The Animals: A Novel (6 page)

Well, that’s a good question. It’s possible you could find a registered, licensed zoo to turn him over to. The other possibility is that we’d need to officially dispatch the animal.

Dispatch, Bill repeated.

I’m afraid so, the warden said. Look, Bill—can I call you Bill?—I’m an officer of the law. You can’t have these kinds of animals without permits. Hell, I don’t even think there are permits for what you’re doing up here.

What I’m doing? What’s that supposed to mean?

It’s not supposed to mean anything. Except that you’re breaking the law.

Why not just issue me a permit?

It’s not that easy.

Zoos get permitted.

Zoos don’t keep wild animals.

Come on, Bill said. We’ve been doing this for, like, twenty-five years.

I know you have. And the bear’s been here the whole time, right?

Sure he has.

Look, the situation is this. My predecessor was a nice guy and all, but he left me more messes to clean up than I thought possible. And then there was that Ligertown stuff last year. Hell, Bill, I got the governor looking over my shoulder now to make sure that kind of thing doesn’t happen again.

Bill shook his head. We’re not like that place, he said.

I know you’re not but that’s what everybody else is going to think.

Just do your inspection and tell us if there’s anything that needs changing and we’ll do it.

It’s not that simple. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I can’t retroactively permit you for animals you already have. That’s the situation.

The door opened in the awkward silence that followed and Bess stood in its lit rectangle. Do you need me? she said, tentative, quiet.

Yeah, Bill said.

The warden introduced himself to Bess and she shook his hand. We getting inspected? she asked him.

No, no, the warden said.

I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do here, Bill said from the desk.

I’m just here to give you a heads-up on the situation.

But what you’re talking about, Bill said, his voice coming in a kind of rush, what you’re talking about is killing my animals.

The warden shook his head. Let’s not . . . , he said. Then he started again. Let’s not go there. Not yet.

But that’s what you’re saying, right?

I didn’t mean to suggest that was what was going to happen. I’m just telling you what the regulations state.

What do the regulations state? Bess said.

That they want to kill the animals, Bill said.

Now, wait a minute. That’s not what I said. No one
wants
to kill anything.

Bill did not speak now. From the black mouth of the coffee cup on the desk drifted a slanting column of white steam.

What do you need us to do? Bess said.

OK, now, that’s good. That’s positive thinking, right?

Bill did not speak. Not a word. There was a twisting inside him now, a twisting that was anger and frustration and also the thin sharp blade of panic.

To start with I’m gonna need to see a lot of paperwork, the warden said to Bess. You got a vet that comes around?

Nat could feel Bess looking to him for permission to answer the question but he did not move and after a moment she said, Grace Barlow. She stepped into the room now and closed the door behind her.

OK, the warden said. You have records of all that?

Sure, Bess said.

Look, bottom line, the warden said. You’re breaking the law if you don’t have the permits. And I don’t think permits exist for what you’re doing here. I’m not saying that what you’re doing isn’t a good thing but there are laws in place. You don’t get to decide what you can put in a cage.

Who decides then?

The law, the warden said simply.

Bill sat looking at him, teeth tight in his jaw. The warden held his gaze for a moment and then looked away. When Bess spoke, Bill thought he could see a wave of relief pass through him.

Can you get us a list of the paperwork you’ll want to see? she said.

The thing is, the warden said, the law’s pretty clear on this.

I’m sure we can work together on this, Bess said. Right, Bill?

Bill did not look at her, instead continuing to stare at the warden.

I’m sure you’re right, the warden said. He looked at Bill once more and when there was no response he stood. Well, I’ve gotta get moving, he said, extending his hand.

Bill looked at it. I’m not—
we’re not
doing anything wrong, he said.

I know you’re not but that’s not really the issue.

We’re taking care of animals up here, Bill said. Feeding them, taking them to schools, and … hell, it’s not like we’re getting rich doing this. You know? I spend every day and night here.

I understand that, the warden said. His hand had been floating before him in the air above the desk but he let it fall now. I don’t make the laws. I just enforce them. That’s my job.

Bill stood looking at him.

I’m not your enemy here, the warden said. He waited a moment for Bill’s response and then shrugged. All right, I’ve gotta head out, he said. You folks have a nice day. He stepped past Bess, who mumbled that she would walk him back to his truck, and then the door swung closed behind them and they were gone.

He sat behind the desk for what seemed like a long time. At some point Bess returned, the door opening just enough for her to poke her head inside. You OK? she said to him.

Yeah, I’m all right, he said.

We’ll get the paperwork together. We’ve got records of everything.

He nodded. You need help getting the birds loaded?

The boys already did it.

Ah, he said, what school again?

Stidwell.

He nodded. She stood there, watching him. What? he said at last.

You sure you’re OK?

I’m fine. Really.

He’s just doing his job, Bess said.

He shrugged and sipped at his coffee.

Bess stood for a moment longer in the doorway and then said, I’ll be back about one, and he nodded and then the door closed slowly and she was gone.

He sat for a long time behind the desk in the silence of that room, listening to the ticking of the heater, sipping at his coffee. Then he stood and descended the path toward the parking lot, crossing the gravel and standing at the edge of the forest where the ridge fell away and the big trees—firs and pines—stretched over the landscape in all directions. The pen where he kept orphaned fawns and elk and moose calves stood to his left and near the open gate were gathered four young deer, those he had bottle-fed through the summer and released six weeks ago and which returned every three or four days, as if holding to the hope that he would bottle-feed them once more.

What are you doing down there? he said.

They looked at him, querulous but not alarmed, and he moved down the gravel to the railroad tie path that led to the pen, all the while the deer watching him come, only the one he had named Chet appearing skittish at all, the deer’s hoofs worrying the black earth as if it might spring away into the thick shadows of the trees at any moment.

