Buddha Baby (26 page)

She then led the students through the other exhibits. They stopped to visit the monitor lizard and the statue-still crocodiles that snoozed in the pool bordered by the tarnished seahorse fence. Past the mosaic tile wall, she corraled them through a tunnel of blue, glowing glass tanks that held yellow-eyed gars and spiky angelfish, and she allowed them to linger amongst the displays of anemones, coral, and crabs. For fifteen minutes or so, they all stood enthralled by the antics of a particularly spunky pufferfish with its tiny fins propelling its bulbous body around a miniature sunken treasure chest.

Pushing through a glass door, they crossed the courtyard of marble and granite animal sculptures. Lindsey instructed the kids to sit around the fountain while they ate their lunches, and as they pulled sandwiches, cookies, and sodas from their bags, Lindsey was disappointed to discover that in her morning haste she had forgotten to bring a lunch. She sat and watched the kids as they finished up, making sure they threw all their trash in the proper receptacles. Through another set of doors, she then led them to the endangered-species wing, which was connected to the safari exhibit.

Time flew by. It was already one thirty by the time they reached the dioramas of the African animals. They spent twenty minutes lingering among the antelopes and ibis, and enjoyed looking out at the painted savannah and backlit horizon of thin pastel clouds outlined by the red setting sun. The faux trees and piped-in sounds of chirping birds relaxed everyone. They moved along the brass railing and gazed at the resin pools of fake water and rested their eyes on the thick-furred lions relaxing on the African veldt.

Lindsey read to them from a plaque about nyalas, zebras, and klipspringers, then let the kids explore the adjacent exhibits on their own as she kept an eye on them from beneath the watchful gaze of California's last grizzly bear, who stood, stuffed and preserved, by the women's bathrooms.

It was then that she remembered her favorite exhibit from when she was small. With a running hop she turned the corner to find the prehistoric, saber-toothed marmot with the miniature rhino horn growing out of its stubby head. She laughed out loud at the absurd sight. Partially submerged in its dirt hill, the comical animal peeked out with stern consternation, looking as threatening and dangerous as an overgrown chipmunk with a big bump on its head. "Hah!" Lindsey thought to herself, "no wonder you're extinct."

She was surveying the animal's tiny claws when suddenly she heard a voice say, "If you like taxidermy, you'd
love
my house."

She turned and saw her little Chinese friend, Jilan. She almost didn't recognize the girl without her uniform; moreover, her "free dress" attire was downright bizarre. She wore saddle shoes, an argyle vest, and blue and orange Madras-print pants. Standing bowlegged with her oxford shirtsleeves rolled above the elbows, she resembled Gene Kelly in
Singin' in the Rain
.

Jilan repeated her statement about her home being a haven for taxidermy, and then added, "I think you'd really like it."

Lindsey wasn't exactly sure how to reply, so she said the only thing that came to mind: "Do you know whose carpool you're supposed to go home in?"

The girl nodded, then pulled out a yo-yo. She tossed it down and reeled it back up a couple of times. Lindsey scanned the hall and made a mental tally of the third graders.

"Okay," she called out to the kids who were milling around. "Everyone, it's time to meet back out in front and join your carpools."

They all went outside and scattered to their respective rides. Lindsey watched her charges scramble into parents' cars. Then, satisfied that her job was done, she convened with Sister Constance before heading down the steps and pondering which route to walk home. She zigzagged between double-parked cars and dodged kids who were running every which way, and she eventually detoured down a secluded path strewn with fallen eucalyptus leaves. Water from a poorly aimed sprinkler spigot ran in rivulets along the sidewalk, and as it evaporated, it released the pleasant summer scent of grass and damp concrete.

Turning a corner, she came upon something that she could only imagine was sinister. She spotted Jilan, so recognizable in her mini-Gene Kelly garb, and Ms. Abilene walking alone in the distance. They were headed to an old, bronze-colored Corvair parked near a Parisian sculpture of men working a cider press. Ms. Abilene's hand rested on the back of the girl's neck, and Lindsey wondered if everything was okay. It suddenly occurred to her that Jilan might need saving from uncertain punishment for some minor infraction of school rules. She still didn't trust Ms. Abilene, and ran across the concourse to catch up with them.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Lindsey called out just as Ms. Abilene was scooting Jilan into the car. Seeing Lindsey, the little girl smiled, revealing babyish teeth.

