The Great Perhaps (2 page)

More strange than the object of Jonathan’s study is the high level of competition within this particular field. Jonathan’s scientific nemesis, Dr. Jacques Albert, of the FSA, the French Sédimentologie Association, recently discovered an important clue in this prehistoric mystery, an intact prehistoric squid pen—something like a backbone but not quite—dissimilar to the pens of other giant squids in its size and shape, that had washed ashore along the coast of southern Japan. Hour after hour, alone in the den, Jonathan will stare down at topographic sketches of the ocean floor near New Zealand or the Azores Islands or Japan, imagining that, at that very moment, the great tentacled beast may now be jetting backward silently through the cloudless water, in search of a darker spot to guard its secrets. Madeline, charmed by the sight of Jonathan mumbling to himself in wonder, will sometimes come and stand in the doorway, watching her husband work. He will not notice her, not until she has quietly stepped behind him at his desk and placed her freckled arms around his neck. He will smile, distracted, kiss her, and silently wait for her to leave. Jonathan will then turn back to his maps, circling a spot here, triangulating another position there, immediately forgetting the shape of his wife’s lips upon his lips.

A
T THE ZOO
that day, the family is sad to discover that many of the animals have mysteriously begun to die. The glass cages echo with silent grief and blank sunlight. Placards have been placed along the display information in front of their cages that read
UNDER QUARANTINE.
Three elephants and two camels have quietly expired, and all of the zoo’s pink flamingos have died as well. The rest of the animals look morose, some losing their fur, some with bright pink spots. The family walks from empty exhibit to empty exhibit without speaking. The jungle cats, perched low in their plastic trees, seem unaffected. Thisbe still refuses to go into the Lion House to look at the lions. She says she cannot stand watching the lions and tigers pace around in their tiny glass cages. Amelia rolls her eyes, yawning, bored by her sister’s complaining.

“Well, I’d like to go see the lions even if nobody else does,” Amelia says, glaring directly at Thisbe.

“Well, I’m not going,” Thisbe mumbles. “I’ll have nightmares.”

“I’ll wait here with Thisbe,” Jonathan offers.

“We can meet you guys by the food court,” Madeline says. “Maybe you guys can go get a snow cone or something.”

“I don’t want a snow cone,” Thisbe whispers. “I’m going to pretend I’m not here.”

Jonathan frowns. “I was hoping today we could maybe act like a family and walk around the zoo together. But I guess that’s hoping for too much. Maybe I can join up with one of these other families. They look like they understand what being part of a family means.”

“Dad, you’re so gay,” Amelia says with a sigh.

“I just want to go look at the groundhogs,” Thisbe says. “That’s all I want to see.”

“We can go look at them and then the baby sloth,” Jonathan offers, then adds, “If you like.”

Why does he want his daughters’ approval so badly? It makes him feel like a schoolboy. He immediately thinks of his own father, and the outings with him to the Museum of Science and Natural History in St. Louis, when he was a child. He wonders if his own father worried so much about what he, as a boy, thought of him; whether or not he always had to be having fun; whether or not he always had to approve of everything.

“Whatever, I don’t care,” Thisbe whispers, still in a huff.

“I’ll go see the lions and tigers with Amelia,” Madeline says. “And then maybe we can all meet back here at one-thirty and get some ice cream.”

Jonathan scratches his beard. “If that’s what you’d all like. But I just want to go on the record saying I think it’s pretty pathetic that we all can’t walk around together. I think whoever built this zoo would be pretty upset with us right now. I think whoever invented the idea of zoos would be pretty unhappy.”

“We’ll see you at one-thirty,” Madeline says, and, grabbing Amelia’s hand, she and their oldest daughter hurry off, rolling their eyes at him.

Jonathan thinks about maybe putting his arm around Thisbe’s shoulder, but the way she is standing there, frowning, her shoulders hunched up, her chin sunk into her chest, he decides not to. He begins walking, Thisbe pouting beside him, glaring at the other families, at the kids running around, at the signs to each exhibit which Jonathan tries to read as they pass.

