Silenced!: The 1969 Journal of Malcolm Moorie

by Bill Doyle

  By the time we retraced our steps to the clearing where we had encountered the mountain lion, the sun was starting to set. The gray clouds had scattered into puffy islands in the blue sky. Trees swayed in the gusty breeze, casting long shadows.

  We stood for a moment, getting our bearings, and then plunged through the low brush where Conrad had followed the mountain lion.

  THE DEAD MOUNTAIN LION

  After just a few hundred yards, I heard Jackie gasp and put a hand to her mouth.

  There it was. The mountain lion lay on her side. The last time we had seen the creature she had been sick but pulsating with the power of life. Now she was quiet, still. I felt a chill run down my spine.

  The four of us stood there for a moment, the breeze blowing around us and rippling the fur of the mountain lion.

  “I feel like we should say something to honor her,” Moonbeam said quietly.

  But we stayed silent, not sure what to say.

  Harvey spoke first. “What are we doing here? Conrad said he’d have Bev Prokos check this out.”

  I know, but that mountain lion wasn’t acting right.” I crouched down low and scanned beneath nearby bushes. “And if I’m right, she wasn’t alone.”

  Moonbeam’s face showed alarm. “What do you mean?”

  “Just keep your eyes and ears open,” I told her, still searching the area.

  “Mal, do you think there’s another one?” Jackie asked.

  “Not one that could give us trouble,” I said, “I’m going to take a look.”

  Moonbeam pulled me to a stop before I could even take my first step. “What if the mountain lion wasn’t dead before?” she asked. “What if we could have helped her!”

  “Look at her.” I gently removed Moonbeam’s hand and took a few steps toward the mountain lion. “Even from 10 feet away, I can see she’s been dead for over three hours.”

  I walked closer and saw movement near the mountain lion’s mouth. Scavengers, I thought instantly. Nature’s way of processing death back into life.

  But on a second look, I saw that I was wrong. It was just a feather rippling in the breeze. A partridge feather.

  Suddenly, I knew I was looking at a crime scene.

  “Look! We have evidence,” I said.

  Harvey looked surprised. “Evidence of what?”

  I pointed to the feather near the big cat’s mouth. “That feather is telling me this was not a natural death. Something is killing the birds. I think the same thing killed this mountain lion when she ate them.”

  We started scanning the area for more feathers. Unfortunately, the mountain lion could have eaten the birds hundreds of yards away and then come here to die. This might be the scene of death, but that didn’t make it the crime scene.

  Moonbeam said, “The negative energy here is—”

  “Wait,” Jackie interrupted. “Do you hear that?”

  “What?” Moonbeam asked.

  “Shhh… Listen.”

  I did. This time I heard it: a mewing sound.

  “We’d better get out of here,” Harvey said nervously.

  But I was already moving toward the other side of the clearing. A tiny paw covered in spotted fur was sticking out from a bush. As I approached, the paw disappeared and the mewing stopped. I moved slowly around to the other side of the bush, and that’s when I saw him.

  A small furry face with golden-brown eyes was gazing up at me. I reached slowly down and allowed the little guy to smell my hand. Then even more slowly, I brought my other hand down and scooped up the young mountain lion. He nuzzled against my chest, and I felt his long, floppy whiskers tickle my chin.

  “Oh!” Jackie was walking quickly toward us.

  Moonbeam’s worry seemed to disappear. “That has got to be the cutest thing in the universe.”

  “Should you be holding him?” Jackie asked me.

  “No,” I answered. “But I don’t know what else to do. His mother is dead, and he’s too young to stay on his own.”

  Moonbeam started twirling a piece of grass in front of the animal. “How do you know, Mal?”

  “This guy must be under a year old because male cubs leave their mother within a year. Plus, this one is spotted, and mountain lions lose these markings as they mature.”

  I put the cub down in the grass, and he kept his eyes on us. Jackie and Harvey had joined Moonbeam. They were making faces and talking in baby talk. The cub raised his paw to bat at a twig Harvey was waving in front of him.

