Fear No Evil

by John Gordon Davis

  She snorted. ‘Of course I’m going to talk to him; I don’t care how angry he gets.’

  Big Charlie shook his head.

  ‘He won’t get mad. Takes an awful lot to make Davey mad. He just won’t argue with you, that’s all. He’ll just walk away.’

  Big Charlie stood up and turned away himself.

  ‘Where are you going?’she appealed.

  He stopped and looked back at her. Then she understood.

  ‘All right—I won’t talk about it anymore. Please don’t leave me here …’

  ‘Okay. Come with me.’

  He started walking back up the mountain. She started hurrying painfully after him.

  About half a mile up the mountain, on a rocky outcrop, sat Sam, on guard, thumping his tail in welcome.

  She would remember it disjointedly: her body aching, her head light from not enough sleep; the unreality of the forest, the animals, the twittering of the birds through her harried thoughts; the whole extraordinary thing. The big Indian sat, waiting. The gentleness behind his bulk, the quiet strength that did not need to be leashed because it was so … confident? So gentle that she did not want to upset him by breaking her bargain. She would, she had to—but at the right moment.

  And the strange, beautiful wolf-dog, Sam. He was so serious, ears cocked, staring fixedly up the mountainside. Suspicious of her, tolerating her only because of the Indian’s presence. She wanted him to accept her, she wanted to stretch out and fondle him, tell him he was a good dog. But she didn’t—it would almost have been a presumption, an intrusion into such professionalism. But all the while was the frustration of waiting.

  ‘Does Sam understand?’

  The wolf laid his ears back, but did not turn.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘That he’s on guard for pursuers?’

  Big Charlie looked at her. ‘Of course. He’s trained.’

  Of course. It seemed a silly question now. ‘What’ll he do if he sees anybody coming? Bark?’

  ‘Run and wake Davey. He knows he’s got to keep his mouth shut unless it’s a real emergency.’

  Oh, lovely Sam …

  ‘Is he very fierce?’

  A wisp of a smile crossed Charlie’s face.

  ‘He’s pretty friendly.’

  ‘But would he attack?’

  ‘Only if he had to. Then he’d be fierce. But usually his bark’s worse than his bite.’

  She smiled. ‘How does he like the other animals?’

  ‘He likes them fine. He’s used to them.’

  ‘But he’s never had to herd them before.’

  ‘No. I guess he’s not too crazy about that. They’re all pretty big.’ He added. ‘The big cats, he’s not too keen on them.’

  For the first time in a long time she smiled, and tears burned in her eyes. Oh, Sam …

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ she whispered. ‘Does he chase ordinary cats?’

  ‘If he gets the chance. But with these big ones? He’s not stupid, Sam.’

  They both smiled. It was a little shared amusement at Sam’s expense. Then the moment passed. Charlie looked solemn again.

  ‘And the other animals? Do you think they understand what’s happening?’

  Big Charlie looked surprised. ‘Sure.’

  She felt almost foolish.

  ‘But how?’

  He looked at her. ‘Because they know. That they’re out of their cages and running away: Davey’s telling them to run.’ He added, They can feel what each other’s feeling. They know. There’s a—sort of bond between them. To follow and run. Can’t you feel it?’

  Yes, she could. But no, she did not believe it. Not a bond, a common purpose, to run away from their cages. Surely they wanted to be back in their cages, where it was safe; they were frightened, that’s why they were running. They were only keeping together because they were frightened, and because they were trained animals, and because Davey Jordan was the only security blanket they had.

  The silence returned. Just the occasional cheeping of a bird. The vast, eerie wilderness. Her nerves were tight with the waiting—waiting for David Jordan to wake up so she could try to talk him out of this madness.

  Then, completely silently, he was there. Sam’s tail thumped in greeting; she looked around, and he was standing behind her: a lean young man, with the most penetratingly gentle eyes she had ever seen.

  Afterward, when she tried to remember what she said, how she said it, whether she had spoken too forcefully or not, she was unable to reconstruct it fully. She was articulate; she had been on her university debating team; she knew what she was talking about; she could be forceful when she wanted to be—overly emotional perhaps, but she defended herself and what was right. What she would remember was feeling blustery and impotent against this quiet, gentle man, who refused to argue with her, who listened to her politely enough but who did not want to talk to her at all, who did so only as an act of hospitality. He was a private man who seemed to know what she was going to say, who had heard it all before; a man who had made all his decisions, and no matter what she said and pleaded and preached, would remain unmoved.

