“So what’re the alternatives?” I click on a link. Animal-rights experts agree animals should be protected, preserved in the wild. But when they’re already in the US, it’s basically about choosing the best remaining option. From what I read, the luckiest wild animals end up at sanctuaries designed to recreate their natural habitats. They get to live on thousands of acres like they’re almost wild.
I follow a link to an article written a few weeks ago about Daisy, a female Asian elephant from a zoo in Detroit. Her two-month-old calf suddenly died. Daisy became horribly depressed. She stopped eating. “Daisy was dying,” Detroit Zoo veterinarian Betty Edmonds said. “So we contacted Viv Hemming’s Elephant Sanctuary in Galton, Texas.” The elephant sanctuary agreed to take ownership of Daisy. At the time of the story they were still trying to save her life.
When I look at Swifty, she’s sucking the tip of her trunk like a human baby. Flea sleeps halfway under her blanket. Both of them are touching Nibs. “He’s an old stuffed rabbit, not magic,” I whisper. Lying on my stomach, I take photos of Swifty from different angles. Something tugs inside my chest. After pulling my sleeping bag to the far wall, I crawl inside and imagine my questions are bubbles floating away...
It doesn’t work, because Sawyer’s accusation floats to the surface...it’s not hard to count to zero. I dial him and get his voice mail. “It’s me. Again. I’m sorry I didn’t go look at apartments with you...and for anything else I didn’t do. But come on,” I say, trying to make my voice all jokey, “you have to admit having your mom try to kill you, impending insanity, traveling to the circus with Addie, who hates my guts, and an elephant calf who might die, trumps getting kicked out by your dad, right? Call me, okay? Please?”
Once again I try to sleep, but my mind spins like a washing machine. “Screw it.” I pull out the notes I’ve scribbled and start writing my first article.
Swift Jones Comes Home to
Wild Walker’s Circus
After a six-hour flight, the truck carrying former Pennington Zoo Asian elephant calf Swift Jones rolled under a red Wild Walker’s Circus banner.
“During your visit you’ll see that we care for and protect our animals,” Howard Walker, the circus’s twenty-eight-year-old elephant trainer, told Pennington Zoo’s director, Dr. Tinibu, who accompanied the calf to Florida to help with the calf’s transition.
Walker is proud to say that all of his male Asian elephants have been rescued from abusive or unhealthy environments. He uses a system of free contact to train his elephants. “But I never use an ankus [a tool for handling elephants with a metal point and sharp hook],” he said. “They respond to my touch.... And it doesn’t hurt to carry high-value treats.”
For now, Swift Jones is housed in her own enclosure, a twelve-by-twelve-foot interior room in a large building that’s home to all the circus’s animals. The show’s employees will work around the clock to ensure she’s well cared for.
I do a quick proof then email my article and photos to Shannon. It’s a few minutes after one in the morning. Two hours before the next feeding.
My dull headache now pounds like surf on sand. I hear Addie’s judgmental voice in my head. Howard Walker argues with her. Ms. Frey twitters that there are three sides to every story. Mr. Matthews reminds me that It’s a local happenings beat. People want to get jazzed. The Code sounds beneath it all. Seek Truth and Report It. Minimize harm. Act Independently. Be Accountable and Transparent.
“I won’t let you screw with my Twelve-Year Plan,” I tell all of them and close my eyes.
25
Ringing. Ringing. Ringing in my head. Not. My. Head. My phone. My heart leaps into the air and does a double flip. I slide off the lumpy motel bed onto shag carpet, fast-crawl to the chair where my jeans are crumpled, dig out my phone. “Sawyer?”
“You’re sleeping?”
“Shannon.” I lie on the stiff carpet, staring at the yellow water stains on the ceiling. My T-shirt is glued to sweaty skin because the AC window unit is all noise, no action. “I only got four hours sleep last night. Not. Continuous.”
“You sound grumpy.”
