I’m stuffing my granola bar in my pocket when I see Just Carol’s car in front of my house. I grab the bag with Pistachio in it and run outside. I am careful not to let the bag bounce against my legs as I run. I smile and look straight into Just Carol’s eyes. “Hi,” I say.
“Hi yourself.” She smiles. Her hair is in a ponytail held with an orange scrunchie and she is wearing her brown Zoo Volunteer T-shirt.
I get in the car and place Pistachio’s bag on the floor next to my feet.
“Where’s Harrison?” I ask, hoping, praying Just Carol will say we’re going to pick him up second today.
“He’s got the flu.”
“Oh,” I say, so disappointed I can barely speak. How could he get sick today?
“He must be feeling pretty lousy to skip seeing Kigali,” Just Carol says.
All I can think about is Pistachio in my bag. If he makes one noise, I’m dead. I look at Just Carol. I wonder if there’s any chance we’ll get lost on the way to the zoo and never get there. I keep hoping this the whole way until we pull into the zoo parking lot.
Just Carol stops the car and I pick up the bag with Pistachio in it and grab the cool metal door handle. My arm is resting on the toast-colored leather door. Slowly, I get out, but I don’t let go of the door. When Just Carol pushes the master lock switch, I spring to action, shoving back inside the car before it’s too late.
Pistachio and I are safely inside the car now. Just Carol is outside. I didn’t plan to do this, I just did it. But now I feel better. No one can make me leave this car. Pistachio and I will stay in Just Carol’s car for the rest of our lives. We will be safe here.
Just Carol taps on the side window. “Hey, Ant, what’re you doing?”
I stare out the front window, my whole body stiff.
“Ant?”
I don’t look at her.
“Ant? What are you doing?”
I say nothing. I look straight ahead out the windshield, as if I were driving the car and it would be dangerous to look in any other direction. Just Carol opens the driver-side door and climbs back in the car. Fruuup, the door closes. We sit quietly for a minute and then she whispers, “You want me to take you home?”
I shake my head. Just Carol sighs. I don’t know what she is thinking because I don’t look at her. I keep looking through the windshield. I try to make myself turn and look straight into her eyes because I know this is the only way to lie, but I can’t.
“What’s going on, Ant?”
I watch the branches of a big pine tree. There is just enough wind to make them do a little dance. Trees are so lucky. No one can make them move. They spend their whole lives in the same spot.
I open my mouth to say something. Nothing comes out. I try again. My voice sounds funny, like a tape recording of myself. “I’ve got Pistachio with me,” I say.
Just Carol’s teeth grind. I think about crying, but I’m afraid once I start, I won’t stop.
“Why?” Just Carol asks.
I can’t tell if she’s mad or not and I am too upset to look at her. I take the purple pamphlet out of my pocket and hand it to her. “My mom had this. I’m afraid she wants to…I’m afraid …” My hand finds Pistachio’s little body and I pull him out of the bag and bury my face in his scruffy fur. I smell his dirty ripe smell.
“Oh,” Just Carol says. She is very quiet. I wonder if she is going to drive me home and never have anything to do with me again.
Just Carol sits for a moment, then she reaches over and squeezes my arm. “I’m proud of you, Ant. You told me the truth.”
I feel relief ease my stiff neck, tense back, strained arms. She heard. She understood. I can’t stop the tears now. They pour down my cheeks.
“Okay, this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to borrow a rope and a dish. Then I’ll fill the dish with water and bring it here. I’ll pull the car up by those pine trees. We’ll tie Pistachio outside the car with a dish of water. He’ll be fine for a few hours. And as for your mom and Pistachio…we’ll work that out. We will.”
I like the sound of this. I like the “we” as if she is in this together with me. I wonder now if I should tell her about the move. But I don’t want to. Something tells me that this is not a problem Just Carol can solve. My mouth stays closed. I sit quietly petting Pistachio while Just Carol is gone.
When she comes back, we get Pistachio set up. I’m not crazy about tying him here. I worry he will pull out of his collar or get twisted in the rope. But Just Carol is probably right. He’ll be fine. I cinch Pistachio’s collar up a notch so he can’t possibly slip through, just to be sure.
Pistachio whines and jumps up and down all crazy when we leave, but this is for show. When we get far enough away, he makes a nest for himself on top of my book bag, curls up, and goes to sleep.
