Too big for their faces, and for the world.
beds
One day, after many weeks of loud talking, Helen packed a bag and slammed the front door and never came back.
I don’t know why. I never know the why of humans.
That night, I slept with Mack in his bed.
My old nests were woven of leaves and sticks and shaped like his bathtub, cool green cocoons.
Mack’s bed, like mine, was flat, hot, without sticks or stars.
Still, he made a sleeping sound like the rumble my father used to make when all was well, a sound from deep inside his belly.
my place
Mack grew sullen. I grew bigger. I became what I was meant to be, too large for chairs, too strong for hugs, too big for human life.
I tried to stay calm, to move with dignity. I did my best to eat daintily. But human ways are hard to learn, especially when you’re not a human.
When I saw my new domain, I was thrilled, and who wouldn’t have been? It had no furniture to break. No glasses to smash. No toilets to drop Mack’s keys into.
It even had a tire swing.
I was relieved to have my own place.
Somehow, I didn’t realize I’d be here quite so long.
Now I drink Pepsi, eat old apples, watch reruns on TV.
But many days I forget what I am supposed to be. Am I a human? Am I a gorilla?
Humans have so many words, more than they truly need.
Still, they have no name for what I am.
nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-six days
Ruby is finally asleep. I watch her chest rise and fall. Bob, too, is snoring.
But my mind is still racing. For perhaps the first time ever, I’ve been remembering.
It’s an odd story to remember, I have to admit. My story has a strange shape: a stunted beginning, an endless middle.
I count all the days I’ve lived with humans. Gorillas count as well as anyone, although it’s not a particularly useful skill to have in the wild.
I’ve forgotten so many things, and yet I always know precisely how many days I’ve been in my domain.
I take one of the Magic Markers Julia gave me. I make an X, a small one, on my painted jungle wall.
I make more X’s, and more. I make an X for every day of my life with humans.
My marks look like this:
The rest of the night, I mark the days, and when I am done, my wall looks like this:
And so on, until there are nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-six X’s marching across my wall like a parade of ugly insects.
a visit
It’s almost morning when I hear steps. It’s Mack. He has a sharp smell. He weaves as he walks.
He stands next to my domain. His eyes are red. He is staring out the window at the empty parking lot.
“Ivan, my man,” he mumbles. “Ivan.” He presses his forehead against the glass. “We’ve been through a lot, you and me.”
a new beginning
We don’t see Mack for two days. When he returns, he doesn’t talk about Stella.
Mack says he is anxious to teach Ruby some tricks. He says the billboard is bringing in more visitors. He says it’s time for a new beginning.
All afternoon and into the evening Mack works with Ruby. Ruby’s feet are looped with rope so that she cannot run. A heavy chain hangs off her neck. Mack shows her Stella’s ball, her pedestal, her stool. He introduces her to Snickers.
When Ruby obeys Mack, he gives her a cube of sugar or a bit of dried apple. When she doesn’t, he yells and kicks at the sawdust.
When George and Julia arrive, Mack is still training Ruby. Julia sits on a bench and watches them. She draws a little, but mostly she keeps her eyes on Ruby.
Bob watches too. He’s hiding in the corner of my domain under Not-Tag. It’s raining outside, and Bob does not like damp feet.
Ruby trudges behind Mack, her head drooping. Endlessly they circle the ring. Sometimes Mack slaps her flank with his hand.
Suddenly Ruby jerks to a stop. Mack pulls the chain hard, but Ruby refuses to move.
“Come on, Ruby.” Mack is almost pleading. “What is your problem?”
“She’s exhausted,” I say to myself. “That’s the problem.”
Mack groans. “Idiot elephant.”
“Idiot human,” Bob mutters.
“Walk, Ruby,” I say, although I know she’s too far away to hear me. “Do what he says.”
“Walk,” Mack commands. “Now.”
Ruby doesn’t walk. She plops her rump on the sawdust floor.
“I think maybe she’s tired,” Julia says.
Mack wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. “Yeah, I know. We’re all tired.”
He pushes Ruby with the heel of his boot. She ignores him.
George looks over from the food court, where he is wiping off tables. “Mack,” he yells, “maybe you should call it a day. I’ll close up.”
Mack yanks on Ruby’s chain. She’s as anchored as a tree trunk. He pulls harder and falls to his knees. “That does it,” Mack says. He brushes sawdust off his jeans. “I am through playing around.”
Mack stomps off to his office. When he returns, he is carrying a long stick. The gleaming hook on its end is almost beautiful, like a sliver of moon.
It’s a claw-stick.
Mac pokes Ruby with the sharp point. Not hard. Just a touch.
I can tell he wants her to see how much it can hurt.
I growl low in my throat.
