The Secret Zoo (12 page)

“F
rederick Jackson,” Mr. Darby said. “Frederick had warm eyes, a chubby face, and big freckles. He was sensitive and shy and very kind. In a way, it was Frederick Jackson's kindness that built the Secret Zoo.

“Frederick was raised mostly by his mother because his father was rarely home. You see, Frederick's father was a wealthy businessman. He owned several major construction companies, and he often traveled to distant cities. Though he loved his son dearly, his responsibilities kept them apart.

“One day when Frederick was nine years old—not much
younger than the three of you—his mother fell down the stairs in their house. His father was away on a business trip. His mother was hurt so badly that she couldn't move; she'd broken her legs and an arm, and she had other internal damage. Little Frederick was the only person who could help, but being so young and frightened, he didn't know what to do. He simply held his mother at the bottom of the stairs and screamed. By the time they were discovered, Frederick's mother had died.”

“That's awful,” Ella said.

“Indeed,” Mr. Darby said. “So awful, in fact, that Frederick and Mr. Jackson sank into a deep depression. Mr. Jackson blamed himself for being away that day, and he secretly suspected that Frederick blamed him, too. Distance came between them. Over time, the distance grew. In order to be home with Frederick, Mr. Jackson stopped traveling with his construction crews. His businesses began to suffer. What little was left of the Jackson family was crumbling.

“Frederick turned ten and then eleven. The distance increased between the father and son. One afternoon, nearly three years after Frederick's mother had died, Mr. Jackson took his son on a hike through the countryside. They came upon a barn, where they were greeted by a farmer. The farmer tipped his straw hat and asked Mr. Jackson if he and his son would care to adopt a special
pet. The farmer was selling his farm, and he couldn't take his pet with him. The animal was a langur.”

Noah glanced at Richie and said, “A langur—like Mr. Tall Tail.”

“That's right, Noah. Now Frederick's father was a sensible man.” Mr. Darby continued. “He had no desire for a pet. But when Frederick caught sight of the langur leaping in the barn, he, for one reason or another, instantly fell in love with the critter. Frederick smiled. That was his first smile in three years. Mr. Jackson's heart swelled when he saw the joy on his son's face. The father was so touched that he took the animal home, no questions asked.”

“What was the monkey's name?” Richie asked.

“Why, it was a grand name! Simon!” Mr. Darby trumpeted the monkey's name. “Simon the simian!”

“Oh, that's perfect!” Richie laughed.

“I don't get it,” Ella admitted.

“A simian is a monkey,” Richie explained. “Simon the simian! Get it? See how much more interesting life would be if you spent some time doing homework?”

Mr. Darby chuckled. As the hummingbirds whirled around him, their wings whirred their soothing hum. A few of the tiny birds perched on the old man's shoulders, thighs, and head; for an instant, one even touched down on his nose. None of this interfered with his storytelling.

“In no time, Frederick and Simon became best friends.”
Mr. Darby continued. “The monkey restored happiness in the boy's heart, but unfortunately this miraculous feat came at a cost. You see, Simon proved to be a most discourteous houseguest. He had a fondness for shredding furniture, bashing china, and munching houseplants. He'd been in the Jackson home only a few months when Mr. Jackson decided that something must be done. But what? He couldn't send Simon away—not when the monkey was the only thing that made his son smile.”

Mr. Darby paused. He seemed delighted to be sharing his tale, as if he were living it in the telling. He opened his palms, and three hummingbirds landed on them—splashes of color against his pale skin. The old man smiled and playfully tossed them in the air. He turned his attention back to the Action Scouts.

“Simon, you see, was the reason for the creation of the Clarksville City Zoo—your zoo.”

“But how?” Ella asked.

“Mr. Jackson decided to build Simon the simian a special place to live. His construction crews built a massive steel cage for the langur on the lavish acres of his own property.”

“How cool to have a construction crew at your disposal!” Richie blurted out.

“When the cage was built, Simon was moved into his
new home. An outdoor pet was unusual, indeed; even more unusual was a pet langur. News spread quickly, and before long, people lined up to peer over Mr. Jackson's fence for a look at Simon. Because Mr. Jackson was a generous man, he welcomed people onto his property for a closer look.”

Noah said, “I think I know where this is going. Simon ends up becoming the first animal in the Clarksville City Zoo. Right?”

Mr. Darby raised his gray eyebrows above his sunglasses. “Precisely.”