I could tell her that I smell like eau de animal—urine, feces, stale formula; that it’s so freaking hot here that I’ve sweated out every ounce of fluid in my body; that Addie is still only speaking to me in bullet points; that my best friend isn’t even my friend anymore; that Swift Jones drank a total of only two of her three bottles; that there’s no way I’ll have the energy in this swampland to go for a run, which I desperately need to keep my brain in working order; that there’s a current of stress buzzing through my body that can’t be good for me. Instead, I get up, empty a packet into the filter of a plastic coffee maker on the bathroom counter then fill the top with water. “What’s up?” I ask.
“You’re lucky I was in the office late last night,” Shannon says, like she’s on her fifth espresso, one sugar. “Managed to get your article into today’s paper.”
“Did you—”
“Like it?” Shannon finishes. “No. But the tweets and emails of concern for Swift Jones keep rolling in so Matthews is up my ass for copy. He wants more photos, too.”
“Which ones did you use?”
“The calf touching the horse’s nose with her trunk. The tiger. Damn, it’s big. Swift Jones reaching toward the Walker’s banner and looking through the bars into the calf’s prison cell.”
“It’s not a prison cell,” I say. But it does look and feel like one. Stop. Swifty is an animal, not a small child. Animals live in small places. At least Swifty will be let out of her pen to play and learn. “Four photos?”
“Don’t gloat. Jack had to fix all of them. Still.”
“Still?”
“Your perspective was interesting. Anyway, you’re on the front page of the Entertainment section, below the fold.”
“Cool.” I do a little dance.
“If you’re doing some kind of victory dance, stop. Your article was about an inch deep.”
I stop dancing. “It’s a human interest story.”
“True. But it seems like you’ve landed on the circus’s side.”
“I haven’t. But this is Swift Jones’s home now. People need to know that she’s safe.”
“People want to know the truth.”
She’s wrong, but I don’t say it. Outside the window, the sun beats down on a parking lot that’s more cracks than pavement. A few sad-looking palms grow out of sun-scorched grass. “Today I’m going to interview the owners of the circus, Tina and Maximus Walker.”
“Good. Find out their story, vision for Walker’s, how a baby elephant fits into it. By the way, the AP already picked up your article.”
I refrain from dancing. “That’s great, right?” I’ll send it to USC. Sawyer will... He won’t care.
“All the AP proves is that a monkey can write about Swift Jones and get attention. Are you a monkey, Lily?”
“No.”
“Then act like a real reporter. Write something that’s freaking better.”
She hangs up on me. I take a sip of coffee. I’m a newbie, but it’s definitely horrible. I guzzle it down anyway. The phone rings again. It’s Calvin’s number, so I let it go to voice mail then check for, like, the tenth time to see if Sawyer has emailed. Nope. I listen to my father’s voice mail.
“Lily. Call me. You have to understand. The love of my life turned into a woman I couldn’t recognize. She wouldn’t take her meds... Sometimes, I was afraid to come home from work. But I never thought she’d hurt you. She—she loved you so much. Christ, I must’ve called her parents a thousand times for help. They hung up on me, eventually changed their number. Lily, I was so scared—”
The message cuts off. I heard ice cubes in the background. Calvin was drunk again. My nose wrinkles. I can almost smell the peaty scent of Scotch. When Violet completely unraveled, it was always on C
alvin’s breath. After the trial, he mostly stopped drinking...until now. The space where I’m supposed to feel something is empty. You have to understand? No. Actually, I don’t.
Peeling off my T-shirt, I head for the shower. It’s cold, which is fine. But the nozzle only releases five trickles of water that are not enough to get the shampoo out of my hair. I settle for adding conditioner to the remaining suds in the hopes that a brush might make it through the tangled mess. When I gather the dark mass of curls and twist it into a bun, the threadbare towel tucked above my breasts falls to the linoleum. I bend to retrieve it.
“Psst.”
My body snaps to attention. The only image reflected in the mirror is my own sickly white one.
“‘I’ll make you the gift of a secret...’”