Just Carol keeps saying not to worry, we’ll work it out, we’ll figure out a plan, but first we need to report for work, otherwise Mary-Judy will have our hides.
Mary-Judy seems the least of my worries, but I follow along, glad to have someone tell me what to do, because my head is mush. We walk through the zoo entrance, by the flamingos, past the chimp with his teddy, and down to the bamboo fence with its Do Not Enter sign. As usual, all the khaki people are milling around down there. It’s almost as if this is their cage at the zoo…the keeper exhibit.
Just Carol says hello to a skinny khaki person. We go into the room that smells like a pet store and pull on our boots, just like we always do, and march back out to follow Mary-Judy.
Mary-Judy says she’s going to split us up. Just Carol is going to start cleaning the camel exhibit and I am going to help Mary-Judy with the aviary. Normally, I would be very excited about this because this means I get to feed the macaws. But today I want to stay close to Just Carol. Only when Mary-Judy says to do something, you do it. No questions asked. Besides, it’s kind of an honor getting to go with Mary-Judy without Just Carol around. It means she trusts me. I like the feel of that. I like the feel of the extra set of keys she hands me, too. I hook them on my belt loop, the way Just Carol does.
Mary-Judy has fifty-seven animals to take care of, if you count the roans, the bison, and the python. There are only three keys, though. All the keepers carry three keys and a radio. The radio is important because the zoo is so big and being a keeper isn’t the safest job in the world. Mary-Judy says Dora, the giraffe keeper, got pinned by a zebra once, and if it wasn’t for her radio, she’d have been a goner. And then another time, a lion climbed the fence when there was a third-grade class right there. Mary-Judy says that was a long time ago. She says the only thing that happens now is a kid will drop his backpack from the aerial ride that goes over the lions’ area, and then the next day when Mary-Judy walks the exhibit, she’ll find a pink Barbie backpack torn to shreds. Of course, she doesn’t know about how Pistachio was almost a Dog McNugget one day. Just Carol never told her about that.
While we work, we listen to the radio calls. Somebody’s got a shipment of Pretty Bird. Where should it go? Pauline wants to know who took the hillside barn hay hooks and when maintenance is going to fix the snake windows. But today I am not paying much attention. I knock yesterday’s fruit off the macaws’ tree and worry about what I’m going to do when it’s time to go home.
Soon we are done with the macaws and we head to the tiger exhibit. Mary-Judy turns on the hose. She pokes it through the chain link. The tiger has his own water dish, but he likes the hose water better. He is bony and old, and he has big kind eyes that are always asking a question. He is never scary, the way the lions are. I watch as he curls his tongue around the stream of water.
Mary-Judy turns the plastic Beware: Keeper in Exhibit Area sign over so everyone will know not to let the tiger out of his night house into the exhibit. Then she lets me open the exhibit with my own key. I am very excited about this. I’ve never had the keys to the cages before. I stick the key in the lock, then I look around to see if there is anyone to see me doing this.
W
hen we get inside, Mary-Judy’s radio begins to hum and get all staticky, the way it does when someone is about to talk. Then a voice says: “Come in all departments. Does anyone know anything about a little brown dog? Looks like maybe he was tied up somewhere. He’s dragging one of our ropes. He’s up here at the African exhibit, scaring my hoof stock out of their minds.”
At first, I don’t register what’s been said. And then my mind replays the words: Little brown dog…dragging one of our ropes. I drop my bucket and race out of the tiger exhibit. I’m moving fast, but I’m intensely aware of everything. I see the fence, a crack in the pavement, a bucket we left outside. I feel the smack of pavement beneath my feet, the eucalyptus leaves brush my arm, the adhesive tape pulls at my stomach.
“Hey!” Mary-Judy screams, but there is no time to answer. No time to explain. I’m moving as fast as I can, uphill. My legs pull hard against the grade. I hear the thunder of hooves as I reach the crest of the hill. The gazelles are galloping, their delicate, spindly legs flying, hooves barely grazing the ground. The giraffes are running crazy. They seem scared and confused as they try to turn on their big long legs. A crane scurries out of the way. A frantic duck tries to fly, but his wings are clipped.
