If you want to see everything the zoo has to offer, you need a full day to prowl those seventy acres. In the three hours we had, the choices were somewhat limited. Emily was interested in birds, so the big aviary was a definite stop. So were Monkey Island and the Primate Discovery Center, the sea lion tank, the koala compound, and the Lion House.
We went to the aviary first, then wandered over to see if it was feeding time for the big cats. It wasn’t; all but one of the cages was empty, the animals still out back in their grottoes. We stopped in front of the occupied cage, where one of the Bengal tigers was pacing restlessly. We were the only two-legged animals on this side of the bars.
I knew the Lion House, the entire zoo grounds all too well. Several years back I had been hired by the Zoo Commission to investigate a rash of thefts of rare and endangered animals, reptiles, and birds that were being sold off to unscrupulous private collectors. I’d spent three long, cold nights patrolling the grounds in the company of two other watchmen before the case took an unexpected and violent twist: one of the watchmen was found murdered in a lion cage under bizarre circumstances. That night and the case’s resolution were still sharp in my memory.
I don’t usually discuss my investigations with anyone other than the principals, Tamara, and Kerry. And there are some cases, some dark byways, that I reserve strictly for myself — the stuff of no one’s nightmares but my own. But as Emily and I stood in the Lion House, steps away from the cage where the dead man had lain, I found myself giving the kid a watered down version of that night’s events. I’m not sure why. A half-conscious attempt to bond with her, maybe, give her a little more knowledge of who I am and what it is I do.
The impulse was right. She listened raptly, not big-eyed as some girls her age might have been, but with a kind of solemn, analytical interest. When I was done, she asked some thoughtful, adult-type questions that I tried to answer in kind. Then, after a little time, she asked, “Were you afraid? Not when you found that poor man... when you were out in the dark all alone?”
“Well, an empty zoo at night is a pretty scary place.”
“It wasn’t empty, really.”
“That’s true. All the animals were here, but they were locked in their cages and compounds.”
“Animals aren’t scary. People are. The dark is.”
I said gently, “Are you afraid of the dark, Emily?”
“Sometimes.”
“Me, too. Sometimes.”
“Of people, too?”
“I have been. I probably will be again.”
“People you know? Or just strangers?”
“A few of both.”
“I’m scared all the time,” she said.
“Scared of what?”
“Everything. Everybody. The dark. Tomorrow.”
Calm voice, but threaded with anguish. It made me ache for her.
“I have to sleep with a light on,” she said. “I can’t stand the dark. I hate it, being afraid all the time... I just can’t help it.”
“You won’t always feel that way.”
“What if I do? I’m afraid of that, too.”
“It won’t happen. Kerry and I won’t let it happen.” It sounded lame and patronizing even in my own ears, but I didn’t know what else to say. What can you say? “You don’t feel scared when you’re with us, do you?”
“Sometimes.”
“You know we wouldn’t hurt you, or let you be hurt.”
“I know. Not that kind of scared.”
“What kind then?”
She shook her head.
“Come on, now. What kind?”
“You... might not always be here. You might go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Neither is Kerry.”
“My mom and dad didn’t think they were, either. But they did. They went away, both of them.”
“You’re afraid we might die?”
“You could,” she said. “An accident, like what happened to my dad. And your job... I know it’s dangerous. Somebody could... do something...”
Careful, now. Denial was a lie, and I could not lie to her. No lame, patronizing answer to this, no glib and meaningless reassurances. She’d finally opened up a little, given me a better look at her emotions, introduced me to a couple of her private demons. If I said the wrong thing, she might shut the door again and keep it shut.
I asked her, “Emily, do you believe anyone is ever really safe?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do. Think about it. Is anyone safe all the time, every minute of every day? Safe from being hurt in some way, from dying?”
She said, “No,” almost immediately.
“That’s right. Things can happen, unexpected things, bad things. Some we can prevent, guard against. Others we can’t. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Thinking about all those bad things isn’t going to change what happens. But it’ll change you if you let it. Pretty soon you won’t be thinking about anything else. You won’t even want to go out of the house for fear something bad might happen. You’ll be afraid all the time, all your life. You’ll never feel safe.”
I paused, but she didn’t say anything. Just looked up at me with those big, sad brown eyes. So I went on with it, taking a little different slant. “When we were in the aviary and you laughed at the way the two macaws were scolding each other... did you feel safe then?”
“... Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because everything’s all right here, now. There’s nothing to be afraid of in the daytime at the zoo.”
“That’s part of it, but there’s something else, too. You weren’t afraid, you felt safe, because you were having a good time. Thinking good thoughts. That’s the whole secret to not being afraid — thinking good thoughts.”
She said without sarcasm or irony, just making a statement, “Don’t worry, be happy. Like in the song.”
“Pretty simple philosophy, I know, but it’s true and it works. You believe it?”
“I don’t know.” Too smart, too introspective, too deeply scarred for any quick and easy fix. But willing to listen, willing to consider the possible validity of adult wisdom. “I want to, but... I don’t know.”
“Give it some thought later on,” I said. “Right now, we can either stand here and talk some more about being scared and people dying, or we can go get a soda and a hot dog and then check out the koalas and the monkeys and feed the sea lions. Your choice.”
She produced a shy little smile and took my hand. “I am kind of hungry.”
“So am I. You like sauerkraut on your hot dog?”
“Ugh,” she said.
“Okay, then, we’ll load up with mustard instead.”
Things were fine again after that. She ate all of her hot dog, drank all of her Diet 7-Up. In the Primate Center some of the monkeys and apes were like stand-up comics, mugging furiously for the onlookers and performing any number of outrageous antics designed to hold center stage; one baboon in particular had both of us laughing out loud. Like everybody, she thought the koalas were cute and cuddly and wished she could hold one. Feeding the sea lions seemed to please her most of all. We stayed for the whole show, and she went through four packages of chopped-up fish. She might’ve been making a determined effort to enjoy herself, to please me, but if so it was a seamless act. Her pleasure seemed genuine.
It was nearly five when we left the zoo grounds. The fog had rolled in, and the temperature had dropped several more degrees as night approached. In the car I put the heater on first thing, and while it was warming up and Emily and I were thawing out, I checked in with Tamara.
“Carolyn Dain called twice,” she said. “I tried to call you three times.”
The note of exasperation in her voice said I was in for another communications lecture. Tamara had been trying to talk me into carrying a cell phone, or at least a pager or one of those little hand-held message computers; she kept insisting that a car phone wasn’t enough, that I was out of touch too often while away from the office. Maybe she was right. But to my old-fashioned, technophobic way of thinking, there were too many electronic gadgets in the world and I did not care to get involved with any more than the necessary minimum. I don’t believe people should be ringing and beeping in public places. And I especially don’t believe in the modern rite of invading others’ space and privacy by engaging in loud, one-sided conversations, business or personal, thereby foolishly calling attention to yourself the way the monkeys in the Primate Center had done. There’s too damn little common courtesy these days, without me adding to the general decline.