and wiping his hands off on his trousers. “I thought you liked me—”
“We should go now,” Hettie said through her teeth, too angry to say anything else.
She pushed past Samuel, opened the door of the Elephant House, and waited for him on the pathway. He leaned against Violet’s stall and lit another cigarette. Hettie stared at him: His features had seemingly rearranged themselves so he looked like an ominous stranger; an ugly grin spread across his face and a menacing look seemed to possess his eyes. Her stomach turned. She felt disgusted and embarrassed. How could she have been so stupid? Why would she have thought this time would be any different? Samuel Greene wasn’t truly interested in her—or Violet or the other animals. He was just another arrogant man, looking out for his own desires and wants. He didn’t care about her. He was never going to complete her. Perhaps the truth was that no one was ever going to complete her, no one would ever be able to fill the gully of loneliness and sadness that seemed to be deepening inside her ever since Anna’s death.
“You didn’t give me a proper introduction to Violet.”
“Another time, I think,” she said stiffly, wanting nothing more than to be at home sitting at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea and listening to the late-night news on the wireless with her mother. “Let’s go, we shouldn’t even—”
“Why not now,” he said, ignoring Hettie and stepping inside Violet’s stall. “We’re here, aren’t we.”
Violet kicked against the metal chains that hung from the gate—and the stall gate swung shut on its own.
“Come on, girl,” Samuel said. “Let me get a better look at you.”
For a second it seemed as if Violet would ignore him just as completely as he’d ignored Hettie, but suddenly she lowered her head and charged toward him in the small space of the stall. Samuel barely managed to step out of the way.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, his voice an octave higher. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing’s wrong with her,” Hettie yelled. “Now get out.”
But again, Samuel disregarded her; instead, he lifted the leather crop that hung on the wall and waved it in front of Violet. “Maybe this will make her listen,” he said, snapping the crop in the air.
“Stop it, Samuel,” Hettie said, a panic whirring in her belly. “I’m warning you.”
He snapped the crop again; this time, closer to the elephant.
“I’ve heard about you and Violet,” Samuel said. “That you spend all your waking hours with this elephant. That you’re becoming one of those freak people who can only get along with animals. That you haven’t been right in the head since your sister.”
Another violent wave of rage rolled through Hettie, and she tackled Samuel onto the floor and swung at him, hitting him squarely in the nose. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear her father cheering her on: Go on, Hettie! Show him what you’re made of! The knuckles of her hand ached, but adrenaline hurtled through her system. Her limbs felt tingly and light and electric. It was the first time that Hettie had ever hit anyone in her entire life—and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t take pleasure in it. She got up and shook off the splinters of hay from her sister’s dress.
Violet took a few steps closer and suctioned her trunk along Samuel’s cheek. Blood trickled from his nose.
“Get away from me, you fuckin’ elephant,” he said, knocking Violet’s trunk away. “Knock it off.”
Violet continued suctioning along his face. Samuel kept trying to bat Violet away, but wasn’t successful.
“Make her stop—”
Hettie clucked her tongue. “Go outside,” she ordered Violet, opening the door that led to the yard.
Violet lumbered through. Samuel stood up, studying the crimson smears on his fingertips before turning to Hettie again.
“You crazy bitch,” he said. “You made me bleed.”
“Get out,” she said, her voice ice-cold. “Now.”
Samuel stormed out of the Elephant House and up the pathway that led to the Floral Hall. Hettie watched him walk away as the evening breeze brushed against the hem of Anna’s dress. Its soft pink fabric was speckled with mud and dirt and one of the sleeves was torn. Hettie felt victorious, defeated, and furious all at once, and now Rose was going to be furious with her, too. The thin hairs on her arms stood up. Hettie could still hear the distant voice of Stella Holliday as Samuel disappeared into the darkness, but the magic of the singer’s song was diminished now. Behind her, Hettie heard the soft rumble of Violet’s call. She walked outside into the yard and patted the elephant on her side.