  But she remembered him saying, almost reluctantly, ‘I was there the day those baby elephants arrived from India. At Kennedy airport, in the middle of the night. They were reaching out for each other with their trunks, for comfort. Pushing their trunks into each other’s mouths, and everybody was saying. ‘Ah, aren’t they cute!’ But nobody felt bad for taking those poor animals away from their natural home.’ He’d looked at her, and she would remember his quiet intensity. ‘Because people are strange, Dr. Johnson. Somehow they think it’s all right to make animals unhappy, and treat them as curiosities. I remember the vet saying, “I got a real live baby elephant.”’ He’d looked at her, puzzled. ‘In prison, Dr. Johnson. For life. And yet that vet was a kind man.’ He shook his head. ‘Every day you see those animals in their cages—pacing up and down, up and down. For the rest of their lives … You’ve seen it in your zoo, seen it in the Central Park Zoo.’

  She would remember protesting, ‘Kindly don’t compare us with Central Park. That zoo’s a disgrace.’

  He said quietly: ‘All zoos are, Doctor. Your Bronx Zoo is worse. Because you’re the famous New York Zoological Society, with all the money and all the university degrees. But you’ve got all those tiny cages. Outside in the grounds there are hundreds of acres for people to walk around enjoying themselves looking at the unhappy animals … innocent animals, who’ve committed no crime.’

  She had started to interrupt, but he went on quietly.

  ‘And we look at that miserable animal in its cage and say, ‘Isn’t that interesting—look at the elephant.’ What kind of creature are we, that takes pleasure in another creature’s misery? Even though we like that animal …’

  ‘That’s not all there is to it. Mr. Jordan. Zoos do a great deal toward conserving animal life—and educating the public.’

  For a moment he had looked as if he were going to argue with her, then he just said, kindly, ‘I can’t understand you, Dr. Johnson. You’re a vet. All the good things you can do. Heal animals …’ He looked at her in real puzzlement. ‘You’re a kind person. But you’re really a prison doctor. You’re a doctor who wants to keep his prisoners forever, Dr. Johnson. Not send them home when they’re better—just keep them in prison forever so you can admire them.’

  She had been absolutely indignant. ‘Rubbish!’

  ‘It’s as if you went to Africa and captured all kinds of black people, brought them back here, and stuck them in cages as Montezuma did, so people could go and look at them on Sundays with their children.’

  ‘Rubbish! There’s no comparison. Animals aren’t people.’

  But he’d withdrawn, as if he regretted having let himself be drawn out at all, sorry for having hurt her feelings unnecessarily, because she would never understand.

  Later, cooled down, she tried again.

  ‘But what are you trying to do, Mr. Jordan? I mean—
please believe me, I love these animals as much as you do, and I deeply resent your calling me a prison doctor. But what are you trying to achieve? Are you hoping to make such an impression with this extraordinary feat that the whole world is going to be up in arms against zoos and somehow just turn their animals loose in the forests around London and Los Angeles and Tokyo? If so you’re wrong.’

  But he was not going to argue about it, because she would never understand. When he spoke it was not in reply, but rather an articulation of a private thought.

  ‘There is a way of life, a way of thinking, of … behaving toward other men and your fellow creatures … toward all living things … toward the whole earth, and the sky, and the sun … that is based on love. On compassion. On respect. On cherishing everything there is around you, because it’s wonderful. Unique. It’s natural and … good, and it evolved that way all by itself. It’s got to be cherished. And if we think like that, and live that kind of life, we can all have our freedom, we can all have our happiness. … We can all feel the sun, and smell the grass and smell the flowers and look upon each other with … appreciation …’

  “That’s the Garden of Eden. It doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe in parts of Africa. But you can’t try to re-create it in the United States of America.’

  For the first time he almost argued with her. ‘Not in the richest, the cleverest, the most … inventive … the biggest, the most successful country in the world? Or can man only be successful when he hogs the whole world for himself?’