My ears are filled with invisible bees. “It’s not a new quote,” I whisper. “It’s not,” I repeat, louder. “It’s from The Little Prince.” But was it my voice saying it? Was it? “Was it?” My reflection doesn’t answer. “‘I’ll make you the gift of a secret,’” I repeat. “I. Will. Make. You. The. Gift.” It was a young woman’s voice. My voice. I’m pretty sure. I’m sure. “I have a kick-ass imagination,” I say, channeling my former best friend’s words. And then it hits me why my subconscious brought up that quote.
I can’t count how many times over the years I’ve turned to Sawyer for comfort. About a zillion, and that’s a low estimate. Our friendship is well beyond lopsided. It’s basically one-sided. “The secret is that you’re incredibly selfish,” I say, staring at the lower part of my face to make sure it’s intact, blood-free, which I do realize, on an intellectual level, is pretty stupid because if I go nuts I’ll have my own hallucinations, not YouTube Hannah’s. Maybe I’ll see devils’ faces in trees like some suffering from schizophrenia do, or rooms filled with dead people, or maybe it’ll just be a voice I think is God commanding me to do some really twisted stuff. “Again,” I tell my thoroughly disgusted reflection, “all about me.”
I throw on a T-shirt and shorts then rifle through my bag for a Luna Bar because the awful coffee is eating a hole in the lining of my stomach. No luck. There’s no restaurant at the motel, but Howard said we could eat all our meals at Wild Walker’s food cart, so my plan is to swing by the animal building to see if Tina and Maximus are around, figure out how to schedule an interview with Esmerelda then find the cart so I can eat. I grab my backpack and head into the sauna that is Florida.
It’s a two-mile walk to the circus. I consider putting on my sneakers and running there, but instead opt for a fast walk. The air smells of brine and scorched earth, and the sidewalk’s cracked asphalt radiates heat. I’ve sweat through the Koi Korean BBQ T-shirt Sawyer got me last Christmas by the time I walk beneath the circus’s banner.
All around me there’s activity, like Walker’s is a brightly colored hive of people and animals in all shapes and sizes. Performers in clown shoes juggle pins between them as they walk along the road, kids play soccer in the front yard of a performer’s house, a girl in a very short pink sequined dress leads two horses toward the big tent, their black coats gleaming in the sun. Trucks with Walker’s logos unload what look like props in front of one of the buildings.
My phone beeps. Please be a text from Sawyer. It’s Addie.
ADDIE: Training caretakers all day. You are on from 6:00 p.m. to 12:00
ME: I can take the whole night
ADDIE: No. I’ve given that shift to circus personnel
ME: I could help them?
ADDIE: No. FYI. SJ has only had half a bottle
ME: Offer the bottle to Flea if he’s still there. Swifty doesn’t like to share
I didn’t eat much after the rooftop. According to Ms. Frey, food was the only thing I could control. I guess that goes for a little kid and a calf. Addie doesn’t text back, so my suggestion probably worked. Still, uneasiness flops in my belly like a fish on dry land.
As I approach the animal building, I see an elongated golf cart down the road and recognize Tina Walker in the driver’s seat. Beside her is Maximus, his long black hair now silver. Otis is talking to them. He points at me. Butterflies flutter. I’m just hungry. Otis nods at me then turns, walks away, and the butterflies settle. Tina drives my way.
“Hey,” I call out. Tina pulls up beside me. Both she and Maximus are beyond tanned with very white teeth. A Wild Walker’s T-shirt stretches tight over Tina’s breasts. Max wears a matching T-shirt and sweatpants. The back of their cart is piled high with chunks of crimson-red, raw meat.
“You must be Lily,” Tina says, holding out her hand. “We’ve been looking for you.”
I shake Tina’s hand. She smiles and the dimple in her right cheek reminds me of Otis’s.
“Maximus Walker,” her husband says, shaking my hand gently with his massive, calloused one. “Call me Max.”
“We’re scheduled for an interview today,” I say. “Is there a good time?”
“Now works,” Max says. He nods at the raw meat in the back of their cart. “Just can’t be too long. We need to feed our boys then work with them once they’re satiated. Keeps them from nibbling our toes,” he says with a belly laugh.
“Before we start, I just want to say thank you,” Tina says.
“For what?”