“Where did all the other animals come from?” Ella asked.

“Well, before long, a man showed up on Mr. Jackson's doorstep with an exotic pet, a white fox. He could no longer care for the fox, and he pleaded with Mr. Jackson to take it. Frederick loved the fox the moment he saw it, which made it impossible for Mr. Jackson to refuse the animal. Word spread that Mr. Jackson was adopting strange animals, and soon people came from near and far with their unwanted pets. Each new animal filled Frederick with such excitement that it was impossible for his father to turn any of them away. The private zoo grew and grew.”

Mr. Darby paused to look affectionately at a green hummingbird perched on his finger.

“Hello, Speckle,” he said. “How's my little friend doing today?”

The hummingbird rustled his feathers, tipped his head a few times, and dashed out of sight. At the same time, Tank arrived carrying a shiny tray crowded with tiny silver cups. He leaned forward and said, “Nectar, anyone?”

“We didn't notice that you'd left,” Noah said.

“Mr. Darby tells a heck of a story, don't you think?” Tank replied.

He looked at Ella as he motioned to the tray.

“Nectar?” she asked. “From flowers?”

“Yep.”

Ella twisted her face. “Gross!”

“You'll have to trust me on this one,” Tank said. With two fingers, he pinched the handle of one cup and lifted it. The action seemed too delicate for his beefy hands. “Take a sip. This stuff is sweet enough to make soda taste like water.”

Ella thought for a moment. Then she reluctantly took the cup and sipped gingerly from the brim. Her face lit up.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, and she gulped a mouthful. “You are the
man
, Tank!”

Tank offered the nectar to Noah and Richie, who suddenly looked anxious to try it. They snatched the cups from the tray and greedily sucked down the sweet juice.

“Now then,” Mr. Darby said. “Where was I?”

“Strange animals were being parked on Mr. Jackson's doormat,” Ella said.

“Yes. Thank you, Ella. Before long, the Jacksons had become the proud owners of twenty animals. Among them were four black-footed ferrets, a peacock, a crocodile, a chimpanzee, and a white tiger.”

“He kept them in cages?” Noah asked. “All of them?”

“Yes. Each time a new animal arrived, Mr. Jackson put his construction crews to work.”

“And people from all around kept coming to his house to see the animals?” Ella asked.

Mr. Darby laughed. “More and more came with every new animal. In fact, the private zoo became so well known that Mr. Jackson simply opened his property to the public and officially created the Clarksville City Zoo. With the opening of the zoo, Frederick was entirely relieved of his sadness. The animals had rescued him.”

Noah said, “The zoo worked out well for everyone, then.”

“I'm afraid not.” Mr. Darby crossed his legs and straightened his purple trench coat. He pushed up his sunglasses and frowned. “For a while it did, yes. But something terrible happened—something so terrible that it is almost unspeakable.”

Mr. Darby tried to say more, but his words were caught in his throat. The scouts waited apprehensively. After
a long silence, the old man said, “Frederick died.”

Richie gasped. “What? How?”

“No one knows. He died in his sleep, and the doctors weren't able to figure out why. It happened just weeks before his thirteenth birthday.”

The scouts sat motionless, in silence, trying to make sense of the story.

“That's awful,” Ella said at last.

Mr. Darby drew a deep breath and continued. “As you can imagine, Mr. Jackson did not take his son's death well. To lose his wife and son within the period of a few years not only broke the poor man's heart but also broke his mind.”

“You mean he went crazy?” said Ella.

“Yes. It was a terrible thing. But ironically, it was his illness that helped create the Secret Zoo.”

“Huh?” said Richie.

“The mind of a madman is a complicated thing. You see, the animals constantly reminded Mr. Jackson of Frederick. They were, after all, the creatures that had restored happiness in the boy's heart. Mr. Jackson couldn't look at them without seeing his son, and so he fell in love with them. He began to collect new ones. He opened global agencies that specialized in adopting exotic pets and wounded wild animals. He spent millions on their care and transport. Each new animal was kept in
a cage on his property. All the townspeople realized that the poor man had gone mad, but given his plight, they understood why, and in a strange way, they loved him more because of his illness.”

“What happened next?” Ella asked.

