As Jonathan spoke, his father's lips grew thinner, tighter, but when he finally fell silent, Dad said only, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry it happened, son. And I'm especially sorry you were there to see it." And without another word, he headed back toward the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Jonathan asked, suddenly wanting, more than anything else, for his father not to leave.
"I have to go over there," Dad said, stopping at the foot of the stairs, "to see what other mischief that bear might be getting into. I need to call the curator, too. And I'll take Mama Goose back where she belongs."
"May I come?" Jonathan asked, but he knew the answer.
"Of course not." For the first time, his father sounded impatient, as he surely was. He hadn't even mentioned yet all the rules Jonathan had broken tonight, but he would get to them later. Jonathan was sure of that.
He came back to stand in front of Jonathan again. "You stay here and see if you can get the mud off your jacket. You'll need it for school tomorrow." He paused, studying Jonathan closely, as though he might be wondering if he'd made a mistake bringing him here to Anchorage. But then he continued in his ordinary father-in-charge voice. "And clean yourself up, too. Then go to bed. Get right into bed and don't get out of it again until morning. Do you understand? I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Why can't I..." Jonathan started to say, but his father whirled to face him, his eyes flashing, and Jonathan shrank back into the couch cushions. "Yes, sir," he said. He didn't know where that had come from... sir. He had never called his father sir in his life. But then he had never seen his father this angry before, either. "I promise."
"You'd better," his father said, his voice low. Then he added, "We're going to have plenty to talk about when I get back." He hurried up the stairs.
Jonathan looked down at his muddy jacket. Was Mama Goose muddy, too? He'd had to crawl out beneath the fence as he'd gone in, holding her the whole time. There was no other way out without a key. Had he gotten Mama Goose muddy? Somehow—he didn't know why—the idea of her pure white feathers being caked with mud seemed the final insult. He'd never seen her when her feathers weren't clean.
But then being dead changed everything, didn't it? Everything in the world.
***
The young bear had walked up and down the fence enclosing the older male but could find no way to get closer. Jake had paced on his side, too, sniffed through the fence, then paced some more.
It was Jake who gave up first, turning back into his enclosure to sleep. And the young bear, abandoned once more, retraced his steps through the zoo. He found bits of food here and there, stopped to sniff the place where the white goose had lain, then bellied under the inner fence around the perimeter and decided to go no farther. He took a long drink from the creek before he curled up in a snowy depression in the ground between the two fences and dozed.
He didn't come awake until he heard the voices of the humans, moving closer. He listened, his head raised, his ears pivoting to catch every nuance of sound. Finally, he rose slowly, walked over to the hole beneath the outer fence he had dug earlier, and shimmied out the way he had come in.
The searching men again found footprints in the fresh snow up and down in front of Jake's pen. They found a few scattered white feathers. And they found a new hole dug under both of the perimeter fences.
"I think," Jonathan's father said, "we should name this bear Trouble. That's certainly what he's gotten into lately."
9. Take Care of Trouble
"TROUBLE? You named that bear Trouble?" Disobeying one more order, Jonathan had slept on the living room couch while his father was gone, and he sat up now, bleary eyed but nonetheless awake.
"Yes," his father replied. "Do you have a better suggestion?"
Jonathan didn't even have to pause to consider. "Killer," he said. "You should call him Killer. That's what he is."
His father sighed. "He's a bear, Jonnie. He did what bears do. It's what I've been trying to tell you."
Jonathan shook his head, trying to clear away the image of Mama Goose, dead and limp ... and so soft in his arms. He said, "I thought bears killed to eat. He didn't want her for food. He barely stopped long enough to smell her. Just knocked her dead and went on his way."
Dad sighed again. Jonathan could tell he was growing exasperated. "What do you want me to do?"
"Capture him! Take him away! Take him so far away he can never come back again," Jonathan cried. "He's dangerous. You can't let him stay here."
