Animalis

by John Peter Jones

  Was that who Jax was? A hero? Was this what life was, killing and torture and waiting to kill or be eaten? Suburban life seemed like a fragile illusion now. People walking around in make-believe, whining about pretend problems, and hoping for more synthetic enjoyment.

  Why did Grimshaw seem so happy?

  There was a rustle of movement in the cage next to Jax. The sound of something sliding on gravel. Jax hadn’t been able to see what was on either side of him because of the solid walls of the cell.

  “My babies,” a female voice groaned.

  “Hello?” Jax went to the bars. “Who’s there?”

  “I’m starving. I have to eat, or my babies will all die …” It was a strange, moaning voice. Probably an Animalis, waiting for its turn in the arena.

  Jax stepped back from the bars; it would have to whine to someone else. He was going to face one of the creatures around him; helping it would only make the fight harder.

  The next day, the moaning hadn’t stopped: “Please, please …”

  Even with the blanket over his head, he could hear the pleading. They’ll send her into the arena, and I won’t have to hear her anymore, he told himself.

  Jax was starting to wonder how the people running the arena could mistreat the Animalis that were going to fight. Weren’t they all … together? Part of the same whole? Like humanity … Except that humanity would likely do this to itself too, Jax realized.

  He thought about talking to the pleading Animalis beside him again. With hours of boredom, lying on his back, then his side, then his front, then his back again, the thought of interaction became more and more of a need. Even if it is an Animalis.

  Jax looked around his cell; he hadn’t always eaten what they had thrown to him. Carrot stalks, bread that had become more mold than bread, a piece of meat that looked too similar to a human finger for him to touch. He gathered them up and slid them across the floor through the bars of his cage and into the hall, pushing them toward his neighbor.

  “It’s really not much, but you can have it,” he said.

  There was a rush of steps in the other cage. Then the crunch of gravel as they pulled the food into their cell.

  “Why? I …” After a moment, the female seemed to decide there was nothing to do but say thank you. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” And she started to eat the food.

  “How long have you been in here?” Jax said.

  “A week now,” she said through her mouth full of food. “You’re human, aren’t you?”

  “How can you tell?” Jax sat down near the bars and leaned against the wall.

  “Your smell.” She finished eating, and Jax could hear her pacing back and forth again.

  “Why are you here? Are you going to fight in the arena?” he asked.

  A low growl came from her. It could have been a “Yes.” The pacing stopped and she crawled onto the floor. “It’s so hard to work. So hard now. No one will hire Animalis. Winter is coming, then I’ll sleep. But I have to have enough food to keep my babies alive. They’re in me now, not growing yet. Not until spring.”

  Jax waited, listening to her puffs of breath hissing against the floor.

  “I’ll win. Then I’ll eat.”

  The chant of the crowd around the arena began to build again, and Jax left the stranger to hide from the noise.

  Jax talked with her often. Her name was Misha, and she was a bear Animalis from a small town near the Black Sea, where she had once been a maid. Her parents had, as she’d put it, given her to a hotel chain. All of her schooling and training had been to clean.

  It was frustrating that she had nothing else to talk about. Jax couldn’t talk about sports or movies. He didn’t care about stains, or carpets, or anything. But sitting with his back against the wall, listening to her moaning voice, he didn’t feel so alone.

  There had been another one like her, cleaning at the hotel. Another bear Animalis. And she broke all of the rules to get near him. Jax laughed to himself at the thought of the two bears looking at each other longingly, wearing ruffly, white maid’s hats and aprons.

  Chapter 12

  Misha

  Eat, Misha thought. I must eat.

  She sat on the floor in the corner of her cell, hugging her knees close to keep warm. The flannel dress she had worn for the last year didn’t insulate her as she remembered it had. But the dress had kept her alive during that time. She wouldn’t want to lose it. It was consistent and she wanted to keep it with her.

  So many things had been cruel to her: the shelter master, the hotel man, and now the humans and Animalis that were keeping her in this cell. All she had wanted was to have enough food for the two little embryos that were waiting for spring to begin growing. When something came into her life that was good and kind and consistent, she treasured it.

  ——

  “Please,” Misha asked. There was so much food in the old dog’s bowl. Wasn’t there enough for her to have just a bite?

  Misha was still very little, only two years old. Tall enough to reach her hand over the counter and pull things down, but not tall enough to defend herself. There were usually good things to eat up there, and whenever she got near the counter, she would pass her hand up over the edge. As long as one of the others in the shelter wasn’t looking. If she was caught, then she would run and hide. They kicked her, and said mean things to her if she didn’t. And she didn’t like mean things; she liked nice things.

  It was when her mother was away that she got into trouble. There would always be food when her mother was around. “Please,” she would say, and her mother always shared. But the shelter master didn’t like it when Misha said “Please.”

  “Here. Right here. Misha, come over here,” Tom hissed, calling to her from across the room. The glossy black stripe of fur that passed over his eyes like a mask glistened for a moment in the dusty sunbeam by the stairs, then he turned around and climbed up.

  Misha decided to try one last time. “Please,” she said.