“His collection of animals grew. Five years after Frederick's death, Mr. Jackson had acquired over a hundred animals, but as his collection increased, so did his madness. Then, a couple of years later, his troubled mind shifted. His mental link between the animals and Frederick had become so strong that he believed he was keeping his own son captive. He couldn't bear that—not for an instant! There was only one thing for him to do.”

Mr. Darby paused. He looked intently at the scouts, rose from his seat, and raised his hands up to the treetops. Hummingbirds filled the air, and the buzz of their wings resounded like strange music. Some fluttered down and perched along the old man's arms and shoulders.

“Mr. Jackson used the misfortune of his own life to create a glorious place. With old magic, simple ambition, and a pure heart, he created the most magnificent structure time has known.” Mr. Darby cupped his hands together. “Mr. Jackson created the Secret Zoo.”

“M
agic…” Ella said in a soft, dreamy tone that made the word come out like a song. She aimed her glassy stare at the ceiling and seemed to consider the possibilities.

Richie was more direct in sharing his feelings: “Totally…totally…totally cool.”

Mr. Darby fell into his seat with a sigh. Most of the hummingbirds settled back into the trees. Beside Noah, a green hummingbird paused to sip from a flower cup, hovering in the air as if suspended by invisible strings.

The scouts' animal friends were playing in the green underbrush. Blizzard was waving his head between giant
flowers and burying his snout in pink petals. Dozens of hummingbirds had perched along his back. They looked like colorful bows in his thick white fur. At Blizzard's side was Podgy. A hummingbird had settled on his head, and he was waddling around, trying to shake it off. Above them, Dodie and Marlo swooped through the trees, chasing a rainbow-colored cluster of hummingbirds.

Mr. Darby combed his bushy gray beard with his fingers and continued his story where he had left off.

“He instructed his crews to construct something to replace the cages. Mr. Jackson wanted something more, and he—or his madness—insisted that there was a way. Unfortunately, no one had an idea that wasn't based on extending the walls of the cages. This was not good enough for Mr. Jackson.

“The crew leaders were baffled. No one could understand what Mr. Jackson wanted. Most of them believed that the poor man had completely lost his mind, and they tried to ignore him. But he would not give up. He knew he could do something. He just didn't know what it was. Three months later, Mr. Jackson finally found what he was searching for.”

Mr. Darby reached into his purple trench coat and pulled out an old leather-bound book. “This is one of Mr. Jackson's diaries. It's normally kept in the Library of the Secret Society, but—”

“The Secret Society?” Noah interrupted. “What's that?”

“The Secret Society? Why, that's us! Tank, myself, Blizzard, Podgy, Dodie, Marlo, every hummingbird in Hummingbird Hideout, and many people and animals that you have yet to meet.” Mr. Darby paused. Then he added, “Perhaps the three of you are part of the Secret Society now, too.”

“Us?” Richie said. “Secret Society?”

“Coooool!”
said Ella.

“Fate has selected you,” Mr. Darby said. Ella tried to speak, but Mr. Darby held up his palm to stop her. “Let me continue.”

The old man opened his book and began to read. “I was home alone. When I heard the knock…”

 

I was home alone. When I heard the knock, I crossed the foyer and opened the front door. Standing on the porch was a pale young man. At first glance, I actually believed him to be a ghost—a man of spirit, dead many years, and no longer a body of flesh and blood. I feared the worst. I feared that I had died and that this creature was here to guide me to the world beyond.

After standing in shock for a moment, I asked, “What do you want?”

The peculiar man slid his wet hands together and said, “A minute of your time.”

Though he was terribly strange, I couldn't let him stand
on the porch in the cold rain. I showed him indoors.

I made a pot of tea, and we sat down in my study. After some time, the man said, “My name is Mr. DeGraff,” and he held out his hand. His skin was sickly yellow; his nails were like claws. With great reluctance, I shook his hand.

Mr. DeGraff stood and wandered to a bookshelf. He stroked the bindings with his ugly fingers, reading the titles as he moved.

“Do you enjoy reading, Mr. DeGraff?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he answered, keeping his eyes fixed on the books. “I hate reading. Words bore me. They're petty and sad. I'm a man of action.” Then he changed the topic. “I understand you have…oh, about a hundred and seventeen pets that you don't know what to do with.”

I was about to reply, but Mr. DeGraff spoke first. “But I know, Mr. Jackson! I know what to do with them.”

I couldn't help being intrigued.

“Explain yourself,” I said. “But do so quickly, because this conversation is growing foolish.”

