She felt shame. She was even afraid of the elephants. How many times had she been into their cages? They had never looked as if they might hurt her, but now she was in their environment. As for the lions—O God, she was frightened of them. But the worst part of it was that the animals knew she was afraid. She could feel it. She was only tolerated because of him. Like a dog tolerates a stranger only because his master reassures him, or as the master himself now only tolerated her presence because he needed her.
She felt fresh bitterness.
She’d certainly expected a warmer welcome than she’d gotten. He had thanked her for the meat, fed the cats, and without more ado he and the Indian had sat down and ravenously eaten the other food she had brought. Big Charlie had given her an exhausted smile, trying to welcome her, but she had felt his suspicion too.’
Gone was the gentle, almost mystical-looking man; Davey’s haggard face had been like thunder. She had wisely refrained from any attempt to talk him out of what he was doing. Then, apparently feeling better, he had given her a bleak smile and thanked her again for the food. Then, out of the blue, he had asked permission to search her knapsack and medical bag to see if she had any radio device.
She had been indignant that she was not trusted. But she had let him search. Satisfied that she had nothing more sinister than a pocket tape recorder, he had told her to rest, saying that she could examine the animals in three hours.
It had occurred to her, then, that possibly he blamed her for the killing of Clever, and for the fire, and for Sam and Smoky being missing. She had been about to speak up; then stopped. Why should she exculpate herself to him—it was all his fault anyway. And he looked in no mood for discussion. He and Charlie had promptly fallen asleep.
And there she had sat, surrounded by terrifying animals. She had been exhausted herself, after helping to fight the fire all night, but she couldn’t possibly sleep with all those uncaged animals. Finally, mercifully, the big cats had settled down to sleep, their bellies full for the first time in days. But the bears were still rooting and grunting around. My God, the size of them … those huge, immobile, expressionless furry faces, those giant paws and claws. It was all very different from the glen; now there was shock and violence in the air.
And yes, she was in awe of Davey Jordan—as was the whole world at this moment. She looked at him lying there asleep, almost like some kind of very precious animal himself. Yet his whole bearing, his eyes, spoke of acute sensitivity. She could almost feel it as she sat there: a kind of magnetism. And a composure, self-confidence that made her wonder again if he had not had a very special military training. Three hours exactly after he had lain down he was wide awake, triggered by an inner mechanism.
They had examined the animals together, then; She had felt the raw fear at approaching these massive beasts, but dared not show it: out of pride, and a totally unreasonable anxiety to win David Jordan’s approval.
But professional excitement and curiosity had replaced her fear—even when she knelt beside an adult, fully conscious, unfettered lion, its hot breath on her face. Tommy had not liked it, had snarled right in her ear and she had jerked in terror. But David had flicked him on his chin, and Tommy had blinked so injuredly that she had wanted to throw her arms around the magnificent furry neck and hug him. Holding that massive paw, feeling the steely tendons that pushed out so perfectly those inch-long claws, had given her a thrill that almost brought tears to her eyes. How could anybody not believe in God when they saw such a perfect living mechanism? Davey held open Tommy’s jaws so she could examine his mouth, lifted his tail (Tommy had not liked that) to look for evidence of worms; but he was in excellent condition. A bit on the lean side from all his exertion and spare diet, and his paws were a bit tender, but they were toughening. In fact, all the big cats were fine. They had submitted to her examination with snarling reluctance, tails flicking dangerously, but only because David had ordered them to.
Then Davey had called to the gorillas. Auntie had started to come obediently, but not King Kong. He had given a grunt of prohibition—he recognized Elizabeth; she meant danger, the treacherous world beyond the forest. For a moment Auntie had hesitated. Then Jordan had called her again, impatiently, and she had come. Finally King Kong had lumbered after her dangerously, and taken up position beside them, glowering. Elizabeth could feel his glare while she worked. She was looking for signs of vitamin deficiency, but there were none. Their teeth, gums, nails, eyeballs were all clear. But when she turned to King Kong, he reared up slowly onto his hindlegs and stood, defiantly. Elizabeth stepped backward, her heart knocking. She was not going to examine him.
