Did Not Survive

by Ann Littlewood

  For most of an hour I relived the scene at the elephant barn two mornings previously, demolishing my triple dose of cub-joy. The officers who had responded first had asked innumerable questions right after the incident. This was even more intense—all the details, going through it again and again, backing up to explain how animal management worked, the little I knew of how elephants behaved, why we did things the way we did.

  Over and over, I described Wallace lying on the straw, blood on his head, the ankus next to him, elephants milling around and tugging him with their trunks, his body sliding a few inches at a time as Damrey shoved him with her forefoot. I kept good control over my voice and hid my hands in my lap.

  “Tell me again why you were here alone before the zoo opened.”

  “All the keepers come to work before the zoo opens. We have to get the animals fed and cleaned. I was extra early because I had a night shift watching a clouded leopard who was due to give birth.” I had to explain that the monitor was in the Education office instead of at Felines for health reasons related to my own reproductive status. “I can’t spend much time in the Feline building. I need to wear gloves and a face mask when I do. Cats shed an organism called toxoplasmosis that’s harmful to human fetuses.” He seemed skeptical, as though I was faking Losa’s pregnancy or my own.

  “So you were here that night with no one around?” he asked in his deep, flat voice.

  I didn’t like the implication. “I filled out a behavior log. You can take a look at it. And the vet called me a few minutes before I left.”

  “On your cell phone?”

  “No, on the phone in the Education office.”

  That seemed to satisfy him.

  “Tell me about your relationship with Kevin Wallace.”

  That was tricky. “He, uh, wasn’t long on charm. He could be rough-tongued, although he’d lightened up a lot the last couple of months. He was fair and good at his job.”

  “Who didn’t like him?”

  “It was an accident, right? What are you getting at?”

  Detective Quintana gave me a mournful look. “Routine. We have to explore all the possibilities. Who didn’t much like the guy?”

  “I have no idea.” I was not going to toss him Denny.

  “Your husband died here a few months ago, right? In another animal accident.”

  “Yeah. It’s in the police reports.” I was grateful when he decided not to dig further in that particular black hole.

  Nonetheless, I felt as if I’d been clear-cut and strip-mined. When he paused to review his notes, I groped for something to salvage from this painful process. “Could he have hit his head on the wall? Maybe had a heart attack?”

  Of course he didn’t answer.

  “Why is this a police investigation?” was my next effort.

  “It’s a high profile situation.” Detective Quintana handed me his card, shook my limp fingers, and said he might need to get back to me later. “Does it smell like this all the time?” he muttered. Wimp.

  I held the door for him and went back to hand-feeding the penguins, grateful to be done thinking about elephants. The penguins were upset that I was late with the rest of breakfast after excluding them from an interesting visitor. Some were pushy and some were standoffish, and I was even more behind schedule when all had eaten whatever they were willing to. Mrs. Brown ate little, while her faithless ex and Mrs. Green were relaxed and hungry.

  A hasty feed-run to the aviary and pond, and it was past my lunch time. I’d missed my fellow keepers, perhaps just as well. But Jackie stepped out of the café and wanted to know how my inquisition went. I shrugged. She told me that Sam and Ian were still on the hot seat.

  “I wish we knew how badly he’s hurt,” I said.

  “‘Head trauma’ is all I can find out. Which means, like, nothing. No details available. And Mr. Crandall is driving me crazy. He’s coming in early and messing with everything. If Wallace doesn’t come back soon, I’m going to lose my mind. I never thought I’d long to have Kevin Wallace at his desk.”

  “Kevin Wallace: competent and crucial,” I suggested as a tag line. He had changed for the better, and I’d been slow to re-evaluate my old insecurity and aversion to authority.

  She shrugged. “Cranky, constipated, and conspicuously absent.” She smiled at her own wit. Sentimentality was not Jackie’s thing. “I have to get back to work. Come on by when you can and tell me what that old cop wanted to know.”

