Jungle Out There

by William Stafford

  The zoo was built on and around a hill, at the top of which stands what is left of a medieval castle. The keep watches over the grounds and the town beyond, like a sentinel, a giant meerkat fashioned from stone.

  “Look, Mother! Ruins!” Baby pointed. He was delighted to see the broken building. In the jungle such places were his playgrounds; we would find him playing house and I suspect he imagined the civilised world I told him so much about was formed entirely of ruins and decay.

  Perhaps it is.

  A broad path led away from the ticket kiosk, winding around the foot of the central mound.

  “This way,” said Rebecca, appointing herself our guide. “There’s some funny-looking birds over here.”

  The first enclosure we came to had a pond. Several flamingos were standing one-legged in the water, the bright pink of their plumage a shock amid the prevailing Dedley grey.

  “I can do that,” said Baby. He and the Lyons girl set to imitating the birds’ stance, giggling and wobbling. Man watched. Like me, he must have been thinking of the fabulous flocks we had seen at home: thousands of flamingos turning the sky pink with their flight. Man parted his lips and uttered the low honk of a mother flamingo to her chick. Instantly, all the hooked beaks turned in the direction of the call. The birds approached, stalking like stilt walkers on their impossibly thin twig legs.

  Soft and low, Man honked a flamingo song and the birds joined in with the chorus.

  Rebecca Lyons fell over. Baby helped her to her feet - both of them this time - and she stood with her mouth gaping like an astonished guppy.

  “He used to do this all the time,” Baby confided in a whisper. “Had quite the glee club going.”

  A keeper arrived, wheeling a barrow, just like the one Gable our gardener had when I was little. He paused to listen; I gave Man a gentle nudge. Man’s eyes slid sideways. He saw the keeper and stopped honking. The birds continued without him. We sidled away. The keeper, in his green shirt and brown trousers, frowned at our distinctive attire. I looked over my shoulder and sent him a little wave. As though hypnotised, the keeper raised one of his hands from the handles of the wheelbarrow. You see, the power my husband has over animals has rubbed off on me a little. I may not be able to charm a snake or anything of that nature but when it comes to the human male, I can mould them as easily as the Maasai shape elephant dung to make their huts.

  We followed the path as it curved on a gentle incline. It was Man’s turn to nudge me.

  “Barrow man follow,” he said from the corner of his mouth. I didn’t need to turn around to verify; the squeak of the barrow’s only wheel corroborated my husband’s statement. He picked up the pace and so did we.

  The path widened and dipped, taking us past huge cages that appeared to house only foliage.

  “Owls...” Baby stopped to read a placard but Man pulled him away.

  “Son and Lion Girl go that way,” he instructed the children. Baby knew better than to question. “Lady and Man go this.”

  “What’s happening?” Rebecca blurted out louder than Man would have liked, but his face betrayed nothing.

  “Come on,” said Baby, taking the Lyons girl by the arm and leading her away. Man took my arm in a similar fashion and we took a sharp right onto a cobbled path that led us through a gaping archway and into the castle courtyard itself.

  Unlike the abandoned temples and citadels one stumbles across in the jungle, the castle and grounds in Dedley Zoo are well cared-for. Its paths are not overgrown and its lawns are clipped to within an inch of their lives.

  “Hmm,” Man shrugged. “Be nice when finished.”

  “Oh, darling!” I gave his arm a playful tap. “You are funny.”

  We walked along the path and through another thick archway. Man patted the sturdy stone walls appreciatively. “Walls strong. Protect. Castle ruined. Dedley not safe now?”

  “I’m quite sure it is, darling. They don’t try to keep people out anymore. In fact, they positively encourage people to come here, and then charge them for the privilege.”

  “Hmm.”

  The path beneath our feet changed from cobbles to concrete and took us down to what may have originally been part of the castle’s moat. In and out of a pool shaped like a kidney bean, dove some slick and streamlined creatures, their fur flattened and gleaming with water and their eyes like sparkling black balls. Man’s eyes widened. He pointed.