  But the old dog growled at her. “Get out of here! Scrawny babe. You’re not worth the food your own mother gives you. Go!” he shouted. Then he swatted her with the back of his hand and she fell to the ground, twisting to catch herself so that her head didn’t hit hard like the last time. She decided to follow Tom. He wouldn’t have food, though. He was just a pup, like her. Smaller, but older.

  The old wooden stairs gave a hollow thump under her bare paws as she climbed up. Tom was near the window at the end of the room. It was hot up there, and Misha didn’t like to be hot. She didn’t like to be hungry. She didn’t like Tom, unless he gave her food.

  “What, Tom?” she said as she got closer to the window.

  He kept looking out. “We’ve got to do that, yeah,” he said, pointing down at the street outside. “Whatever he just did, look. They gave him food. See how full he is?”

  Misha pushed her snout in next to Tom to get a look. Across the street was another building with a steep roof and tall windows. Humans stood by the door, walked on the sidewalk, and others rode in cars passing in front of the building. There were lots of “hims.”

  But the two humans by the door: one was acting sleepy. The kind of sleepy that Misha had seen from new pups when they had eaten from their mother. While they watched, the tired, satisfied man pointed up at the roof of the building, and the other man looked up and nodded. Then they patted each other on the back, and the tired one got into a car and drove away. The remaining human looked at the roof again. He straightened his purple tie. He opened the door and then he walked back into the building.

  Misha was hot and growing more frustrated. Tom moved, bumping his elbow into her shoulder, and she nearly bit him. Don’t bite, she knew. After the first fierce slap on her snout from her mother, she knew, Don’t bite.

  “I think it’s broken, yeah.” Tom tapped the window, pointing to the roof. “See the piece that moves the water away to the ground? The gubber, it’s broken there.” He moved back and forth, excited to leave. />
  Misha followed after him, still not sure what they were going to do. Downstairs, Tom grabbed a coat from the closet and handed Misha another one. It was too hot for coats. It was too hot for clothes, if the older ones wouldn’t yell at her for not wearing any. But she wanted the food more, so she pulled on the big, hot coat.

  “Find something that needs fixed and tell me,” Tom said once they were outside. “Something broken, like that gubber. They gave food to that man when he told them it was broken. So we’ve got to find something that’s broken, then they’ll give us food.”

  Outside the shelter where the many Animalis families and loners stayed, Misha had to be careful. She and the others had to stay away from the humans. They did big, important, things: driving cars, and some came to the shelter and taught Misha about planes, and space, and mummies. If you didn’t do what a human told you to do, they could hurt you, or take you away, like they did to Misha’s dad. So Animalis had to know a lot about the humans. Like that the tall ones were human. Adults. And the short ones were children. Small, but still human.

  Misha thought she could probably stop a human child from hurting her. She could yell at it, “Stay still, or I’ll eat you!” But she would be in trouble if an adult heard her.

  Ahead of them, a human was coming on a bike. Misha hurried to the edge of the sidewalk and sat down. Tom came and stood by her, his head still bending around, looking for a broken thing.

  While Misha waited for the bike to pass, she looked as well. Sidewalk? Works for things to walk on: not broken. Steps to a building door? Works for getting things from low to high: not broken. Windows? Works for letting us see through them: But I can’t see into this building. The windows were all cloudy, reflecting away the brightness of the sun.

  “Those windows are broken,” Misha said to Tom, and he looked where she was pointing. “Windows let you see, and I can’t see through those.”

  “Those windows are broken! Yeah,” he said.

  Misha wasn’t sure if they were allowed to ring a door bell, but Tom was already climbing up the handrail to reach it. Once they heard the ringing, he leaped down next to her and straightened his coat.

  An adult pulled the door open, saw that there were two small Animalis on her stairs, and looked up and down the street. “What’s this?” she said. Misha thought it was a she because it had long hair. But sometimes boys had long hair. What else was different about boys and girls? She had a skirt on, with no hair on her legs: she was a girl.

  “Your windows are broken!” Tom shouted, and he held his hands out.

  Misha could tell that this human wasn’t mad. It seemed worried, until Tom had spoken, then it looked more worried.

  She stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “Are you two alone?” she asked.

  Misha looked at Tom, then back at the woman and said, “No, we’re together. We were looking for broken things, and your windows are broken.”

  “Oh,” she said. The worried look went away. Maybe that meant she would give them food now. “Which ones?”

  Misha and Tom stepped down the stairs with her while she looked back at the building.

  “I don’t see anything. No, they’re not broken,” she said. She looked up and down the street, all the worry back in her again.

  “But I can’t see through your windows,” Misha said to her.

  The woman looked up at them again and laughed. “Oh, dirty,” she said. “Those are dirty, you’re right. Thank you.”

  When she looked back down at Misha and Tom, this time smiling, Tom had his hands out again. Misha hadn’t seen the full, satisfied man do that, so she kept her hands at her sides.

  “Don’t you give us food now?” Tom asked.

  She looked at them for a moment. “No …” she said slowly. “Are you two from the shelter? I can’t give you food.” She laughed. “We’re not supposed to give you food.” She walked back to her door. Once she had the handle turned, she looked back at them. “Were you looking for a job?”

