Fear No Evil

by John Gordon Davis

‘And we Cherokees look about us with joy and wonder. But then what do we see?’ He looked grim suddenly, and said slowly, sadly, ‘We see the White Man descend upon us, all over again. To spoil it all again. Ruthlessly, thoughtlessly determined to start a new Trail of Tears all over again…’

  fifty-five

  Elizabeth went down to the lake through the early morning mist, peeled off her clothes, and dove in.

  The water was like glass, and it was icy cold. She struck out from the bank for two hundred strokes, whirled around, and came splashing back. She scrambled out, gasping and goosefleshed—but she felt wonderful. As she dried herself she looked down at her legs: they were firm, the dimples gone from her thighs, her whole leg shapely. She gripped a handful of buttock, and it too was hard; and the spare tire was gone from her stomach; she could feel flat muscle underneath.

  She combed out her wet hair, feeling the glow of her new body, the joy of a beautiful day. She dressed in fresh clothes, and began to head back through the forest.

  Eric Bradman had left last night, after two intensive days. She had been impressed by how hard he had worked, how fast, how ingeniously. She had also been very impressed with Davey. He had been highly anxious that Bradman make a good film, and he was nervous; but when he had to speak she had been astonished at his fluency; he had spoken with a confidence that was both so intense and gentle that it reached out and took your heart; he had projected his strength of character beautifully—his goodness. And when he smiled he had touched her so, that she just wanted to love him.

  Yes, love him. Not in a man-woman, romantic way, but as a person, for his warmth and justness. And dear, sweet Big Charlie. In his gentle-giant manner he had come across beautifully too. He had been horrified to learn he too was going to appear on film. But he had done it. Eric Bradman himself had been excellent, the born preacher, eloquent, with such clever powers of persuasion; they could not have had a better advocate!

  And Bradman had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He had wanted much longer to do them full justice, but he had to get back to develop his film. His confidence had been infectious: By God, he was going to jerk tears from every eye in the world. Did not every man still yearn for paradise? And it had seemed as if Nature and the animals had gotten together and resolved to put their best foot forward: with the early morning mists and the sunrises glinting in tiny spectrums on the dewdrops, and the spring buds and flowers, and the buzzing of the bees and the singing of the birds.

  When the sun came up, King Kong and Auntie still were lying in their nests, stretching, yawning, scratching. For a while they had hung around the cabin, eyes soulful, waiting for Davey to tell them what to do. Then they began to melt into the forest, to feed, and the chimpanzees went with them.

  They were still cautious. But they began to relax in the warming sunshine, in the pleasure of feeding on the lush abundance, in experimenting, examining new morsels between forefinger and thumb, thoughtfully tasting. They browsed across the open pasture and into the forest, getting bolder and bolder, losing sight of each other but Communicating by grunts.

  King Kong was always on the alert. For now, back in the wilderness, his dimmed memory had returned of that terrible day a decade ago when men had murdered his clan to capture him; the shattering gunfire, the screams, the terror, and the clubs. And King Kong knew now that he was naturally the leader, even of the chimpanzees, for might is right in the kingdom of apes. Even Florrie, who used to be the boss of the chimps in the circus, accepted that now.

  So big King Kong stalked warily through his new kingdom on his knuckles, and even when he stopped to eat he was watchful. When he lost sight of Auntie or of one of the chimps for too long, he gave a short bark, and they came back; when it was time to move he gave an imperative grunt and stared in the direction he wanted them to go, and they went.

  So when Eric Bradman had come stalking up with his camera, Auntie bobbed out of sight, then promptly bobbed up again—but King Kong ripped up foliage, threw it in the air, and beat his black chest as his troupe fled. Then he spotted Davey, and stopped in mid-roar. He stared, blinked, and slowly lowered himself.

  Davey approached him, smiling and congratulating him, and Bradman filmed. The chimpanzees and Auntie came creeping back when he called, and, when they were quite reassured, they went up to the camera and stared inquisitively into it, almost poking their fingers into the audience’s eye. But not King Kong. He stood back, like a great dangerous dog, and glowered and grunted, and made it clear that only because Davey was there did he tolerate such foolishness.

