Fear No Evil

by John Gordon Davis

  She sighed. She deserved just one whisky.

  Then the fear returned. She tried to push it aside ruthlessly.

  What’s the worst that can happen? She held her breath a long moment, to get herself under control. At worst she had four days’ slog to get out of here! So what? She knew perfectly well where she was. Then she closed her eyes.

  Because, despite her ruthlessness, she could see herself picking through the deeply shadowed wilderness, the sky blotted out, the very branches leaning out to grab her; and lying in her bedroll at night, too terrified to sleep. O God …

  Oh, why, oh why had he left her?…

  It was because he still did not trust her.

  Because she might move out and go tell Jonas Ford where they were. That was why he had stolen away, to a new hiding place. So this was not the Garden of Eden after all—was coming here just a trick so she would mislead Jonas? Maybe they weren’t even going to stay in the Great Smoky Mountains! Maybe he was going to bundle them all into more trucks and hurtle them on to the Everglades, while the expert beat his brains out here.

  Then she felt a thrill of excitement, and a smile was dawning.

  Is that what he had done? Gone and fooled us all again, Davey?... And her heart was beating with a new hope that made her almost want to laugh.

  Then she shook her head to herself.

  No. He would not risk that again. They had gone through hell to get here. This was Cherokee country, where once the world began. This was the Garden of Eden …

  Then she felt it well up from her heart, and she wanted to drop her head and sob.

  For grief. Not for primitive fear. She was big enough to make her own way out of these mountains. It was heartbreak, at being left behind. Like the little crippled boy in the Pied Piper story who got there just too late, who only glimpsed the paradise beyond the door. Grief for not being with her beloved animals anymore: no more to see the look in their faces as they returned to their wilderness, real earth and sun and sky and smells. No more would she see and feel their growing joy as they began to learn to play again. Instead she was going to make her way out of here courageously, and be on hand to care for them as they came back one by one from their wilderness, back into their cages … And she would write her scientific paper which would be internationally acclaimed, and even her personal story—and she would be rich and famous …

  And in a flash she saw herself back in the concrete jungle of New York, going to work every day with locked-up animals: pathetic, neurotic creatures who could not see the sun and the sky, who looked at her with dulled eyes, who did not know how to play. How could she go back to that life after experiencing this? …

  How could she go to that zoo each day while her heart and soul were here? How could she enter that abominable Elephant House and her heart not break for Dumbo, for his happiness because she rode on him, and for Rajah and Jamba? How could she enter that Big Cat House and not feel her heartbreak for Kitty, bounding after Sam for that possum, cupboard-loving her for chocolate, sniffing round the cooking pot with her heart set on theft? How could she ever look at the Ape House again with its bloody awful concrete tree?…

  And suddenly Elizabeth knew crystal clear what the result of all this would be. Davey had been right not to trust her until now. Now she knew that she did not want these animals back in their cages. She never wanted any animal in a cage ever again. And she was going to stay and find her animals, come hell or high water, and use the last breath in her body to get them the right to be free.

  Then, as suddenly, she knew how to find Davey Jordan and her animals: at the lions’ den, in the mineshaft. Sooner or later he would go there to see them!

  Her heart was singing. She wanted to jump up and shout it to the skies so even Jonas Ford would hear. And then a further fact dawned on her, and she was grinning with the simple joy of it. She was not afraid of the lions!

  She was not afraid to go alone into their den, and sit down with them and wait for him. Sleep among them, defenseless—she was not afraid. It seemed the most natural thing in the world.

  And it was such a liberating feeling she wanted to shout it—how wonderful to be free, to walk unafraid in the world with the fellow creatures God made!

  Then Smoky began to wake up.

  fifty

  With a groan, his head jerked up; then he collapsed. Elizabeth dashed to him. She dropped to her knees and put her hand on his head. ‘Smoky?’ He groaned again, then struggled.