Mr. DeGraff would not be rushed. He continued to slither along the bookshelves, dragging his pallid finger across the spines. When he spoke again, it was only to say, “I'll talk when I'm ready to talk.”

I felt my face flush with anger. I pointed toward the door and shouted, “Mr. DeGraff, you are invited to leave, sir!”

Unbothered, Mr. DeGraff shrugged and glided toward the door, saying, “I'm sorry—sorry for you, that is.”

I couldn't restrain my curiosity. I grabbed hold of the strange man and said, “You have two minutes. Two minutes! If you cannot figure out what you want to say by then, I'll happily return you to the storm!”

Mr. DeGraff smiled a black, nearly toothless grin. He walked back into the room and said, “I know a way that you can return your pets to the wild without…well…without returning them to the wild.”

“And how is that?”

“You simply increase their space. That's all ‘the wild' is anyway—space.”

I laughed and said, “That's it? That's how you can solve my problems?”

“No,” Mr. DeGraff said. He buried his fingers in his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled slip of paper. He looked deeply in my eyes, as if trying to communicate with his own. “This…,” he said, “this is how I can solve your problems.”

I snatched the paper and read it. On it was a name, Bhanu Lakshman, and below that, the name of a city in India.

“This man,” Mr. DeGraff said, “was born under exceptional circumstances, and as a result, he can accomplish exceptional things. Some claim that he is skilled in magic. He is the one you need to see.”

“What? You're insane!” I declared.

But Mr. DeGraff was done with the conversation. He was already on his way to the front door.

“This is ludicrous!” I shouted. “You come here with stories of magic and—”

Mr. DeGraff wrapped his yellow fingers around the doorknob and stopped. Without looking back, he flatly stated, “Mr. Jackson, our time together has come to an end.” The strange man stepped out the door and crept into the dark, rainy night.

I stood in the empty foyer and read the name a second time: Bhanu Lakshman.

“Wait a minute!” I roared. “Mr. DeGraff!”

I ran to the door and threw it open, but the man was gone. It was as if he'd been taken by the night.

Taken, in fact, by the shadows…

 

Mr. Darby paused.

Ella asked, “Did Mr. Jackson go to India?”

“Yes,” Mr. Darby said. “He did.”

“And he found Bhanu?”

“It took some time—some seeking—but he did find Bhanu.”

“Then what happened?”

Mr. Darby resituated his sunglasses on his nose and continued to read. “After several months, I discovered Bhanu…”

 

After several months, I discovered Bhanu Lakshman in North India. He had kind dark eyes, neatly clipped hair, and flowing
Indian garb. He carried his chin high, his shoulders back. I explained that I had traveled a long way and wanted only a moment of his time. Bhanu agreed, and I told my story. Bhanu sat and listened, occasionally sipping his tea but saying nothing. As I spoke, his penetrating stare seemed to look inside me more than upon me.

When I finished, he asked, “And what, my friend, do you expect of me?”

“I've traveled a long way. Someone—a person I don't know—said you have supernatural talents…magical abilities. He said you could help me create something for the animals.”

Bhanu smiled. “With all your money and machines, you cannot create something yourself?”

“No, I cannot,” I said.

Bhanu said, “India is my home, my friend. America lies a great distance from my home.”

He paused and faced me squarely. His stare was piercing. It was as if he could see something in my eyes—my past, my pain, my hope.

After a long time, he said, “Perhaps I can do…things. But there are limits to my gifts. You should know this before we begin. You should also know that I will need my brothers. Without them—without our physical bond—there are no…‘magical abilities,' as you said.”

“Your brothers?” I asked.

“Yes. I have two identical brothers. They will have to join
me in my adventure to America. They will be needed.”

“You…you're one of three?”

“Yes, triplets. But we were not born of the same mother.”

“What?”

“Kavi, Vishal, and I were born of different mothers in different cities.”

“That's impossible!”

“What is more remarkable is that my brothers and I were born at exactly the same moment, weighing exactly the same amount, and measuring exactly the same length. And our mothers all bore the same name—Kavita.”

I was too stunned and confused to speak.

“We will help you, Mr. Jackson. We will help you, because I believe the work of the gods has brought us together, across such a vast distance, so that I may help you…and you may help me.”

“Help you? Help you how?”

“I'm afraid I must attach to my offering one condition.”

“Go ahead.”

Bhanu told me. I quickly agreed.