“Jesus Christ,” Mr. Wright yelled. “Get back where you belong!”
After what felt like hours, Sammy finally retreated to the far corner of the enclosure, growling all the while, and the rest of the sea lions quietly slipped into the pool. Bobby Adair and Jack Fleming rushed to carry Ferris out of the pool. His arms and legs were slack, but he was still conscious, his eyes wide open, taking in what was going on around him. Blood stained the shoulder of his uniform. The dull flat red was becoming deeper. The zookeepers carefully placed him onto the patch of dead grass near the exhibition’s entrance. The color had drained from Ferris’s face, and his complexion was a pale shade of blue.
“Call the doctor from my office,” Mr. Wright ordered Jack Fleming.
Hettie kneeled down beside Ferris and held his hand. He gripped her fingers lightly and gave a small smile.
“Oh, hey, Hettie,” he said wearily. “It’s you.”
She smiled weakly, tears brimming in her eyes. “Does it hurt?” She immediately felt embarrassed for asking such a ridiculous question.
“Sammy knocked a wee bit out of me.”
“I would say so, yes.”
“He has quite the set of teeth on him, that boy.”
Mr. Wright knelt next to Hettie and staunched Ferris’s wound with his handkerchief. Spots of perspiration dampened his shirt. Mr. Wright’s breathing was labored.
“The doctor’s on the way.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wright,” Ferris said. Blood leaked through the wrapping of the handkerchief. “I lost my footing. Before I knew it, he was on me.”
“Please, son,” Mr. Wright said. “It was an accident. And Sammy. That’s the first time I’ve seen him display such horrendous behavior. I don’t understand it.”
They all looked over at Sammy. He was licking off traces of Ferris’s blood from his satiny coat, and Hettie shuddered. The other sea lions continued to keep their distance from him.
“Let’s bring Ferris down to my house,” Mr. Wright said to Bobby and Hugh, “and the doctor can examine him there.”
Mr. Wright hoisted Ferris’s uninjured arm around his shoulder. Hettie stood up and wiped her palms on her trousers. Ferris’s blood had dripped onto her hands and now the deep crimson color stained the thigh of her trousers. She stared across the pool to where Sammy now reclined. He beat his foreflippers and arched his back, his chest robust and full, his pointed mouth trained toward the blue sky. Sammy released a throaty bark before diving into the pool. He swam in fluid circles before slipping out of the pool again and finding a high perch on the largest boulder.
Hettie recalled the advice that Mr. Wright had given her when she first started at the zoo last year. “It’s inevitable,” he had begun. “You’re going to develop relationships with these animals. They are going to be responsive to you. Do your best not to become attached to them. Remember, they are animals. Most of these animals were wild and savage at one point in their lives, and at any time they can return to their natural, violent ways.”
Hettie remembered thinking that Mr. Wright was being overdramatic in his words and delivery, and though his warning could certainly hold true for lions and bears, she couldn’t imagine Violet or even lethargic Sammy hurting anyone. But on this early April day, Sammy had proven Hettie wrong. Here, along the concrete lip of the pool, the fresh puddles of blood and beige shreds of Ferris’s uniform provided tangible evidence of Mr. Wright’s words of warning. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Wright’s quick action and herculean strength, Sammy could have killed Ferris.
Along with the other employees, Hettie returned to her assignments for the reminder of the day. She still had to finish up with the oiling of Violet’s coat and then move on to the camels. As she walked back to the Elephant House, the festive spirit of the zoo had vanished. Hettie was worried about Ferris and wondered if he was going to be all right. Would he need stitches? Would he be sent to the nearest hospital? Hettie wanted to believe that none of these animals were capable of such harm, and Ferris would swiftly recover from his injury and all would be forgotten, but she knew that this was naive thinking, in the same way it was naive to think that her father would ever return to their home on the Whitewell Road. On this spring day, Hettie somehow understood this fact more deeply than ever. In her mind’s eye, Hettie saw him curled over a half-empty glass of whiskey at the neighborhood pub, his fingers gripped around the glass, as if he were caught in a fugue-like prayer. Just as many of the animals were by nature savage and dangerous, her father was by nature a drunk, a cheat, and a liar.
