She sat in the dark, nerves screaming with exhaustion. Big Bald rose treeless to the south, ghostly silver in the moonlight. It was completely still. Spooky. O God, the wilderness was spooky. She had tried to dismiss her fear contemptuously, then to examine it logically. But it was man’s primitive fear of the wilderness itself, its wildness, that she was afraid of, just as much as a madman with an ax. Driving up here, she had been fearful that demons would leap out of the shadows. Demons—the same that had frightened cavemen and the Pilgrim Fathers and made them set out grimly to ‘conquer the wilderness,’ turn it into a garden, to take its primeval menace out of it. Childish … But no—it was the primitive man in her.
She took a deep, tense breath, and reached for the whisky bottle.
If Bernard could see her now … Then she felt foolish for even thinking about him. She lit a cigarette with shaky fingers, and inhaled grimly.
She took another sip of whisky, and almost gagged. Then she could hear Jonas Ford saying, ‘Whisky isn’t a very feminine drink, my dear.’ Well to hell with you, Jonas, it tastes damn good, and it’s making me feel a whole lot better. Where the hell are you? While I sit here scared witless …
She sighed.
She was not being very reasonable. It had been her wild decision to hurl herself onto a plane and get down here. Jonas was doing the right thing, staying to organize things. And what good did she think she was going to do here, anyway? What was she going to do even if she found David Jordan and the animals?
She massaged her forehead with her fingertips.
She did not know.
Except somehow stand between the animals and a bloodbath, somehow shout the hillbilly gunmen out of shooting, somehow warn David Jordan about them, somehow shout some sense into him …
David Bloody Jordan … A fat chance she had of talking any sense into him. She remembered him clearly, and he was obviously very bright—even Jonas Ford had once described him as ‘very intelligent,’ and coming from Jonas that was quite something. The keepers had talked about him with such awe, and all the stories—like the time one of the grizzly bears had got his paw jammed in a tin can that some idiot had thrown into the pen. He was going berserk, and the staff was trying to lasso him to tie him down and there was a terrible hullabaloo, and apparently David Jordan had just walked into the den, cool as a cucumber, grabbed the enraged animal’s paw and wrestled the can off. ‘Quite fearless,’ the curator of mammals had described him. ‘Damn stupid,’ Jonas Ford had said. But even Jonas had described him as ‘quite a remarkable fellow,’ and the previous vet had said that he had ‘almost a Saint Franciscan ability with animals.’ She had heard a good deal about him before he had unexpectedly turned up at the zoo.
She’d heard the commotion in the Big Cat House, and gone over to investigate, and there was the great Davey Jordan going from cage to cage, and the cats were beside themselves with excitement, purring and rubbing themselves against the bars. She had watched, fascinated. She had read a good deal about people who can do wonderful things with animals. Quietly she had walked up to him. He paid no attention to her, just stood there, in his own private world of the animals, and he was smiling and talking to them softly; she could not catch the words but they were loving, and the look on his face was? … It was a beautiful private world she had glimpsed, of love and understanding between a man and animals, which she felt she had no right to enter, an inter-feeling she would never achieve with animals no matter how hard she tried. It had been an intrusion on her part when she finally tried to talk to him. He had been vaguely aloof, almost abrupt, as if he couldn’t waste his precious moments.
She could not remember now what she had said as openers—doubtless something corny—but she remembered he had said: ‘It’s not that animals are like us—it’s us who’re like them. If you put it the other way around you’re denying the theory of evolution. We’re all part of the same animal kingdom … every Behaviorist from Flaubert to Desmond Morris agrees there’s hardly an aspect of animal behavior that isn’t relevant to ours.’
And with that he had excused himself, leaving her feeling foolish. And she had been astonished at the articulate wisdom falling from the lips of a circus hand.
Which, afterward, she had resented. After all, she was the veterinary surgeon around here, it was her domain. But she had never forgotten the look on his face, the sweet vision she had glimpsed behind those eyes.