“I’m sorry, Violet. Rule number one,” Hettie murmured, “don’t ever trust young men.” Violet nudged her forehead into her arm.
“I wished I had a treat for you,” Hettie said. “I promise I’ll bring you one tomorrow.”
She led Violet into the stall and secured the gate before locking the door to the Elephant House. As she got closer to the entrance of the Floral Hall, Hettie spotted Colleen White standing there with her hands wrapped around her opposite elbows. Her pale, translucent skin and lavender dress seemed to glow in the dark. The night breeze pressed the silky fabric of her dress against her slender figure, giving her rounded breasts and petite waistline more definition.
Samuel Greene made his way up the steps and took Colleen into his arms. They embraced and then Colleen stepped back as she held his face tenderly, inspecting both sides as she wiped away the blood near his nose with a handkerchief. Hettie could see that Samuel was beginning to tell Colleen a story, a story about the zoo and meeting a young elephant, but Hettie was certain that the story had nothing to do with her, that he wouldn’t even mention her name.
Six
MR. WRIGHT ANNOUNCED THAT THE ZOO’S SPRING CLEANING would take place on April 1, and the premises would be closed to the public so the keepers could complete a thorough scrubbing of the enclosures as well as washing and grooming of all the animals. When the day arrived, the staff gathered in the canteen at eight o’clock sharp in the morning. Mr. Wright cautioned everyone that it was going to be a long day and they shouldn’t expect to be done until around seven in the evening, at the earliest. Hettie didn’t mind putting in a long day at the zoo; at least it gave her a sense of purpose versus the free-floating melancholy that she often experienced at home.
Hettie sat next to Ferris at their usual table in the canteen, despite the fact that some abstract aspect of their friendship had vanished since that Saturday night at the Floral Hall three weeks ago. It felt as if they were no longer in each other’s corner, quietly rooting each other on. Since that evening, Ferris had stopped asking Hettie to meet for their midmorning cup of tea. He had stopped coming by the Elephant House. In fact, he barely made eye contact with her when they encountered each other on the paths around the zoo. Hettie tried to convince herself that this unfortunate change in their relationship didn’t matter to her, that her time and energy were now occupied with more important things—and perhaps all this was for the best. At the very least, it left Hettie less distracted and more focused on the day’s tasks in front of her. But still, when she gave Ferris a small smile and his eyes just slid past her, she felt a spark of hurt in her chest.
Hettie, of course, knew there were far greater concerns: Before the staff meeting, some of her fellow zookeepers were talking about how the Stormont government had entered an understanding with Éire to share information about enemy aircraft crossing over the border and coastline. Andrews and his cabi
net were becoming increasingly fearful about aerial raids on the city and its industrial port, given its steady production of military vessels so critical to the English war economy. Starting earlier in the year, the Luftwaffe had been attacking the United Kingdom more regularly, especially the critical ports in Glasgow and Plymouth, and many of these attacks were taking place on evenings of a full moon. Hettie kept her attention on Mr. Wright at the front of the canteen.
With a clipboard in hand, he rattled off everyone’s assignments. Ferris would be charged with the sea lions and the llamas. Not surprisingly, Hettie had been assigned to Violet and the camels.
“For some of the enclosures, there are special instructions of where to place the animals while you’re cleaning,” Mr. Wright added, striking his pencil against the top edge of his clipboard. “Please check with me, and I will advise you of any special measures. We certainly don’t want to lose any of our animals today, do we now?”
The staff murmured to each other, and a few others chuckled.
“This is no laughing matter,” Mr. Wright said sternly, standing tall in his polished riding boots. “We all have an important job to do today.”
Though Hettie had seen Mr. Wright several times since Stella Holliday’s show, she still had a difficult time matching up Mr. Wright, the head zookeeper of Bellevue, with Mr. Wright, the silver-footed dancer on the crowded floor of Floral Hall. The two still didn’t seem like the same man.