Ruby doesn’t budge. She is a gray, unmoving boulder. She closes her eyes, and for a moment I wonder if she might have fallen asleep.
“I’m warning you,” Mack says. He breathes out. He stares at the ceiling.
Ruby makes a huffing sound.
“Fine,” Mack says. “You want to play it that way?”
He draws back the claw-stick.
“No!” Julia cries.
“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Mack says. “I just want to get her attention.”
Bob snarls.
Mack swings. The hook slices the air just a few inches above Ruby’s head.
“See why you don’t want to mess with me?” Mack says. He draws back the claw-stick again. “Now move!”
Ruby jerks her head, flinging her trunk toward Mack.
She makes a noise that sends the sawdust scattering. It makes my glass shiver.
It is the most beautiful mad I have ever heard.
Ruby’s trunk slaps into Mack.
I don’t see exactly where she strikes him—somewhere below his stomach, I think—and I know he must be uncomfortable, because Mack drops the claw-stick and falls down on the ground and curls into a ball and howls like a baby.
“Direct hit,” Bob says.
poor mack
Mack groans. He stumbles to his feet and hobbles off toward his office. Ruby watches him leave. I can’t read her expression. Is she afraid? Relieved? Proud?
When Mack is gone, George and Julia lead Ruby from the ring. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” Julia says, stroking Ruby’s head.
They settle Ruby in her domain and make sure she has fresh water and food. Before long, Ruby’s dozing.
“Dad?” Julia asks as George locks Ruby’s iron door. “Do you think Mack would ever hurt Ruby?”
“I don’t think so, Jules,” George says. “At least I hope not.”
“Maybe we could call someone.”
George scratches his chin. “I wish I could help Ruby, but I wouldn’t know how. I mean, who would I call? The elephant cops? Besides”—George looks down—“I need this job, Jules. We need this job. Your mom, the doctor bills…” He kisses the top of Julia’s head. “Back to work. You and me both.”
Julia sighs and reaches for her backpack. She removes a piece of paper, a bottle of water, and a small metal box.
“Homework first,” George says, wagging a finger. “Then you can paint.”
“It’s for art class,” Julia explains. “W
e’re doing watercolors. I’m going to paint Ruby.”
George smiles. “All right, then. Just don’t forget your spelling.”
“Dad?” Julia asks again. “Did you see Mack’s face when Ruby hit him?”
George nods. “Yes,” he says solemnly. “I did.” He shakes his head. “Poor Mack.”
He turns away, and only then do I hear him laughing.
colors
Julia opens the metal box. I see a row of little squares. Green, blue, red, black, yellow, purple, orange: The colors seem to glow.
She pulls out a brush with a thin tuft of a tail at its end. She dips the brush in water and wets the paper, then taps at the red square.
When the brush meets the damp paper, pink petals of color unfurl like morning flowers.
I can’t take my eyes off that magical brush. For a moment, I’m not thinking about Ruby and Mack and the claw-stick and Stella.
Almost.
Julia touches red again, then blue, and there, suddenly, is the purple of a ripe grape. She touches the blue, and her paper turns to summer sky. Black and white, and now I see that she is painting a picture of Ruby. I can make out her floppy ears, her thick legs.
Julia stops painting. She takes a few steps back, hands on her hips, gazing at her work.
She scowls. “It’s not right,” she says. She glances over her shoulder at me. I try to look encouraging.
Julia starts to crumple up the paper, then reconsiders. Instead she slides it into my cage at the spot where my glass is broken. “Here you go,” she says. “A Julia original. That’ll be worth millions someday.”
Gingerly I pick up the paper. I do not eat a single bite of it.
“Oh. Hey, I almost forgot.” Julia runs to her backpack. She pulls out three plastic jars—one yellow, one blue, one red.
She opens the jars, and an odd, not-food smell hits my nose. Julia pushes the jars, one by one, through the opening. Then she slides some paper through.
“These are called finger paints,” she says. “My aunt gave them to me, but really, I’m too old for finger painting.”
I stick a finger into the red jar. The paint is thick as mud. It’s cool and smooth, like bananas underfoot.
I pop my finger into my mouth. It’s not exactly ripe mango, but it’s not bad.
Julia laughs. “You don’t eat it. You paint with it.” She grabs a piece of paper and presses her finger on it. “See? Like this.”
I place my finger on a piece of paper. I lift it, and a red mark is there.
I get a bigger glob from the pot and slap my hand down on the page. When I pull my hand off the paper, its red twin stays behind.
This isn’t like the ghostly handprints on my glass, the ones my visitors leave behind.
This handprint can’t be so easily wiped away.
a bad dream
I lie awake, peeling dried red paint off my fingertips. Bob, who accidentally walked on one of my paintings, is licking his red paws.