  “Californian sea lions, darling,” I read from a sign (but not the ‘darling’ bit!)

  “Where from?”

  “California, I expect.”

  “Not Dedley?”

  “No, darling; California is a long way away. It’s in America.”

  “Why here?”

  It was a good question and one that wrinkled my brow as I formulated my answer. “Well, you see, darling, the zoo gathers animals from all over the world so that the people of Dedley can see them and learn about them.”

  I knew as I said them that my words would not satisfy him.

  “Dedley people want sea lion, Dedley people go California. Sea lion not for Dedley. No sea.”

  “Yes, I do see, darling, but you remember those ghastly people who came to the jungle to see the animals and how that turned out.”

  Man’s face darkened. A low chuckle escaped him. “Big game hunters. Man show them big game.”

  “You certainly did, darling! You really turned the tables on them. By the end they were turning themselves in to the authorities and practically begging to be locked up.”

  We shared a moment of laughter at this happy memory.

  “Sea lion safe here,” Man concluded. “America no place for people with guns.”

  “Quite right, darling.”

  After only hearing a couple of grunts and barks from these remarkable creatures, Man was ready to communicate with them. He climbed over the fence and several sea lions clapped their flippers together to welcome him.

  “What are you doing, darling? I’m quite sure that’s not allowed.”

  “Sea lion invite,” Man shrugged. He executed a perfect standing dive into the water, his body a spear. The sea lions joined him and they all swam together in an astonishing display of synchronisation, considering they had devoted no time at all to rehearsal.

  Other visitors to the zoo gathered around, recording the impromptu spectacle on those telephone-cum-camera devices that appear to be quite the fad.

  Presently, an authority figure arrived in the shape of a handsome blonde woman in the green and brown uniform of the staff. She blew a long, piercing note on a whistle, like the referee of one of my old lacrosse matches.

  “All right, all right,” she shooed people away from the barrier. “Show’s over, folks. And you, Tarzan, out of that water before you get bit.”

  Man threw back his head sending water flying in a glistening arc like a halo over his golden locks. He paddled from the pool and approached, looking invigorated and energised from his swim.

  “How do you do?” he said, freeing water from his left ear with a finger.

  “Sir, I must ask you to come out of the sea lion enclosure at once for your own safety.”

  I saw then she had a rifle - I recognised the model. She was preparing to shoot tranquilliser darts into the animals if necessary.

  Which, of course, it wasn’t.

  Man hitched himself over the barrier as if it was nothing. Behind him the sea lions honked despondently, sorry to see him go. I was sorry to see my husband staring intently at the blonde woman’s chest.

  “Jen-ny Por-ter...” he read her badge. He held out his hand for her to shake and pointed to his own chest with the other. “Man,” he said deliberately and then he jerked his thumb in my direction. “Lady,” was his throwaway introduction.

  “You must forgive my husband,” I
said with special emphasis. I linked my arm through his despite the wetness. “It’s his first time in a zoo.”

  “Could have fooled me,” said this Porter creature, looking my husband up and down and clearly liking what she saw. “The way you interacted with those sea lions - wow!” She shook her head as though to change her mood. I could imagine something coming loose in that pretty blonde head. “But I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. We can’t have people climbing in with the animals. We haven’t got the insurance.”

  I was about to protest at this outrageous treatment and pull rank on her with my title but before I could breathe a word, Man’s head jerked up and he raised his hand, indicating we too should listen.

  I recognised the cry at once. My Baby! He learned his father’s distinctive call before he could string together a sentence of English and even now, with his voice cracking and shifting in pitch with the onset of puberty, our son’s yodel was unmistakable.

  “Baby!” I gasped. I gripped Man’s arm. “He’s in danger.”

  Man sped away like a cheetah with the runs, leaving me gripping thin air. The blonde thing blinked at me like an idiot.