But, just looking at him nervously, she had never seen him look better: his shaggy coat was glossy in the sunshine; he must have lost thirty pounds and his muscles protruded. He had never looked like that in the zoo. Even his dangerous eyes were beautiful. And again she saw him galloping through the glen after Daisy, with Kitty bounding joyfully after him; she thought of the cage that was waiting for him and felt her eyes burn.
‘He’ll be all right,’ she muttered.
The elephants came when he called them, huffing and blinking: first Rajah, Dumbo dutifully following, but not Jamba. Jamba remembered Elizabeth from the zoo, and she didn’t want to have anything to do with her. But when she saw Dumbo going, she lumbered after him and stood there protectively.
Her distrust was unmistakable, and Elizabeth was hurt. Animals had always responded to her— she loved them and they loved her. Seeing Jamba again was like seeing an old friend; but Jamba clearly did not think so.
‘Hello Rajah,’ she had said. ‘I’m your friend …’
She examined only Rajah, who submitted to her reluctantly. She peered up into his cavernous mouth and under his eyelids. But he was in good condition; they all were. They had all lost weight, and they were tired, but that didn’t matter. She had tried to approach Jamba, but the old elephant wasn’t having any of that, and Davey had said, ‘She’s healthy. She associates you with that zoo. It’s Sally I want you to look at now—the others can wait till tonight.’
And, oh, poor old Sally … She was standing in the stream, head down, absolutely exhausted, her breath coming in wheezing groans, her ribs showing. She submitted to examination without protest.
Elizabeth listened to the old hippo’s heart.
‘She shouldn’t be doing anything like this! It’ll kill her, she’s an old hippo.’ Her eyes suddenly flashed. ‘How could you do this to her?’
‘You know what’s wrong with her?’
‘Yes! She’s exhausted. And half-starved.’
‘But do you know why? Because her stomach’s blocked with tennis balls your public’s thrown down her mouth.’
She had turned and stared at him. ‘What makes you think people have done that?’
For a moment he looked as if he were about to ignore the question; then anger flickered across his face, and he surprised her with the emotion of his reply.
‘Because it’s human nature, Doctor. Haven’t you found that out yet? That we’re the only ones that enjoy shedding other animals’ blood? For sport? Bull fights. Cockfights. Hunting. Even you softhearted British go fox-hunting. One poor fox torn to death by a pack of dogs. And television has that whole series called Famous American Sportsmen, and they get guys like Bing Crosby to go to Africa and shoot an innocent elephant or something, just to amuse the public. And what about the 4-H Club? They actually encourage trapping, for kids—as an outdoor sport. Even the U.S. Wildlife Department publishes a little book giving them tips on trapping so they can earn pocket money … Long, lingering deaths—hours, days. Just to make fur coats for rich ladies. Our national heroes are Daniel Boone and Buffalo Bill, aren’t they?’
‘What’s this got to do with Sally?’
He looked at her in amazement that she had not understood. Then he said softly: ‘The same mentality, Dr. Johnson. The same … mentality that kill animals for sport, and to make fur coats, thinks … that it’s quite
okay to imprison animals in zoos, so they can bring their kids along on Sundays. And laugh at Sally sitting all alone in her cage with her mouth open, and chuck a tennis ball down her throat. And laugh when she swallows it …’ He glared at her, then ended dismissively. ‘Can you give her something to make her move her bowels and get rid of the blockage?’
Elizabeth took a deep breath to control her anger. She brought her mind back to science.
‘Has she been moving her bowels?’
‘Not much. Charlie’s been behind her all the way.’
‘Normal? The droppings?’
‘Liquid.’
She shook her head. ‘If I give her a laxative she’ll need to rest. If it is tennis balls, she could have terrible pain when the laxative works. Complications. If she’s lived with that junk all these years most of it’s found a home somewhere or other. It could knock the daylights out of her.’
‘Then you can give her a shot of vitamins to give her strength.’
It was definitely an order, not a request.
Now Elizabeth lay in her sleeping bag, wide awake at three o’clock that Saturday morning, having spent a full day with the animals, and still afraid of them. And of him.