God, please don’t let it be Pistachio and if it is him don’t let him be inside. My feet are pounding the ground. This couldn’t be happening, my mind says.
Dora, the giraffe keeper, is there. “WALK!” she screams. I don’t know if she is talking to the animals or me.
“The little dog. Is the little dog here?” I cry, my voice breaking because I am out of breath.
“If one of my hoof stock breaks a leg because of your DAMN DOG …” Her face is big and red and angry.
“Where is he?” I scream.
“Over there.” She points toward the elephant exhibit. “WALK, FOR GOD’S SAKE!” she screams, and then I know she’s talking to me, but I don’t walk. I can’t.
“Pistachio!” I scream as I run toward the elephants.
23
THE KEY
When I get to the elephants, I’m so out of breath, I’m doubled over. My throat feels like a scouring pad and I have a terrible side ache. I stop. It’s hot and quiet. The elephants are lazy. One is running his trunk along the ground as if he’s vacuuming. Another is itching his butt on a big log. A third is sleeping in the shade of a big oak tree. They are peaceful, slow moving, bored. It looks like it would take a lot more than a tiny barking dog to get them upset. For a second, I am relieved.
I run past the exhibit to the elephant information kiosk. I look behind it. Where is he? I look all around. I wish he wasn’t the color of dirt and so darn small. There is a breeze blowing the big trees just outside the exhibit. A mom pushes a stroller by me. “No, you can’t have any more fruit rolls. That’s enough for today,” she says.
“Pistachio,” I cry. “Pistachio!” Though I sound frantic, the elephants don’t even turn their heads.
“Which one is Pistachio?” the mom asks.
I’m running now. My big boots slap the pavement. Something inside me says Pistachio isn’t here. I remember how proud he was the day he scooted under the lions’ fence. Utterly, completely, stupidly proud. I am running up the path around the back way to the lion exhibit—to the spot where Pistachio scooted under the fence before.
Mary-Judy is in the zoo truck speeding toward the elephants on the road below. She doesn’t see me and I don’t flag her down. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to take the time. I don’t want her with me, because if Pistachio is in the lion exhibit, I know Mary-Judy won’t let me get him out.
By the time I pass the zebra-striped bathroom, my chest is killing me, and the masking tape, which is holding my sandwich to my belly, is pulling like crazy. I jump over the fake wood fence and cut down to the back of the lion exhibit. The lions are up the hill near a big ball that hangs from a tree with a thick chain. They aren’t playing with the ball. They are all four sleeping, lazy in the tall brown grass.
“Pistachio!” I call, forcing myself to sound calm. I don’t want the lions to know I’m upset. I’m afraid to tell them Pistachio is here. I’m afraid they might understand my words, even though this doesn’t make sense.
“Pistachio!” I call again, looking around. Usually, he comes when he’s called. Usually he can’t wait to see me. The only time he won’t come is if he gets so interested in something, he just can’t turn away.
“Pistachio!”
I hear something. A sharp cry around by the side. I follow the fence toward the sound. And then, all of a sudden, I see him. He is in the exhibit dancing on his hind legs. He does a little jig when he hears my voice, but he doesn’t come to me. He can’t. His rope is wound around a bush. It’s caught. He can’t move. He’s a sitting duck for those lions. Lunch, delivered to their door. Once they see him, he is dead. “Oh, Pistachio,” I whisper, my pulse booming in my ears.
I look up at the fence, thinking I will climb over, and then I realize I have the keys. I feel happy about this and terrified at the same time. I almost wish I didn’t have them. My hand goes to my belt loop. The keys jangle against my fingers. I unclip them. My heart is beating so loud, I can’t hear anything else. I am so scared my hands fumble. Which key?
First one doesn’t turn. I shove the second key in. The padlock falls open in my hand. I unchain the entrance and slip inside, half closing the gate behind me.
Then I stop, my hand gripping a chain-link diamond. Pistachio is straining against the rope, trying as hard as he can to get to me. My hand eases its grip on the fence. Then, my fingers let go and I move toward him. I remember Mary-Judy saying that sudden motion will catch a lion’s eye, but I have to get to Pistachio. There is no way to do that without moving.
