The Animals: A Novel (14 page)

Now, at long last, the whole of that landscape was fading into a flat darkness and in its place a faint spattering of slushy rain against the window of the trailer. The wet forest beyond. And there he was: reflected upon those trees, reflected on the glass, beard and mustache a bedraggled mess under dark-ringed eyes but the encasing of his world tight and shining once again, a glass orb containing the forest and the mountains and the animals, and the few people he cared about: Grace and her son Jude. His mother, although only via telephone. Bess and the volunteers. No one else. The world around him a forest of high-banked ridges filled with animals of tooth and hoof and claw and you among them, staring out the window of your pale white enclosure into the spitting slushy rain.

He looked at his watch and then stood and put on his coat and the cowboy hat Grace had given him and stepped through the door. The path through the birch trunks shadowless in the gloom: a dim reckoning of faint cloudlight against peeling white bark beneath which pockets of thick frost dotted the black earth as if some child had dropped a series of snow cones along the path.

When he came down through the gate, the two boys were at the new raptor enclosure, working despite the weather, the walls up and Bobby running the saw through a two-by-four as Bill approached.

Looks good, guys, he said.

They both looked across at him, Bobby setting the saw down and Chuck tapping a stubby pencil against the plywood floor. Thanks, boss, Bobby said.

The boys sat on their haunches watching him, their shaggy hair falling in scraggly cascades over their eyes. When they had first come on as volunteers six months before, he had asked them what they wanted to do with their lives and they had looked at him with a kind of wild confusion. No idea, Bobby had said at last.

He knew he might have answered the question the same way at their age and probably had, but the response still surprised him. What do you want to volunteer here for then? he had asked.

We like animals, Bobby had said in response.

And this place is cool, Chuck added.

Yeah that too, Bobby said. It’s cool.

Bill had been taken aback by the response and for a long moment he did not even know what to say. In the end he signed them on. They were applying to do something for no reason other than to do it and while part of him did not trust the impulse—part of him ultimately did not trust anyone but himself—he thought that he should at least give them a chance.

As it turned out, the boys’ work ethic was surprising. Within the first week he apparently mentioned that the roof of the Twins’ holding pen was leaking and the next morning woke to find that the boys had torn much of the roof away and were repairing it with lumber they had scavenged—or so they had told him—from some abandoned building site, the two martens watching from a nearby tree stump with apparent interest. He had asked them how it was going and they had looked down at him from the rafters of the marten enclosure. It’s going great, Bobby had said. This is like the best day ever.

He thought at first that the statement must have been meant ironically, for the two of them had already been working on the roof for at least two hours for no pay, just to do something, and in response he said, That so? and Chuck, who he had already learned rarely spoke, said, Heck yeah, and Bobby added, Totally. We’re building the hell out of this thing. And Bill stood there watching them, the two of them watching him in turn, until he finally said, Well, good job then, and Bobby had said, Thanks, boss, and Bill had turned back toward his office again.

He had had to speak with them only about the safety and care of the animals, letting them know that they would need to check in with him or with Bess before tearing into anything related to the enclosures, but otherwise he found them to be totally remarkable, two young men unafraid of doing virtually anything, building or shoveling lion or bear shit or anything else, working as if they had just discovered it, a trait so unlike him at that age that he still wondered from time to time if their presence was some kind of bizarre joke, certainly the two best volunteers he had ever had and perhaps the best he ever would have, so much so that he had pondered ways of paying them although he knew in actuality that his budget would never allow for such a thing.

Thanks for the help, you guys, he said now, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched up under the spitting rain.

Sure thing, boss.

I think I’ll see if I can start getting the roof up later.

Cool, Chuck said.

Listen, I think we’ll have a quick meeting in about a half hour.

Everything good? Bobby asked.

Yeah, just winter coming. That’s all.

Cool, Chuck said again.

Literally, Bobby said, and they both chuckled.

From the fox enclosure came a high cackling and the three of them looked over to where their red fox, Katy, stood at the front of her enclosure, eyeing them with apparent curiosity, her orange hair shining in the afternoon light.

JUDE’S HOMEWORK
was a single page, handwritten, the title WOLF penciled across the top in swirling letters above an illustration in colored marker. Bill held it in his hands while the boy watched him, his eyes bright and wide and shining. Really excellent, buddy. Super cool.

That’s Zeke, Jude said.

I thought it was.

The boy was next to him on the couch, sitting but not really sitting, squirming with energy, his limbs folding and unfolding.

You got the whole thing right, he said. His eyes too.

Yeah, I know it, Jude said. He’s got spooky eyes.

Sometimes.

It’s just a practice drawing, he said. It’s for Mrs. Simmons. We’re doing a unit on ecology.

Ah right, he said. You told me. And that reminds me that I have something for you.

What is it?

Bill stood and went to where his coat hung on a hook by the door and from its pocket brought forth a clear plastic ziplock baggie containing the tattered and worn paperback, its pages held together by a rubber band. I told you I thought I had a book on desert animals, he said, and I found it.

He returned to the couch and handed it to the boy.
Wildlife of the Intermountain West
. The pronghorn antelope stood looking back at him from the cover without expression.

Cool, Jude said. He pulled it from the ziplock and removed the rubber band and sat flipping through the pages. What are these marks?

The page was open to pen-and-ink drawings of two lizards—zebra-tailed and collared—both of which had large blue check marks next to them. That’s stuff I saw with my own eyes, Bill said.

Everything with a check mark you saw?

Yep, he said.

So you went to the desert?

I grew up in the desert.

Really?

Really and truly.