Violet stood near the center of the yard, and as Hettie walked toward her, the elephant chirped. The paintbrush end of her tail twitched. Somehow the elephant looked different—a little more dangerous, a little less trustworthy. Hettie tried to push these thoughts from her mind and focus on the duties in front of her. She retrieved the neat’s-foot oil and rubbed it on the rear quarter of Violet’s back leg. She concentrated on the circular motions of her hand against the elephant’s rutty coat. Immediately, Hettie felt more relaxed, her fears dissipating in the weak April sun. No, Violet would never hurt her, and she would never hurt Violet. Every time Hettie stroked the elephant’s skin, a strange sensation gathered underneath her fingertips. A congress of electricity. Dynamic and static at once. The elephant chirped again.
“It’s all right, Vi,” Hettie said softly, applying one more coat of oil. “I’m here.”
The staff assembled at the zoo’s entrance at nine o’clock on the morning of the Christies’ arrival. Mr. Wright stood in front, wearing a suit and bow tie rather than his familiar uniform. Hettie found a place next to Ferris, who stood on the periphery of the other employees. Despite only two days having passed since the episode with Sammy, Ferris looked like his former self, except he was a little stiff in his movements and a few scratches decorated the right side of his face. His left arm was positioned in a simple cloth sling against his abdomen. A young man with an accordion stood next to Mr. Wright.
“Remember, happy faces,” Mr. Wright announced to everyone. “Positive attitudes, everyone.”
A four-door Ford Prefect Saloon drove up the Antrim Road and pulled up beside the zoo’s entrance. A chauffeur exited and opened the rear door of the shiny car. As Mr. Christie, dressed in his usual pinstriped suit, stepped out, Mr. Wright signaled the accordion player, and the musician began to perform a polka tune. Some of the employees tapped their feet to the music. The accordionist picked up his tempo and started to dance in time with the infectious music.
Mr. Wright shook hands with Mr. Christie as his sister stepped out of the vehicle. Josephine wore a shapely navy dress, a matching pair of high-heeled pumps, and a stylish pillbox hat. A deep shade of red lipstick colored her full lips. Hettie noticed that she was wearing a pair of sheer blue nylon stockings, an item that could no longer be purchased in Belfast. Mr. Wright greeted Josephine Christie. After he had exchanged a few words with Josephine, Mr. Wright asked the musician to cease playing.
“George and Josephine Christie,” Mr. Wright announced. “The staff and zookeepers of Bellevue Zoo.”
Mr. Christie bowed to the group, and Josephine gave a curtsy. Mr. Wright brought his hands together, and everyone followed his lead, enthusiastically clapping as if they were in the crowded terraces of a football match watching a leap-of-faith punt down the field that had just resulted in a last-minute winner. Mr. Christie’s face brightened as he gazed beyond the group and up the slope of the grand staircase. Josephine opened her fan with a fluid snap of her wrist, fluttering the folds near her sharp chin despite the fact that the April morning air held a lining of coolness.
“Thanks to all of you, the Bellevue Zoo is a sensational success,” Mr. Christie said. “This can’t be said about other zoos in the United Kingdom. Our visitor attendance is up. It has already doubled this season. Clearly, you are taking excellent care of my animals.” He looked over at Mr. Wright with a generous smile. “I look forward to speaking to each of you this morning as Josephine
and I make our way around the zoo.”
“Back to work everyone,” Mr. Wright said.
About an hour later, Mr. Wright escorted Mr. and Miss Christie into the dusty yard of the Elephant House and introduced the brother and sister to Hettie. Nervousness beat against her chest, and a subtle tickle rose in her throat. Hettie hoped that she would be able to impress the siblings and that they would decide to keep Violet at Bellevue. Mr. Christie asked Mr. Wright for Violet’s recent statistics of weight and height, and how much she had grown during the past six months, since the last time he had seen her.
“About a hundred pounds, sir,” Mr. Wright said, “and she has grown about a half foot taller.”
“Despite the rationing?”
“She arrived here a bit on the thin side,” Hettie explained, a quiver in her voice. “I don’t think her keepers fed her very well on the ship.”