Don’t get agitated, Bill said. It’s the same old me it’s always been.

The other male, Pancho, merely stared at him, and the two does, Jolene and Darlene, sniffed at the ground as if Bill was of little interest, raising their heads only when he stood directly before them and then moving forward, all four of them, into a tight semicircle like students awaiting an assignment. The starting antlers of the two bucks stood atop their heads like thick gray knobs, single rounded and velvet-covered pedicles that would, the following spring, begin growing into full antlers, first of a similar blunt and sensitive velvet-covered bone, and then into the full collected rack, eight or ten points. They would have long forgotten him by then, moving through the deeper forest, over the ridgetops and down into the misty draws between, fighting other bucks for territory and for the right to mate, their bodies shadowing through landscapes into which they had been born and into which they would return.

I got nothing for you, Bill said.

The deer stood watching him. After a moment, one of them, Pancho, leaned forward and nudged his arm gently with the side of its black nose.

I really don’t, he said, smiling now. He tapped his pockets as if it was a gesture the animals might understand. You guys are supposed to be wild by now.

Their hooves shuffled against the dirt and crunched in the fallen needles, their eyes so darkly brown that they appeared black, watching him, then looking away, and then watching him again, as if in doing so they might catch him with a handful of dry corn or an apple.

Have fun out there, he said at last, still smiling. And don’t play in the road.

He turned and came back up the path and when he looked down toward the gate again the four of them were drifting about the small clearing in front of the enclosure, sniffing the ground, their ears twitching.

When he returned to the office he dialed Grace’s number at the veterinary clinic, expecting to leave a message at the desk, but then she came on the line and he leaned back in his chair, a sense of relief flooding through him all at once.

Boy, it’s good to hear your voice, he said.

That’s nice to hear, she said.

I thought I’d have to leave a message.

You caught me in between, she said. How are you doing?

He told her about the fawns, about the small knobby antlers of the two bucks and that all four looked healthy and well. And then about his encounter with the wolf in the night, how the animal had marked its territory.

Wow, she said. Old Zeke’s getting used to you after all.

At least at night.

It’s a start.

Definitely, he said. It felt great to see him like that. I’ve been worried about him.

And he’s gonna be fine, she said. They don’t all have to come right up to the fence, you know.

Two years is a long time to be pissed off, Bill said.

You’d be pissed off too if you lost a limb.

True, he said. It’s just nice to see him feeling comfortable. Or at least less skittish. It was silent on the line for a moment and then Bill said, Hey, that guy Steve Colman from Fish and Game came by today.

Crap, she said. He still barking about the permits?

That and the moose, he said.

He told her what the warden had said, both about the moose and about the permitting, his anger rising and falling as he recounted the details.

What a dick, Grace said.

He laughed then. Yeah, for sure, he said. I’m not gonna lie: I’m worried about it.

I’m sure he’s just trying to get you to pay a fine or something.

Didn’t sound like it. Sounded more like he wanted to shut us down.

No one would want that.

I don’t know, he said.

Was Bess there?

Yeah.

What does she think?

Pretty much same as you.

See, she said, you’re outnumbered. Reason and logic win.

He was pretty serious about it.

Then take it seriously, she said. Just don’t obsess about it.

I’m not obsessing about anything.

Really?

Really, he said. When do I obsess?

All the time.

When? He had been running his finger along the edge of his coffee cup but he stopped now.

Seriously? Any time an animal’s poop looks weird you talk about it for a month.

I learned that from you.

I’m sure, she said. You want me there tomorrow?

I want you here now.

Baby, I wish I could, she said.

Can’t you tell everyone you got parvo or something?

They probably won’t believe me.

Dang, he said. What if I have a sick dog?

You
are
a sick dog.

Exactly, he said, and I need a house call.

Tomorrow, unless you want to come over tonight.

I can probably come tonight.

Works for me. I’ll let Jude know.

All right. How about I bring something to eat?

Perfect, she said. Oh, Jude has a thing next Monday night if you want to come with. It’s a recital. Fall Festival or something like that.

Yeah, for sure I’ll come.

It’s at seven or something. I’ll let you know tonight. I have a flyer somewhere.

All right.

Gotta get back to dogtown, she said.

He was smiling now, faintly, the thread of panic that the warden had brought upon him already unraveling. I love you, he said into the phone.

I love you too, she told him.

He hung up the phone and sat looking at the stacks of paper on the desk. Debts paid. Debts waiting to be paid. Delivery manifests. He wondered about Fish and Game, wondered what the end result of their interest would be, hoping that Grace was right, that they would lever some fine and that they would find a way to pay it and then the rescue would be left alone. But he knew the odds were not nearly that good.

When the phone rang again he thought it would be Grace once more, even though there was no reason for her to redial the number.

North Idaho Wildlife Rescue. This is Bill.

Bill? the voice said. The voice of a man.

Bill Reed. Can I help you?

The voice hissed, a kind of sharp exhale. Bill Reed? That’s rich.

There was something now, something in the voice, a texture or timbre or quality that came back to him all at once. Can I help you with something? he said again.

Shit, the man said, you don’t recognize my voice? He added, hissing:
Bill Reed.

I don’t know. Should I? But already he was lying. Of course he recognized it. Of course he did.

I didn’t think you’d forget.

Rick, he said.

Bingo.

You’re out?

Yeah, twelve years later.

He was standing now, although he did not recall rising to his feet. I’m glad to hear it, he said, his hand gripping the receiver, the room around him sharp and bright and small.

Are you?

Sure I am. Why wouldn’t I be?

The voice on the other side of the phone hissed again, that sharp exhale of breath. I tell you what you should be, he said. You should be pissing your pants. That’s what you should be.

Why’s that?