  He made it groggily to his feet. He stood, head down, the pain thudding back into his side, unaware of Elizabeth standing beside him. She had looped the rope once around his neck. Then his brain cleared for a moment, and he remembered her—the one who had caused the pain. He lurched to get away before she struck him again, and the rope pulled on his neck. Elizabeth stumbled after him, holding the rope and calling his name. He wrenched harder, panicked, and Elizabeth let go. The rope slid from his neck, and he was gone, blundering off into the undergrowth.

  But Elizabeth was smiling. Smoky bear was going to be okay.

  He had made it here all by himself . He would find Davey. He was free.

  In the late afternoon she made her weary way up the stream. Fifty yards ahead was the rocky embankment outside the mineshaft. Only then did she hesitate.

  ‘Kitty?’

  She felt the age-old man-lion fear turn her intestines to water. Then, lest her nerve fail her, she started climbing again. ‘Kitty,’ she called. ‘Tommy? Princess?’ She peered upward into the gloom as she climbed.

  But no frightening feline heads appeared. Then she felt a new fear well up—they were already gone! Davey had already fetched them and she would never find them.

  ‘Kitty!’she yelled.

  She started bounding up the rocks. Then one big furry head peeped nervously over the embankment.

  ‘Kitty,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, thank God, baby …’

  She sat in the mouth of the mine, her back to the rockface. Kitty lay beside her, one huge paw in the air, eyes closed, chin extended, purring voluminously as Elizabeth scratched her throat. Her other hand held her second whisky in three days.

  It was tasting marvelous, and she felt marvelous. She wanted Jonas Ford to see this; she wanted every zoo in the world to see this. She wanted to tell the world. She would.

  For was not this what mankind had always thought of as paradise? Where animals gamboled and lived happily together, and Man lived unafraid among them with his children. Was not that paradise envisioned in Christianity, in the story of Adam and Eve, and in so much folklore of every country? Was it not the story of the Pied Piper in almost every language in the world; was it not what the little crippled boy saw as the mountain closed in front of him? And have we not cut ourselves off from it by our insatiable civilization, which is born of our fear of the wild because we are furless and clawless and fangless and need to compensate, gird ourselves? And did we not evolve into furless and fangless creatures because we were so afraid that we huddled together for protection against Nature and resolved to cooperate to beat Her? Have we not now become like the fat aldermen in the Pied Piper story who cut themselves off from the joys of our birthright, worrying about the price? And Davey knew that we will always be like the aldermen, only interested in money and talk talk talk, afraid to act.

  Afraid to do what is right because it is too costly. Afraid to stop polluting the very air we breathe because of the price. Afraid to stop polluting the oceans that make the oxygen and rain that feed us. Afraid to stop the extinction of beautiful animals like whales because they are too valuable to be allowed to live. Afraid to stop murderous megalomaniacs because it is too costly …

  But Davey was one of that unique brand of men who finally despaired of the endless talk and who jumped up and did … because he knew that all the letters to the newspapers and all the questions asked by congressmen and all the societies would never get anything done, with all their talk and good intentions; and vear after year of misery would pass, until even
the last place for an Eden was cut down, plowed under, and polluted; until like the aldermen, we only had the grief of the loss of our birthright …

  And she was glad with all her heart for what she was doing, and she wanted to spread her arms wide and shout, ‘Come back … I’m with you …’

  She heard a stone fall, and her heart was suddenly pounding. The lions’ heads jerked up, ears pricked, ready to run; then Princess darted deeper into the blackness of the mine. Elizabeth scrambled up and peered out. Suddenly Kitty bounded forward, tail straight up. Elizabeth shouted joyfully, ‘Davey!’

  There he was, climbing the steep embankment. Behind him labored the black shaggy form of Smoky. Elizabeth came stumbling out of the mine, laughing, almost crying, and she just wanted to throw herself into his arms and hug him in welcome. But Kitty got there ahead of her and flung her paws up onto his shoulders. Elizabeth stood, hands on her hips, and she laughed.