Don’t look at the lions, I tell myself. Don’t. But I have to. One is standing. Her whole body taut. Waiting. Watching. Daring me to move. “Be tall,” Just Carol told me once when I was helping her feed the bison on the hill. If they come close, tell them to leave, and be tall. I pretend I am the tallest person in the world. I walk in slow, smooth, gliding steps. I take a quick, reckless look at the lions. Four sets of big glinting gold eyes are tracking me. One lion is standing. I half rush, half glide. The closer I get to Pistachio, the more he crazy jumps. “Stop it,” I whisper, “stop doing that.” But he pays no attention.
I’m running now. My boots are moving almost without my consent. I tear fast clear out of one rubber boot to Pistachio and yank the rope, but it’s too twisted around the bush. It will take too long to untangle. I grab at Pistachio’s collar. Untie the rope from his collar? Unbuckle the collar from his neck? My fingers are dumb as sticks. Won’t go. Won’t move. I hear her. I see a blur of gold fur coming for me. My stupid fingers work the buckle. The collar falls free. Pistachio is mine. I clutch him against my belly as I run, my legs moving, my feet flying. One sock. One boot. I can hear the lion behind me now. She is behind me. Behind me. I run faster. Pain in my sock foot. Get to the gate. To the gate. To the gate. My fingers curl around the chain link. I swing the gate open and I am out.
24
MARY-JUDY
I am sitting in the dirt outside the lion exhibit, holding Pistachio tight. I can feel his little heart beating. I can feel my own beating, too. I can’t believe we are both safe. I pet him and pet him and pet him. I can’t get enough of petting him.
Inside the fence, the lioness finds Pistachio’s collar. She is chewing and licking it. Chewing and licking. A chill goes up my spine. I can’t watch.
Mary-Judy is here. I’m not sure when she got here, but she seems to know exactly what happened. She doesn’t yell at me. She asks me if I am okay—whispers it. From the look on her face, I think it would be better if she’d yelled.
Now, she is pacing back and forth, talking into her radio. Fook, fook, fook goes her big rubber boots. “Come in, Dora? What’s the status at the African exhibit? You need help?” Fook, fook, fook. She paces. Her radio crackles. The voice comes through loud and clear. “T
he gazelles are still jumpy as hell, but they aren’t running themselves crazy anymore. I think I’m better off handling them myself. New people will only get them riled up again.”
“Okay,” Mary-Judy says. Fook, fook, fook. She checks the chain on the lion exhibit. Her hands are shaking. She has checked the lock three times already. I wonder if she thinks I got in because she forgot to lock it. But this can’t be true, because she has taken the keys back from me. She did this first thing, her hands shaking. Fook, fook, fook. She stops in front of me. “Get in the truck,” she commands. She is still whispering. I don’t know why.
I stand up, holding Pistachio tight against my belly. I get in the truck. The truck is still running. The keys are dangling from the ignition. Mary-Judy must have jumped out so fast, she didn’t take the time to turn it off. The armrest is missing from my door, so there’s nothing to pull to close it. I roll down the window and grab hold of the frame. I slam twice before it shuts.
Mary-Judy scoots her bottom onto the seat. She is so short, she has to sit on a pillow to see over the dashboard. She puts the truck in gear and gives the accelerator a little punch. My neck jerks as the truck jolts forward down the hill. She’s not looking at me. Not talking to me. I wonder where she is taking me.
Mary-Judy pulls the truck out to the road by the camel exhibits. She slows to let a cluster of kids move out of the way. When they are safely gathered on the side of the road, she creeps the truck forward to the camels’ night house, then stomps on the brakes. The brakes squeak. The truck stops. Mary-Judy jumps out. “Stay here. Do not move! Do not move!” she whispers in a hoarse voice, and then seems to think better of leaving me in the truck with the keys in the ignition. She swings back in, turns off the motor, and pockets the keys.
Mary-Judy fast walks into the camels’ night house, a low brown building that is strangely round, like a giant mushroom head. A few minutes pass and then fook, fook, fook, she is back with Just Carol in tow. When I see Just Carol, I look down. I study the floor of the truck. It is muddy and corroded, completely worn in places, so I can see through to the road below. I inspect every square inch of the floor and what I can see of the road. The truck door opens, and I automatically scoot over to make room for Just Carol, but I do not look at her.
Notes from a Liar and Her Dog Page 14