“Happens,” Mr. Christie said, shrugging. “Sailors don’t know the first thing about animals. Three weeks ago, I had two ostriches arrive dead at the Southampton docks after being shipped from northern Africa. Of course, I’m suing the shipping company for the destruction of my property.”
“Georgie, how could you let that happen,” Josephine said, glancing at her brother.
“The ship had to flee a U-boat,” Mr. Christie said, holding his hands up defensively. “The sailors forgot about the birds in the hold. What can I say?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“I’m very impressed with Violet,” Mr. Christie said, clearly keen to move the conversation on. “To be honest, I don’t understand how you managed the weight gain.”
“Farmers have donated hay and vegetables,” said Mr. Wright.
“Georgie,” Josephine said, “do we really need to bother with all these details? I mean, look at this lovely elephant.”
They turned their attention to Violet, who was now strolling the perimeter of the yard. The late morning light threw dappled shadows against Violet’s skin, which still held a deep hue from the oil rubdown earlier in the week. She looked graceful and dignified, her slow locomotion amplifying her stately presence.
“Over the past year, Josephine, our concern has invested in many animals,” Mr. Christie continued, studying the small notebook that he held in one hand, a yellow pencil in the other. “These numbers are critical. With the wartime rations, it can be a challenging feat to feed all of the animals.”
“Look at her,” Josephine said again. “Such a sweet creature.”
Hettie pressed her lips together, hiding her own smile.
“How old is Violet?” Josephine asked.
“Three years old, we think,” Hettie answered. “We don’t know her exact birthdate. Her mother—”
“Still a baby,” Josephine interrupted, staring at Violet as she paced the outer ring of the enclosure. “Remember when Papa took us on safari through the wilds of India and we got to ride the elephants with the mahouts. Remember the Bengal tiger. He had just devoured that gaur. Only twenty yards away from us. It was absolutely spectacular.”
“Josephine, we don’t want to bore Wright and Miss Quin with our tiresome childhood adventures.”
“No, please do, sir,” Mr. Wright said. “We’d love to hear about the elephants in India.”
“It was just one of the many trips that Papa brought us along on,” Josephine continued. “He was looking to purchase a few more animals and ended up buying a cheetah and a pair of lions. Whatever happened to those animals, Georgie?”
“Father put the lion down after what happened in Colchester,” he said.
Josephine’s face crumpled. “Poor Mr. Drummond. His poor wife and children.”
Mr. Wright and Hettie exchanged glances.
“Let’s not go into that, Josie,” Mr. Christie said, writing another scribble in his notebook. “That was a long time ago.”
“Certainly,” Mr. Wright said in a clipped voice.
“He was a good man, Mr. Drummond,” Josephine continued.
“Violet represents a fine specimen of Asian elephant,” Mr. Christie said, glancing down at his notes in his pad again.
“Miss Quin and Violet have developed a bit of a rapport,” Mr. Wright added. “All the children love to come by and say hello to Violet. She has become something of an attraction here at Bellevue.”
“Good work, Miss Quin,” Mr. Christie said, flipping a sheet over in his notepad.
For the first time that morning, Hettie felt a sense of ease slip through her. Mr. Christie had said that she was doing her job well. He seemed to respect her as a zookeeper. Josephine liked her, too. Perhaps Violet was no longer in danger of being transported elsewhere.
“Let’s not fritter our time away, Wright.”
“Of course,” Mr. Wright said, retrieving his pocket watch and glancing at its face. “You and Miss Christie have a train to catch to Dublin later on this evening. Shall we—”
“Georgie, listen to Mr. Wright for once,” Josephine said, tapping Hettie’s shoulder. Her fingertips felt like the delicate wings of a bird beating against her. “We should hire more women, like young Hettie Quin—whether there is a war going on or not.”
Hettie glanced over at Miss Christie. She smiled at her like an old friend, and then gave her brother a sharp stare. Mr. Christie studied his notes again.
“Let’s proceed with Maggie and Rajan,” Mr. Christie said without looking up at his sister.
“Miss Christie, have you met Maggie and Rajan before?” asked Mr. Wright.