  Jackie said, “Who is the cutest cub? Who is? You are!”

  Harvey said, “Mountain Lions aren’t considered ‘great’ cats. Their young are called kittens, not cubs.”

  He was right, but saying “Here, kitty, kitty” somehow didn’t seem right, either. A name popped into my head, and I knew it’d be perfect. “Come here, Teddy,” I said. And I swear his head actually turned toward me.

  Jackie asked me, “Why Teddy?”

  I shrugged, giving the kitten a good ear scratch. “In my family, it’s a tradition to name animals Teddy. I think it started with my great grandparents.”

  “How did you know there was a baby mountain Lion out here?”

  I told her, “By the way his mother acted earlier. Lots of people think wild animals wander around looking for trouble. Normally, they avoid it. When they act so aggressively, they are usually mothers protecting their young—”

  I was cut off by a sharp metallic sound about 100 yards off.

  Jackie smiled as if struck by funny idea. “You know, I thought I just heard a car door slam.”

  “You did,” I told her.

  Her smile disappeared. “But we’re in the wilderness! Who would drive a car out here?”

  Without a word to each other, we all seemed to think the same thing: we had to hide. I snatched up Teddy, and the five of us ducked behind the bushes.

  Who was coming?

  I didn’t have to wait long for the answer. A tall, sleek woman who moved more like a cat than Little Teddy entered the clearing. She was wielding a machete and cutting back the brush as if she were making her way through the jungle in some Tarzan movie.

  BEV PROKOS

  The woman wore a vest with about fifty Little pockets and a safari hat perched on her short red hair. Beneath a Wildlife Management services badge on her brown shirt, I could see where the words BEV PROKOS, DIRECTOR had been stitched.

  I felt a sense of relief. So this was Bev Prokos! She had driven into the wilderness, but she was in charge of taking care of the area.

  We watched through the Leaves as Ms. Prokos slid her machete through one of the loops in her belt. “There you are,” she said out loud, after spotting Teddy’s mother. “Just as Conrad said. You ARE magnificent.”

  She strode across the clearing to the animal. Without a moment’s hesitation, she hunkered down and got her hands under the mountain Lion’s body. She managed to heave it up onto her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Then she headed back toward the spot where she had entered the clearing.

  Teddy must have sensed his mother was being taken away. His whole body started to shake, and he began to whine.

  Ms. Prokos stopped and cocked her head. “Wait a minute,” she said quietly. She gently put down the mountain lion and turned in our direction.

  All four of us put our hands on Teddy, trying to soothe him. But the poor guy just kept on whining. His tiny claws were starting to the tear the thick fabric of my jacket.

  I looked up again, and Ms. Prokos was heading straight for our hiding spot. If I held on to him, she would find us for sure. I had to let Teddy go.

  He leaped from my arms and tumbled out of the bush like a big fur ball. Ms. Prokos reached for him, but he skittered around her. He had one thing on his mind, and that was to get to his mother.

  When Teddy reached her, he pushed his nose against her still body. He nudged her, as if trying to get her up so that she would play with him and protect him.

  It was one of the saddest things I had ever seen. I heard
Jackie’s breath catch.

  “Look at you!” Ms. Prokos cried and scooped him up. Teddy’s paws continued to spin in the air as he tried desperately to return to his mother.

  “You’re quite the Little fighter, aren’t you?” Ms. Prokos cooed to him. “Not to worry, we’ll come back for mommy.” She turned and carried Teddy off.

  We waited to be sure she was gone. Then the four of us stood, left the clearing, and snuck quietly back to school.

  THE LIST WAS POSTED!

  October 8, 1969

  12:35 pm

  Today Conrad tacked a piece of paper to a post outside Dulson Hall. It was a list of the students who had earned enough points to go on the Condor Sanctuary field trip.