  “Do excuse me,” I said coldly and hurried off after my husband.

  I took in the scene before me in a flash. Man was standing on the balustrade that ran around a deep hole in the ground. Baby and Rebecca were nearby, shouting encouragement. Also at the railing was a girl in black clothes, her blue hair a surprise.

  The Porter woman materialised at my shoulder - she seemed more alarmed by what my husband was up to. “Don’t go in there!” she cried, but there’s no telling my husband sometimes - and who was she to tell him anything anyway?

  We hurried to the safety rail just as Man dropped out of sight.

  “There’s lions in there,” said the blonde. Was she implying I couldn’t read?

  “He won’t hurt them,” I reassured her. Honestly I don’t know what she was so worried about.

  I peered into the pit. Man saw me and waved cheerfully. At his feet lay a youth, also with blue hair and garbed in black. He was clutching his leg and swearing about his ankle.

  “Get out of there, Nosher!” the blue-haired girl advised, somewhat redundantly I felt.

  “I’m sorry, Deb,” blue-haired Nosher wailed.

  “Ssh!” said Man. Three lions were closing in, slowly padding towards what looked to be a tasty, meaty luncheon with a blue-haired boy for dessert.

  Man spun around and made eye contact with the male.

  “He’s going to be killed,” said the Porter idiot at my side. She muttered something into the walkie-talkie that was clipped to her shirt then levelled her tranquilliser gun at the lion closest to my husband.

  “Don’t be a damned fool,” I said, “You’ll interrupt.”

  We - and there was quite a crowd gathered by this point - watched with bated breath as Man made some arcane gestures. The male lion lay down and rolled onto his back. Man turned his attention to the females who had witnessed this with a mildly puzzled expression. Seconds later, they too were lying down. Man went from cat to cat, tickling their bellies. The pit was filled with the deep reverberations of three lions purring contentedly.

  Man gestured to the Porter woman and her colleagues, newly arrived on the scene. They lowered a rope ladder into the pit. Man scooped up the blue-haired boy and draped him over his broad shoulder like a sash. One-handed, he scaled the ladder and passed the quivering Nosher into the hands of the zoo keepers.

  As Man climbed out of the lion pit he was greeted with tumultuous applause from the spectators.

  “Ssh!” Man held a stern finger to his lips. “Lions nap.”

  Sure enough, the three lions’ purring had given way to snoring. The male twitched a leg - perhaps he was dreaming of the open savannah; I cannot say.

  “Well,” said Jenny bloody Porter, letting her eyes travel all over my husband once more, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “My husband is full of surprises; aren’t you, darling?”

  Nosher was placed on a bench to be assessed for injury and to receive first aid.

  “Bloody hell, Nosh,” said the blue-haired girl. “I thought you’d had it.”

  “Soz, Deb,” the boy looked glum. He winced as one of the keepers wrapped a crepe bandage around his ankle.

  “What the hell were you doing in there anyway?” Jenny Porter said crossly. I myself am never cross.

  “None of your beeswax,” said Deb. “Come on, Nosh; let’s go home.”

  “Not so fast,” said Man. “Blue boy climb in pit fetch this.”

  He held up a red-tufted dart.

  “Let me see that.” Jenny Porter held out her hand. No ‘please’ or ‘by your leave’, you notice.

  Man handed it over.

  “Never seen that before in my life,” said Deb with her ringed nose in the air. Man’s hand darted like a cobra. He snatched a blowpipe from the girl’s rucksack and handed it to Jenny Porter who clearly had never seen one before. How uncultured!

  “I don’t understand...” she turned the cylinder over and over.

  “I can explain,” said Baby, stepping forward. “We saw the whole thing; didn’t we, Rebecca?”

  “Um...” said Rebecca, looking like she’d been stunned or tranquillised herself. Clearly she had never witnessed her own father perform a daring rescue. People simply are not bringing up their children properly these days.