  “No,” Misha said. “Broken things.”

  “What’s a job?” Tom asked back.

  It was too hot. Misha was mad, hungry, and couldn’t think straight anymore. It was better to run and hide if she couldn’t remember what to do. So, before Tom or the human said anything else, she had started running away down the street. The woman called to her, and she felt the urge to stay. This woman had been kind and there was love in her eyes. But if Misha stayed while she was hot and confused, she could accidentally bite her, or hurt her, so she ran faster, which made her even hotter. The sounds of the cars, and the horns, and the humans all chased after her. She was in trouble; they would hurt her.

  She couldn’t find the shelter. In her panic, she must have run away down the wrong street. The heat was too much for her to keep running, so when she saw a dark, cold shadow under a large garbage bin, she scooted herself under it and hid.

  When night came, her mother found her. She brought her back to the shelter and fed her, and put her to bed. In the morning, Misha had her first job: cleaning the woman’s home with Tom. Washing windows with a cloth and soap—but not too much soap. Washing the floor, dusting, and vacuuming. When each job was done, the woman gave them both a treat.

  Being at the woman’s house was what Misha began to look forward to. The woman wasn’t like the old dog at the shelter, who constantly reminded Misha that he was more important than her. The woman was pleased to have Misha with her. And Misha loved the woman.

  A week later the job was done, and the woman said they had to say good-bye for the last time. Misha got up the next day, ready to go back to her house to clean, but Tom stopped her.

  “We’ve got to find another job, yeah,” he said, standing in Misha’s way.

  “I don’t want to have good-bye with her!” Misha cried. “She needs us. She wants us to be with her.”

  Tom had another idea. “There was a human that brought this food here. I saw him bringing it out of a truck, yeah. I bet he gets to eat lots of food.”

  But Misha didn’t want to go out again, wearing coats in the heat of summer, getting lost in the city. She stayed at the shelter, drowning in her sadness from not being able to see the woman anymore. While she was there at the shelter, a human came asking for Animalis that could clean. Misha’s mother talked to the man, and when he left, Misha went with him. She didn’t know it would be the last time she saw her mother.

  The man was cold and dominating. There were several other Animalis that cleaned for him, and he had strict rules for them. They cleaned homes, and hotels, and parks, and restrooms for the man. When an Animalis broke the rules, they were gone the next day and the man found a new Animalis to clean in their place. When Misha’s fingernails grew long, the man taught her to trim them. But when she was older, and found another boy Animalis that was just like her, she broke the man’s rules.

  The bear stood taller than most humans. His fur was black and glossy, flowing down from his chin under the plaid dress coat he wore. He was carrying luggage into one of the hotel rooms.

  He stopped at the doorway and turned to look at Misha. Like a bolt of lightning striking through her, her awareness of her body faded. There was nothing else in the world in that moment, looking at his eyes and him looking back into hers. The need to clean vanished. The need to eat was forgotten. The rules she had been trained to follow drifted out of her like they had never been there in the first place.

  Misha broke the rules, and when the hotel man looked into her eyes to ask her why her cleaning never got done that day, he ignited with rage.

  In one day, she had known love, but the next she was taken away and abandoned in another shelter. It had been six years since she had gotten her first job with Tom, and now she was alone, surrounded by strangers.

  There was never enough food again. She was always hungry. The human that helped at the shelter used a machine she hadn’t seen before, waving it over her body for a moment.

  “This is a CT scanner,” he
said. “It shows me what’s going on inside your body. You might … Oh. You’re pregnant. You’re … pregnant.”

  Then he kicked her out of the shelter. It was growing colder with winter approaching. Food was all she thought about. She had to eat.

  That’s why she was here at the arena.

  Her belly ached again, reminding her of her constant need. Soon she would eat, enough food to last through the winter. She would have to say good-bye to the human in the cell beside her, and she would miss him. When she was cold and alone and hungry, he had been kind.

  ——

  Jax saved a small portion of food for her whenever the guards tossed in his meals. It never felt like a substantial gift, but she always thanked him with sincerity when he passed it through the bars.

  Then one morning, she wasn’t there. There was no scuffle of rocks when he slid the food over. He waited.

  “Are you there? Still alive over there?” he called out to her.

  But there was no response.

  Jax heard the heavy steps of the rhinoceros guard coming.

  “Get up. You’re going into the arena, human,” the guard said. “Now.”

  Chapter 13

  Arena

  They couldn’t send Jax to the arena now. Hank and the captain were coming for him. They would be here.

  The rhinoceros struck the bars of the cell with an electrified stick and sent sparks showering onto the floor. There were two more guards behind him, a leopard and a water buffalo. Animals, trained to move and act like humans.

  The three guards extended their shock sticks into the cell, waving them around, trying to knock Jax to the ground. He dodged and ducked, then jumped forward and caught the handle of the water buffalo’s stick. Jax jerked it free and pulled it into the cage with him. He blocked a blow from the leopard and then struck back at it. There was a sharp buzz as the stick made contact with the leopard’s arm. It jerked convulsively and dropped to the ground.