But, by God, she resented it now, with anger and fear in her heart, sitting like a fool again in her rented car in the middle of the wilderness in the middle of the night. Why was she always such a … sucker? For the … grand emotional gesture?
She lit another cigarette, and longed for daylight.
At three o’clock she was suddenly awake with a start, realizing she had been asleep. Her eyes darted about in the silent moonlight. Then they widened, and her stomach contracted.
A mass of moving blackness was coming out of the black forest onto the open grassy sag.
A man was jogging in the lead, and behind him were the big cats, ears back, tails low, then the elephants, then the gorillas, then the enormous bears, and behind them all was a huge man loping along with a dog. She gasped and wanted to run. All she knew was the raw human fright of wild animals coming at her. She cringed and stared. Then came the astonishment; such a disparate mixture of animals all following one man! She sat rigid at the spectacle of the magnetism some rare people have … then David Jordan glimpsed her car on the edge of the forest, and he stopped.
She collected her wits, and rolled down her window frantically. ‘Mr Jordan!’
He turned and started running for the forest, and the animals whirled around and followed him. She scrambled out of her car.
‘I’m the zoo vet—Dr. Johnson—I’m alone!’
He disappeared like a shadow into the forest, the animals crashing through the undergrowth after him. She yelled, ‘Wait—’ and stumbled into the open. ‘Mr Jordan! Look, I’m alone—I’m unarmed!’
She waited for his response, heart pounding, frightened. Then his hoarse voice came out of the black forest.
‘What do you want?’
She was so relieved she was almost crying. ‘Please—I’ve got to talk to you!’
‘What about?’
‘About the animals! This is a terrible thing you’re doing. You’ve got to give them back, for their own good!’
‘They’re not going back.’
She cried desperately across the moonlight: ‘You’ve got to listen to me! They’re going to be shot. I’ve seen the gun-crazy hillbillies in Erwin! I’ve seen them, I tell you—buying guns! And at the roadblocks. And the police are after you, and they’re not much better. You’re going to be surrounded!’
Davey crouched in the dark forest, his sweat glistening. ‘Where are they?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Last night they were at the last highway back there!’
‘They’re crazy if they shoot, that won’t get the animals back.’
‘Even the police will shoot! They’re frightened, don’t you understand? They aren’t used to wild animals here!’
‘Tell them they’re not wild animals—they won’t hurt anybody.’
Suddenly, a man called out behind her. ‘Okay, nobody else here.’
She spun around with a gasp, and stared up at the biggest man she had ever seen. ‘Who’re you?’
‘I won’t hurt you, ma’am.’
Davey stepped out of the forest, the big cats slinking behind him. She stepped back toward her car.
‘Please tell them everything will be all right if they don’t interfere,’ Davey called.
She cried, ‘What are you trying to prove?’
‘Just tell them to leave us alone.’
She cried, ‘This isn’t where these animals belong. They can’t fend for themselves!’
‘They’ll learn.’
‘The police art after you, I tell you. And the hunters—you know what they’re like. You’ll be shot to ribbo
ns!’
He broke into a jog, and the animals started after him. She stared in amazement all over again, then shouted desperately, ‘Listen, I’m a vet; I know what I’m talking about. Don’t you remember me—Dr. Johnson?’
He did not answer.
She cried: ‘Where are you taking them?’
But he did not answer. He jogged across the sag, the animals lumbering behind him.
She yelled: ‘I’ve got meat for the cats.’
Davey ignored her. She turned desperately to me big Indian. ‘Where are you going with them?
Big Charlie’s eyes were on the column of animals. He turned to follow them, but she grabbed his arm. ‘Where? …’
He looked down at her. ‘To the Garden of Eden.’
Her fingernails dug into his arm. ‘There is no such place! They’re going to die!’
He looked at her, then gently pulled his arm away.
‘Wait!’ She turned, flung open the back door of the car and grabbed her doctor’s bag. ‘Carry that!’
‘You can’t come with us, ma’am.’
‘The hell I can’t! Those are my animals, and I’ve got to look after them.’