His father looked surprised. He also looked enormously tired. "Well, we're going to have to catch him first, before we can do anything. But zoos aren't in the business of transporting animals. Besides..." But he didn't say any more.
"He's a murderer," Jonathan said. "He's got to be taken away!"
His father shook his head. "I think we're mighty lucky that Mama Goose was the only fatality last night. What were you thinking of, anyway, luring a bear to our deck with food and then following him through the night?"
"I stayed back. Out of the way."
Dad snorted, a tiny puff of exasperated breath. "Do you have any idea how fast that brownie could run if he decided he didn't want you following him and came at you?"
"Thirty miles an hour, I guess." Jonathan had read it somewhere. "Maybe more."
"Yes," his dad replied. "And do you think you can run thirty miles an hour, maybe more?"
Jonathan shrugged. When his father drew his eyebrows together in irritation, he said, "No. I don't suppose I can."
"Jonnie." His dad came over and sat down on the couch beside him. "How many times do I have to tell you? Bears are wild animals. Even the ones in the zoo like Jake. He's been around humans since he was a baby. And do you know how far I'd trust him if I had to go into his cage when he was in there?"
Jonathan started to shrug again, to show that he didn't know, didn't care, but then he stopped. There was no point in annoying his father further. "Not very far," he said.
"You're darned right. No farther than I could throw the big brute if he came at me."
Jonathan nodded. "Anyway," he said, trying to sound reasonable so his father would listen, "Mama Goose wasn't doing anything to him. Just making a lot of noise, the way she always does. All he wanted was to shut her up. And he ... he..." Jonathan swung one hand as though it were a big paw and found that he could speak no further. His throat had closed.
"I know, son. I know." His dad put an arm around his shoulders. "And I'm sorry it happened. I know you really liked that old goose."
Really liked! That didn't begin to describe it. But all Jonathan said was, "Rhonda loved her, too. I'd told Rhonda all about her, and you know how she loves birds. She thought Mama Goose was even better than the seagulls we used to watch over Lake Superior."
"Yes," Dad agreed, "I'm sure Rhonda loved her, too, just hearing about her from you. But there you are. She's gone now. Actually, I think your she may have been a he."
"Mama Goose? A boy?" Jonathan almost laughed, but then he began to cry instead, big wracking sobs that seemed to rise from the soles of his feet. He didn't think he'd tell Rhonda that. Too confusing. But he didn't know what he'd say to her on the phone now. Mama Goose was mostly what they'd talked about since he'd gotten here.
His father said nothing more. He just pulled Jonathan closer. "I've got an idea," he said, stroking the hair back from Jonathan's face. "I think this would be a good day for you to stay home from school. I'll bet even your mama would agree if she were here to see you now."
Jonathan sniffed, wiped his nose on his pajama sleeve, and half laughed. Being a teacher, his mother found very few excuses good enough for staying home from school. Fever, vomiting, or something major broken. That was about it.
Would she understand about Mama Goose?
"What ... what'll I do all day?" he asked, though already he knew one thing he wanted to do if he was left alone in the house.
"Oh, I don't know," his dad replied. "Read. Watch a bit of television. Maybe write
a letter to one of your friends. How does that sound?"
"Okay," Jonathan said. And then, in case he hadn't sounded enthusiastic enough and his dad might change his mind, he sat up straight and said, "Good!"
Dad stood and pulled Jonathan gently to his feet. "Why don't you start with a shower? Maybe followed by another nap. You must have missed a lot of sleep last night."
Jonathan nodded and headed for the stairs. He'd start with a shower. No problem. But he wasn't the least bit interested in a nap. In fact, a plan was developing for when his dad left to go back to the zoo. He was going to call one of the local TV stations and tell them all about Trouble. If they reported that a wild bear had killed Mama Goose, someone would have to do something about him for sure.