  It was a cloudy fall day, but summer was hanging on, and the air was warm. I sat under a nearby tree and watched the parade of students from Ecology as they rushed to the list and searched for their names. Kim looked relieved that she hadn’t made the list.

  I watched Kyle scan the list for his name. “I’m not on the list!” he hissed angrily. “We’ll see what my aunt says about that!” He stormed off.

  Jackie arrived and checked the list. Spotting me, she walked over and plopped down on the grass. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Just catching up on my journal.”

  But she noticed that my pen lay unused in the grass. “Are you thinking about Teddy?”

  I hesitated and then nodded. “I have never seen something so…” I couldn’t think of the right word.

  “Heartbreaking?” she offered.

  That was it. “So heartbreaking as that,” I said. “I’ll tell you this: I’m not going to stop until I find out what happened to Teddy’s mom and those birds.”

  Jackie just stared at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I’m impressed, that’s all. The only other person I know with passion like that is my dad. He’s the reason I worked so hard to get into the school. I’m here on a scholarship. If I get into trouble or if my grades go below a B average, I lose my scholarship.”

  I picked at some grass. “It isn’t always so terrible to get kicked out of school.”

  “But I’d feel like I was letting my family down,” she said. “They worked so hard to get me here.” Suddenly, she started to laugh. “I’ve heard the rumors about why you’re here, and why you got kicked out of your old schools.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “That you rode a bear into class.”

  I chuckled. “A bear?!” Then I told her about setting the frogs free at my last school. “And at the one before that, I went on a hunger strike because the principal wanted the boys to wear ties every day. My hunger strike only lasted a day and a half before my parents took me out of there. Now what?”

  Jackie was laughing again.

  “Nothing. Just that you sound like you’d be a ton of fun on the field trip.”

  “Oh. Am I on the list?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  “You mean you haven’t checked?” she asked.

  “No. I was too busy thinking about things…”

  She punched my arm. “You were too scared to look!”

  “Okay, you’re right. So tell me, Jackie! Am I on the list or not?”

  She made me wait in suspense for a few more seconds, and then she said, “Yes, Mal. Congratulations, you’re going to the Condor Sanctuary!”

  WE SAW A BEAUTIFUL GIANT OAK.

  October 17, 1969

  9:40 PM

  The First day of the Condor Sanctuary trip finally arrived!

  True to his word, Kyle got to go. His Aunt Asyla must be someone pretty powerful. She called President Roust, and Conrad was forced to take Kyle on the trip.

  But even so, Kyle almost missed out because he was late getting to the meeting point near Dulson Hall. His jacket had a small tear, and there were scratches along his face as if he’d been caught in a patch of brambles.

  “You okay, man?” Conrad asked. Kyle just nodded. “Okay then… off into the wild, gorillas!” Conrad cried. “And I mean the REAL wild!”

  And our journey began! Our little group consisted of Kyle, Conrad, Moonbeam, Jackie, Harvey, and me. The plan was to hike all day, camp out tonight near the Sanctuary, and visit it first thing tomorrow morning. We each carried a Light backpack with enough supplies to camp out in the Wilderness for two nights.

  Walking through the Wilderness was incredible! There’s a reason they call it a primitive area. The land here is still untouched by man—no concrete, no glass, no record players. It’s nature in its pure state. We spent most of the time walking along deer trails rather than man-made ones. Conrad stopped us plenty of times to check out different kinds of flowers or fungi, and Moonbeam insisted we pause to take in the view of a giant oak swaying in the wind.

  We scrambled down steep slopes, waded through shallow streams, and carefully picked our way through a swampy marsh. And in the distance, Big Mountain, home to the Condor Sanctuary, grew closer and closer.

  Here’s the path we took:

  Around five o’clock, Conrad announced that we had hiked far enough for the day. He picked a flat, grassy spot near a pool that was fed by a 25-foot-high waterfall.

  When Moonbeam asked where we were going to sleep, Conrad looked up at the sky. “It’s going to be a nice night,” he told us. “Get out your Ponchos!”

