One day when he was ten, he remembered walking in on his father and another woman. His father quickly covered the woman up with a white sheet and only her toes stuck out from the bottom. Eric asked who that was and his father said nobody and told him to get out. Unsure what was going on, Eric shut the door and left. His father came to him later that day and told him it was best not to tell his mother of such things. That his father hadn’t done anything wrong, but his mother liked to get mad sometimes and it wouldn’t be good to have her mad, would it? Eric agreed and never told his mother. Sometimes, when he heard his mother cry at night after the divorce, he wondered how much of it was his fault and it gave him a sick, gray feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Thoughts of his childhood and his parents swirled in his mind as he lay in the dark and before long he drifted off to sleep. The last thing he felt was remorse; the funeral would be in a few days, and it was going to be the last time he would get to see his father.
CHAPTER
8
Andhra Pradesh has often been a top destination for thrill seekers and tourists. With its diverse landscapes, masses of animals found in few other places, and breathtaking sunsets, some have found it a prime vacation spot despite it being in a second world country with little stability.
Near the city of Kavali are a string of houses owned by wealthy investors—usually European and American real estate moguls or investment firms—leased to vacationers for periods of one week to one month. The houses are far apart from one another, enough so that vacationers can enjoy their privacy but still have others nearby should they require something.
A family stepped onto the porch of one of the homes. The two boys ran into a nearby patch of jungle, yelling and laughing. Their mother was a slim woman in a white dress, straw hat pulled down to cover her eyes from the scorching sun. Her husband wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a kiss on the neck as they watched the boys run around.
“I can’t believe we actually found someplace they like,” the man said.
“I like it too,” she said. “The locals are a hassle though.”
“They’re all right, just trying to make a buck like anyone else.”
“Are you kidding? They totally crashed our picnic trying to sell us that cheap shit.”
The man shrugged. “What you feel like doing?”
“Let’s go in to town and have a drink.”
“What about the kids?”
“They don’t ID here, no one’s gonna care.”
The man kissed her neck again and nibbled on her ear, causing her to giggle and pull away.
“I’ve got to shower and change,” the man said, opening the door to the living room.
“Don’t take too long.”
“I won’t.”
The woman sat down on a wooden bench and looked out over the vast expanse before her. There was a large patch of grass in front of the house with a path through it that led to the road back to Kavali on one side and into the dense jungle on the other. A tree was near the house, large with twisted, leafless branches. This was a pretty place she decided, but just too damn hot and humid.
It suddenly became apparent to her that she couldn’t hear the boys anymore. Scanning the grass, she couldn’t see any movement. “Friedrich,” she yelled, “Steven, don’t go far. You hear me boys?”
She stood up and walked off the porch onto the soft dirt. “Friedrich, Steven.” There was no reply. Just the hushed whispers of the breeze flowing through grass. She could hear birds up in the tree and there was the distant hum of a passing plane overhead. The woman walked into the grass, worry causing her heart to drop. “Boys if this is a joke you’re grounded, you hear me?”
Worry turned to panic and she began running through the grass and into the canopy of the jungle. The shrubbery and trees grew tightly packed and the sunlight was blocked by foliage. “Friedrich, Steven!” she yelled. The vegetation was thick and somewhat inflexible. It made the skin on her arms itch.
There was motion nearby. As if the shrubbery had been spread apart quickly. A shiver went down her back and the hairs on her neck stood straight but she wasn’t sure why.
There was laughter just to the right of her. She turned toward it. “Boys!”
As she took a step forward she felt a tremendous tug on her arm that threw her forward to the ground. She screamed as she hit the dirt, confusion and fear taking hold. She went to pick herself up and realized she couldn’t.
Her arm had been severed at the bicep and blood cascaded down from the ragged flesh, coloring her white dress a dark red. “Oh God!” she screamed. “Oh my God! God please help me! God!”
Another tug and the world spun; quiet a long while before the hushed breeze blew again.
*****
The husband came out of the house a while later and flipped on a pair of Tommy Hilfiger sunglasses. It was hot and he’d only worn shorts and a cotton button-up. The breeze felt nice against his bare legs and he stood and enjoyed it.
The sun was so bright he had to squint even with sunglasses. It reminded him of the Caribbean. Before he’d met his wife he was there at least four or five times a year. It was easy to pick up women at bars and nightclubs with the promise of a weekend getaway for the two of them. Some of the women genuinely liked him. Most did not. They were the type of women that spent their lives in smoke filled bars, counting down their days one drink at a time. Some of them had children or husbands at home waiting for them. One had even offered to bring her sixteen year old daughter along with her and “teach” her how to please him. Though tempted, he had to turn it down in the end. It seemed like that was a line that if he crossed, the line would disappear and he wouldn’t be the same person anymore.