She seized her new knapsack and sleeping bag. Charlie was staring at her, clutching her doctor’s bag. She hauled the big bag of meat off the back seat.
‘You can’t come with us.’
‘It’s a free country. Can you carry this meat?’
The animals were fifty yards away now, lumbering up the grassy slope of Big Bald in the moonlight. All senses were alert, the cold night air was moving over their bodies and into their nostrils. Elizabeth could still hardly believe what she was witnessing even though, as a scientist, she knew there were such people as David Jordan. Before she could hesitate she started jogging desperately up the grassy slope after them. Charlie Buffalohorn stood, holding her doctor’s bag and the meat, staring after her.
Then he started up the slope.
fourteen
It was some time before dawn.
Davey lay in the undergrowth on the edge of the forest, peering down onto Highway 23 at Sams Gap. The road was a black blur, ten feet below the embankment. Beyond it, the forest rose again.
He could see no vehicles, no people. He lay, panting, sweating, trying to press his exhaustion into the earth, waiting. For a match to flare, for a voice, for a shadow, for a vehicle to come along the highway out of the forested night and light up the road. For five minutes he waited, then he stood up, quietly as an Indian, and retraced his steps.
The big cats were scattered about in the darkness devouring the meat.
Elizabeth sat well away, slumped against a tree to cover her rear, her legs shaking. Her exhaustion was nothing compared to her fear of the huge dark shapes of the animals in the moon-dappled forest. For one moment she had looked straight into the eyes of the Siberian tiger; those big, carnivorous eyes in that huge killer face with that menacing body behind it, staring straight at her without any bars between them, and she had felt a terror so pure that all she had known to do was throw her arm across her face and cringe. Then Davey had tossed the tiger a hunk of meat, and she had grabbed it and turned away. Then he had turned away himself and melted into the darkness, and she had wanted to run after him for protection, to beg him not to leave her alone. She waited desperately for him to return, her knapsack clutched in front of her as a shield, listening to the sounds of feeding. When she saw David Jordan come back she felt a wave of relief so enormous that it was almost sexual in quality—he was her protector.
She tiptoed nervously over to him. He was squatting, his face in shadow.
‘Mr. Jordan? Please listen to me … for the animals’ own good.’
‘I’m listening.’
She swallowed, feeling inarticulate.
‘How do you think you’re going to get away with this?’
He did not look at her. ‘I’m not trying to get away with anything, Dr. Johnson. I’m just doing what is right.’
She cried softly. ‘Right? How can it be right to throw defenseless animals back into the wild?’
‘You asked me a question,’ he said quietly, ‘so listen to the answer.’
She took a quivering breath to contain herself. His voice and manner were so quietly determined they were almost military. His whole presence inspired confidence. ‘You’re a vet, you should know. It’s not right to keep an animal in a cage. You’ve seen them at that zoo of yours—you must’ve seen them in plenty of zoos.’ He shook his head at her across the dappled darkness. ‘Pacing about, in those tiny cages. Why are they doing that, Dr. Johnson? Mama, here, the tiger. Up and down, up and down. Why? Is it natural for a tiger to do that? Or is she doing it because she wants out? Because she wants space? Because her nerves and body and soul are crying out for freedom?’
‘But Mama doesn’t know about freedom! Any more than a child who grows up in Manhattan knows about Africa! She was born in captivity.’
He said quietly. ‘Then why does she do it? For fun? Because she’s enjoying herself? No, Dr. Johnson. She’s doing it because she just naturally knows she wants out. She’s yearning. And the other big cats in your zoo—they weren’t all born in captivity. They remember, just as you and I remember, natural things like freedom. They long for it. And the elephants and the hippo. And the gorillas …’ He shook his head. ‘Jamba—she wasn’t born in captivity, was she? And look at her tiny cage. Nor the two youngsters …’
Big Charlie said out of the darkness. ‘Cats finished eating.’