Her blue eyes radiate warmth beneath overly tweezed brows. “Howard tells me we have you to thank for Swift Jones.”
No one has ever put it that way before. It feels...not that good. “Um. I guess.”
“Howard will take wonderful care of her,” Tina says, giving my arm a squeeze.
“Swifty, the calf, she’s not drinking as much as she was at the zoo.”
Max nods. “It’ll take some time, but she’ll adapt. Animals are like that. Flexible.”
“What if Swifty’s not? Flexible?”
“If you have concerns, please do bring them to Howard,” Max says. “The wife and I have a policy not to interfere with our animal trainers. Treat them like we’d expect to be treated, once they’ve proven themselves of course. Howard has proven himself time and again. His act is a marvel. We’re incredibly proud of his work.”
“So you never get involved, even if there’s a big problem?”
“Between running the business side of things and our own act, it’s hard to find enough time in the day. Luckily, our trainers are top-notch, autonomous. If they need anything, run into difficulties, our youngest, Otis, steps in.”
“So does your circus have a policy about, um, what kind of methods can be used in training your animals?”
“If you’re asking if we abuse our animals,” Max says, his smile fading, “absolutely not. But no matter how much we care for them, they are still wild creatures, not family pets. They’re capable of killing us. We take precautions. But every trainer at Wild Walker’s treats their charges with love and respect.”
It feels like Max is trying a little too hard. “So, where are you from, originally?”
“Everywhere. I grew up traveling with my family’s circus,” Max says.
“Kentucky,” Tina says.
I wait for them to elaborate but they don’t. “That’s a lot of meat.”
Max chuckles. “Our tigers aren’t cheap to feed. We’re responsible for making sure they’re healthy.”
Tina nods. “We’re their shepherds. They may be big, have sharp teeth, but we love them like you love your dog.”
I don’t have a dog, and it’s hard to imagine that, if I did, it’d be the same as a tiger. “Have you both always known you wanted to be tiger tamers?”
“Trainers,” Max corrects. “The word tamer brings to mind the stereotype of a man with a whip and chair. We only use positive reinforcement.”
“As for always knowing I wanted to be a trainer, hell no,” Tina says. “I just knew I wanted to escape the piss-hole town I grew up in.”
“So yo
u ran away? Joined the circus?”
“When I was sixteen,” Tina says, “Wild Walker’s Circus came to my town. One look at Max with his tigers, and I would’ve followed him anywhere. His act was sexy as hell. When the circus left town, I went with them.”
“And you fell in love with the tigers?”
Tina laughs. “I fell in lust with Maximus. Loving the tigers was a slower process.”
“Why?”
“Do you know how tigers hunt?”
“Um. No.”
Tina leans in, like she’s about to tell a secret. “They ambush their prey from behind then bite the animal’s neck. Sever the spinal cord. Usually it’s an instant kill.” She giggles. “I was terrified of turning my back on them for the first few years.”
“Let me guess your next question,” Max says. “Is it humane to keep tigers in cages?”
I was actually wondering if Violet knew about the way tigers hunt. Would it have scared her, or made her like them even more? “Is it?”
He sighs. “Kiddo, the tigers at your zoo are in cages, too, just bigger ones. At least our Bengals aren’t dying of boredom.”
His tone has a whiff of annoyance. It’s not my job to decide what’s right or wrong about a circus or the zoo, so I move on. “You must be proud that Howard is following in your footsteps? As a trainer?”
“Of course,” Max says, his eyes lighting up.
“But he chose elephants?”
“Not at first,” Tina says. “Howard loved the tigers. That boy had no fear at all. Still doesn’t.”
“What about Otis?”
“Otis doesn’t have the right temperament to be an animal trainer,” Max says, frowning.
I notice that Tina’s smile slips away, too. “That must be kind of disappointing... I mean, since it’s the family business?”
“Off the record,” Tina says.
I nod. “Sure.”
“It’s extremely disappointing. Otis has a stubborn streak, like his dad. Hopefully he’ll have a change of heart somewhere along the line, maybe when Max and I retire.”
When Elephants Fly Page 15