Notes From a Liar and Her Dog (18 page)

Soon we are done with the macaws and we head to the tiger exhibit. Mary-Judy turns on the hose. She pokes it through the chain link. The tiger has his own water dish, but he likes the hose water better. He is bony and old, and he has big kind eyes that are always asking a question. He is never scary, the way the lions are. I watch as he curls his tongue around the stream of water.

Mary-Judy turns the plastic Beware: Keeper in Exhibit Area sign over so everyone will know not to let the tiger out of his night house into the exhibit. Then she lets me open the exhibit with my own key. I am very excited about this. I’ve never had the keys to the cages before. I stick the key in the lock, then I look around to see if there is anyone to see me doing this.

When we get inside, Mary-Judy’s radio begins to hum and get all staticky, the way it does when someone is about to talk. Then a voice says: “Come in all departments. Does anyone know anything about a little brown dog? Looks like maybe he was tied up somewhere. He’s dragging one of our ropes. He’s up here at the African exhibit, scaring my hoof stock out of their minds.”

At first, I don’t register what’s been said. And then my mind replays the words:
Little brown dog…dragging one of our ropes.
I drop my bucket and race out of the tiger exhibit. I’m moving fast, but I’m intensely aware of everything. I see the fence, a crack in the pavement, a bucket we left outside. I feel the smack of pavement beneath my feet, the eucalyptus leaves brush my arm, the adhesive tape pulls at my stomach.

“Hey!” Mary-Judy screams, but there is no time to answer. No time to explain. I’m moving as fast as I can, uphill. My legs pull hard against the grade. I hear the thunder of hooves as I reach the crest of the hill. The gazelles are galloping, their delicate, spindly legs flying, hooves barely grazing the ground. The giraffes are running crazy. They seem scared and confused as they try to turn on their big long legs. A crane scurries out of the way. A frantic duck tries to fly, but his wings are clipped.

God, please don’t let it be Pistachio and if it is him don’t let him be inside. My feet are pounding the ground. This couldn’t be happening, my mind says.

Dora, the giraffe keeper, is there. “WALK!” she screams. I don’t know if she is talking to the animals or me.

“The little dog. Is the little dog here?” I cry, my voice breaking because I am out of breath.

“If one of my hoof stock breaks a leg because of your DAMN DOG …” Her face is big and red and angry.

“Where is he?” I scream.

“Over there.” She points toward the elephant exhibit. “WALK, FOR GOD’S SAKE!” she screams, and then I know she’s talking to me, but I don’t walk. I can’t.

“Pistachio!” I scream as I run toward the elephants.

W
hen I get to the elephants, I’m so out of breath, I’m doubled over. My throat feels like a scouring pad and I have a terrible side ache. I stop. It’s hot and quiet. The elephants are lazy. One is running his trunk along the ground as if he’s vacuuming. Another is itching his butt on a big log. A third is sleeping in the shade of a big oak tree. They are peaceful, slow moving, bored. It looks like it would take a lot more than a tiny barking dog to get them upset. For a second, I am relieved.

I run past the exhibit to the elephant information kiosk. I look behind it. Where is he? I look all around. I wish he wasn’t the color of dirt and so darn small. There is a breeze blowing the big trees just outside the exhibit. A mom pushes a stroller by me. “No, you can’t have any more fruit rolls. That’s enough for today,” she says.

“Pistachio,” I cry. “Pistachio!” Though I sound frantic, the elephants don’t even turn their heads.

“Which one is Pistachio?” the mom asks.

I’m running now. My big boots slap the pavement.
Something inside me says Pistachio isn’t here. I remember how proud he was the day he scooted under the lions’ fence. Utterly, completely, stupidly proud. I am running up the path around the back way to the lion exhibit—to the spot where Pistachio scooted under the fence before.

Mary-Judy is in the zoo truck speeding toward the elephants on the road below. She doesn’t see me and I don’t flag her down. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to take the time. I don’t want her with me, because if Pistachio is in the lion exhibit, I know Mary-Judy won’t let me get him out.

By the time I pass the zebra-striped bathroom, my chest is killing me, and the masking tape, which is holding my sandwich to my belly, is pulling like crazy. I jump over the fake wood fence and cut down to the back of the lion exhibit. The lions are up the hill near a big ball that hangs from a tree with a thick chain. They aren’t playing with the ball. They are all four sleeping, lazy in the tall brown grass.