Jonathan stood in the shower a long time, letting the hot water slam into his head, his face. He stayed so long, in fact, and dressed so slowly that Dad had already eaten his oatmeal and gone back to the zoo by the time he came downstairs. So he fixed himself some Cheerios, even put his muddy jacket and the pajamas he'd been wearing into the washing machine. Then he got the phone book out to look up the number.
The ring at the other end seemed to buzz inside his head.
He waited.
"KTUU, Channel Two," said a woman's voice.
"Um..." Jonathan's mouth went suddenly dry. He'd never talked to anyone from a television station before. "Um," he said again. Why hadn't he figured out what he was going to say before he'd dialed?
"KTUU, Channel Two," the woman said again, a little impatiently this time.
And so he blurted it out, the thing they needed to know. "I've got some news for you. It's something you're going to want to do a story on. There's a killer on the loose in Anchorage."
***
For a while, Trouble kept moving away from the zoo. The trees in this residential area of the city were heavy. Keeping hidden from the humans who were beginning to emerge was not difficult. And if there were other bears anywhere around to challenge him for the bits of food he occasionally found, he didn't encounter them.
After a time, though, he turned and retraced his steps until he was back at the outer zoo fence again. He prowled along it for a short distance until he came to a dip in the ground beneath some fir trees. He curled up in the inviting gloom of the trees, tucking his aching muzzle beneath a paw, and waited. Just waited.
When it grew dark, he would go in search of food again, and maybe, at last, he would find a way to reach the bear behind the fence.
10. "Good!"
"AND not only did the wild bear, named Trouble by one of the keepers, break into the zoo. While he was inside, he killed Mama Goose, a snow white goose that was a favorite of visiting children."
The newscaster reporting the story stood in front of Jake's enclosure, but Jake, apparently shunning publicity, was nowhere in sight. Jonathan sat on the couch next to his father, watching the news program, but out of the corner of his eye he was really watching his father.
Dad shook his head. "I sure would like to know who told them," he said. "When they showed up at the zoo, there wasn't much we could do but let them in. They already knew the whole story."
Jonathan felt a flicker of guilt, but only a flicker. Some things just had to be told. His father should understand that. He'd had a hard time, at first, convincing the man the receptionist had turned him over to—not the reporter giving the story now, but some kind of editor—that his story was real. Only when Jonathan had finally told him that his dad was one of the keepers at the zoo had the man started to listen.
Now the camera was showing footprints in the layer of fresh snow along Jake's fence. There were bear footprints on both sides of the fence. But Jonathan was through listening. He'd gotten what he wanted. The world knew that a wild bear had broken into the zoo and killed Mama Goose, "a favorite of visiting children."
The phone rang. Dad got up wearily to answer it.
Jonathan leaned back into the couch, paying no attention to the conversation. It wouldn't be Mom. She and Dad had talked a long time last night, so she probably wouldn't call tonight.
What would he tell Rhonda when he talked to her next time? Some of the stories he'd told her about Mama Goose might have been a bit exaggerated, he'd admit that—like when he'd told her that Mama Goose came running to meet him every time he came to the zoo. But he'd told her true things, too. Like about the way Mama Goose would honk back when you honked at her. Rhonda was really excited about meeting her very own goose.
"Well, that's it," Dad said, hanging up the phone and returning to the couch.
"What's it?" Jonathan asked.
"That was Pat Rawlings, the curator. Somebody called him from Fish and Game."
"Yeah?" Jonathan said, not particularly interested. The news program had moved on, but they were still talking about bears. This segment was about how important it was for homeowners not to attract bears by leaving garbage cans out or having bird feeders that could be reached. Or loaves of bread on their decks, Jonathan added mentally.
The newscaster was saying that about two hundred and fifty black bears lived in the Anchorage area and about sixty brown bears, too. "When they lose their fear of humans because they associate us with food, they can become extremely dangerous."
"One of the rangers heard the news report about Trouble," Dad said.
Jonathan sat up straighter, turning his full attention to his father for the first time.
