by Mary Walker
He brought the toast forward and waved it gently under her nose; then he held it to her lips. She took a bite, scattering crumbs between them. The toast was thin and crisp and the peanut butter was chunky, whole peanuts crunching between her teeth as she chewed. He raised the toast to his mouth, took a big bite, and offered her the rest. She took it in her teeth. Never had she eaten anything so profoundly delicious.
“How soon can you get the pictures developed?” she asked.
He used the back of her shirt to brush the crumbs off his hand and encircled her now with both arms, gradually tightening them so she could feel the contours of his body against hers. “The one-hour place opens at ten,” he said in a hoarse voice, “so I should have them back by noon.”
She felt the solid musculature of his chest, the hollow of his flat stomach, and the hardening pressure of his groin asserting itself. “I want to show them to my grandmother as soon as possible,” she said, her breath becoming ragged. “Can you bring them to me as soon as you get them?” God, they hadn’t even started yet and already she couldn’t breathe.
Remembering yesterday’s fantasy of exploring his bare back, she pulled away a little so she could slide her hands inside his robe and move them around under his arms to his back. As she did it, the robe fell open. Now nothing but her flimsy, damp shirt separated them.
“Yes,” he said. “Oh, yes.”
Starting in the small of the back, she inched her hands upward, savoring the smooth skin stretched taut over the hard muscles underneath. “I’m working on a plan to get in to see her,” Katherine said, glancing up at his face. His eyes were closed and his lips open. “Do you have any ideas?”
He pulled her tighter against him. “I have lots of ideas.”
She moved both hands up to his neck, the place where his hair curled under his ears, and traced it with her fingertips. The hair was wet and cool, just beginning to curl, the skin warm and smooth.
He leaned over and found the same place on her neck with his mouth and kissed it, lingering over it, tasting the skin. Then he lifted his head and found her lips. First he just touched them with his, licking off the crumbs and traces of peanut butter. Then he took full possession of her mouth, occupied it, explored it, made it the center of his attention. She held on to him now for support because her entire body was liquefying like peanut butter on hot toast.
When he spoke he was breathless, as if he’d just raced up twenty flights of stairs. “Let’s go to my room. Okay?”
She nodded into his chest.
* * *
At six when the alarm went off, she was already awake, watching his bare back and doing the most recent version of her countdown: three days left until the auction, until she had to deliver Ra up to the highest bidder. It was her first thought every morning, even this morning when her head was brimming with other issues.
Vic reached up an arm to shut the buzzing off and turned to face her. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“That I was never much interested in sex before,” she answered.
He laughed with pleasure and put his index finger on her forehead, drawing it slowly down the center of her body. “Neither was Teddy,” he said. “It just takes the right combination.”
She glanced at the clock and sat up.
He reached for her bare shoulder and said, “What’s the hurry?”
“I’ve got to be there on time today. I swore Danny an oath I’d work for him today since he filled in for me yesterday.”
He pulled her down. “Katherine, I can make an excuse for you. You don’t have to go.”
She sat up again. “Yes. I do. Today especially. There’s that famous herpetologist coming this morning. They’ve all been looking forward to it; I’m the only one who’s willing to hold down the fort. You won’t have the photos ready until noon anyway. Then I’ll take a long lunch hour to visit my grandmother. Today’s the day.”
She swung her legs out of bed and felt suddenly shy at her nakedness. Noticing her discomfort, he found the shirt she had borrowed at the foot of the bed and tossed it to her. She flushed when she caught it and slipped it over her head, remembering how a few hours before he had lifted it up one inch at a time, taking an excruciatingly long time to remove it.
He jumped out of bed naked and disappeared into his bathroom.
* * *
She showered quickly and dressed for work.
In the kitchen, Vic had already fed Ra an old hamburger and let him out. “We need to get dog food today,” he said, not looking up from the orange juice he was pouring.
She watched the top of his dark head and felt an undulating contraction move down her abdomen. This was going too far too fast. “I’ll need to start the cleanup on my father’s house after work and get the door fixed,” she said.
He handed her a glass of juice and looked directly into her eyes. On his chin was a small bloody cut where he’d nicked himself shaving. “Katherine, please don’t go back there alone. Stay here for a while, at least until this is over. I like having you here.”
The concurrent rushes of pleasure and apprehension made her scalp tingle. She liked being here, too, but she needed to get some distance from him. He had been invaluable last night in Kerrville. Too valuable. There was no way she could have done it without him. She was already becoming dependent on him. “Thanks. Let’s think about it today,” she said.
“And, Katherine, please let me in on your plans. I want to help and I don’t want you to be anywhere alone. At work this morning, manage to be with someone else all the time—Iris if possible. She’s got a good head.”
He downed his juice in one big swig and poured another glass.
“What worries me, Vic, is what will happen to them now?”
“Simbaru and the bongo?” he guessed.
She nodded, sipping her juice.