Every so often, I glance over at the empty ring. The claw-stick glints in the moonlight.
“Stop! No!” Ruby’s frantic cries startle me.
“Ruby,” I call, “you’re having a bad dream. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“Where’s Stella?” she asks, gulping air. Before I can answer, she says, “Never mind. I remember now.”
“Go back to sleep, Ruby,” I say. “You’ve had a hard day.”
“I can’t go back to sleep,” she says. “I’m afraid I’ll have the same dream. There was a sharp stick, and it hurt…”
I look at Bob, and he looks back at me.
“Oh,” Ruby says. “Oh. Mack.” She puts her trunk between the bars. “Do you think—” She hesitates. “Do you think Mack is mad because I hurt him today?”
I consider lying, but gorillas are terrible liars. “Probably,” I finally say.
“He ran away after that,” Ruby says.
Bob gives a scornful laugh. “Crawled away is more like it.”
We are quiet for a while. Branches claw at the roof. A light rain drums. One of the parrots murmurs something in her sleep.
Ruby breaks the silence. “Ivan? I smell something funny.”
“He can’t help it,” Bob says.
“I believe she’s referring to the finger paints Julia gave me,” I say.
“What are finger paints?” Ruby asks.
“You make pictures with them,” I explain.
“Could you make a picture of me?”
“Maybe someday.” I remember Julia’s picture, the one that will be worth a million dollars. I hold it up to the glass. “Look. It’s you. Julia made it.”
“It’s hard to see,” Ruby says. “There’s not much moonlight. Why do I have two trunks?”
I examine the picture. “Those are feet.”
“Why do I have two feet?”
“That’s called artistic license,” Bob says.
Ruby sighs. “Could you tell me another story?” she asks. “I don’t think I can ever go back to sleep.”
“I told you all I remember,” I say with a helpless shrug.
“Then tell me a new story,” she says. “Make something up.”
I try to think, but my thoughts keep returning to Mack and his claw-stick.
“Anything yet?” Ruby asks.
“I’m working on it.”
“Ivan?” Ruby presses. “Bob said you are going to save me.”
“I…” I search for true words. “I’m working on that, too.”
“Ivan?” Ruby says in a voice so low I can barely hear her. “I have another question.”
I can tell from the sound of her voice that this will be a question I don’t want to answer.
Ruby taps her trunk against the rusty iron bars of her door. “Do you think,” she asks, “that I’ll die in this domain someday, like Aunt Stella?”
Once again I consider lying, but when I look at Ruby, the half-formed words die in my throat. “Not if I can help it,” I say instead.
I feel something tighten in my chest, something dark and hot. “And it’s not a domain,” I add.
I pause, and then I say it. “It’s a cage.”
the story
I look at the ring, layered with fresh sawdust. I look at the skylight, at the half-hidden moon.
“I just thought of a story,” I say.
“Is it a made-up story or a true one?” Ruby asks.
“True,” I say. “I hope.”
Ruby leans against the bars. Her eyes hold the pale moon in them, the way a still pond holds stars.
“Once upon a time,” I say, “there was a baby elephant. She was smart and brave, and she needed to go to a place called a zoo.”
“What’s a zoo?” Ruby asks.
“A zoo, Ruby, is a place where humans make amends. A good zoo is a place where humans care for animals and keep them safe.”
“Did the baby elephant get to the zoo?” Ruby asks softly.
I don’t answer right away. “Yes,” I say at last.
“How did she get there?” Ruby asks.
“She had a friend,” I say. “A friend who made a promise.”
how
It takes a long time, but finally Ruby returns to sleep.
“Ivan,” Bob whispers, yawning, “what you said … about the zoo. How are you going to do it?”
Suddenly I feel as if I could sleep for a thousand days. “I don’t know,” I admit.
“You’ll think of something,” Bob says confidently, his voice trailing off as his eyes close.
“What if I don’t?” I ask, but Bob is already asleep.
His little red feet dance, and I know he’s running in his dreams.
remembering
Bob and Ruby sleep on.
I don’t sleep. I think about the promise I made to Stella, and the pictures I’ve made for Ruby. And I remember.
I remember it all.
what they did
We were clinging to our mother, my sister and I, when the humans kil
led her.
They shot my father next.
Then they chopped off their hands, their feet, their heads.
something else to buy
There is a cluttered, musty store near my cage.
They sell an ashtray there. It is made from the hand of a gorilla.
another ivan
When morning comes and the parking lot glimmers with dew, I see the billboard on the highway.
There I am: the One and Only Ivan, bathed in the pink light of dawn. I look so angry, with my furrowed brow and clenched fists.
I look the way my father did, the day the men came.
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