“How about the buffalo? Do you want to see them?”

“No. They’re like all crowded in there. It’s too sad.”

“No buffaloes, okay. What about the seals? The seals are right over there.”

“Fine. I don’t care,” she says in a snit and off they go, approaching the enormous seal tank. Inside, two slick-skinned seals pedal through the water, their noses skimming along the surface.

“They have spots on their heads,” Thisbe whispers, pointing. “Like leopards.” Jonathan glances over at his daughter and is surprised. Is she smiling? It looks like she’s almost smiling.

“I never noticed that before,” Jonathan says, staring at her dimples, which he has forgotten even exist. They both lean against the blue metal railing, staring down into the dark silver pool. Jonathan turns and sees Thisbe has closed her eyes. Her eyelashes are fluttering, and she is whispering something to herself.

“Thisbe?”

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

Jonathan nods, but does not say anything else. They silently stroll off toward the groundhog exhibit, Jonathan glancing out of the corner of his eye, watching his youngest daughter suspiciously. As they pass the elk and the ibexes and worried-looking mountain goats, Jonathan notices Thisbe is still whispering something to herself. They stop before the llamas, their woolen fur flecked with bits of wood and brambles, their great camel jaws working on some hay. Thisbe closes her eyes again, muttering softly spoken words to herself. She is staring at the llamas, saying something, and this time Jonathan speaks up.

“Thisbe, honey, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you saying to the llamas?”

“Nothing. I was just praying for them. That they don’t die.”

“Thisbe, honey, you don’t have to pray for them.”

Thisbe nods. Together, they walk on. Jonathan glances up at the sun and suddenly feels faint. For the briefest moment, the lights of a conference room in New Jersey flash somewhere within his brain.

O
NLY ONE MONTH
before, at a paleontology conference, a threat was made against Jonathan’s life during his presentation on the ongoing search for the prehistoric giant squid. Dr. Jacques Albert, of the FSA, the France Sédimentologie Association, with his awful accent shouted, “I should strike you dead, Professor Casper, for the ridiculous statement you have just made. I should strike you dead!” A color slide of
T. longa
was being projected behind Jonathan as he immediately began to panic, unsure what it was he should do, standing behind the awkward podium in the conference room of the Holiday Inn of Greater Newark. The lights above began to flicker, emitting a thin wisp of gray-colored smoke. Jonathan found himself beginning to go under, as if a great shadow had suddenly appeared over his head,
a cloud
, his legs quickly becoming numb and weak.
Oh, no
, he thought.
I didn’t take my
…, and then the French scientist was yelling, “For it was I, with my team of excellent researchers, who discovered the intact prehistoric squid pen, not you. And it will be I, with my excellent team of researchers, who will discover the first living specimen.” A moment later Jonathan collapsed exactly where he was standing:
The prehistoric giant squid jets quietly through the dark gray water. The prehistoric giant squid jets quietly through the dark gray water. The prehistoric giant squid jets quietly through the dark gray water. The prehistoric giant squid jets quietly through the dark gray water. Phylum: MOLLUSCA, Class: CEPHALOPODA.

When he came to, Dr. Albert was kneeling above him frowning, and a petite blond German scientist with enormous glasses, Dr. Arzt, was cradling his head. Jonathan found he was mumbling, “I’m okay, I’m okay…it’s no big deal.” With the German doctor’s help, supporting him as he limped down the hallway to his room, Jonathan soon recovered. The compassionate foreign woman held a damp washcloth to his forehead through the early hours of the morning, each of the scientists exchanging poorly worded admissions of inadequacy. Dr. Arzt, or Heidi, as she insisted, had recently lost an important research grant, her work with the prehistoric dragonfly all but ending. Lying beside her in the hotel bed, fully clothed, Jonathan admitted he was forty-eight years old and afraid of almost everything. It was as lovely and profound a secret as he had spoken in some time, and the confession sent something fluttering, like a delicate
Meganeura monyi
, in the German scientist’s heart. When he awoke, however, Heidi was gone, maintaining her professional decorum. Jonathan, on the flight back home, decided not to tell his wife anything about the incident. He was also determined to keep the matter from his family doctor, who would, no doubt, feel compelled to report the episode to the Illinois Department of Motor Vehicles—the agency once again having to temporarily suspend his driver’s license.