In the car on the way home from Kerrville he had told her the story. The old one-eyed lion in the barn was Simbaru, the lion he and her father had fought over several months before. Vic had decided he was so old and decrepit that even if he recovered from his pneumonia, he should be euthanized; Lester maintained he still had some good years left and was a good draw. Finally, Hans Dieterlen had intervened with a compromise: They would give the lion to a private zoo he knew of in west Texas where he would be cared for. He had sold them animals in the past, he said, and knew it to be a first-rate operation.
But Simbaru had ended up crammed into a tiny cage waiting for a hunter who would pay thousands of dollars for the privilege of shooting a lion.
“I’ve been thinking about them, too,” Vic said, a muscle at his jaw twitching. “I’m really responsible for Simbaru’s plight. Your father was right. After you’ve talked with your grandmother, I think we’ll send the U.S. Fish and Wildlife agent over to pay them a visit.”
* * *
Alonzo Stokes hadn’t liked Katherine’s taking the day off.
“Have a nice day yesterday, Miss Driscoll?” he asked without looking in her direction as she entered the keepers’ area. He was leaning against the counter using a toothbrush to clean dried blood and tissue off a tiny skull. Iris was sitting on the counter working on an even smaller skull. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence this morning.” He glanced at his watch. “Even though you are nine minutes late.” He looked up at her. His pitted skin tightened across the sharp cheekbones so that she could see underneath the shape of his skull as clearly as she saw the reptile skull in his hand.
“I had some pressing family business to take care of,” she said.
“Well, we have some pressing business here, too, and we’re behind. First item is the rocks in the crocodilian pool. They’ve grown an unpleasant algae that needs scrubbing off. It’s pretty resistant stuff, so it needs some real elbow grease. It’s too much for Harold alone, so you and Wayne have volunteered to help him. Pool’s almost drained now, so you can get busy.” He stuck the toothbrush under the running faucet to wash it off, then went back to the de
licate job. “You’re in luck, though,” he added with a stretch of the lips, “Wayne and Harold have already removed the caimans.”
She turned to leave, but he called her back. “Second item, Katherine. You’ll be glad to hear the female bushmaster has finally got around to finishing her shed. You can move her and the quarantine male into the breeding room today. But dammit, Katherine”—he held the skull under the faucet—“there’s some loose slivers of wood on the west-wall baseboards. Big sharp ones. Didn’t you notice that? They could get cut or ingest those sharp splinters. You need to sand that down real smooth and clean up all the dust that results. Can you manage that on your own?”
“All but moving them,” Katherine said. “I’ll need some help.”
“Definitely,” Alonzo said. “Bob Jacobs, relief keeper over in birds, is coming to help this morning. He’s experienced with snakes. The two of you should be able to handle it, but be careful. They’re often nippy right after they shed.” He set the dripping skull on a paper towel to dry and left the room.
Katherine watched him go, struck by how loosely his pants hung on his gaunt frame. He had lost weight in the nineteen days she had been watching him. And the dark circles under his eyes were black now.
“Don’t pay no attention to him,” Iris said. “He’s just nervous because his hero is here—Cyrus Harrison-Jones—and the big man’s going to come back here after the lecture, so Mr. Stokes is jumpy. He wants everything more than perfect today.”
Katherine nodded as she picked up a sponge and helped Iris clean the scales and bits of flesh off the stainless-steel counter. She had been hearing for two weeks about the impending visit of the world’s foremost expert on Lacertilia, the author of the definitive work on skinks. He was speaking in the Ambrose conference room for all staff members who were interested.
Katherine stopped at the supply closet for a bucket, a stiff scrub brush, and a pair of high rubber boots. She headed toward the rock pool that usually displayed six or seven dwarf caimans that drifted around all day with only their wicked-looking eyes and the tips of their snouts above water. Now the pool was almost drained, only a small puddle of water left in the bottom. Harold Winters, the crocodilian specialist, and Wayne Zapalac were standing in the pit with their rubber boots on, looking it over. The rocks were covered by a bright green slime that smelled like spoiled fish. She turned her head away, took a deep breath, and stepped into her boots. Then she climbed down into the empty pool.
“Join us in the pit,” Wayne said. “We missed you yesterday. Did the funeral go okay?”
Katherine looked up at him. “What? Oh, yeah. It went fine.” She bent down to feel the algae. It was slimy and stuck fiercely to the rocks.
Harold, a tiny man who always wore a red bandanna tied around his head, said, “This is going to be a son of a bitch. We try everything to discourage this stuff, but it grows anyway. Let’s get to it.” He began scrubbing in silence.
Harold rarely spoke and Wayne was unusually silent this morning. Katherine was grateful. It left her mind free to range.
Every time she thought ahead to the meeting with Anne Driscoll, her imagination began to run wild. How she would get in the house with Janice Beechum on guard she didn’t know yet. Maybe she’d have to do it by brute force, just push in and dash up the stairs. Once in, she was certain she could convince Anne to listen. She would show her the photographs, her father’s and the ones Vic had taken last night. Her grandmother would be shocked, of course. It would be difficult for her to believe that Cooper was doing this, but eventually she would be convinced.