  Turning jackets into tents was a new experience for all of us. And after much laughing and kidding around, we finally had our shelters up for the night.

  By then, the sun was starting to sink on the horizon, and we’d worked up a huge appetite. Harvey asked, “What’s for dinner?”

  Conrad got a fire going with his bow and drill, creating a flame with friction rather than a match. He took out the large shell of a turtle from his pack, and whipped up the most amazing meal. It was all safe plants and insects we’d helped find in the area.

  Harvey looked a little shocked by the food. But, after scooping heaps of it into her mouth, Moonbeam announced, “I’ll take this over Country Girl Kitchen any day!” She stuck out her tin plate for seconds.

  After dinner, we all stretched out in a circle around the fire. I took out my journal. Now the fire is crackling softly, filling the air with the smoky aroma of pine. There’s a gentle roar from the nearby waterfall. And Conrad is leading the other kids in a few camp songs.

  I can’t remember ever being more happy.

  IT WAS A PERFECT NIGHT!

  CONRAD POINTED TO BIG MOUNTAIN.

  October 18, 1969

  8:25 PM

  Excited to get going, we were all up at dawn this morning. After a quick breakfast of ashcakes—flour and water patted into small cakes and cooked in the hot ashes of the fire—we packed up our gear and hit the trail.

  As we walked, Conrad pointed to Big Mountain, which loomed over us. Clouds clung to the peak like a swirling beehive hairdo. “We’re going halfway up the mountain,” he said. “That’s where the Condor Sanctuary is.”

  I let out a whoop of excitement, and he tousled my hair. I searched the sky for signs of the swooping condors, but they were nowhere in sight. Must be off hunting, I decided.

  We continued hiking, moving quickly now. The landscape at the foot of the mountain changed. Large boulders lay stacked on top of each other, having tumbled down over the centuries. We took a quick water break and started up the hill.

  Finally! I thought. I’m going to see a California condor up close!

  Climbing was easier than I had thought it would be, and we were soon 200 feet up the mountain. We came to a wooden sign that read:

  From up here, the view was fantastic. Nothing but wilderness stretching out for as far as I could see. Small gray feathers and bits of fur swirled in the air around us—telltale signs that we were nearing our destination.

  “Where are the nests?” Harvey asked.

  “Remember, condors don’t build nests,” Conrad said. “They find cracks in cliffs or caves to lay their eg
gs.”

  “Okay,” Harvey said. “But where are they?”

  “Look up!” Conrad answered.

  And we all did. About 20 feet above our heads, an outcropping large enough to hold about twenty people jutted out from the mountain. “That’s where they hatch their eggs,” Conrad told us excitedly.

  Before leading us further up the rocky trail, he reached into his backpack.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him.

  “Sometimes the parents aren’t around.” He’d removed a rubbery puppet from his bag. It looked like the head and neck of a real condor. “I use this puppet to feed the chicks. They think it’s their mom or dad.” He slipped the puppet on his hand and climbed up.

  We reached the outcropping. When I saw what was waiting there, I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach.

  The natural cracks in the rock were filled with crushed eggshells, as if someone had trampled over them and smashed them on purpose. But there were no human footprints. Just the tracks of the Condors.

  Conrad looked too stunned to speak for a moment. With watery eyes, he slipped the Condor puppet off his hand. He walked away from us as if he needed to get his emotions under control.

  A CONDOR PUPPET

  “What happened?” Kyle breathed. I looked at him, daring him to make some nasty comment. But he seemed visibly shaken by the sight of the smashed eggs. “Who would do this?”

  “The condors did it,” I told him.

  “But why, Mal? It’s so horrible,” Moonbeam said.

  “They didn’t do it on purpose. Something is wrong with their eggs. The shells aren’t strong enough. When the condors nest on them, the eggs break.”

  “I don’t get it.” Jackie was gazing at two crushed eggs lying at her feet.