Sometimes I think there are things you got wrong, coming here.
Maybe it was deliberate. I don’t know. But I wonder. I wonder about when you fell in love with me.
“Oh, Anna,” you said. “Anna.”
I wonder who else you might have loved once. I wonder what happened to him. You once told me there was a thing you were supposed to do, but then you met me. I led you astray. But you led me astray as well.
Sometimes I see you look at Dad. I’ll say something, and maybe you’ll laugh. But he doesn’t laugh any more. Not when you’re looking at him. I think he knows what you are. I think he is afraid of you.
Sometimes when we are together I think back on Mads and what he told me. It feels like that when I am with you. Like I am filled with all the wrong kinds of desire. There is a terror in my heart.
But I cannot stop.
It feels like the best thing in the world.
The only thing in the world.
I think of us lying together covered in the white petals of the dogwood. I think of pulling off your skin and wrapping myself up in it until I am sealed tightly and perfectly inside you.
I love the way your skin pimples when you are cold. I love the way your hair clings in strange shapes to the pillow when you are lying next to me. I love the way it catches the moonlight from the window.
I love the way the air stirs in the house when you are here with me. As if the house is holding its breath.
“But what we do here only works with animals. Not people. I’m sorry, kid.”
THE GALLERY OF THE ELIMINATED
The zoo, for Walter, was a magical place.
At eight years old, he loved the thick animal poop smell of it, the bright orange paw prints. He loved the blue-green of the aquarium and the way the light made weird shadows across the brickwork. He loved the monkeys, yeah, the monkeys were always good! He loved the way his pops gave him a bag of peanuts and made him swear to God to keep half the peanuts for snack time, and half the peanuts for the monkeys who gave big stupid grins and fought when he tossed one in the cage.
He loved the way his mom said she disapproved, but then she wouldn’t look away—not to snap a picture of the macaws maybe, or the bonobos which Walter never liked as much as the chimps. She’d just stare. She’d tut maybe. She might scowl. She might even shake her head and whisper, “Honey, don’t! Don’t let him!” But she’d look. She’d still look. Then Walter would flick a peanut through the octagonal mesh and watch as the bigger monkeys wrestled down the littler ones. He’d watch their teeth shining like little knives. He’d watch their fingers crack open the shells.
His mom used to smile at the monkeys’ antics. She might tap the sign that said “DO NOT FEED THE MONKEYS!!!” as if she hadn’t been complicit, as if she hadn’t wanted to see them fight too. Walter loved the way she smiled at them; her smile wasn’t anything like the monkeys’ smile. It was thin, delicate. Pretty. It was a smile with a certain kind of substance to it, like perfume. It was there. It wasn’t there.
The smile made his mom beautiful.
The zoo made his family beautiful.
It locked the animal parts of their love in cages.
They were free to wander, to hold hands, to point and marvel and giggle together. Afterward, if Pops had got work that week or his mom had picked up enough tips, they would eat ice cream, all three of them. His mom and Pops would share. Walter wouldn’t have to share. Walter would get his very own cone, all to himself. He’d stick his tongue deep into the cone like he was drilling for oil and the ice cream would well up over the edges so he would have to lick it clean before it dripped. Sometimes he would eat his mom and Pops’s ice cream too because, even sharing, they wouldn’t finish it on their own.
Walter never had to share. His mom and Pops did. But Walter always got his own.
That was the way he liked. That was the way he wanted it to be forever. Him, his mom and Pops.
Until.
It was at the zoo they told him.
“Hey, champ,” said Pops. He was holding a bag of peanuts. They were close to the monkeys now. His mom was standing beside him and she was resting her hand very lightly on his arm.
“Can I have the peanuts?” he said.
“Not just yet. We have something to tell you.”
“Okay,” said Walter. He kicked a rock. The rock went clang against the cage, and startled a hornbill.