  But with patience and Davey’s conspicuous presence even King Kong reluctantly settled down to Bradman. He filmed them feeding, and then playing, climbing trees. Elizabeth had stood in front of the camera and said, This is probably the first time in their lives that these two gorillas have actually played. This is the most mind-blowing cruelty that most zoos commit—and all circuses: nothing for their animals to play with. Including, I’m sorry to admit, the famous Bronx Zoo. We have a very modern Ape House, but our huge gorillas have only one small cell and one concrete tree. The London Zoo is no better. Even human prisoners have recreation. It is a scientific fact that all animals need to play, just as we do—for exercise, to give Vent to natural feelings. But these animals are still experimenting. Now that the desperate business of survival is over, they’re learning. In fact, they’re overdoing it. They’re eating until the edge is off their appetite, then off they go to romp, then they get a bit confused and stop. That’s because they’re run out of ideas. These natural playthings are new to them. Then the chimpanzees tumble and roll—that’s probably a circus trick, but now they’re doing it for fun. They’re having a lovely time …’

  She had committed herself. And she was glad. It was definitely a breach of her contract of employment. It probably even made her an accomplice. She did not care.

  But when she came walking up to the cabin after her swim, her towel over her shoulder, she sensed something was different, and immediately she spotted it: Davey’s knapsack was packed, and Big Charlie’s was gone.

  ‘Where’s Charlie?’ Her heart was sinking.

  Davey had water boiling. ‘Up to the top,’ he said. ‘Thunder-head.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To keep a lookout.’ He poured water into her cup for coffee.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m going to look after the lions for a while. Teach them to hunt.’

  She stared at him. ‘Am I going with you?’

  He looked at her apologetically.

  ‘No, Dr. Johnson. I need to be alone to teach them. It’s getting urgent now.’

  She sat down slowly. ‘Yes. Of course …’ She felt for her cigarettes. ‘And?What am I—what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Will you be afraid to stay here by yourself?’

  Of course she would be afraid. ‘Can I keep Sam?’

  Sam cocked his ears at hearing his name. ‘I need Sam to herd the wild boar.’

  She nodded distractedly. ‘Of course … no. No, I won’t be afraid.’ And she wouldn’t be. She would have the animals for company at night.

  ‘You don’t need Sam to protect you. I wouldn’t leave you alone if I thought that.’

  ‘No, I know.’ She fumbled mentally. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Stop the animals hanging around the cabin. Take them away each day. Then leave them.’

  She stared at him. ‘Will they follow me?’

  ‘If I’m not here. In fact, they’ll start going off by themselves. It’s important that I’m not here. That they don’t see me.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. I understand … When are you leaving?’

  ‘Right now. I’m going to slip out the back door so they don’t see me go.’

  ‘Oh Right … What do I do if I need help? Come up to the lions’ den?’

  ‘Only if it’s an emergency.’ He smiled. ‘Try not to worry, Dr. Johnson. Big Charlie’s up there. With a whole lot of Cherokees dotted all along that trai
l. They’ll know when anybody’s coming.’

  Thank God for that.

  ‘Then what’ll Charlie do?’

  ‘Those guys know what to do. They’re pretty smart about these woods.’ Yes, of course. Thank God for Big Charlie.

  ‘Okay.’ She forced a smile. ‘When do I see you again?’

  ‘I’ll need as long as it takes, Dr. Johnson. It’s not us that matters. It’s the animals.’

  She nodded.

  His face filled with optimism.

  ‘But I don’t think it’ll be very long—before Operation Noah is cancelled. Mr. Bradman’s film will go out on television tonight.’

  She looked at his strong, gentle face, alight with enthusiasm, and she felt her spirits rise.

  ‘Good.’ She smiled a little wryly. ‘So that’s why you left me alone four days ago. To test me. See if I could take it.’

  ‘To give you a chance to think about all of it. You can still leave now, if you want.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  He smiled, ‘Okay.’