  ‘Are you suggesting we revert to a state of nature?’

  He said quietly, ‘It’s a state of mind, Dr. Johnson. A state of heart. A state of soul. A state of God, maybe.’

  He stood up. The discussion was over.

  She would remember that day as a kind of dream.

  There was a little grassy glen below the waterfall she had heard last night. Sam was left on guard up on the mountain, while Big Charlie slept beneath a tree, the chimpanzee called Daisy sitting nearby. Most of the other animals were in the forest. Elizabeth glimpsed them through the trees from where she sat, near the waterfall, her body stiff and aching, her nerves tight with frustration and anxiety about the gunmen that must be closing in on them now. Only the big cats were in the open glen, except Mama, the zoo tiger, who crouched near Davey and balefully watched the other big cats. Mama wasn’t going to have anything to do with them. On Davey’s side sat the little chimpanzee. Elizabeth thought it was a pathetic, colorless little animal.

  The waterfall cascaded into pools; the sun dappled gold through the treetops, sparkling on the cold clear water, warming the rich earth; and the spring air was crisp and soft and clean.

  And Sally wallowed in the gurgling pools.

  Wallowed and huffed and sighed, big fat old Sally who had exhausted herself stumbling along at the rear of the troupe of animals, her old heart pounding and her hooves sore and scored. Now she had slept off her exhaustion, lying flat out like a felled ox, and when she woke up she had heaved herself up and waddled down to the stream, and stood there in the misty sunlight, staring at the first running water she had seen in her whole life: real sparkling water, tumbling and swirling through real pools, with real weeds and reeds and mosses. Sally had never seen, nor smelled, all these wonderful, almost frightening things, and she stood on the bank and sniffed and hesitated, showing the whites of her eyes. She knew this place was good, but still she was nervous. Then, finally, she tentatively put one sore hoof into the water. She flinched at the cold, but she wanted the water, cold or not; wanted to plunge her great weary body into the buoyant balm of it, wanted it to soothe and support her. For a long quivering moment old Sally hesitated, then she sort of bunched up her big haunches, and she plunged.

  With a resounding splash, and a snort, she thrust her head down, and then she was gone in a flurry of hooves, her fat old body suddenly streamlined, surging like a submarine. Sally swam, the water churning about her, and she no longer felt the cold—just joy, of her body working naturally as a hippopotamus’s body is meant to do; she no longer felt her aches, and her hooves did not hurt anymore. Sally swam underwater, her eyes wide at the rocks about her, her ears filled with the crashing of the waterfall; then she came up to breathe, surging and huffing. The water cascaded down on her black shiny head, and rainbows sparkled about her in the morning sun.

  She sank back under the stony bottom of the swirling pool, and pushed by the current, she walked, bumping against the smooth boulders, peering all around, nosing and nudging around the rocks, into dark places, all for the sheer pleasure of it. Then she broke surface with a gush; her ears pricked, her eyes widened and her nostrils dilated; then she turned, and plunged back under and swam into the current again, churning back to the waterfall.

  Sitting on the bank, Elizabeth could almost feel, through her frustration and fear, the old hippo’s happiness, almost feel the pleasure of the water surging about her body, the joy of doing what she was meant to do—and in all the beautiful space, with the sunshine and the rainbows and all the green things growing.

  And Elizabeth’s face softened, and she smiled.

  Davey would not talk about it any more.

  He had not said so, but she sensed and saw it: in his apartness; although he sat only a few paces from her; in his privacy; in his absorption in the animals. It was like an unspoken agreement between them that she could stay a while and rest, and even, he hoped, enjoy, provided she did not try to argue with him. He was in his own world.

  She wanted to cry out, What about these men following you?—but she just sat, stiffly, trying to bide her time.

  She worried for them all, but, after Sally, she worried most about the big cats: the bears could feed themselves, so could the elephants, the gorillas too—but the lions and the tigers could not.

  They were grouped together uneasily in the middle of the glen, Sultan sitting disconsolately apart. They were all scared to venture closer to the trees—if there were a cave they would be huddled into it; the only reason they weren’t huddled around Davey was because Mama was glaring them off. Mama was tense, aggressive, clinging catlike to her only security, the man she knew.