His mom and Pops looked at each other. They smiled. “Well, champ,” said Pops. “We. Well. You. I mean, this is about you too. You are going to have a little sister. A little baby girl. We’re so excited!”
And they were. Walter could see that they were. They had big stupid grins plastered all over their big stupid faces.
“You’re excited,” he said. Walter kicked another rock. The hornbill squawked angrily.
They waited for something else. Their smiles remained frozen in place. They stared at him.
“Okay,” said Walter at last. And that was that.
But it wasn’t okay. Of course it wasn’t okay. Walter knew he would have to share. His room. His toys. His parents. His ice cream. No more single cones for Walter. No. There would be a baby girl. A baby girl to fight with to see who got to lick the cone first. A baby girl who smelled like poop. A baby girl to make his bedroom smell like baby girl poop.
He’d have to share everything with her and he had so little already! His room was small. It was very small. Yes, his mom and Pops had put up glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that went green when the lights went out. But that didn’t mean it was as big as outer space. Not really. It was fake. There wasn’t any space in the room at all! Not enough for a little sister!
They were whole as they were. They were perfect. How could she be a part of that?
How?
His mom got big. She got big as a pumpkin. Big as an elephant!
There was nothing delicate about his mom now. She plodded. Her ankles were thick. The sight of ice cream made her sick and Walter couldn’t have any, but then, suddenly, his mom would need ice cream, she had to have it immediately and she’d work her way through an entire carton in one go and none of it would go to Walter.
“Good morning, Mom,” Walter would say at the breakfast table.
“Say hello to the baby!” his mom would exclaim.
“Hello, baby.” Walter would whisper. It was like there was something trapped inside her. It was like the tigers when they slept in their pens. Sometimes they wouldn’t come out for Walter. And Walter would shout, “Hey, tiger! Tiger!” Sometimes nothing would happen. But sometimes—sometimes—the tiger would let loose with a roar that shook his bladder. Walter didn’t do that anymore. He had once seen a tiger piss on a man with a camera from ten feet away!
The baby was like that. Sometimes the baby kicked.
The baby kicked and his mom got bigger.
Just as his mom looked so big that, really, it seemed impossible that she wouldn’t just split open, they had to go to the hospital. Pops had told him they’d have to go to the hospital. Pops told him they would need to be ready to go. They could go at any time. There were bags to be brought. There were things they would need. Walter would have to help them remember.
But when they went they didn’t bring any of the things.
“What about the bags?” Walter asked. “You said we have to bring the bags? What about them?”
“We don’t need them,” Pops said.
“But why?” Walter asked. “Doesn’t the baby need them?”
“Christ, Walter. Not now!”
And Walter flinched. He ran away from Pops and he sat on his bed. He breathed in the air. It smelled like dirty sheets and stale farts. He knew that smell. It smelled like him. He was used to the smell. But was it a good smell? Suddenly, he didn’t know. Suddenly, he wondered. Maybe it wasn’t a good smell. Maybe a baby girl would smell better. Maybe baby girl poop smelled bette
r than dirty sheets and stale farts.
But then Pops was storming into the room, and he grabbed Walter by the wrist.
“Get in the effing taxi, will you, Walter?” But he didn’t say effing like he was supposed to and so Walter was afraid. Walter was afraid all the way through the taxi ride. It was like his pops wasn’t his pops anymore. And his mom. She grunted and squealed. Her face was grey. There was blood on the seat of the taxi. There was blood everywhere. It was like the time Walter had the nosebleed. Except it wasn’t like that. Not at all.
“Should we get ice cream, Pops?” Walter asked very quietly.
And Pops stared at Walter. He stared like he was going to start yelling again. But then whatever animal was inside of him went back to the corner of the cage, and it was just Pops again. He didn’t say anything. He just put his arms around Walter and started to cry.
They rode like that all the way to the hospital.