  “Will do,” I lied. I bought a veggie burger to go and met Linda halfway back to the Penguinarium. She was even later to lunch than I was. “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “Still three, all nursing. Losa looks pooped. She’s sleeping. You look wrecked.”

  “You, too. You won’t forget to tell everyone to keep the activity down near her den? Maintenance, too?”

  “Nope. I won’t forget. If I hear so much as a nail drop, blood will be spilled.”

  Satisfied, I hiked back to my herring-perfumed refuge and settled in for a cold pseudoburger in solitude.

  I sat alone at the little table and chewed and stared into space, trying to recapture the elation from seeing those shapeless little cubs, trying to override the scene the police officer had made me reconstruct so thoroughly. Lack of sleep, the grueling interview, pregnancy hormones—for whatever reason, my defenses failed. I was back in the elephant barn trying to get Damrey away from Wallace. The elephant barn morphed into the outside lion exhibit, Wallace’s limp body merged into Rick’s…A different police interview, that one from a woman. Going home to a house that I would never share with him again. Rick gone forever, maybe because we’d quarreled and so I wasn’t with him that night.

  I lived in a new house now, one I’d bought with Rick’s life insurance, but I perched uneasily in it, unable to turn it into a nest. We are a species that pair bonds and I was a female with no mate. All I had left of Rick were a few possessions, his big-hearted dog, and our last tangible connection—a flutter in my belly. Those, and shards of guilt that sometimes didn’t stay buried.

  The kitchen door opened, and I lurched back to the present. Dr. Reynolds squished through the foot bath. “Hi, Iris. Could we talk for a minute?”

  In my experience, zoo vets didn’t ask to “talk” to keepers. They requested information and gave instructions. I got her a cup of coffee in the guest cup and sat back down, wondering what was on her mind. I offered her an orange and peeled one for myself.

  Today she seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. I broke the awkward silence. “I saw Linda a few minutes ago. She said Losa was doing fine with the cubs.”

  “Yes. It looks good so far.” Short finger nails carefully stripped the rind from the orange. “These cups are lovely.” She broke off a segment and ate it.

  “Linda’s a potter on the side.” I chewed on my own orange and tried to guess her mission. Second thoughts about hand rearing the cubs? She would talk to Linda, not me. Changes to bird management? That would be Calvin.

  Her fingers methodically tore the rind into small squares. She shifted in her chair. “The accident—Kevin Wallace’s accident—has caused some disruption. Mr. Crandall has banned non-keepers from the elephant barn. It has to do with the zoo’s insurance policies. Kayla can’t collect urine samples for a research project.”

  “She mentioned that at lunch yesterday. She’s worried about the project.” Why couldn’t I escape talking about Wallace and elephants for one little lunch break?

  Dr. Reynolds pushed a strand of long brown hair back over her shoulder and stacked up the bits of orange peel. “This study is our first significant collaborative research with other zoos. I think we have useful data to contribute, and a research program is required for the National Association of Zoos to give us accreditation. This project started with antelope, looking at nutrition and phosphorus levels. The project head recently added elephants and asked us to participate, along with about a dozen other zoos that hold elephants. Kayla h
as good experience with domestic animals, but Mr. Crandall perceives her as inexperienced with exotics.”

  I nodded, wondering why she was explaining this to a bird keeper. The orange scent masked the fishiness. Maybe I should ask Calvin about trying a citrus-oil cleaner.

  “I’d like to ask you to collect the samples until the incident is resolved or until the study ends next month. Mr. Crandall has approved it.”

  “Me?” I hadn’t seen it coming. “I’m not good with elephants. I don’t know anything about them.” And I didn’t want to go back there. Not even a little bit.

  “It’s not at all difficult. You were Sam’s first choice.”

  “I see.”

  Dr. Reynolds relaxed and smiled a little as though I’d agreed. “Ian trained the elephants effectively, and they urinate on command. You reach through the bars with a cup on a stick, collect a sample, and refrigerate it. I pick it up later. That’s all there is to it. It’s only on your regular work days. If you could start tomorrow…”

  “Why don’t the elephant keepers do this?”