Katherine tried to stop the fantasy here. It was best to enter with no expectations, so the disappointment wouldn’t be too severe. But her fantasy was irresistible. Her grandmother would thank her for revealing this. She would hold her hand and then they would talk for hours and hours about Katherine’s childhood—all the things she didn’t remember. It was silly, she knew, but her hunger to fill in those blanks that were her first five years had been growing. The tiny snatches of memory she had retrieved since she’d been in Austin had only fed it.
She had to admit it: She was in need of a past.
Finally she let herself linger on the night before with Vic. Blood rushed to her face and she looked up to see if anyone was watching. Wayne. He had stopped work and was looking at her in puzzlement. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
“Oh,” she mumbled, “nothing really. Just thinking about the bills I haven’t paid.”
“You, too, huh?” He started to scrub again, vigorously, with both hands on the brush, sending the slime flying. “It’s sure hard to live on a keeper’s salary, isn’t it? I don’t know how I’d make it if I didn’t have some disability payment from the Marines.”
“Disability?” she asked, staring at his powerful arms and hands.
“Yeah. You can’t see it by looking, but it’s there. Goddamned Vietnam.”
It took more than two hours for the three of them to clean all the slime off the rocks, then hose them down and drain out the rest of the water and residue. When they began refilling the pool, Alonzo arrived and examined the rocks, indicating his approval with a single nod.
Katherine stretched her cramped legs and climbed out of the pool. She stepped out of the rubber boots that had made her feet feel like boiled potatoes and looked at her watch. It was now a quarter to eleven. Vic would be getting the developed photos soon. God, she hoped they’d turn out. He would come around twelve and arrange for her to take two hours off.
She picked up her boots in one hand, the bucket in the other, and carried them back to the keepers’ area. She rinsed the brush and sponge in the sink, leaving them out to dry on the draining board.
Then she went back to the supply closet and looked through the neatly labeled plastic boxes that were stacked on the shelf. She pulled out the box labeled “Sandpaper” and removed two new sheets. She also grabbed a pair of shears from the hook.
At the entrance to the breeding room, she switched on the overhead light and unlocked the door. Inside, she ran her eyes around the baseboard of the empty room. Sure enough, on the west wall were three angry-looking spikes of wood protruding from the cedar baseboard. Damn. How could she and Iris have missed that when they cleaned this room four days ago? No wonder Alonzo was annoyed. It did look dangerous.
She knelt down on the floor and felt the huge jagged splinters. She snipped the large pieces off with the shears, eager to erase this evidence of her negligence. Then she began sanding the rough wood, keeping her head up as high as she could so she wouldn’t breathe in the fine dust. She jumped when Iris stuck her head in the open door and called, “We’re off. You need to come mind the store until Bob gets here.”
Katherine twisted around to look at her. “Okay. I’ll be right out. Enjoy.”
“Thanks for staying. I’ll take notes for you.”
Katherine noticed Iris had applied a tiny coat of lipstick and had fluffed her hair up. She smiled up at her. “Yeah. Everything you ever wanted to know about skinks but were afraid to ask.”
She turned back to the baseboard. One area was still rough. She wanted to get it a little smoother before she stopped. She intensified her efforts, sanding furiously and coughing as the dust reached her nose. She had it almost smooth now. Just one small area of roughness remained.
She heard a footstep at the open door and said, “Okay, Iris. I’m coming.” But she didn’t turn around until she heard a noise that sounded like some heavy coils of wet garden hose hitting the floor just behind her.
She spun around on her knees and caught a glimpse of the two shining dark coils, already unwinding. She had just enough time to note the beadlike texture of the black inverted triangles.
Bushmasters.
Then the lights went off.
The door slammed shut, throwing the room into total blackness.
The click of the bolt shooting home on the outside of the door entered her heart like a dull cold arrowhead. From that frigid c
enter an icy chill radiated out through her body, reaching down into the marrow of her bones.
Zero at the bone. Frozen. Iced. From the bone it crept outward, a glacier filling her body, chilling the blood in her veins and the moisture in her eyes, stinging her skin and numbing her toes and fingertips. She moved not a muscle, unable to rise or even blink an eye. She had become a kneeling ice sculpture.
The room was utterly silent. How loud the hum of the fluorescent lights had been! She yearned to have that noise back in her ears. Just a tiny hum, a vibration, some tickle in the ear to keep her company while she waited.
She was so alone. Never before in a life of being alone had she felt so completely forsaken.
Eyes wide open in the pitch-darkness, she imagined she could see them—the female seven feet long, heavy-bodied, her freshly molted scales shiny and distinct, slowly uncoiling and raising her spade-shaped head, darting her black tongue in and out to smell the air. The male, nine feet long, more slender, stretching himself along the floor to feel for vibrations. Had they seen her before the lights went off? If they hadn’t and if she stayed frozen, maybe they wouldn’t know she was there. Maybe they would just remain where they were. They couldn’t see in the dark any better than she could. Maybe it would be all right.
Then she felt a dull cramp of despair.
Fool.
Those snakes don’t need to see. They’re pit vipers.
She could hear Wayne explaining the cavities under their eyes. They were infrared heat receptors that would register the presence of warm blood in the room. A bushmaster could find a mouse and strike it accurately in total darkness.