  ‘Well—I’m still here!!!’

  fifty-one

  Sixty miles away, on the other side of the mountains, Stephen Leigh-Forsythe was furious. It was the second day he had been following elephant spoor shown to him by the Cherokees. They had come to the stream called Middle Prong. But once again, the spoor disappeared, just as the gorilla spoor had done yesterday. Again, circular sweeps on both sides had failed to turn up any continuation. Forsythe was convinced the spoor was a hoax. Here was elephant dung, but no footprints. All right, the ground was stony, but before that? Had this elephant jumped into the stream? As the clever gorillas who hate water had done?

  He considered his position while his trackers searched. The rest of the team were still toiling through the undergrowth to catch up with him. He was not going to admit that he had been hoaxed, but he had to explain why he was going to abandon this spoor. He hated being made a fool of.

  Professor Ford came tramping along, drooping under his knapsack. He propped his glasses up. ‘Well? What’s happening?’

  ‘I’m abandoning this spoor. And looking for new.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Where I first decided, night before last.’

  ‘But if this spoor is only a day or two old, shouldn’t we continue? Otherwise it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘No. It’s over two days old.’

  Ford looked at him. ‘But that’s not bad, in my experience. There’s no reason for these animals to keep moving now, except to feed.’

  Forsythe was about to lose his cool with a client. ‘You must trust my judgement, Professor.’

  ‘I insist upon knowing why …’

  Frank Hunt came plodding up. ‘Hello, Professor, I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you to meet me here today?…’

  ‘Please shut up,’ Ford snapped.

  At that moment Forsythe’s walkie-talkie radio rasped in Swahili. He listened, then hissed, ‘Stay here!’

  He leaped over the stream and disappeared. A minute later he was examining the very fresh footprints of Sheriff Lonnogan and his posse.

  Sheriff Lonnogan was exhausted, and he had a filthy cold. So had most of his posse. He was furious. For almost five days he had been foot-slogging behind his Cherokee guide with elaborate caution. Every hour the Cherokee had pronounced they were getting warmer. Lonnogan was getting very warm indeed, his cold reaching fever proportions, when Forsythe suddenly appeared from nowhere, striding through the trees.

  ‘What the devil’s the meaning of this?’

  Lonnogan whirled around, astonished, his shotgun at his hip. He recognized Forsythe from television, and his mind was suddenly fumbling with his options.

  ‘Have you been laying phony spoor?’

  Lonnogan didn’t understand. ‘Phony spoor?’ He looked around for his Cherokee tracker. The man had vanished. His face creased in genuine bewilderment, and he scowled. ‘Now where’s that sumbitch at?’

  He did not have a chance to ponder. Forsythe grabbed him by the shirtfront.

  ‘You’ve been laying false trails, and I’m arresting you!’

  Lonnogan could not believe it. Nobody had ever done that to him! Putting him under arrest? In an awful flash he saw the ultimate indignity coming hot after the debacle of the Pigeon River, the gleeful headlines of Sheriff Lonnogan manacled again. For a moment he stood bunched up under the smaller man’s grasp, nose to nose; then he recovered.

  His fist swung at Forsythe’s guts, and the next instant his head exploded in stars as Forsythe savagely butted his forehead onto his nose. And the next moment he was flying through the air. Lonnogan didn’t know what had hit him, as Forsythe twisted and flung him over his shoulder, head over heels. He crashed onto his back, winded, blood streaming from his nose. Suddenly three black men appeared. His posse had scattered into the trees. Lonnogan stared, shocked.

  ‘I’m taking you all back to basecamp.’

  The Kid Lonnogan shouted hoarsely, ‘One false move an’ I fires!’

  Forsythe turned his angry blue eyes on him, and Sheriff Lonnogan scrambled up and lunged. Forsythe staggered backward and fell, and Lonnogan sprawled on top of him, punching blindly. Then the whole posse was coming running, Kid Lonnogan was yelling, and suddenly the sheriff was rising through the air.