  “At first,” Baby began, “I thought - because they are dressed the same, with the black and the blue - I thought they were in uniform, that they worked at the zoo in some capacity.”

  “Not bloody likely,” interjected Deb, rudely.

  “Go on,” said Jenny Porter. How dare she tell my son what to do?

  “They were talking about showing people - I couldn’t hear every word and the natives’ accent is still unfamiliar to me.”

  “Charming.” This interjection came from Rebecca Lyons. Is every female in this town devoid of grace and manners?

  “Then he - the one called Nosher - started waving the dart around and she - Beb?”

  “Deb,” said Deb and then appeared to realise she ought not say anything.

  “She took out the blowpipe and they had a bit of a row about who was going to be the one to blow it and she said she couldn’t because of her asthma and he said she was the one with the better aim as proved at the bowling alley and, anyway, in the ensuing debate, he - Nosher - dropped the dart over the railing, and Deb said he must climb down to retrieve it or she might do something with the blowpipe that he would not much care for. And so Nosher climbed over the rail but I suspect the drop may have been farther than he had bargained for; he landed awkwardly, inflicting injury on his own ankle. So I thought I had better call for help - they wanted to hurt the lions, Dad - and well, you saw the rest.”

  Man put a hand on Baby’s shoulder to thank him for his account.

  “But why, darling?” My question could have been to either of the men in my life. “Why would anyone wish to blow a dart into a lion that has already been captured?”

  I may have imagined it but I think a sneer danced on Jenny Porter’s lip.

  “Animal rights nutters,” she said with a look of barely-disguised contempt. “We get them here from time to time. They get up to all sorts.”

  “Nutters?” said Man. How I wished he would not engage that woman in conversation!

  “Yes, you know: idiots who think animals have rights the same as people.”

  Man’s expression did not change but he took a step - one glorious step for Man - away from the Porter beast and towards Deb and Nosher, who were looking rather sorry for themselves.

  “Explain,” said Man.

  “Don’t say nothing, Nosh,” Deb urged from the side of her mouth. Man drew himself up to his
full height. Nosher whimpered.

  “Sorry, Deb,” was the preface to an outpouring of words, some of which I didn’t catch but the gist of which was, they were opposed to zoos and wanted to show the wider public that it is wrong to keep wild animals caged for people to gawk at.

  The main thrust of his argument agreed entirely with Man’s viewpoint - or so I thought. As I may have mentioned before, my husband is full of surprises.

  By the time Nosher ran out of words, Officer Andy and another policeman arrived to take the blue-haired protestors away. Man signalled to them to wait. He was going to have his say.

  “One hand zoo bad place,” he began. That Jenny Porter opened her mouth to object but I shook my head to say that would be a bad idea. “Animals born free, free as wind blows. Need run free, be free. Other hand, people free. People spoil animal home. People hunt animal for no reason. Zoo keep animal safe. Breed animal, keep animal going. Man ambivalent.”

  “Well said, darling,” I went up on tiptoe to peck his cheek.

  “He’s right,” said Jenny Porter. “Our breeding programme is helping to conserve several endangered species and -”

  The rest of her little speech sounded to me like blah-blah-blah. She followed the protestors, lecturing them all the way to the police car. I was glad to see the back of her and I did my utmost to keep Man from enjoying the view of the back of her. Not that my husband would even think of ogling another woman but - well, I didn’t want temptation wiggling in front of him. I steered him away from the lions’ den and pointed out some long-necked goat-like creatures called alpacas.

  “Have you seen the penguins, Mother? I can recommend them most highly.”

  I looked at Man. The penguins sounded to me like they were too much on the entertainment side of the zoo’s functions. I would feel guilty about being amused by them.

  Man shrugged. “Life tough. Enjoy while can.”

  And so we went to enjoy the penguins.

  Chapter Nine

  In which Baby enjoys his first taste of fame and we have an unwelcome visitor