The hospital was a strange green colour. It reminded Walter of the colour of the aquariums. They made his mom wear a big plastic-green gown. Pops wasn’t crying anymore, but Walter could feel that somewhere inside he was still crying anyway.
Pops bought him things out of the vending machine. Walter wasn’t hungry but he munched on chips anyway. And then a chocolate bar. It made him feel sick but he didn’t stop. Pops just kept bringing him more and more until Walter was sitting in a little pile of wrappers that scrinched and crunkled whenever he had to get up to pee.
And Walter wasn’t allowed in the room. Only Pops was allowed in the room. Pops would go into the room. And then Pops would come out again. And mostly Pops would go to the vending machine and he would buy more things for Walter to eat.
Once a little girl came by. She was wearing a white dress with pink roses. The hem was dirty. She had the look of someone who was sick. The way everyone in hospitals looked. Pale. Grey. There were dark circles under her eyes, but she was smiling.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Walter,” said Walter.
“I’m Emily.” She kicked at one of the wrappers. It didn’t go very far.
“Are you sick? You look sick.”
“The nurses think I shouldn’t be out here. I’m not really out here, okay?” She winked. The bruises around her eyes winked too.
“I’m getting a little sister.”
“Oh,” she said. “Can I have a chip?”
Walter gave her a chip.
“Ewwww,” she said. “Sour cream and onion!” And she ran off giggling.
Walter wondered if his sister would wear a dress like that. He kicked his feet. The pile of wrappers scrinched and crunkled. He decided he liked the girl. He decided he didn’t like sour cream and onion anymore.
But then Pops went into the room and when he came out he didn’t buy anything from the vending machine. “I’m sorry, champ,” he said. “You aren’t going to have a little sister.”
Walter’s stomach ached. His mouth was covered in chocolate. The taste of chocolate made him feel sick.
Pops sat down heavily beside him. The wrappers went scrinch and crunkle. Walter hated the wrappers. He hated them so much.
“I would have shared, you know,” he said. And Pops didn’t say anything. His breathing was a heavy whuffle. Walter tried to touch his hand but the wrappers went crunkle and scrinch and Pops flinched, and he stood up, and he went back into the room.
Walter thought of the girl. “Ewwww,” she had said. He had liked the way she scrunched up her face. Just like a monkey.
“I would have shared with you,” Walter whispered. “You could have been my sister. You should have stayed with us.”
And the baby said nothing. Because she wasn’t there anymore.
And for a while after everyone was sad and they didn’t go to the zoo anymore.
This is how it was for months.
His mom didn’t leave her room much. Walter could hear noises through the walls. Sometimes they were low and crooning. Like a deep-throated bird. Sometimes they were high, shrill and broken—animal sounds. Hungry. Desperate. Nothing human sounded like that. His mom never sounded like that.
And Pops was different. He spoke in a whisper now. His back was hunched at the dinner table. It was just the two of them. Pops spooning out three-day-old chili and when the meat ran out, then just beans and onions with a dollop of sour cream on top.
It made Walter think of the girl. Walter didn’t like to think of the girl. There was a hole inside him when he thought of the girl.
And the hole sounded hungry. It sounded desperate.
It tasted like stale beans and souring cream.
And all Walter wanted was for his mom to smile again. Just one Mom smile. And then he knew it would be okay.
He wanted to tell her maybe his sister would come back. Maybe she’d be ready soon. Maybe they just have to wait.
So he waited.
And the hole got bigger.
And the hole got bigger and bigger.
And the hole got so big Walter thought it was going to eat him up. Him and his mom and Pops and all of them.
And when the hole got so big that it seemed that everything was the hole, that there was only the hole, then Pops came home and he said, “Right, champ, we’re going to the zoo.”
At first Walter didn’t say anything. It was like Pops’s voice was coming from somewhere outside the hole and it took a long, long time to reach him.
“What?” he said.
“The zoo, champ. Get your things. We’re going to the zoo!”
“What about school?” Walter asked.