He stepped off the porch and walked along the path through the grass to the rented jeep he was convinced he’d been overcharged on. His family wasn’t inside. He turned back toward the grass and looked around. “Katherine,” he yelled out. “Boys?” He walked back the way he came and went inside the house. The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty and so were the basement and the upstairs bedroom. They must’ve gone for a walk or something.
The man flopped on the couch in the living room and decided he would wait for them. He would walk outside every few minutes and look around but no one came. Finally he decided he would drive around and look for them.
As he stepped out of the house, he froze. Vultures were flying down into the jungle canopy, their bald heads held stiff in between their slim shoulders as they drifted toward the ground. They were far larger than he thought they would be. He wondered what they would be doing here before his eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. “Katherine!”
He ran into the jungle as the vultures scattered into the air. One was on the ground near him and he kicked at it and it bit him on the shin before flapping its wings and flying off over the grass. They didn’t leave the kill, just waited nearby; they had grown patience over time and could wait for days.
The man dropped to his knees when he saw what they had been feeding on. A mass of bone and sinew with bits of ragged flesh attached, a white dress torn to pieces on the dirt. Vomit burst out of the man’s mouth and down his shirt and he stumbled back.
He sat weeping on the ground as the vultures, slowly and quietly, began their descent back to the kill.
CHAPTER
9
The funeral parlor had a splash of taste in the décor but little in the owners. They had bought the funeral home as an investment only a few years ago and it was turning out to be more work than profit. They seemed to dislike the dead and disliked grieving relatives even more. More than one family had to tell the receptionist to quit talking on the phone during a service, or tell a mortician to turn down the television, or tell the director not to let her children run around.
Eric sat in the front row next to his mother and Jeff. Jeff had chosen this place because he said his mother’s service had been here, but Eric knew it was to save money. James’ estate w
ould be divided soon and Eric and his mom would be receiving a sizeable share; Jeff had no intention of letting his wife spend it on frivolous expenses like her ex-husband’s funeral.
Eric had dreamed last night of his father. He’d seen his broken body in some ditch in India, covered with flies and maggots, his entrails spilled out onto his lap. India appeared like a graveyard in his dreams. The sky was red and gray. The rivers were dirty and all the animals were decomposing, their slick flesh exposed underneath open sores. The dream came more than once and woke him up each time, cold sweat dampening his shirt and causing him to change it.
But his fear from last night had transformed to annoyance today. He felt generally agitated, not wanting to be around anyone or do anything. Irritation wasn’t an emotion he frequently felt and he didn’t know the mechanisms to deal with it effectively. It just sat in the pit of his stomach like jagged metal, weighing him down and clouding his thoughts.
Some of the mourners would truly miss his father. A few friends and co-workers and girlfriends. One of his girlfriends, a plump blond named Brittney that wore clothes far too tight for her larger frame, walked up and knelt down in front of him.
“How are ya darlin’?” she said in her Southern drawl.
“I’m holding up. How’ve you been?”
“Not so good since your daddy left us. I’m gonna miss him you know. He always had a way a cheerin’ me up.” She looked over at Eric’s mother giving her an icy stare and decided to cut the conversation short. “I just wanted to tell ya that if ya needed anythin’ don’t hesitate to give me a ring. Okay?”
“Okay, thanks.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand before returning to her seat.
*****
Brittney really would miss his father. But most of the people there only showed up because they thought it would look inappropriate if they didn’t. The way they were laughing and talking—trying to keep their voices to a whisper but never succeeding—it looked like they’d forgotten him already.
Though she’d been emotional yesterday, his mother seemed fine today and Eric wondered if she’d taken something. There were periods when she’d go to a psychiatrist and get the latest anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medicines. It was a cycle; every fall she would get on medication and every spring she would stop taking it. Her moods were unpredictable at either time, ranging from ecstatic happiness to near suicidal depression. Still, no matter what she went through, Eric thought she always kept at least the appearance of independence and strength. Besides her psychiatrist, she refused to ask anyone for help with anything.
His mother stood and began walking around the room, chatting with the guests. Before long she was mingling and men were flirting with her while Jeff stewed in his seat and watched her from behind sunglasses. Eric looked on with glee and could barely contain a smile.
He began searching the room, looking for familiar faces. There was one face that didn’t look familiar at all. It was old and tan, leathery almost. Like it’d had too much exposure to sun and wind. The man sat quietly in the back, not speaking with anyone.
The man saw him staring and smiled. Eric turned around, facing the casket again. The service was starting.
It was customary to wait a day between a viewing and the funeral, but the director of the parlor had urged that they take place the same day and Jeff agreed. There was no doubt in Eric’s mind that some sort of deal had been worked out.
After the service, the body was carried out to a hearse and Eric was one of the pallbearers. He drove behind the hearse with his mother and Jeff, aggravated that Jeff was listening to the radio and humming along with the melody of some old rock song from the seventies.
The wind was blowing and leaves were all over the cemetery, rattling softly in the background as a priest stood to deliver a sermon that he had memorized and repeated to the point where he spoke it with neither passion nor conviction.