“Well, everyone,” Mr. Wright said, tucking his clipboard underneath his arm. “Let’s get to work. I’ll be cleaning out the lions’ enclosure and then inspecting the other areas, so please don’t hesitate to find me if you need me. Also, I wanted to let everyone know that Mr. Christie and his sister, Josephine, will be paying us a visit on Friday morning. Given this upcoming visit, I want the zoo in tip-top shape, particularly since this will be the first time that Josephine Christie will be visiting our fine establishment. Let’s be on our best behavior and make Mr. Christie proud.”
Hettie looked up at the canteen window, expecting to see Eliza, but she wasn’t there. During recent weeks, Hettie had seen very little of her. When she had asked Mrs. Carson about Eliza’s whereabouts, she said that Eliza had been sick lately and needed to stay at home. Hettie wondered if her friend was all right, particularly after what had transpired with her brother over Ellis Johnson back in December. Hettie made a mental note that if she didn’t see Eliza within the next week, she would pay a visit to her home and see how she was doing.
As the staff meeting concluded, the wooden legs of chairs scraped against the linoleum floor. Hettie thought back to a newspaper article she had recently read about Josephine Christie—about her older brother and the zoo, how it was a family-run operation that they had inherited from their father, who had died unexpectedly of an aneurysm at age fifty-nine. That George Christie had taken over the family business ten years ago, at age twenty-five, and never married. Now his younger sister (by seven years) was joining the business since her recent engagement had been abruptly broken off and George needed another family member to share in the growing responsibilities. Next to the article in the Telegraph, there had been a photograph of the two siblings: The brother and sister looked alike, sharing dark features, chiseled chins, high foreheads, and pooling dark eyes. Josephine wore a floor-length dress and a tailored coat, its sleeves bordered with bracelets of lace, and the carved handle of a folded parasol hung from her arm. She looked sophisticated and smart, a woman who had seen many places and met many important people.
“Why are Mr. Christie and Josephine visiting?” Hettie asked Ferris as they got up to leave the canteen, thinking it might be a good way to engage Ferris in small talk.
“Didn’t you hear?” Ferris said sharply. “The Christies are moving the elephants to Sweden.”
Hettie gasped. “Sweden?”
“You should know by now this place is something of a halfway house for Mr. Christie’s animals,” Ferris said as they walked along the path past the polar bears, still not meeting her eye. “Nobody stays here for long.”
Without waiting for her response, Ferris started to jog down the path toward the enclosure of the llamas. For a moment, it felt as if he were running away from Hettie and would never stop. He ran faster, his arms swinging. She kicked her foot against the graveled pavement, knocking the metal leg of a bench.
“Ouch,” Hettie said quietly to herself.
Ferris disappeared around the bend. It felt as if she had just stepped through a trapdoor and tumbled into her own sadness. Up ahead, Mr. Wright stood near the door of the Elephant House. Hettie silently prayed to herself that he wasn’t about to share the news about Violet’s imminent departure to Sweden. Maybe Ferris was wrong.
“You can find the bottles of oil in the supply closet,” Mr. Wright said. “Make sure Violet gets a generous coat after her bath.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be grooming Victoria and Wallace.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Hettie stepped inside the Elephant House, she chose to focus on the lack of proof for what Ferris had said and on the task directly in front of her. Yes, maybe Ferris was wrong. Maybe she had nothing to worry about. After all, it was a beautiful April morning. The sky was blue and cloudless. Hettie shook out her shoulders, trying to dismiss her interaction with Ferris. Violet paced the width of the enclosure. Hettie gathered the hose from the side of the house and unspooled it.
“Good morning, Vi,” she said.
Hettie filled the bucket with water and soap. She clucked her tongue and then whistled a soft whistle. Violet took several steps toward Hettie, swinging her tail.
“After our bath, Mr. Wright wants me to rub you down,” she said. “That’s gonna feel grand, I bet.”