  He stood up. ‘So long, Dr. Johnson.’

  She wanted to close her eyes and whisper. Just hold me, Davey … just hold me once tight. She looked at him.

  ‘So long. Pardner …’ She smiled tightly. ‘Please give my love to the lions. And lots to poor old Sultan.’

  He picked up his knapsack, slung it across one shoulder, and picked up the rifle.

  He looked at her; he hesitated; then, gently, he put his hand on top of her head.

  She closed her eyes. There was nothing amorous about his touching her. But she could almost feel a balm coming out of his hand that made her want to stretch up her arms to him. For a moment they were completely still. She opened her eyes. He looked down at her and gave her the most gentle, affectionate smile. Then he turned and silently slipped out the back door.

  She whispered, to herself: ‘And please call me Elizabeth.’

  For five minutes she sat. Examining how she felt.

  Davey Jordan had just touched her, for the first time. And she understood a little better his sweet magnetism. She had glimpsed, in that moment, how the animals felt when he touched them.

  Now he was gone, and she felt lost. Not afraid. Bereft. When Bradman had left, some of her confidence had gone with him. But now Davey had gone, and she felt bereft. If she never saw him again, she would feel grief. She would want to search the world for him; and if she never saw him again, she would cherish her memory of him and rejoice in the vision she had glimpsed and shared with him: a man with the strength and the sweetness to recreate paradise.

  Out of the strong came forth sweetness ...

  Then, out of nowhere, she remembered the letter in her pocket. She had read it a dozen times; each time it had put her emotions in a whirl, she had put it back, and put off making the decision.

  She slowly opened the letter again.

  My darling Liz…

  She stopped there. She knew what her decision was.

  But for another long moment she hesitated. Then she slowly reached out and dropped the letter into the fire, and watched the flames eat it.

  There … She was free, too, now …

  fifty-six

  The town of Gatlinburg nestles in the Tennessee foothills of the Smokies. It is a pretty town, one broad main street sweeping right out of the wilderness, lined with shops and restaurants and woodsy motels with rustic fences. It is a prosperous little place, for every year eight million tourists pass through. The folk are decent and friendly. But they were not so friendly tonight.

  A meeting was being held in the Civic Center. Almost every man and his wife were there, plus many of the press contingent from the Operation Noah camp, and a large group from the campgrounds of Cherokee. Sheriff Lonnogan from neighbouring Hawker County was there, complete with fractured ribs sustained in his fight with Forsythe, accompanied by his son and Jeb Wiggins. The meeting was presided over by an elected chairman, and its purpose was to discuss The Situation. Gatlinburg should have been starting to enjoy its annual tourist boom, yet the Great Smoky Mountains National Park was sealed tighter than a drum. The Rod and Gun Club had formed themselves into a Home Guard to protect Gat-linburg from the predations of the animals suddenly infesting this neck of the woods, and this gave the town an air of siege. It was a stormy meeting, and it was being televised.

  The first image to appear on the screen was of an angry man saying, ‘Where’s the tourists? Locked out! Our motels empty. Our shops empty. Even the hippie-types and journalists are all over at Cherokee where the action is! The Chamber of Commerce says trade is down ninety percent on last year. We’re losing money hand over fist while this hired gun from South Africa sits in his tent with his sprained ankle at a thousand bucks a day!’

  Loud cheers. The Chairman said, ‘What is your proposal, Mr. Dickson?’

  ‘I say we give the government an ultimatum: get those animals out in seven days or we go in and get ’em ourselves.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Why’re we pussyfooting round with Big Apple zookeepers and English schoolboys from Africa? Gatlinburg has a proud mountain tradition; we’re quite capable of looking after ourselves!’

  There were loud cheers, and a woman’s voice shouted, ‘What about our children?’

  ‘One at a time, please—this is a democratic meeting.’

  Freda Jackson stood up defiantly. ‘All we hear about is the Chamber of Commerce. I say, what about our children while all these dangerous animals are loose? Lions and tigers and grizzly bears! Not to mention elephants that could smash that barricade down in one thump and come charging right through the town. How can we let our children go out? Even to Sunday School. Just go down to the drugstore for a soda? Even let them drive their cars in case they get charged by an elephant! Now that isn’t farfetched, Mr. Chairman; we saw what happened in Hot Springs.’