Only one day after returning home from the conference in New Jersey, Jonathan received a stilted though lovelorn email from the younger German scientist, to which he responded with what could only be called poetry. The online affair was an awkwardly postpubescent game, really, a fantasy to occupy his off hours, one other thoughtless mistake.

A
T THE ZOO
,
the family does meet up at the aforementioned time, does get ice cream, and, all together, does head to the Reptile House. There Jonathan stands beside his oldest daughter, Amelia, both of them staring down at the crocodile pond. He is admiring
Crocodylus cataphractus, Pseudosuchia
, relative of so many land-dwelling dinosaurs, while Amelia is staring down into the murk. He glances out of the corner of his eye and looks at her. She is taller now, thin, has a beaded hemp necklace on. Jonathan has never noticed her wearing jewelry before.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Okay.”

“Do you ever feel like the rest of the world is totally stupid?”

“How do you mean, kiddo?”

“I don’t know. Like everybody. Like people on TV and everyone at school. Like everybody. Everybody just seems so stupid to me,” she says.

“Like who?” Jonathan asks.

“I don’t know. Everybody. I started making a list of all the stupid people I hate.”

“You did.”

“Yeah.”

“I see. Well, who’s on the list?”

“Rupert Murdoch.”

“Who else?”

“Donald Rumsfeld.”

“Who else?”

“I dunno. Charlton Heston. Britney Spears. Madonna. Rush Limbaugh.”

“How many people are on the list right now?”

“Forty-three.”

“Who are all the other people?”

“I don’t know. Just people I hate.”

“Oh.”

“Do you hate anybody, Dad?”

“No, of course not. I don’t think so, at least.”

B
UT, OF COURSE,
Jonathan immediately thinks of Jacques Albert of the FSA Dr. Jacques Albert the most incredible fucking annoyance Dr. Jacques Albert only thirty-three years old Fuck him Dr. Jacques Albert on the cover of
Modern Paleontologist
Dr. Jacques Albert blond with his small silver earring Dr. Jacques Albert at every panel at every presentation always in the audience always trying to provoke Jonathan always with some patronizing comment: “I noticed your new project barely received any new funding, Dr. Casper, that must be difficult,” or “I don’t know if you saw my feature essay in
Modern Paleontologist
, sir, but I think it might excite you to hear what kind of research the rest of the world is now doing,” or “I heard your team is still looking for an intact squid pen from
Tusoteuthis longa
, can that possibly be true? How long has it been, Dr. Casper, ten years already? I feel like I was reading about you back in graduate school” Dr. Jacques Albert with his little blond goatee Dr. Jacques Albert with reporters from every paleontology journal hanging on his every word Dr. Jacques Albert standing above him with that frown Jonathan dazed dizzy his hands and feet numb staring up at the lights from the floor of the conference room of the Holiday Inn Dr. Jacques Albert Dr. Jacques Albert Dr. Jacques Albert.

A
T THE ZOO,
the family heads into the sweltering shadows of the Great Ape House. The building is dark and heavy with the stink of urine and fecal matter from the primates, who, lying in the corner of their enormous glass exhibits with their old-men expressions and sad eyes, stare back heartbroken. Thisbe and Amelia hurry ahead while Jonathan takes his time, watching a pair of chattering chimpanzees groom each other. He is thinking about the terrible presentation in New Jersey and fainting on the hotel floor. He is glancing at Madeline every few moments, wondering if he ought to tell her now what happened. All of a sudden his wife takes a step beside him and kisses his cheek.