Hettie went into the Elephant House and retrieved the box of neat’s-foot oil and placed it along the exterior wall of the house. She turned on the spigot for the hose, picked up its short brass mouth, and sprayed Violet’s broad side. Water ran down her skin like the forks of rivers traversing a series of low valleys. Hettie lightly tapped Violet’s left rear foot with the riding crop and the elephant lifted it up, and she washed away the clumps of manure and dirt from the shallow ridges of her footpad. Afterward, Hettie aimed the arc of water toward Violet’s forehead and then sprayed it into her mouth. The elephant raised her head and curled her trunk high into the air. Her pink tongue slipped out, making the elephant look like a giddy clown. Droplets of water clung to her long black lashes and to the soft hairs that stippled her chin. With the yard brush, Hettie scrubbed the top of Violet’s head and then around her ears. Swirls of suds gathered on the elephant’s skin.
“You’re so good,” Hettie sang softly as she scrubbed along the high ridge of the elephant’s back. She took up the hose again and rinsed away the suds. Violet shook her head, sending out a halo of moisture.
“You got me,” Hettie said with a laugh, wiping away a spot of wetness from her cheek with her forearm. She sprayed along the elephant’s back. Violet lifted her tail and defecated onto the ground.
Hettie tutted. “Vi, not the best timing, you know.” She retrieved the shovel from the supply closet, and the wheelbarrow. A few flies began to hover around the steamy pile. Violet swung her tail against her back and issued a soft whinny. Then the elephant knelt to the ground and rolled like an eager puppy. Hettie shook her head, unable to keep herself from smiling indulgently. Small clumps of dirt and splinters of hay collected, like magnets, on the elephant’s back. Hettie rinsed Violet off one more time before rubbing her coat down with the neat’s-foot oil. It smelled like petrol and decaying fish. Hettie scrunched up her nose as she applied a generous layer.
From the Elephant House, the other animal enclosures were obscured by the stands of Scots pines and the gradual slope that led to the foot of the Cavehill. Despite this, the energy of spring cleaning was palpable in the air. Winter was officially over. Signs of spring had arrived. Hettie whistled to herself as she massaged Violet’s coat
. With each swipe, the elephant’s skin turned a darker shade of gray. Hettie leaned farther into each stroke. A growl traveled from one of the other enclosures. A flock of starlings took flight and circled high in the cerulean sky, producing an impressionistic swirl of specks before breaking apart again.
All of a sudden, several people sprinted past the Elephant House. One of the animals emitted a loud cry, and the starlings frantically circled again. In a nearby paddock, the macaques and baboons screamed and shrieked, hopping along the sides of their cage, gripping the metal diamonds of the fence and shaking it as if they were caught in a feverish trance. A sea lion roared. Hettie replaced the bottle of oil in the supply closet in the Elephant House and ran toward the commotion.
When she arrived at the sea lion enclosure, a dozen of her fellow workers already stood along the waist-high chain-link fence that encircled the exhibition, gawking at the large oval pool in the middle. As she followed their gazes, Hettie gave out a barely audible cry. Sammy had pinned Ferris against one of the boulders and was lunging for his shoulder. A stream of blood trickled down his arm and polluted the water. It was a surreal scene, like a child’s cartoon, this wrestling match between Ferris and the sea lion—and it looked as though Sammy was winning. The rest of the sea lions huddled together on the opposite side of the enclosure, mewling and nudging their whiskered noses into each other’s slippery bodies. Mr. Wright stood at the pool’s edge and ripped off his coat. Several brass buttons popped loose and wheeled into the water.
“Sammy!” Mr. Wright yelled. “Get off now!”
Sammy dragged Ferris, limp like a rag doll, into the pool—and there was little Ferris could do. Sammy bit into his left shoulder again. Ferris hollered and tears rolled down his freckled cheeks. Within seconds, Mr. Wright managed to find firm purchase on Sammy and pried his slick body off Ferris. Then Mr. Wright grabbed his crop from the pool’s edge and snapped it in front of Sammy’s scowl. His silver whiskers shivered as he displayed his rows of sharp teeth.
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