by MJ Walker
Edward couldn’t see a lolly and he’d been around enough carnivals to know they didn’t last long on sunny days. But then three small boys walked past the enclosure, dressed in matching smart blue tunics and plus fours. Two were eating ice creams. Edward hopped to the fence and thrust his arm through. He smiled and smirked at the boys. He stuck out his tongue and reached with his arm. The boys ran on.
Edward considered making the long climb up and out. An elderly woman slowly came past, shouting after the boys while adjusting a fine dress she wore tight against her fragile frame. With few teeth remaining, she sucked on an orange ice, soothing her gums and a throat that was becoming ever more hoarse trying to corral her charges. Edward somersaulted in front of her. She turned and watched, so Edward then brought his hand to his mouth, signing for food. He made sad eyes at the old lady, who cooed and pushed her lolly through the fence.
Edward snatched it so hard he scratched her arm. The lady tried to scream but didn’t have the strength. So she grasped her hand, frowned and carped at the monkey, who turned and gave the lolly to the red panda.
“Now where is the door?” he asked, becoming impatient.
The panda licked at the lolly and scurried between some dark bushes with shiny leaves, disappearing out of view of the human. She climbed three feet up the fence and used her nose to point to a hatch in the side, which her keepers used to toss in fresh bamboo shoots, fruit, flowers and the occasional hen’s egg.
There were no springs or levers, gears or secret mechanical movements. Like that protecting Lord Morgan’s house, it was a simple gate shut by a latch. Just like Tony the terrier had done, Edward put his hand through and flicked up the latch, the gate swinging open to the zoo.
“Come on,” said Edward. “Let’s go.”
The young red panda turned away from Edward, climbing back down to the ground.
“Don’t you want to escape?” asked Edward. “Don’t you want to be free? To live out in the wild?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” answered the small panda. “This is my home. I was born here.”
She started gnawing and drinking from her melting lolly.
“I was like you,” said Edward. “Just a few days ago, I was like you.”
“I’m happy,” said the panda.
“I thought I was happy too. But there is more to life than being kept by a human. Perhaps one day you’ll understand.”
And with that, Edward escaped her cage. He ran across a beautiful lawn, passing beds of named roses growing in fresh compost made from the winter’s fallen leaves and hippo excrement. He jumped upon a bin that smelled of popcorn and half-eaten sausages in rolls and searched for a sign to the entrance, so he could let in his friends.
In one corner, a flock of tall pink birds stood in a shimmering pond, some on one leg, others with their head hidden under a wing. Edward couldn’t understand why they stood there and didn’t fly away. Somewhere behind the birds, in the trees, a big cat roared, though Edward couldn’t tell if it was a lion, tiger or the old leopard getting angry in the sun. He heard a sea lion honk and the unmistakable grunt of a silverback gorilla admonishing a subordinate. The zoo was full of sights, sounds and animals even Edward, a child of the distant rainforest, didn’t know.
His eye caught a path in the grass, made from tiny white granules of crushed and compressed gravel. It retained its allure and crackled underfoot as four men walked it in polished shoes. The humans sauntered to another path circumventing a bandstand standing proud under a blue sky and white clouds turning in on themselves. Surrounding the bandstand, on yet more lawn, a hundred deckchairs were set, backs up, red and white stripped canvas billowing. Edward thought of Whyte and Wingate’s Big Top, and how one day it might be inverted, cut, diced and hung out across the back of a thousand similar chairs exposed to the sun.
One of the men sat in a chair, adjusting his formal jacket. He took out his pocket watch and tapped it. He asked another the time and when proceedings would begin.
“When the ladies are ready,” answered one.
“When the King arrives,” answered another.
“He’s always late,” said the sitting man, inserting a finger into his collar, trying to get some air down his neck. “Besides, isn’t he visiting University College first? Those professors can talk all day. They’ll be boring the King to death up there. Mark my words.”