  The vet spoke with a careful absence of emotion. “Sam says that they don’t have the time, especially since he is helping design the new exhibits for Asian antelope and deer. He says that elephants plus the zebras, giraffes, and other animals that he and Ian are also responsible for don’t leave time for sample collection. I agree that the staffing level is too low.”

  “Kayla was the logical person to do it.”

  Dr. Reynolds nodded, her face still carefully neutral. “Kevin said Kayla could do it if a keeper were present at all times, and Mr. Crandall agreed.” She pushed the bits of peel aside. “Kevin Wallace said that if we want to breed Nakri, we must track her cycle. Sam accepted that the training was a reasonable investment of Ian’s time.” She let her frustration show. “For a simple procedure, I’ve invested hours in setting this up. It would be quicker to do it myself, but I need to set the precedent for future research projects. I can’t do it all.”

  “So you need some keeper to show up and do what Sam won’t do himself or let Ian do.”

  “That’s the size of it. Sam prefers that it be you. He assures me that whatever happened with Kevin was a fluke and that Damrey is acting normally. I don’t see any risk to you as long as one of the keepers is present, and you follow the procedure. Otherwise of course I wouldn’t request this. Would you rather not because of your pregnancy?”

  “No, that’s not a problem.” I was pregnant, not disabled. “It would put me behind on work here at Birds, though. I’ve had a lot of disruptions lately.”

  “The procedure takes only a few minutes, but I’ll get an authorization for overtime. Mr. Crandall is quite supportive of this study.”

  Being paid overtime generally required Congressional intervention. This was compelling evidence that the veterinarian and director were serious about the study. Sam had tagged me. Refusing without a persuasive reason was unwise. Why couldn’t elephants carry some disease pregnant humans were required to avoid? The flesh-eating bacteria Denny talked about…No, for now I had to go along. “Um, afterward, could you maybe put a little note in my personnel file? I kind of need to balance out some…stuff…that happened a while ago?”

  “Of course. I would do that anyway. Your help is greatly appreciated.”

  So it was settled.

  I circled back to something she’d said before. “You’re thinking about breeding Nakri? Artificial insemination? I know we can’t keep a bull.”

  “Perhaps. Assuming a new exhibit is constructed, one big enough for a calf and, of course, a modern elephant restraint chute and a scale.”

  “I don’t understand why it’s been delayed.”

  The vet shrugged. “We may be out of the elephant business anyway, depending on the NAZ committee investigation. I hope they can figure out what happened and why.”

  I hesitated. “When Wallace wakes up, he can tell us, right?”

  After a little silence, she answered quietly. “I don’t think that is going to happen.” She looked away, the corners of her mouth pulled down.

  Kevin Wallace was more than her coworker.

  Pieces came together. He’d lost much of his excess weight in the last several months. We thought he’d had a health scare. He’d been unusually cheerful. I’d thought it was due to the new exhibits going up. He and Dr. Reynolds held regular meetings in his office. We thought it was because she’d been hired only a few months before. Wallace in a relationship with a woman fifteen years younger? I was pretty sure no one else had put two and two together either, or the gossip mill would have been red-lined.

  “I’m sorry to hear he’s in such bad shape. I didn’t realize.”

  Dr. Reynolds didn’t say anything.

  She flipped her hair back again. I pulled the Styrofoam cups containing routine penguin fecal samples out of the fridge. She took them, thanked me for the coffee and orange, and left to finish her rounds.

  I started toward the aviary, late again. I picked up litter, examined the birds, and pondered. The vet thought Wallace was going to die or stay in a coma forever. The police were conducting a serious investigation. Sam wanted me to go back into the barn and work with the elephants. I didn’t like any of it.

  Chapter Five

  My hand shook a little as I put the key in the door to the elephant barn, adrenaline detritus from my last way-too-dramatic visit. This morning, however, the morning after Dr. Reynolds’ request, I found Peaceable Kingdom. Damrey rocked gently at her hay rack masticating a big wad of hay. Nakri’s rump was visible through the gap in the door to the back stall. No roaring, no trumpeting, no limp body. The work day had barely begun, the stalls hadn’t been cleaned yet, and the atmosphere declared the barn was full of herbivore—strong, warm, and humid. Science must march on, and so I marched in.