“Pistachio!” I call, forcing myself to sound calm. I don’t want the lions to know I’m upset. I’m afraid to tell them Pistachio is here. I’m afraid they might understand my words, even though this doesn’t make sense.

“Pistachio!” I call again, looking around. Usually, he comes when he’s called. Usually he can’t wait to see me. The only time he won’t come is if he gets so interested in something, he just can’t turn away.

“Pistachio!”

I hear something. A sharp cry around by the side.
I follow the fence toward the sound. And then, all of a sudden, I see him. He is in the exhibit dancing on his hind legs. He does a little jig when he hears my voice, but he doesn’t come to me. He can’t. His rope is wound around a bush. It’s caught. He can’t move. He’s a sitting duck for those lions. Lunch, delivered to their door. Once they see him, he is dead. “Oh, Pistachio,” I whisper, my pulse booming in my ears.

I look up at the fence, thinking I will climb over, and then I realize
I have the keys.
I feel happy about this and terrified at the same time. I almost wish I didn’t have them. My hand goes to my belt loop. The keys jangle against my fingers. I unclip them. My heart is beating so loud, I can’t hear anything else. I am so scared my hands fumble. Which key?

First one doesn’t turn. I shove the second key in. The padlock falls open in my hand. I unchain the entrance and slip inside, half closing the gate behind me.

Then I stop, my hand gripping a chain-link diamond. Pistachio is straining against the rope, trying as hard as he can to get to me. My hand eases its grip on the fence. Then, my fingers let go and I move toward him. I remember Mary-Judy saying that sudden motion will catch a lion’s eye, but I have to get to Pistachio. There is no way to do that without moving.

Don’t look at the lions, I tell myself. Don’t. But I have to. One is standing. Her whole body taut. Waiting. Watching. Daring me to move. “Be tall,” Just Carol told me once when I was helping her feed the bison on the hill. If they come close, tell them to leave,
and be tall. I pretend I am the tallest person in the world. I walk in slow, smooth, gliding steps. I take a quick, reckless look at the lions. Four sets of big glinting gold eyes are tracking me. One lion is standing. I half rush, half glide. The closer I get to Pistachio, the more he crazy jumps. “Stop it,” I whisper, “stop doing that.” But he pays no attention.

I’m running now. My boots are moving almost without my consent. I tear fast clear out of one rubber boot to Pistachio and yank the rope, but it’s too twisted around the bush. It will take too long to untangle. I grab at Pistachio’s collar. Untie the rope from his collar? Unbuckle the collar from his neck? My fingers are dumb as sticks. Won’t go. Won’t move. I hear her. I see a blur of gold fur coming for me. My stupid fingers work the buckle. The collar falls free. Pistachio is mine. I clutch him against my belly as I run, my legs moving, my feet flying. One sock. One boot. I can hear the lion behind me now. She is behind me.
Behind me.
I run faster. Pain in my sock foot. Get to the gate. To the gate. To the gate. My fingers curl around the chain link. I swing the gate open and I am out.

I
am sitting in the dirt outside the lion exhibit, holding Pistachio tight. I can feel his little heart beating. I can feel my own beating, too. I can’t believe we are both safe. I pet him and pet him and pet him. I can’t get enough of petting him.

Inside the fence, the lioness finds Pistachio’s collar. She is chewing and licking it. Chewing and licking. A chill goes up my spine. I can’t watch.

Mary-Judy is here. I’m not sure when she got here, but she seems to know exactly what happened. She doesn’t yell at me. She asks me if I am okay—whispers it. From the look on her face, I think it would be better if she’d yelled.

Now, she is pacing back and forth, talking into her radio.
Fook, fook, fook
goes her big rubber boots. “Come in, Dora? What’s the status at the African exhibit? You need help?”
Fook, fook, fook.
She paces. Her radio crackles. The voice comes through loud and clear. “The gazelles are still jumpy as hell, but they aren’t running themselves crazy anymore. I think I’m
better off handling them myself. New people will only get them riled up again.”

“Okay,” Mary-Judy says.
Fook, fook, fook.
She checks the chain on the lion exhibit. Her hands are shaking. She has checked the lock three times already. I wonder if she thinks I got in because she forgot to lock it. But this can’t be true, because she has taken the keys back from me. She did this first thing, her hands shaking.
Fook, fook, fook.
She stops in front of me. “Get in the truck,” she commands. She is still whispering. I don’t know why.