The jaguar watched the leopard. He prowled their cage, flexing his aged muscles, hoping a human might appear in the moonlight beside the fence. He wanted to show the humans he had returned willingly, for her and for himself, but not for them.
As morning broke, the human keepers arrived at the zoo, heard the gossip and deviated from their jobs to see this old cat, which had become the first animal to ever stage an escape within its grounds. The leopard was also the first to break back in to his enclosure, which no human could fathom. So the keepers came and stared at the cat and muttered about him. But the jaguar, knowing these humans well, knew they weren’t impressed by the leopard. They were angered by him, because his action had gotten two of their colleagues fired from the zoo the day before.
The keepers took to shaking the wire fence enclosing the cats. One added another chain to the door to the boxed run that led to the gate into the cat’s lair. The human wrapped the chain around and around, locking it with a thick padlock. He then kicked the door, testing it and the cats’ reaction. When they blinked at him, he puffed himself up and growled back. The keeper meant it but the cats just blinked again.
“Someone important is coming today,” said the jaguar.
“What does it matter?” said the leopard. “It’s not like we need to perform for them. Not anymore. We can just lie here and sleep. What does it matter what happens outside that fence?”
“They won’t feed us,” replied the jaguar. “That’s how I know someone important is coming. They didn’t feed us last night and they haven’t this morning. Not even a chicken.”
The leopard rested his chin on his paws.
“What does it matter?” he said again.
“You know what it’s like to be hungry,” the jaguar said to the leopard. “And so do they. They are starving us. Soon we won’t be able to help it. Our mouths will drool and our bellies will rumble, forcing us to walk the cage. They will taunt us with bones until we are running and leaping. Then the important person will visit.”
The leopard listened to her and knew she was wise. It was a trick he’d seen before, at the end of his voyage across the ocean. His captor had starved him and all the animals on the boat, making them so hungry they paced and battered their cages, baying, roaring and screaming. The hungrier they became, the more they demanded food and the more impressive they looked, driving up their price until they were sold on for the highest profit.
“I’m not hungry,” said the leopard.
He felt his age, his appetite waning. Perhaps this could be his last game? He would control his urges, lie here and pretend to sleep. He would open an eye and watch as the important person came in close to examine him. But instead of working out a way to break free and bite down upon the fat thigh of this person, he would do nothing. He would put on a performance of such banality that it would bring its own form of revenge. He would become the performing animal that refused to perform. The specimen that wasn’t worth the entrance fee. The exotic, terrifying leopard that was so disappointing the punters would tear down any poster advertising his presence, denouncing his capture as a form of entertainment.
As he began his protest, two suited men cycled past on a tandem cushioned by pneumatic tyres. A while later a gaggle of ladies gathered to stare at him, impressed by the sleek muscles that still clung to his feline frame. After the sun peaked in the sky, he heard the tigers roar. He’d never seen a tiger, not up close. But he’d heard how they scared even the lions and he heard them now, their guttural cries echoing across the zoo advertising their hunger and displeasure.
“It’s better to do what they want,�
�� the jaguar said to the leopard. “The more you impress, the better they treat you. You don’t want to become like the hippo. All it does is wallow. So the keepers don’t care about it. They don’t clean its pool and they only walk it to harvest its dung.”
“What does it matter?” asked the leopard again.
The jaguar’s whiskers dropped. She slowly descended the tree and lay next to the leopard, nuzzling him with her broad muzzle. She sighed.
The cats rested that way as more gentlemen passed by outside. One shouted at the cats, trying to rile them. Another took his cane and ran it along the wire, the fence reverberating as the human boasted to his associates about a new business deal he’d signed that morning next to the penguin pool. More humans came to stare as the zoo filled with visitors.