“No school today! Call it a holiday! Call it an educational trip! You like the zoo, don’t you? You want to come with your old man?”
“Sure,” said Walter and part of him was happy—part of him was ridiculously happy, part of him was grinning like an idiot. But part of him was not. Because Pops wasn’t grinning.
“Is Mom coming?” Walter asked.
“Mom is sleeping,” said Pops.
“Should we wake her?” he asked.
Pops said, “Not today. We’ll let her sleep today. It’ll be just us boys. Just the men, okay? You’re my little man, aren’t you?”
Pops looked tired. The skin around his cheeks had started to sag and wrinkle. His eyes were wet and glassy. Walter thought, just for a moment, that he might reach out and touch his father’s face. That he might stretch out that skin again. Feel the roughness of greying stubble. But he didn’t. He got his things and climbed into the car.
Walter knew the way to the zoo by heart. He knew the road signs. He knew the turn-off. But he didn’t know these road signs. He didn’t recognize any of them.
“Where are we going, Pops?” he asked.
“Just you wait, champ.” Pops said.
And they drove. And they drove. Walter got tired. He leaned his head against the window, watched the strange landscape, the dying light, and he slept.
Then Pops was shaking him awake.
“Are we here, Pops?”
Walter wiped his eyes. His head felt heavy and aching from the heat, his stomach queasy. He looked around. The place was a dump. A real dump. There were two large wooden gates done up crusted red and yellow paint. A welcome sign that did not say “Welcome.” Instead, it read, “Gallery of the Eliminated.” Further down, a postscript: “Limited engagement.” The sign was old. A stiff breeze would have knocked it free.
“Pops, I don’t think I want to go to the zoo after all.”
“Of course you do.” He took out a bulging travel pack and slung it over his shoulders.
“But Pops—” Walter tried.
Pops tugged him along into the queue.
“C’mon, champ. Just like I promised.”
When they reached the ticket ripper, he looked Walter up and down with a steady, loveless gaze.
“How much for this one?” He asked. Pops gave
a guffaw.
“This one stays with me,” Pops replied.
The ticket ripper did not laugh. He shrugged his nobbled shoulders and when Walter passed he leaned down a great ways and whispered into his ear.
“Don’t you dare feed the monkeys, you hear? Don’t you dare. Don’t you goddamn dare.”
The zoo looked different than any zoo Walter had ever seen before. There were no bright paw prints on the ground. There were no safari wagons selling ice cream. The place was practically empty.
“Pops,” Walter began.
“Isn’t it great, champ? Isn’t it just something else?” Pops’s eyes were gleaming. His mouth was stretched wide. Not like a smile—like when the monkeys jammed their fingers into their mouths and pulled and pulled and pulled on their lips.
“Yeah, Pops,” Walter said at last. He didn’t want to look at Pops anymore.
And, well, the zoo was something else. It sure was. Not like the zoo he knew at all.
“Pops,” Walter said, “what is that thing?
“That’s an aurochs, champ.”
“What’s an aurochs?”
“It died out a long time ago, champ.”
And he was right. That’s what the sign said. AUROCHS—DIED 1627—KEEP HANDS OUT!
And the aurochs was massive! It had eyes the colour of black marbles and horns that curved out into a nasty hook. Walter wanted to touch the horns. He wanted to bury his hands in its deep, matted wool. He wanted it very badly.
“Whoa, champ,” said Pops.
Walter snatched his hand away from the cage.
“Please, Pops,” Walter whispered. But his Pops took his hand and led Walter on to the next set of pens. When Walter looked back, he could see that one eye—that giant eye, the size of an egg, but black as outer space—following him and his Pops as they went.
They walked until the sun had rounded the tops of the buildings.
There was the striped quagga, the size of a miniature pony but striped in gold and brown. The herd skittered away as he approached them. They were nervous things. Walter loved them anyway.
Gifts for the One Who Comes After Page 26