‘Mr Jordan, please listen …’
‘We’re going now, Dr. Johnson,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you very much for the meat. You better go back to your car. I don’t think you’ll keep up with us; you’ll be left behind. It would be much better if you went back and told them to leave us alone.’
She cried. ‘Where are you going?’
But he turned away from her and made a low whistling sound. All about her in the dark the big animals turned and shuffled; then he was moving among them like a shadow, making soft muttering noises, touching them and calling them by name. She grabbed her knapsack, too desperate to marvel at what she was seeing.
They slithered down the embankment at Sams Gap, and scrambled onto the highway. Davey ran across the road and leaped up into the forest on the other side, and the animals loped and lumbered urgently after him, followed by Big Charlie and Sam. Last of all stumbled Dr. Elizabeth Johnson.
Davey slogged up through the black forest, across the mountain-side, the animals strung out behind him. Elizabeth gasped. ‘Mr Buffalohorn!’
Big Charlie hesitated, then stopped. She toiled up to him, and dropped her medical bag.
‘You better quit, ma’am.’
‘I’m coming, dammit!’
She was bent double, hands on knees, head hanging. He hesitated, then picked up her doctor’s bag. He turned and started after the animals.
She straightened, exhausted, then started stumbling doggedly after him.
Just before sunrise Davey stopped. They were in dense forest about a mile down-mountain from the Appalachian Trail. Somewhere, above the thudding of her heart, Elizabeth could hear a waterfall. He said, ahead in the dark, ‘We’re sleeping here.’
She looked exhaustedly about for a good spot. She badly wanted to sleep near him, or Big Charlie, or both.
But she was not going to ask. She wasn’t going to sleep surrounded by animals either. She went plodding back up the mountainside, struggling through the undergrowth, for about twenty paces. Then down she slumped.
She woke with sun on her eyelids. And the dread.
She blinked; all she could see was dense foliage. She struggled out of her sleeping bag, then her heart suddenly tripped as she heard a branch snap. She jerked around and stared, heart pounding; then closed her eyes. They were still here—that was the sound of an elephant feeding.
‘Mr. Jordan?’ she whispered.
The elephant jerked and blundered farther into the forest.
&nb
sp; It was completely silent but for the hammering of her heart. She stood there, feeling helpless, afraid. She started rolling up her sleeping bag. Then out of the corner of her eyes she noticed a pair of black hairy legs. She jerked up, and looked straight into the blinking face of a chimpanzee, holding Big Charlie’s hand.
‘Oh, thank God …’ She closed her eyes. ‘Where’s Mr. Jordan?’
Charlie nodded downhill. ‘Asleep down there aways. Don’t do anything to wake him.’
‘And the animals?’
‘Down there too.’ He looked at her uncomfortably, eyes hooded in his brown face: ‘You’d better quit and go back today, Dr. Johnson. For your own sake.’
He had said it kindly. There was nothing she’d like better than to quit.
‘Well, I’m not going to … my own sake doesn’t matter. I’m staying for the animals’ sake.’
He built a tiny fire of dry twigs between two stones, balanced a little tin can of water and made coffee.
‘How long are you staying here?’
‘Until sunset. The animals need a good rest.’
‘And then?’
He did not answer. She wanted to cry out, For God’s sake tell me where you think you’re going.
‘The Garden of Eden, you said last night.’
Big Charlie fed twigs into the tiny fire. ‘Yes.’
She blurted, ‘There’s no such place.’
He did not answer. She closed her eyes in frustration. ‘Oh, for God’s sake give it up. They’re going to be shot to pieces. You know what a beast the American so-called hunter is! And I saw them, getting ready …’
He was staring into the little fire. Her hands were clenched; she stared at his big profile. He turned and looked at her, kindly.
‘It’s no good talking about it, Dr. Johnson.’
‘Where?’ she whispered fiercely. ‘And how the hell are you going to get there?’
‘It’s no use, Dr. Johnson. And it’s no good trying to talk to Davey about it, either. He’s got enough on his mind.’
Fear No Evil Page 7