“Georgie, listen to me—”
“Dear sister, I heard you. I wrote it down,” he said, exasperated. “More female zookeepers.”
Josephine Christie winked at Hettie, closed her fan with one fast motion and tucked it into her purse. Even though it was a simple movement, it looked as though she had just performed a magic trick.
“After visiting with Violet, I think we can agree that she’s a valuable asset to Bellevue,” she said.
“Josephine, we’ll discuss this later—”
Hettie looked over at Violet. The elephant stood near the edge of the moat. A young family—a husband and a wife and two girls dressed in matching dresses and coats—had gathered on the other side. The father held one of the girls in his arms as she stretched her hands toward the elephant. Violet extended her trunk and touched the girl’s fingertips. The child squealed, and her younger sister hopped up and down.
“Mummy, Mummy,” the sister said, excitedly. “I want to meet the elephant. I want to meet the elephant now.”
Hettie bit into her lower lip to stop it from shaking. It didn’t seem possible that they could ship Violet away.
“Keep up the good work, Hettie,” Josephine said gently, extending her hand.
“Thank you, Miss Christie,” Hettie replied, stumbling momentarily over her words. “Thank you for everything.”
For a moment, Hettie didn’t want the Christies to leave. She wanted to tell Mr. Christie how grateful she was to Mr. Wright for hiring her full-time and how he was an excellent boss and ensured that Hettie was always staying on top of her daily tasks, and that if Mr. Christie promised not to ship Violet to Sweden, Hettie would work overtime, taking on whatever extra responsibilities Mr. Wright would like her to perform, even if it meant cleaning out the foul-smelling cages of the fruit bats and lizards. And she wanted to ask Josephine if she might be returning to Belfast anytime soon, and if so, perhaps Hettie could show her around the city, take Josephine to high tea at the Grand Central Hotel, and for a visit to St. George’s Market, and then over to the shipyards, so she could see where the famous Titanic was built, and then maybe they could conclude their evening by taking the tram up the Antrim Road to the Floral Hall for a night of live music and dancing. Josephine appeared to be the sort of woman who might enjoy a day like this, and then Hettie could show Samuel Greene that she no longer needed to stoop to his standards. By the end of their evening, Hettie would have told Josephine the story of Anna, Liam, and Maeve, and
Thomas and Rose, and how she, Hettie, was exactly where she belonged. Now she had Violet, and the elephant seemed to set the world on its right axis and align things in such a way that nothing else mattered. Despite her father and her sister being gone, Hettie was doing better than ever, thanks to Violet and her other charges at the zoo. Didn’t Josephine agree, that animals had this power? The ability to enchant and delight during the toughest of times. She was certain that Josephine would concur: Hettie was doing a brilliant job despite the recent setbacks and losses in her life. That she was a grand example of what could be—rather than of what was left behind.
“Wright, lead the way,” Mr. Christie said, tugging Hettie out of the rapid whirl of her thoughts.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, young lady,” Josephine said, taking Hettie’s hand again. Hettie had lost track when Josephine had let go of her hand the first time. “Keep up the wonderful work.”
“Yes, Miss Christie,” Hettie said.
“Josephine,” she said firmly. “Call me Josephine.”
A flush of warmth seeped into Hettie’s cheeks.
“Yes, Josephine,” Hettie said. “Thank you, Josephine.”
Mr. Wright, Mr. Christie, and Josephine proceeded up the pathway. The sisters and their parents were gone now, but Violet continued to stand next to the fence. She swung her head in Hettie’s direction and lifted up her trunk. Hettie reached into her pocket and fingered a remaining carrot. Violet ambled toward her, and Hettie tossed the carrot into the elephant’s mouth before rubbing her gently behind the ears.
“That’s my girl,” she said softly. “You’ll always be my girl.”
As dusk approached and the zoo was about to close, shards of the setting sun filtered through the budding treetops. Since the Christies had left the Elephant House, Hettie had attended to the rest of her duties. She kept expecting Josephine to come and find her, to say goodbye one last time, but she never returned. Instead, the day merely followed its perfunctory rhythms and routines.
The Elephant of Belfast Page 14