A familiar smell then wafted into the enclosure. It was the scent of a human, one who had washed. Both cats drew the scent over the glands in their mouths. The soapy fragrance couldn’t mask another smell; the stench of fear. The jaguar responded first, standing. The leopard pushed up off his haunches and turned into the wind. Both nosed at the air, recognising the body odour of the zoo administrator. He arrived dressed in his waxed moustache, finest black suit, waistcoat and trousers, holding a ledger under his arm. Two men gathered behind him, as he stared at the leopard with hateful, uncertain eyes.
“You guarantee he can’t get out?” said the administrator.
He was talking to the men but his gaze never left the leopard.
“It’s been double-locked,” said one of the men, nervously pulling at his beard. “The keys,” the man added, as he held up a set of small padlock keys on a ring.
The administrator snatched them from his grasp and pushed them deep into the pocket of his waistcoat.
“The King is due in an hour,” said the administrator. “Everything is in place. But if anything gets out. Anything! If even a flamingo steps out of its pool, we’ll be ruined.”
As the human spoke the leopard could see the cloth of his trousers shake. The cat couldn’t help himself. He let his tongue slip from his jaws, juice dripping from it. He started to pant, drawing deep purposeful breaths. He took a step towards the administrator, who nervously brought his ledger up to his chest as a shield. The leopard lifted another paw and smoothly shifted his weight on to it.
The administrator flicked open the book and pretended to scribble. But he couldn’t stop himself from again checking the cat, which had closed another ten feet. Suddenly he snapped shut the ledger and made off up the path, waving away his associates. The leopard watched him go, another small victory secured.
“What are you doing?” asked the jaguar. “Why are you scaring him? He decides how we are treated.”
“They all deserve it,” said the leopard.
“That may be,” said the jaguar. “But they control our lives. Perhaps you should have left when you had the chance.”
Her words cut deeper than any claws. The leopard turned and looked at her forlorn face. He realised how selfish he could be, how it was in his nature. So he made a pact with himself. He might not have long left, but he’d returned to give what he could to this beautiful cat, not to ruin her life. When the important person visited, he would put on a show. He’d use all his circus training and he’d perform one last time, making such an impression that the keepers would treat his jaguar with the dignity she deserved.
The leopard then caught another scent, animal not human. The hairs on his neck stood on end, his tail kicking into the air. It was a musky smell, heavy and rich.
“Do you recognise that?” he asked the jaguar.
“Dog,” she said. “Sometimes they are allowed in with the humans. If it comes near, try to ignore it,” said the jaguar. “Even if it baits you. They like to bait when they are safely behind a fence.”
“I know this dog,” said the leopard. “He’s no coward.”
As he spoke a white, black and tan terrier scampered along the path beside the cats’ enclosure. A saddle across its back, the dog shoved its brown head and white whiskers against a post holding up the fence. It cocked its leg and urinated. The leopard could smell it. He could see where lumps of fur had been taken from the dog’s coat and could still taste the wound healing on the dog’s hip.
The terrier froze. He too registered the cats. He raised his short white tail and leaned forward. He pulled back his gums and growled. He flicked his tail, searching deeper into his chest for an impressive bark. Behind the dog appeared a human, dangling a long black leather lead. He stood straight for a man nearing his sixth decade, swinging a cane for style not support. Carrying his black hat, he patted his waxed brown hair, parted down the centre. He tossed a black cape over one shoulder, revealing a white shirt underneath a black waistcoat supporting a pocket watch and chain. He walked up to the cats’ cage and put his fingers through the wire. He smiled, white teeth glinting from within a long trimmed beard that met grey hair above his ears.
“Lord Morgan,” rasped the old leopard.
He identified the human’s frame, Lord Morgan’s plump torso and legs fatter and sweeter than the administrator’s. The leopard sized Lord Morgan’s thighs, wishing how he’d had the chance to sink his cracked canines deep into their flesh, feeling the warmth of a severed artery. He heard Tony the terrier barking louder, intensifying the challenge. The leopard became so agitated he got the jaguar going too. She dropped her shoulders an inch, narrowed her eyes and prepared herself for whatever was to come.