I stand up, holding Pistachio tight against my belly. I get in the truck. The truck is still running. The keys are dangling from the ignition. Mary-Judy must have jumped out so fast, she didn’t take the time to turn it off. The armrest is missing from my door, so there’s nothing to pull to close it. I roll down the window and grab hold of the frame. I slam twice before it shuts.

Mary-Judy scoots her bottom onto the seat. She is so short, she has to sit on a pillow to see over the dashboard. She puts the truck in gear and gives the accelerator a little punch. My neck jerks as the truck jolts forward down the hill. She’s not looking at me. Not talking to me. I wonder where she is taking me.

Mary-Judy pulls the truck out to the road by the camel exhibits. She slows to let a cluster of kids move out of the way. When they are safely gathered on the side of the road, she creeps the truck forward to the camels’ night house, then stomps on the brakes. The brakes squeak. The truck stops. Mary-Judy jumps
out. “Stay here. Do not move!
Do not move
!” she whispers in a hoarse voice, and then seems to think better of leaving me in the truck with the keys in the ignition. She swings back in, turns off the motor, and pockets the keys.

Mary-Judy fast walks into the camels’ night house, a low brown building that is strangely round, like a giant mushroom head. A few minutes pass and then
fook, fook, fook
, she is back with Just Carol in tow. When I see Just Carol, I look down. I study the floor of the truck. It is muddy and corroded, completely worn in places, so I can see through to the road below. I inspect every square inch of the floor and what I can see of the road. The truck door opens, and I automatically scoot over to make room for Just Carol, but I do not look at her.

“Are you okay?” Just Carol asks me. She stares at my one sock foot. It is sore. I stepped wrong on a rock. But I am okay.

I nod, wishing I could say no, because if I was hurt, she wouldn’t be so mad at me. I hate having her mad. But what was I supposed to do? Let the lions eat Pistachio? It wasn’t my fault, I feel like screaming. But I sit quiet, inspecting the toe of my sock. I hate people. They are too complicated. Dogs are way better. Dogs never chew you out or get disappointed in you. They understand everything. They are loyal, no matter what.

Mary-Judy drives us down the road to the Do Not Enter sign. She gets out of her truck and opens the gate. This is a job Just Carol usually does. That Mary-Judy
hasn’t let her is a bad sign. Mary-Judy gets back in and pulls the truck up to the building where our lockers are. “Get your stuff. I’ll wait!” Mary-Judy whispers.

Just Carol and I get out. There is another keeper sitting at the picnic table. She is staring at us like we are criminals. I take off my boot and stuff my feet in my sneakers without untying. Just Carol gets her lunch out of the refrigerator. Mine is still taped to my belly, which is uncomfortable, and I know it’s going to hurt like heck to pull off.

We climb back in the truck and I wonder where we are going. Then I get it. We are being thrown out, Just Carol and me. Oh, great! This wasn’t Just Carol’s fault, it was an accident. Nobody meant for Pistachio to come untied. I think about trying to explain this to Mary-Judy. I look over at her hard, scared face and I decide against it. She’s not going to change her mind about this right now.

Mary-Judy drives us out to the parking lot. She drives up to Just Carol’s car and stops so close, I can hardly squeeze out. Still, Mary-Judy doesn’t say anything. Not one word. She waits while Carol unlocks the car, gets in, puts on her seat belt. She waits while Just Carol starts the car. She is still waiting when we drive out of the parking lot.

I feel tired and shaky. My head is buzzing and I’m worried about Pistachio, who is burrowing into me like he is scared. I have been petting him so much, my hand feels numb to the feel of his fur. I look over at Just Carol and wonder what she is thinking as she
drives down the long zoo road. She is so quiet, I can’t tell.

We are driving through the grass hills, green from a recent rain. I look again at Just Carol. Her face is blank. I can’t read her, but it’s bad that she’s so quiet.

“I didn’t lie,” I blurt out. “I had to go in there, otherwise Pistachio would have…otherwise the lions would have …”

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are?” Just Carol interrupts. “Mary Judy said she can’t figure out why the lions didn’t get you. She said she’d never have believed you could have gotten out of there in one piece.”

“I couldn’t just leave him!”