"I can take her home," Lindsey offered.

"Are you sure?" Ms. Abilene said, eyeing Lindsey with a raised eyebrow. Lindsey nodded, as did Jilan excitedly. "Well, I do have some papers to grade back at school."

"No problem," Lindsey assured Ms. Abilene, then took Ji-lan's small hand in hers, convinced she had just saved the girl from certain harm.

Ms. Abilene got into her Corvair and tore out of her parking space like a banshee in a demolition derby. As Lindsey and Jilan watched the wheels of the car kick up dust, Ms. Abilene did not look back.

"She wanted to take away my yo-yo, but I hid it," Jilan said, pulling out her toy and grinning triumphantly.

The friendly lilt of the girl's voice, her casual attitude regarding the weirdness of her clothes, and the silly look of her chatterbox crackerjack teeth made Lindsey feel as if she herself were back in third grade and this girl was her regular after-school buddy.

"I don't live too far from here. We can walk," the girl said. Just then her yo-yo got away from her, spun out of control and hit the ground. She scrambled after it, looped the string over her finger and wound it around the center groove.

"C'mon," Lindsey said. "I'll show you how to 'walk the dog.'"

Exiting the park, the two companions snaked past Sharon Meadow and back out toward the Panhandle. The bright sunshine beat down on them. As they walked block after block, Lindsey figured it must have been at least eighty-five degrees. She began to wish they would come upon a corner store so she could get a bottled water.

"Are you hot?" she asked, but Jilan shook her head. With a museum brochure Lindsey shielded the sunlight from her eyes and scanned the sidewalk ahead for some shade.

They didn't talk much, except when Jilan wiggled her loose front tooth, saying it was about to fall out and she wanted at least fifty cents for it. They crossed the street and Lindsey gazed up at the hundred-year-old canary palms that shaded them from above like giant, feathered fans. It occurred to her that they were only about eight blocks from her apartment. As she stared up at the buildings' peeling paint and curved windows she absentmindedly wondered what was in the fridge at home. She definitely needed to eat something.

"We're here," Jilan said, stopping in front of an enormous Queen Anne that sat behind a massive concrete retaining wall overgrown with wildflowers and weeds. It was a huge, crumbling pink mansion that Lindsey had noticed before. Creeping rosemary spilled topsy-turvy like a shaggy, topiary waterfall onto the stairs, and above, wisteria grew over the windows like a fox-fur stole around an old lady's shoulders.

Lindsey glanced up at the plaster casts of lions' heads on the third-floor balcony. In their mouths they clenched several feet of rusted chain which supported a faux drawbridge bustling with a few raggle-taggle pigeons.

"You're coming in, aren't you?" Jilan asked. Lindsey didn't really want to, but agreed when the girl mentioned she could get a glass of water.

Crumbling on the corner roof-tiles, gargoyles smiled. Lindsey followed Jilan up the staircase, feeling like she was in a Hitchcock movie. Stepping onto the marble landing, she took a deep breath and waited a fraction of a second before following her small hostess. With a key from around her neck, Jilan opened the lock, pushed open a heavy door, and held it open. With a beckoning patty-cake hand, she motioned for Lindsey to step inside.

Lindsey placed her hand on the tiger-maple door, stepped inside, and shut it behind her. As her eyes adjusted to the dark space, she noted that it was cool inside and quiet, except for the hum of silence and machinery echoing from somewhere.

While the shabby, gothic exterior had been made somewhat cheery by the pinkish paint job, the interior of Jilan's house was downright macabre. A huge portrait of a menacing Russian wolfhound was perched above the fireplace, and the foyer and front rooms were filled with cloudy mirrors, their silver backings dissolving in flakes. Garish wall-to-wall crimson carpeting clashed with silver-and-green-flocked wallpaper.

The walls were lined with oil paintings of crying clowns, and in between each gold frame were fist-sized pottery faces of craggy sailors and grimacing leprechauns. In addition, every inch of floor space was covered by life-sized ceramic animals: coyotes and muskrats snarled from beneath tabletops, carousel horses frolicked by the front window, and a flock of majolica cockatoos dangled from ceiling-chain perches.

And Jilan hadn't lied about the taxidermy. A cheetah, its fangs bared, appeared ready to pounce on the gazelle behind the high-backed peach velvet sofa. Various oxen heads jutted from the wall, and stuffed finches and parakeets perched atop the windowsill above chiffon curtains.