  One moment Boots Lonnogan was pounding away with both fists as Forsythe’s fingers gouged his face, the next he was wrenched vertically upward as Samson seized him by the hair in one big heave, and he bellowed in pain; then Samson threw him—straight into Kid Lonnogan, who was charging to his father’s aid. Kid Lonnogan sprawled on top of his father, and Forsythe scrambled up, wild-eyed. You-Wreck-’em-We-Fetch-’em Jeb Wiggins slugged him in the chest and sent him sprawling again, and the next moment Ben Majuju got Jeb slap-bang in the groin with his hiking boot. Fred Wiggins was charging furiously to his brother’s defense and Gasoline Ndhlovu was thundering into the fray, and Lonnogan’s fist collected him right in the guts with an explosive gasp; then both Boots and Kid Lonnogan were furiously onto Forsythe again, wildly punching. Forsythe was slugging as he staggered backward, and then Fred Wiggins was in there too, and then Ben and Sixpence, a mad mass of incompetent punching, kicking, and hollering in Swahili and English in the knee-deep undergrowth, while Jeb Wiggins reeled about clutching his testicles and then Samson reentered the melee, and Sheriff Lonnogan swung his boot at his groin. The huge black man doubled up, hors de combat, and the sheriff yelled, ‘Run y’all.’

  The posse fled into the dense forest in different directions, crashing through the bushes.

  Samson half-straightened, bulging-eyed, murderous. He rasped something in Swahili.

  Forsythe panted, ‘No … we’ve got enough to do. They won’t give us any more trouble.’

  fifty-two

  Elizabeth and Davey did not go back to the cabin that night because the other animals would go there and Davey did not want them to get used to finding him there. He had left them scattered in the valleys. They had left the big cats at the den, with some meat he had brought for them. Davey and Elizabeth camped at the lake. He built a little fire between some boulders.

  Maybe, she realized, it was just the calm that precedes the storm, but to Elizabeth it was a peaceful night—with her decisions made. She did not want to talk about it—it was enough that he believed her. It was lovely just to sit. At one time she said, ‘Do you believe in God, Davey?’

  He smiled. ‘Oh, yes. Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Definitely.’

  He was quiet a long moment, then he said: ‘How can anybody see the wonders of the world and not believe in God? How can they know about a whale and not believe in God? The wonderful things it can do. A dolphin? A lion?’ He paused, thinking. ‘How can you hold a pigeon in your hands, look into its beautiful little eye, and know that it can find its way home across a continent it has never seen. Of course there is a God.’

  ‘Exactly,’ she agreed fervently. She sloshed more whisky into both mugs, as if to celebrate.

  ‘Where’s Big Charlie?’

  ‘In Cherokee.’ />
  That took her by surprise.

  ‘Cherokee? Why?’

  ‘He’ll be back tomorrow.’ He added, mysteriously, ‘I think you’ll be pleased when you see him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s see if it happens first.’

  She was content to let it go, and wait.

  ‘He’s a lovely man, Charlie. But very quiet.’

  ‘He’s just shy with you.’ He added, with a small smile. ‘He thinks you’re terrific.’

  For a moment she wondered what that meant. Then Davey said, ‘He’ll be pleased you didn’t quit.’

  She stared at him. She thought: Oh no—just my luck! An ageing teetotaling zoologist, and now a three-hundred pound ex-Jewish Cherokee outlaw. Johnson, you really pick ’em good. Then Davey said, ‘I’m very pleased too.’

  She was suddenly blushing. She could hardly believe her ears. She had never even thought about him that way …

  She got up and climbed into her sleeping bag, to cover her embarrassment. ‘Good night,’ she said.

  ‘Good night.’

  Or was that true, that she had never thought about him in that way? She had thought he looked beautiful at times … but that was his—inner beauty. His gentleness. His eyes when he looked at his animals. His sweet vision. His love.

  Yes, but hadn’t there been some of the other thing too? Hadn’t she marveled at his body—his stamina, his strength? Hadn’t she reacted? And when he smiled, didn’t she think he looked absolutely charming? Wasn’t this whole thing he had done wrapped up in love? And she was only feeling that same kind of love herself now.

  She closed her eyes. Right now she did not want to know. She did not want to demean her decision with other questions.

  It was nonsense anyway—he had not exactly made a pass at her. She hardly believed he knew how.