"Next time that bear breaks into the zoo, they want to be informed."
"Why?" Jonathan asked, although he knew. Of course, he knew.
"When Trouble leaves the zoo, they're going to take care of him."
"'Take care' of Trouble," Jonathan repeated slowly. "What does that mean?"
"They're going to put him down." His father said it in a flat voice, not looking in Jonathan's direction.
Put him down. For an instant Jonathan felt as though he had been kicked in the gut. Put Trouble down. Off him. Kill him. So Trouble would end up as dead, as limp, as useless as Mama Goose!
"Why can't they just take him away, some place so far that he can never come back here?"
"Because they have a firm policy," his father said. "Once a bear loses his fear of people, he'll get into trouble wherever he goes. He's too dangerous to be allowed to live anywhere. Bears like that have to be destroyed."
Jonathan's head spun. For a moment, he thought he might be ill. But then he drew himself up and took a deep, wavering breath. "Good!" he said. He said it as though he meant it, too.
After all, Trouble would only be getting what he deserved. Wouldn't he?
***
Trouble stood outside the fence to Jake's enclosure and moaned softly. The older bear, apparently having tired of the nightly encounters, didn't respond. He didn't even emerge from his den. Trouble would have dug under this fence, too, but unlike the perimeter fences that were meant only to keep humans out, the fences enclosing the animals were set in concrete.
Finally, the young bear sat, then after another long period of waiting, curled into a ball right there, tight against the fence that kept him separated from Jake. He was miserable. He wasn't finding enough food, and his stomach roared at him. His broken jaw had never quit pounding from the instant the moose had kicked him.
But most fiercely of all, he still missed his mother. More than he wanted the pain to go away, more than he wanted food to fill his empty belly, he was still a very young bear, and he wanted his mother.
11. Trouble for Trouble
JONATHAN'S house was so close to the zoo that he could see the parking lot and the entrance gate from the corner where he waited for the school bus. He watched both now.
He had told his father that he needed another day away from school. He'd reminded him, after all, that he was still terribly upset about seeing Mama Goose murdered.
His father had said, "Um-hmm," in that way he always did when he wasn't really listening, when he didn't think what Jonathan was saying was worth listening to, and then ha
nded him his lunch bag. So now Jonathan was standing at the corner, waiting for the bus.
The hour was too early for the zoo to be open, but nonetheless a truck pulled up to the gate. On the side was written alaska department of fish and game. The man who emerged held a rifle in one hand.
Jonathan couldn't tell whether it was a real gun or one that shot tranquilizer darts, but he supposed it didn't matter whether they shot Trouble outright or tranquilized him now, then killed him later. Either way the dumb bear was going to be dead. Good and dead.
But was dead ever good? Jonathan didn't know. To keep himself from asking more stupid questions he turned his thoughts to Mama Goose again ... limp and silent, a pile of white feathers. Certainly there was nothing good about her being dead.
Jonathan walked a dozen steps away from the corner, then returned to his former spot, right where the bus always stopped.
It was what Trouble deserved, wasn't it? For someone to kill him the way he had killed Rhonda's goose. Not an instant's thought, just bam! and the bear would be gone. After all, Trouble had no business killing Mama Goose just because she was making a little noise. She/he. Nothing made sense any more.
And now the whole world knew about Trouble's crime, and justice would be served ... exactly the way they always said in crime shows.
Another vehicle pulled up in front of the zoo, a white van with ktuu written on the side. A man got out and stood talking to the Fish and Game guy. After a while, he went back to the van and returned carrying a TV camera.
So, not only were they going to kill Trouble, they were going to film the event so everyone in town could watch it while they ate their supper tonight.
Jonathan's stomach did a slow flip-flop.
Would there be blood? Would there be lots of blood?
It wouldn't matter if there was, would it? Seeing Trouble die on TV would be like watching a bad guy get blasted away in a crime show. Nothing more.
A Bear Named Trouble Page 4