Lindsey trailed Jilan into a room dominated by an enormous ebony desk. At first she did not see the small person who sat behind it. When she did notice the woman, she gave a startled little shriek. The lady looked like a wax figure, like an old granny-under-glass in the tell-your-fortune booth at a carnival. Her face resembled a spent narcissus blossom, thin and papery as onion skin, looking as if it might crumple in the slightest breeze.

Lindsey knew who she was. She was the neighborhood woman who had been watching her. The one who seemed to be following her, spying on her at every turn. In the past weeks, Lindsey had seen her at the corner store, silently staring at her from behind trees and peering out from behind mailboxes. Today she was cloaked in her familiar periwinkle shawl.

Lindsey looked up to a coiled cobra mounted on the wall. It was arranged to appear as if it was about to strike, with its venomous fangs ready to kill. Looking into its beady eyes, she felt suddenly lightheaded. She blinked and saw the woman's lavender eyes gazing deeply into her.

Lindsey took a deep breath, but before she knew it, the cobra was moving in a spiral motion. The silver and green walls were spinning, too. White light encroached on her field of vision, and then, suddenly, everything went black.

Lindsey awoke on a moth-eaten settee covered in blue velvet. Disoriented, she did not immediately remember the events of the day or what had brought her to such a place. She sat up.

Having never dropped acid, Lindsey wondered if she was indeed experiencing some kind of drug-induced hallucination. She focused her eyes on a ceramic Buddha that resembled an albino Jabba the Hutt, and beyond the statue she regarded a pair of taxidermied mountain sheep prancing by the fireplace. A murder of stuffed crows looked down from their perch atop a high armoire.

Spotting a pitcher of ice water sitting on a mirrored end table, Lindsey slowly reached out to pour herself a glass. She shakily lifted a tumbler from the tray, and accidentally knocked a crystal picture frame to the carpet. Bending down on one knee to retrieve it, she picked up the photo and stared in confusion. It was a picture of Ms. Abilene.

Just as she was wondering if she was dead, in hell, or on drugs, in waltzed Jilan in her kooky outfit. Mr. Magoo in drag trailed behind.

"This heat is something fierce for San Francisco," the old woman said.

"Did I faint?" Lindsey asked.

"Mmm-hmm. Appears so."

Lindsey remembered where she was now, but still wondered if she might be on drugs, since she had no explanation as to the connection between Jilan, this talking mannequin-granny, and Ms. Abilene.

The old lady held out the very tips of her fingers so Lindsey could grasp them in greeting.

"Let us get acquainted," she said. "Some refreshments, Jilan."

The small girl bounded out of the room as Lindsey propped herself up on the sofa and looked around. On shelves behind the old woman's wispy, pumpkin-shaped hairdo were skulls of small animals, a stuffed mongoose, a withered python skin and a turkey-sized tortoise shell. The cobra stared down menacingly from above.

After a moment the old woman said, "Would you kindly accompany me down the hall?"

Lindsey stood up and followed the woman across a plush, florid carpet, past a staircase with balustrades like ivory ladies' legs.

"Let's sit in this cooler room where you'll no doubt be more comfortable," she said, leading her to a mustard-colored chaise with a carved armrest in the shape of a sea serpent. Green-glazed stools sat stolidly between fake citrus trees planted in chipped pots, and all around them stood every kind of Chinese fu dog—yellow, tan, and green ones, some lying flat with wagging tails, and some balancing brown-edged ferns atop their ceramic heads.

Lindseys eyes traveled from the top of a chinoiserie cabinet to a teak table with cinnabar candy dishes. Red silk pillows embroidered with dragons and phoenixes accented a Chinese wedding bed in the corner.
Ah so
. She had stumbled upon the Lair of a Hoarder Lady.

Just then Jilan came in carrying a tray with beverages on ice. She placed the drinks atop a garden seat, then scurried back into the hall only to return wheeling a bamboo cart containing an entire miniature bar, complete with cornichons, pearl onions, and sugar-pickled cherries. It was as if Jilan and the old woman were accustomed to some antiquated way of life that prompted them to keep cocktail refreshments on hand at all times, where peach cordials and candied apricot cubes dusted in confectioner's sugar required vigilant replenishing.