Jude flipped back to the cover. What’s that?

Pronghorn antelope, Bill said.

Have you ever seen one?

Oh yeah. In eastern Oregon.

You’ve been everywhere.

He smiled, faintly. Not really. Just kept my eyes open.

The boy stared at the book in his lap. A full page of bats, all line drawings. Free-tailed and big-eared and pipistrel. Kangaroo rat, mountain vole. Ducks and woodpeckers and warblers. So hopefully that’ll help some, if you have to draw some other kinds of animals for school.

Yeah totally, the boy said.

Grace had come into the living room from the hall. Time for bed, kiddo, she said.

The response was a long, drawling whine but the boy rose nonetheless, snatching the wolf drawing off the couch next to him and then returning to give Bill their customary hug and high five. ’Night, Jude said.

Good night, buddy.

Thanks for the book.

It’s a good book, he said. I’ve had it a long time.

How long?

Since I was just a little older than you.

No way.

Yes way, he said. I’ll come say good night in a little bit.

They retreated farther into the house, down the hallway that led both to Jude’s room and to Grace’s. Bill remained where he was for a time and then went to the table and sat and flipped through a small pile of mail there. Bills and circulars. At the bottom of the stack was the new issue of
National Geographic
and a paperback,
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
, its black cover emblazoned with a circle cut by three arching red waves. He paged through it absently but the words made little sense to him. Light-paths of the wisdoms. Bardo of karmic illusions. Near the center was a blurry and poorly rendered image labeled The Great Mandala of the Peaceful Deities, and he stared at that for a time. A circle containing a series of smaller circles, each of which contained, or seemed to contain, a figure or figures, perhaps human, perhaps not.

When Grace entered the room, the book was still in his hand. You’re not going to join a cult or something, are you? he said.

Maybe.

You’re reading this thing?

Sort of. It’s from that lady Fran who had to put her dog down. She said it helped her guide Chuckles into the afterlife.

Chuckles is trapped with a bunch of dead Tibetan guys now. He’s probably pissed.

Probably. It’s pretty hard to read. I don’t know what I’m supposed to get from it.

Maybe she’s trying to brainwash you.

Wouldn’t that be nice? Grace leaned in behind and wrapped her arms around his chest and neck. Jude’s waiting for you.

He closed the book and stood. Don’t go anywhere, he said. Then he moved down the hall and into the boy’s room. The bed was a mess of blankets and stuffed animals, and as he entered the boy sat up out of that quilted space and said, Boo, and then giggled.

Ah, Bill said, staggering backward into the hall, you scared me.

You’re a scaredy-cat, Jude said.

It’s true. I am. He came and settled on the edge of the bed.
Wildlife of the Intermountain West
rested on the small white nightstand, returned to its ziplock, the antelope staring through the plastic into the mild twilight of the room. The sight of it there produced a strange and involuntary shiver through his body.

Jude lay back on the pillow, his wet child’s eyes staring up at him. Will you take me to school in the morning? the boy said.

Probably.

Probably as in yes?

Probably as in yes.

Good. In the truck.

Ah, he said, it’s the truck, is it?

The truck’s fun.

What’s wrong with your mom’s truck?

Nothing. Yours is just funner.

I guess so, Bill said. He waited, looking at the boy. Then he said, Ah, heck with it.

Heck with what?

I’ve been wanting to ask you something.

Ask me what? the boy said.

Well listen, champ, I was thinking of asking your mom something.

I thought you were gonna ask
me
something.

I am, I’m gonna ask you if I can ask her.

You’re silly.

Bill smiled. You’re probably right, he said. So I was thinking of asking your mom, maybe, if she’d want to get married. So we could be together all the time. But I wanted to make sure it’s OK with you first.

Would we get to live with you at the animals?

I don’t know. We’d all live together for sure. Maybe not at the animals though. My trailer’s pretty small for everyone to live in.

So you’d live here?

We’d have to figure that out.

The boy lay there on the pillow, looking at him thoughtfully. What about my dad?

Your dad’s still your dad and he’ll always be your dad. I’d be what you’d call your stepdad.

OK, Jude said.

OK?

Yeah, that sounds great. Let’s do that.

He smiled and Jude smiled.

Don’t tell your mom, though. It’s supposed to be a surprise.

When are you gonna ask her?

I don’t know, he said. It needs to be special.

Are you coming to Fall Festival?

What’s that?

At my school. Fall Festival. We’re singing a song about Thanksgiving.

Oh yeah, your mom told me about that. Yeah, I’ll be there.

You can ask her then. At Fall Festival. That’ll be special.

He smiled. Good idea, he said. Maybe I’ll ask her when we get home after.

Yeah, Jude said. He giggled, pulling the blanket up around his mouth. It’s a secret, he said.

Yes, it is, Bill said. You in for a bear hug?

The boy nodded and Bill scooped him up in his arms and pulled him against his chest and the swell of his belly and squeezed him tight, roughing his beard against the child’s cheek. Again, Jude said. And once more. Good night, buddy. He brushed Jude’s hair from his forehead as the boy turned on his side, his eyes slipping closed for a brief moment and then opening again. Sleep well. Dream good dreams, Bill said.

The boy’s head nodded against the pillow and Bill rose quietly and stepped into the hall and returned to the kitchen table once more.

The Tibetan book was still there but Grace had extracted the
National Geographic
from the mail pile and she sat at the table peering down at an open page, the brown curls of her hair turning over her wrinkled forehead. He leaned against the wall by the corkboard with its barrage of notes and notices and calendars and scraps of paper and watched her.