She hated Davey Jordan. She would give her right arm to be able to do what he could do with animals. The way they loved him. But as an animal lover she also hated him for exposing her animals to this danger, to the incompetence and savagery of fools. O God, how she hated him for that.
And she resented his aloof manner, his reluctance to talk to her, even acknowledge her. ‘Why do you talk to me so abruptly,’ she had said. ‘Why don’t you like me, Mr. Jordan? Can’t you accept I’m here?’
He had looked embarrassed suddenly, almost shy.
‘It’s that you don’t like me,’ he muttered. ‘In fact, you hate me. For turning your animals loose.’
‘Right,’ she said with feeling. ‘How very perspicacious.’
He had ignored the sarcasm. ‘I don’t dislike you. I only hate your screwed-up thinking that causes so much misery. So I’m not going to argue with you, Dr. Johnson, I’m sick of arguing with people like you and Professor Ford. And the animals don’t like arguments.’
She was going to fight back, but he had suddenly held out a finger at her in the dark.
‘Please listen to me a moment, because this is important.’ And then more urgently, he had said, ‘Please try to stop hating me, Dr. Johnson, because the animals sense it. They’ll get nervous. This thing is working for one reason: Love. … They love me, Dr. Johnson. And in different ways they’re all sort of bound together by that. But if a stranger comes along, full of hate and fear, they sense it. You can’t fool animals about things like that.’ He looked at her steadily. ‘So please try to cool it, Dr. Johnson. The animals have got enough on their minds right now.’
Cool it … She had lit a cigarette to compose herself, then had said archly, ‘Very well. For the animals’ sake, I shall try to put my mind into neutral about what you’ve done. Though how you can expect that, God alone knows. But I don’t want them to be frightened of me.’ She added, in self-defense, ‘Any more than I want to be afraid of them.’
Then he smiled at her, almost as if making it up to her.
‘It comes from here.’ He touched his breast. ‘You’re not afraid of someone you love. It comes from … within.’
Then he had climbed into his sleeping bag, and across the dark had said, ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been very polite, Dr. Johnson. I’ll be better when we get there and get some proper rest. Now go to sleep, please.’
And, by God, she had. She had shut up and almost immediately exhaustion had claimed her.
Now she lay awake after seven hours of solid but insufficient sleep, churning over what he had said last night. And, clearly, as he himself had said, there was nothing so scientifically remarkable about what she was witnessing, nothing mysterious. Despite all that high-flying talk of love. Any vet knows how tamed animals are emotionally dependent on their keepers—their security blankets. Even the case of poor old Sally, a completely untrained animal, was straightforward enough. He was probably the only friend the poor old thing had ever had. And, actually, hippos are quite bright. She remembered a series of photographs taken in Africa, showing a crocodile grabbing a gazelle as it was drinking. A hippo had come and fought off the crocodile, dragged the gazelle to the bank, and fiercely stood guard over it as the little thing recovered. Lovely pictures. But anyway, as Konrad Lorenz would probably say, Sally probably thought of Davey as some kind of superior hippopotamus or the closest she’d ever got to meeting one.
Well, perhaps not … But anyway, there was nothing so scientifically remarkable about it. Except that it had never happened before on such an impressive—outrageous—scale.
She had never seen, read of, heard of, anything so extraordinary in her life …
Before going to sleep, Davey had told himself he had to wake up at three-thirty A.M. He did.
His body ached, but every muscle was ready to go, run, fight, die.
Elizabeth saw him coming over and for some reason she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Relieved that at least she was not snoring, that her mouth was not open.
‘Dr. Johnson? We’re going.’
Then something lovely happened, Just then, out of the blackness, came one short bark.
Davey scrambled up, excitement all over his face. ‘Sam!’
And Sam came running through the undergrowth, tail wagging and a laugh on his face. Davey ran to him and dropped to his knees, and Sam bounded his forepaws up onto his shoulders and licked his face, whimpering in joy. Davey hugged him, laughing, ‘Oh, Sam—good dog, Sam …’ Sam whimpered and wagged, beside himself with excitement, then he bounded at Big Charlie and jumped up on him, then back to Davey, wagging and licking. He turned to Elizabeth and came at her excitedly, then he saw who she was and turned and bounded back to Davey.