  Cheers and jeers, and the Chairman shouted, ‘Order, please. Mr. Dickson, what is your proposal exactly? This meeting will be a failure if we don’t come up with a constructive proposal to put to the authorities.’

  ‘Well,’ Hank Dickson started, ‘if this hired gun from South Africa hasn’t succeeded with his fancy drugs in seven days—or five days—I say we are the authorities.’ (Cheers and boos.) ‘These mountains aren’t meant for wild animals—they’re ours. We got plenty of good hunters offering to do their civic duty!’

  There was loud jeering and shouts of ‘shame,’ and a bunch of young people started derisively singing, ‘Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier.’

  Another voice made itself heard: ‘With these exotic animals, our tourist traffic would double. What a story! People will come from far and wide to see our elephants and lions and gorillas. Especially if we encourage them to live in an open area like Cades Cove. We’ll have wall-to-wall tourists. We’ll become famous as the American town that set itself up as a miniature Africa. I say we should get more animals. Let them breed. And as for the animals attacking us, that’s really rubbish. Animals know where they’re safe, and they stick there; they don’t come out of the game reserves in Africa, or attack the tourists in their cars.’

  ‘Once is enough,’ somebody shouted.

  ‘But this is not Africa,’ the chairman said. ‘The point is these mountains are for hikers; the people of Gatlinburg go for picnics, eight million tourists a year pass through.’

  A woman stood up. ‘Good God! Is this what we Americans have come to? The wilderness is just for picnics? Is this all that’s left of the American frontier spirit—tourists in their automobiles? What’s happened to us? We’ve got black bears up there now, haven’t we? They don’t spoil our precious picnics.’

  ‘Lions and tigers are a bit different from black bears, Mrs. Munday.’

  ‘Exactly!’ somebody shouted.

  ‘But Bill Abrams is right; animals in game reserves don’t give problems! There’re grizzlies in the Rocky Mountains, and they don’t eat the tourists.’

  ‘There’s always a fi
rst time,’ somebody shouted, and there were shouts of ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  Miss Williams, the schoolteacher, stood up with authority. ‘Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen.’ She glared around. ‘I am appalled at most of the arguments we’ve heard tonight. Do you realize what we’ve been talking about? Nothing but money! I am ashamed to be a Gatlinburger tonight. We’re so-called mountain men! Yet we’re dismayed to find a few animals in the wilderness God made. We sound like a bunch of sissies. The people of Cherokee put us to shame.’

  Barbara Bradman took over the screen again.

  ‘Meanwhile, what has the Operation Noah team been doing? For the last two days, Mr. Forsythe has been confined to camp with his sprained ankle, but every day Professor Ford and Mr. Hunt have flown off with the African trackers. Earlier tonight Mr. Forsythe gave this brief conference.’

  On the screen the campfire’s light leaped. Forsythe stood at the table outside his operations tent, flanked by a grim-looking Jonas Ford. Forsythe smiled reassuringly.

  ‘The going has proved slow because two of us have been out of action, but there’s nothing to be depressed about. It’s a huge area, very steep, with thousands of valleys, and visibility is about twenty-five yards at best. Also, the heavy foliage cuts out a lot of light and makes tracking difficult. Searching for spoor is often, of necessity, a process of elimination—which is a positive process.’

  ‘How much have you eliminated?’

  ‘We have covered most of the area from Newfound Gap back to the Pigeon River. We are satisfied now that they’re not in that half of the Smokies.’

  ‘But that’s a huge area. How can you have covered all that in five days?’

  ‘Of course,’ Forsythe said reasonably, ‘our handful of men could not cover every nook and cranny. But my trackers are the best, and in five days they’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s been around. However, in view of the huge area, we do need more trackers. Three experienced Cherokees have now offered their services. So …’ he smiled reassuringly again, ‘I think business will go a bit brisker.’