Eric laid a flower on the casket which had stayed closed the whole time. He didn’t get to see his father again to say good bye. As he was walking with his mother back to the car, he noticed the man from the funeral home again. The man stood by the grave until the dirt piled high on top of it and then he said something and turned away toward the parking lot.
“I’ll meet you at the car, Mom,” Eric said. He walked back toward the man and stood in his way as he tried to get by. “Hi,” he said.
“Hello,” the man said.
“Were you a friend of my father’s?”
The man’s lips parted in a smile. “You’re Eric, ah? Your dad talked a lot about you.” He thrust out his hand. “Thomas Keets.”
Eric shook it. “Eric Holden.”
“I was with your father in India when he was taken from us.”
Eric felt his heart skip a beat. “You were with him?”
“He talked about you quite a lot. Said that you were the one thing he didn’t regret in his life.”
“How long did you know him for?”
“Well, me and your father went back a ways. But despite that, you’d be surprised how close men can get out in the jungle, away from the weight of civilization.” Thomas looked back to the grave once more and took out a pair of sunglasses, flipping them on and turning back to Eric. “I’m leaving tonight but I’d like to talk to you before I go. Can we meet somewhere?”
Thomas spoke plainly and without circumlocution. He waited patiently for an answer, not seeming particularly worried that he wouldn’t hear what he wanted.
“All right,” Eric said. “There’s a bar south of the university campus called McPaul’s. I can come by around four.”
“That’s fine,” Thomas said. He put his hand out and Eric shook it again. “It was nice to meet James’ son. I had an image of you in my head but you don’t resemble it,” he said with a smile.
Eric watched him leave. Thomas walked without any pretense, like he didn’t realize or care that others could be watching him. He didn’t look back and didn’t say good bye to anybody. Eric turned away and faced his father’s grave. Tomorrow, it would just be a slab of marble sticking out of the ground. There were people around the cemetery placing flowers on headstones and speaking to them, keeping them clean with small dusters and rags, but he couldn’t imagine doing that. That type of hanging on could drive you crazy. Besides, maybe his father was now at one giant party? Who knows? “Bye Pop,” he said, and left.
CHAPTER
10
The bar was dirty and cluttered with posters, sports memorabilia and neon signs proclaiming what type of beer was preferred. There were three pool tables taking up what little free space there was and it stunk of spills that hadn’t been cleaned. It wasn’t crowed since the night had just begun, but with few other bars nearby it would be filled with people in less than a couple hours.
Eric sat at the bar sipping a Long Island iced tea and smoking clove cigarettes. He had an amazing fake ID made almost three years ago. A friend of his had his own machinery and printed off ID’s for all their friends.
But Eric had been drinking long before the ID; usually with his dad and always in foreign countries that didn’t care who they served.
Thomas walked in and stood by the door, scanning faces in booths and tables before spotting Eric. He sat down next to him and ordered a scotch and water. “May I have one of those?” he said, motioning to the package of clove cigarettes. Eric gave him one and lit it with a lighter. Thomas took a long pull, letting the smoke whirl around him before he spoke. “Do you know how your father died?”
“A lion.”
“Tiger, actually. At least they tell me it was a tiger. Regardless, he died saving my life. I wanted you to know that.”
“That doesn’t make me feel much better.”
Thomas nodded. “I’m a guide,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard him. “Primarily just Andhra Pradesh but occasionally I’ll go farther south if there’s work, a wealthy client or whatnot. I had your father and one of his friends from London with me then. They wan
ted to hunt bull elephants for awhile, which is illegal, but a special license can be granted if you have the money. I suppose there’s licenses for any manner of things if you have the money.” He stopped and took a drink; chasing it with water. “You know, tribes in Kenya think the big cats are spirits of their ancestors. There to protect the land from invaders.”
“And you believe that?”
“No. We’re easy prey. Somewhere down the road the one that killed your father got a liking for us.” Thomas finished off his scotch and ordered another. He drank what remained of the water, wiping his lips with a napkin. “But I’ve never seen one like this before,” he said. He looked into Eric’s eyes. “I’m going back near the coast around Kavali with another group. I thought perhaps you would want to go.”
Eric finished his cigarette and took out another one but didn’t light it. “Why would I want to go?”
“I suppose it helps. To see where your father was and what happened. I lost my father when I was young too. He was a Captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy and died in South Africa. When I was old enough, I moved there . . . and, anyway, it helped.” Thomas finished his second scotch and pulled a business card out of his wallet. He put it on the bar next to the lighter and threw some cash for the drink. “Call me if you like; there’ll be little expense for you.” He patted Eric’s shoulder and gave a soft, almost melancholy, grin. “I am truly sorry about your father.”
Thomas turned and left without looking back.
Eric drank a little more and when a band started setting up to play he left. The air was lukewarm and he liked the shadows the moon cast over the streets and sidewalks.
The Extinct Page 4