They were all laughing.
thirty-three
The six-lane highway lay ahead in the starlight. Beyond it, down a bank of rocks, was the river; then the Great Smoky Mountains loomed up into the sky.
Davey came down the ravine slowly, and stopped at the edge of the highway. He peered across the darkness. Nothing. He whistled, and hurried across the tarmac, looking back at his animals following. He ran across all six lanes to the metal bar on the other side.
Below was the river bank of bulldozed rocks. Five hundred yards downriver was the dim outline of the bridge. He went leaping down the rocks to the water’s edge. Rajah followed, clambering over the barrier, ears spread, trunk groping.
The water only reached to Davey’s shins; his feet were on firm stone. The animals were scrambling down the rocks in the dark. Rajah sighed as he stopped at the water edge. ‘Come, Rajah.’ Davey waded deeper into the river. Rajah hesitated, then lumbered into the water.
‘Stand!’
Rajah stopped and stood, blinking, awaiting instructions. ‘Come, Jamba.’ She was poised massively on the water’s edge, looking apprehensively at the river, Dumbo beside her. ‘Come, Dumbo.’ Without hesitation the little elephant stepped into the river and stopped beside Rajah. ‘Come, Jamba.’ The old zoo elephant gave a groan and lumbered into the water with an elephantine flinch.
The two gorillas were in a bunch, staring fearfully at the dark river. The chimpanzees grouped beside them. Davey splashed back to them. He patted Candy on the shoulder, then patted Rajah’s rump. ‘Ride, Candy.’ The chimpanzee glanced at him, then looked fearfully at the rushing water, measuring the distance; Davey snapped his order again. She jerked, startled at his tone, then she gathered for the spring, and leaped. One arm grabbed for Rajah’s tail, and she landed on the elephant’s back. In an agile movement she ran down Rajah’s spine, and both her hands were suddenly firing imaginary six-guns, just as she did in the circus. Then her legs suddenly shot apart, and she landed astride Rajah’s neck like a cowboy. Then Florrie leaped through the air and ran down Rajah’s back;
but in the circus she was dressed as a Red Indian for this trick, so she beat one hand in front of her gaping mouth, her other wielding her tomahawk. Then Sultan came leaping through the air and landed on Rajah’s back behind Florrie, jaws agape and snarling in her ear, just as he did in the circus, with Florrie still doing her Red Indian number. Champ clambered on, too. Davey turned to the two gorillas.
‘King Kong. Auntie. Come!’
The gorilla stared. Then he reached up one hand, took Jamba’s tail worriedly, and swung onto his back behind the others.
‘Good. Now Auntie …’ He took her hand and put it around Jamba’s tail. If this did not work he was going to have to take her across the bridge. He slung his arm under her buttocks and heaved. And Auntie clambered up onto the elephant’s back apprehensively.
‘Good!’ Davey grabbed Dumbo’s trunk tip. ‘Train!’ Dumbo grabbed Rajah’s tail. ‘Forward, Rajah.’ The big elephant started plodding into the river, Dumbo earnestly following him. ‘Stop.’ Rajah stopped. Davey turned to the lions. ‘Ride, Kitty.’ In one bound Kitty was on Dumbo’s back. Then Tommy. Then Princess. Davey swung Champ onto Rajah’s back, then took Jamba’s trunk and Dumbo’s tail and brought the two together. Pooh and Winnie lumbered alongside. Big Charlie shouted, ‘Davey.’
Sally could not get over the guard rail, and she gave a big croak of anguish. She had her forefeet on the metal, her hindquarters bunched as she tried to launch herself, jigging in anticipation of the feat. She gave a jump, her forefeet bludgeoned the top rail, and she fell on her rump with a thud. Davey came splashing back toward the rocky bank.
Big Charlie and Elizabeth were trying to heave Sally’s hindquarters over the barrier. Sally was grunting in protest, rolling-eyed, her legs beating the barrier.
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