“I know you,” said Lord Morgan. “And you know me. Don’t you boy?”
With that, he wandered off down the path. Tony the terrier stayed a while, staring down the cats, until he heard a harsh whistle. He showed his teeth then ran after his owner.
The encounter left the leopard shaking with rage. He hated to lose and felt he’d lost to the professor and his terrier. The jaguar asked why this human and dog had left him so angry. The cat explained how they had first visited his circus and taunted him in his cage set upon the circus wagon. The same evening, they had sat in the best ringside seats and watched him, marking his performance on a scorecard, a performance he’d faked to allow him to throw his collar. Then when he had attacked, the terrier had met him head on, doing enough to make him miss his mark, and let slip his prey. Now the human and dog had come to gloat, said the leopard. It was the only explanation.
The jaguar tried to console the leopard. But he was becoming agitated now, provoked by hunger. As a young cat, free to roam, he would eat well every few days. But since his capture, he’d been fed only morsels. Small regular bites but never a fresh corpse. He didn’t know what is was to regulate his appetite and the lust for meat was playing with his mind. Without realising it, the leopard had begun to pace his cage, and roar back at the tigers. The bigger cats took umbrage at his noise. Each time he roared, they answered, one by one asserting their dominance. The jaguar knew it was a game. She knew they would never meet. So she joined the leopard and together the cats of Africa and America jousted with those of Asia.
Their acoustic battle soon drew a crowd. Well-dressed gentlemen gathered to align themselves with such influence, ladies to be flattered by it. And then the crowd itself parted, deferring to a higher power. The men removed their tall hats and dropped them, bowing their necks. The ladies giggled then hastily bent their knees, curtsying. Out of the crowd emerged a portly man. He appeared more relaxed than those around him, dressed not in black, but in a matching tweed jacket and waistcoat with chequered trousers. A flat cap sat on his head and he carried a wooden walking stick. He acted as if he was out on a country stroll, while all about him the other humans acted as if at a great formal occasion.
The man approached the cats’ enclosure. He asked his entourage for a cigarette. Offered a silver box’s worth, he selected one, tapped it on his knee and waited for it to be lit. He took a deep breath and enthusiastically blew a smoke plume in the direction of the leopard.
The cat understood. He looked at the man, opened his throat
and sat back on to his hips. He sucked in the air and forced out the loudest roar he could. The tigers fell quiet. The man’s entourage became nervous and tried to usher him on. But the man in the flat cap laughed. He burned down more of the cigarette and blew again into the cage, the smoke this time drifting on and across the leopard’s nose.
The leopard slowly turned to face the man and lowered his body, becoming motionless apart from the black tip of his tail flicking. The jaguar understood now.
“Come on boy,” the man whispered. “Come on now.”
Like a whipped horse, the leopard sprang to life, racing head long at the fence, at the man just three feet behind. Every gentleman and lady standing about the man cowered, one even tripping over his shoes and falling on to his elbow, ripping a hole in his suit. But the man in the cap stood impassive.
“Come on boy!” he cried as the leopard leaped against the fence, straining the screws and wires holding it to the posts.
He felt the old leopard’s breath on his cheeks. For a moment the man met the leopard’s eyes. The man had always understood. He could never tame a leopard. He could never command it, make it do his bidding. He was exhilarated because the leopard understood a different order, a natural one.
The man leaned in and whispered again to the cat.
“I am the King of England. And if it weren’t for this fence, I would be your most humble subject.”
As he finished his words, a bright flash of light blinded him and the leopard. The old cat recoiled and danced across the enclosure to an area of shade. The King of England cursed under his breath as a photographer emerged from within a black curtain behind a static camera standing on a tripod.
“A wonderful picture, Your Highness. I have you facing down the beast.”
The King looked back at the cat. He gently raised a finger to his cap. He waited a moment. Then he dropped it, silently saluting the leopard and jaguar in the cage. He strode away as his entourage fumbled, consulting the day’s itinerary.