  While he sat, immobile, watching with patient silence, Elizabeth worried herself sick. How did he do it, just sitting there?—didn’t he know all hell was about to break loose? He was almost … military, in his self-control. While Big Charlie slept, and the birds twittered, and the waterfall cascaded and Sally huffed and surged.

  But then, as Elizabeth stiffly watched, Kitty, the lioness, began to play.

  Suddenly she rolled onto her back and presented her belly to the sunshine, paws in the air; then her eyes rolled wickedly, and, with a sudden twist, she was on her feet: crouched, poised, tail flicking, looking for something to pounce on; and suddenly she pounced.

  Onto nothing. She was springing up and crashing down on her forepaws, rump up in the air. She swatted her imaginary quarry with her big paws. Then she whirled around and went racing up the glen in furious mock flight, skillfully dodging invisible assailants. Then she whirled and raced back to Tommy and Princess, She skidded to a halt in front of Tommy, her tail held high. Princess sprang up and hissed and raised her paw, ears back dangerously, but big Tommy just looked at her. Kitty ignored Princess and jerked provocatively to galvanize Tommy into action, and she growled deep in her throat; Tommy just turned his head and looked disdainfully away.

  So Kitty whirled around, and fled up the glen again, and swung around and stopped. Crouching low, head just poking up above the grass, waiting for Tommy to pursue her. But Tommy lay down elaborately and sighed. Then Kitty’s gaze fixed on Sultan, and every muscle tensed; she began to stalk him. Treacherously, head low, killer paws padding, eyes boring. Sultan sat alone, and miser-ably watched her out of the corner of his eye. He knew what was going to happen. Closer and slowly closer Kitty stalked, her killer gaze fixed murderously on the unhappy tiger. All eyes were watching her. Sultan sat there on his haunches, rigid, head up, tail wrapped
protectively around his front paws, his nose pointed fixedly across the glen, but gloomily watching Kitty.

  For Sultan knew that she was going to bully him, challenge him, humiliate him, and finally pounce on him and make him run away, stripping him of such dignity as he had. This is how it had been in the circus all his life. He watched Kitty stalk him, and he pretended to ignore her with the last of his dignity, his heart sinking. Closer and closer Kitty crept, her heart pounding joyfully; then, when she was three paces from him, she froze and stared at him.

  Her eyes didn’t waver; every muscle was tuning itself up for her sport, and Sultan sat, agonized, tensed for humiliating flight, but postponing it until he absolutely had to. Kitty jerked, and Sultan suddenly jerked too. Then Sultan, to his own and Kitty’s astonishment, did something he had never done before: he made a pre-emptive strike.

  Suddenly Sultan was unable to bear the suspense any longer, and in one terrified spasm he threw himself at Kitty with a roar, all jaws and paws. Kitty scrambled up in disarray, and Sultan hit her full on the chest. He bowled her over in a snarling crash before she knew what had hit her, and in a flash he was at her throat. Kitty kicked, roared and twisted, and scrambled up to flee; then Sultan, who had been doing so well, who should now have persevered and put Kitty in her place, spoiled it all and fled himself .

  He turned and ran, in horror at his own audacity, and Kitty collected her scattered wits and whirled around in hot pursuit. Sultan fled up the glen, making for Davey as fast as his legs would carry him, with Kitty bounding furiously after him. Elizabeth cringed in terror, and Sally, who had temporarily vacated the pool for a breather, blundered back into it with a mighty splash and disappeared gratefully to the bottom. Sultan came racing flat out to Davey. Then Mama entered this fast-moving scene.

  Suddenly Mama reacted to the invasion of her territory, and she sprang from Davey’s side and bounded at the offending Sultan, who found himself running from one terrible tiger slap-bang into the awful wrath of yet another one; and he swerved at full tilt and went racing at a tree.

  Now, Sultan knew nothing about trees, but he instinctively threw himself at the nearest one and clawed his way up it. Which, unfortunately, of all the trees in the forest he might have chosen, was built as unhelpfully as a telephone pole. But Sultan hurled himself up this tree with the professionalism born of terror, and Mama bounded at Kitty instead.