  Ian nodded “hello” as he stretched a fire hose down the keeper alley toward the elephant door to the outside yard. He was careful to keep the hose close along the visitor window. I knew why after more episodes than I cared to remember of cougars chewing on hoses I’d left within reach. “The girls” would love to entertain themselves by snagging the hose with their trunks.

  Through the open keeper door, I spotted Sam standing at a counter in the work room. Like Ian, he wore a green polo shirt with the Finley Memorial Zoo logo. A thick twist of red twine cut from hay bales stuck out of the rear pocket of his brown uniform pants. No shoulder holster, no bulge at an ankle. I relaxed a little.

  I wouldn’t be back in zoo pants for months. It was baggy brown coveralls until the baby came, with the name of someone built thick sewn on the pocket, like “Calvin.” I peeled off my zoo jacket, also brown, and draped it over a chair in the little office area. “Hi. I’ll be your Kayla today,” I told Sam. “Today’s breakfast special is warm piss.” Nothing like smart-mouthing to cover up the jitters.

  Sam handed me a five-foot broomstick with a funky wire loop in one end and two unused paper coffee cups. “Here.” He demonstrated how a cup fit in the loop. “This is the official scientific pee collector. Ian will demonstrate the technicalities of operating it. Thanks for doing this.” He handed me a pair of disposable white gloves and waited for me to leave and get started.

  Sam was sensible and careful and had mentored me kindly when I was new. It was Sam who taught me to be aware of each animal’s agenda and not just my own, Sam who told me not to take Wallace’s growling personally, Sam who first welcomed me to the lunch gatherings. He was an old friend, and nothing bad would happen while he was in charge. I swallowed and walked through the door and toward the front stall.

  Ian was waiting near Damrey’s hay rack. He held out a hand to show me a fistful of raisins mashed together to make a lump. “Stand here. Watch her. Don’t be where she can grab at the stick.” He studied me to make sure I was digesting this. I nodded obediently. He added a final precaution that sounded as though someone once said it to him and he had memorized it: “Most da
ngerous time is when you know the routine and it’s all working good. People get careless.”

  I nodded several times. No carelessness. Not me.

  “Damrey,” he called.

  Damrey wheeled to face us. The bars near the hay rack were too close for her to reach her trunk through, but she tried. A little pointed beard of long hair hung from her lower lip. “Pee,” Ian said quietly. The elephant rocked from side to side, ears flapping gently, as she sniffed in my direction, then the trunk swung toward Ian’s hand with the raisins. She turned away and walked toward the other end of the stall and circled back. Her footsteps were almost silent, only a shushing noise as her feet scuffed straw and wood chips out of the way. Each step seemed deliberate, not like the nervous tapping of a blackbuck antelope or a deer. I wondered how many ribs those feet had broken when she was mauling Wallace.

  “Has to get her mojo working,” Ian said, which was the liveliest thing I’d ever heard out of him. He seemed almost relaxed around the animals, and his words flowed more easily.

  Damrey circled back toward us, checked again that Ian really did have raisins, and turned around to present her butt to the bars. Ian took the stick from me and waited. Instead of urinating, she turned around and sniffed at us again with her gray and pink trunk tip, the wet little finger on the end working. She blew a long snort, picked up some straw, and threw it on her back. She walked to the far end of the stall, rubbed her side against the rough wall a bit, and then stood rocking from side to side with her back to us. Ian didn’t say or do a thing.

  I felt as though I were deaf. Damrey was fairly shouting at me with body language, and I had no idea what she was saying, except that she didn’t feel like standing near me and emitting bodily fluids.

  After a minute or so, Damrey walked to the door to Nakri’s stall and squeaked. Nakri squeaked back. Damrey ignored us some more.

  “Come on,” Ian said to me. “Time out.”