"And I have a card for you," Henry said automatically, though he had not meant to deliver it in person. "Would you like me to sign your book?"
"If you want."
"A pleasure meeting you," said Henry, extending his hand.
"Oh, yes." The shopkeeper's soft hand enveloped Henry's.
They exchanged items. Henry inscribed the book. He wrote the first thing that came to his mind: To Henry, a friend of animals. The man, meanwhile, opened the envelope and took a long time to read the card. Henry worried about what he had written. But it gave him time to observe the man. He was tall, well over six feet, with a wide, gaunt body, his clothes hanging from big bones. His arms were long, his hands large. His black hair was oiled and combed back, to be forgotten, and under a tall forehead he had a pale, flat, long-nosed, jowly face. He looked to be in his sixties. His expression was serious, the eyebrows knitted, the dark eyes staring. He didn't seem a naturally social being. The handshake had been awkward, apparently not a grace practiced often, and the signing of the book had plainly been Henry's idea, not his.
Erasmus seemed intrigued by the man, although not in his usual over-friendly way. He got to his feet and inched forward, sniffing tentatively at the hem of the man's trousers, his legs spread out and tense, ready to scurry away should he smell anything alarming. Seeing that the man wasn't reacting with a smile or a greeting or even a glance in the usual way of people who are meeting a friendly dog, Henry tugged on Erasmus's leash and brought him back to him. Inexplicably, Henry was feeling nervous.
"Is the dog a problem? I can easily tie him outside," he said.
"No," the man replied, without lifting his eyes from the card.
"You can ignore the card. I just wrote it quickly, in case I didn't find you."
"That's fine." He closed the card and placed it in the book Henry had returned to him. He did not look to see what Henry had written in the book, nor did he have anything to say about what he had written in the card.
"Is this your store?" Henry asked.
"It is," replied the man.
"An amazing place. I've never seen anything like it. How long have you been a taxidermist?"
"Over sixty-five years. I started when I was sixteen and I've never stopped."
Henry was taken aback. Over sixty-five years? The man must be in his early eighties, then. He certainly didn't look it.
"These tigers are remarkable."
"The female and the cub I was given by Van Ingen and Van Ingen, a firm in India, when they closed. The male is my work, from a zoo. He died of a heart defect."
He spoke without the least hesitation, and his delivery was clear and certain. He was not afraid of silence, either. I don't speak like that, Henry thought. I speak both quickly and haltingly, in stumbles and incomplete sentences that trail off.
"And all these animals are for sale?"
"Nearly all. A few are museum items I've repaired that are drying. A small number are display items. The okapi is not for sale, nor is the platypus or the aardvark. But the rest, yes, they're for sale."
"Do you mind if I have a look?"
"Go ahead. Look as closely as you want. All the animals are alive-it's time that has stopped."
Pulling Erasmus along, Henry started going around the store. The taxidermist stayed in place, silent and staring. Henry discovered that behind most animals others were hiding, often of the same kind, but not always. A colony of tortoises was tucked under the legs of the cheetah. Next to the mouflon sheep, on the floor, was a pile of antlers. Rolled-up hides stood in the back corner next to the ostrich, along with some tusks and horns. Some fish mounted on wooden boards-trout and bass, a puffer fish-lay at the feet of the bear. The craftsmanship was superlative. The fur, the scales, the plumage-they positively glistened with life. Henry felt that if he stamped a foot, all these creatures would jump and flee. And despite being so packed together, each animal had its own expression, its own personal situation, its own story. Henry wondered if he would find here the stag that had cursed Saint Julian Hospitator. Or perhaps the bears slain with a knife, the bulls with a hatchet, the beaver in the lake with an arrow?
The elephant's trunk was within touching distance. A shiny drop was forming from one of its nostrils, as if the animal had just had a good, wet sneeze. Henry felt like reaching up to touch the drop. But he knew-his mind told him-that all he would feel would be a hard drop of clear synthetic resin.
"People just come in and buy the animals off the shelf?" he asked.
"Some."
"I suppose hunters bring you animals?"
"That too."
"I see."
The man was no good at small talk. Henry crouched and parked his stare on a wolf and waited. It was the taxidermist's turn to make an effort, he decided. Henry had come to him, after all, had walked all that way, and the man was wanting his help, he had claimed. And Henry was quite happy just to keep on looking. The wolf in front of him was in a running motion, its front legs lifted in the air, reaching for the ground ahead of it. The shoulders were hunched, the most expressive part of the animal's unstoppable forward surge. The right rear leg, having just pushed off, was now pointing straight back. So the whole animal was supported in the air in a completely natural pose by a single rear leg. Another wolf was standing against the wall, tall and still, its head turned to one side, observing something in the distance with idle curiosity, a picture of perfect animal poise.
"So, why don't you tell me a little about Okapi Taxidermy," Henry finally said.
That did it. He had touched on the right subject. The taxidermist delivered a speech. "At Okapi Taxidermy, we are professional natural-history preparators. Skins, heads, horns, hooves, trophies, rugs, natural-history specimens in every kind of mount, head to whole, we are experts not only in taxidermy but in osteology, that is, the treating and mounting of skulls, bones, and articulated skeletons. We are also masters in all the techniques and materials needed to build any habitat setting you might desire in which to display your mounted animal, from the simplest branch to the most complex diorama. We make mannequins of every kind for amateur taxidermists who might wish to mount a favourite or memorable animal on their own. We can also manufacture any kind of ornament or furniture made from animal parts. We supply every taxidermic need, from paint for fish mounts to eyes of all kinds to tools and padding and needles and threads and wood bases, to more specialized needs for natural-history dioramas. We custom-make display cases of all shapes and sizes, for mammals, birds, fish, and skeletons. We provide mechanical hares for greyhound races. We can preserve the cycle of life for you, whether the embryonic development of chicks or the life cycle of frogs or butterflies, real and preserved, or enlarged in plaster, if you wish. We can also make models of animals that interrupt the cycle of life: fleas, tsetse flies, common flies, mosquitoes, and the like. We are skilled at packing and crating any taxidermic work so that it will arrive at its destination safe and sound. We sell, but we also rent mounted specimens. We fix. We attend to what is dirty, dusty, discoloured, damaged, broken, shrunken, chipped, shorn, worn, torn, fallen in, fallen out, missing, afflicted by insects. We clean and dust-dust is the eternal enemy of the taxidermist. We sew back. We comb and brush. We oil antlers and polish tusks and ivory. We repaint and shellac fish. We repair and renew habitat groups and dioramas. There is no detail we overlook. We guarantee everything we do and provide complete after-sale care at a reasonable charge. We are a reputable firm with a long list of satisfied customers, from the most discerning individuals to the most demanding institutions. We are, in a word, a complete, one-stop taxidermy shop."