Fear No Evil

Ambrose stared at him, then blurted: ‘They’ll shoot you, Davey—like an animal yourself …’

Davey just shook his head slightly. Ambrose blinked, then grabbed his hand emotionally.

‘Lord bless you!’

He turned and hurried back down the path.

two (#ulink_8c36a73b-727b-5dea-8168-e637407258a5)

Down in the vast basements of Madison Square Garden, seven long-distance haulage trucks were lined up. One each was painted in big, old-fashioned Western lettering, The World’s Greatest Show. The crews were hurriedly loading circus gear. Four of the huge vehicles were for the animals, each divided into adjustable compartments, with sides that folded down to form ramps. But at this moment all the animals were upstairs in the circus ring, parading in the grand finale.

Applause roared above the oompah-oompah of the orchestra. At the front, two elephants pranced on their massive hindlegs. The big male held a top hat in his trunk tip which he waved to the crowd, while the female flounced in a massive polka-dot skirt and held a parasol in her trunk tip. Hanging onto her tail was a baby elephant called Dumbo, dressed in dungarees. Behind them came two huge grizzly bears, also on their shaggy hind legs, dressed as people, and behind them pranced a little bear dressed in a pinafore, waving to the crowds with his paw. Next came four chimpanzees—three big females and one small male—dressed as cowboys, brandishing sixguns, Stetsons jammed down over their ears, and chomping on cigars. Behind came the magnificent performing horses, prancing in time to the music. On their backs rode three African lions and a Siberian tiger, leaping from back to back in time to the orchestra’s beat; then came the sea lions, flapping along, balancing balls on their snouts, and the clowns clowing and the trapeze artists somersaulting and the leggy girls wearing sparkling tights, and the jugglers juggling.

And in front of the whole parade strode a tanned, handsome, middle-aged man in a scarlet coat and a white pith helmet, smiling and waving to the crowd. The name he went by was Frank I. Hunt, and he was the ringmaster.

A few minutes later it was all over. The animals hurried down the concrete ramp into the neon-lit basements, their keepers running alongside. They herded up the ramps into the trucks, and into their cages. All three elephants climbed into one truck, and their keeper chained them to their iron ringbolts. The lions and the tiger leaped up into another truck; the three bears scrambled after them into their compartment, then the chimpanzees. All their equipment was hefted in, blocks, barrels, seesaws, and hoops. It was quick and efficient.

The first truck rumbled up the exit ramp, out onto the streets of Manhattan. Then the next, and the next, at one-minute intervals. The convoy of the The World’s Greatest Show went rumbling uptown through the night, spread out on Amsterdam Avenue, heading for the George Washington Bridge.

The last two trucks to leave Madison Square Garden carried the elephants, the big cats, the bears and the chimpanzees. They drove slower than the others, trundling along with their extraordinary cargo. Finally they approached the cloverleaf system for traffic turning off onto the bridge. But they did not take the turnoff: as soon as they reached it they accelerated and kept going, hard.

Miles across town from the Washington Bridge is the Bronx Zoo: two hundred and fifty acres of rolling, rocky woodland in the heart of the city, with winding roads and paths for people to stroll along while they look at the animals.

It was just after midnight. The zoo grounds were dark, the trees silhouetted against the lights of New York. There was a faraway noise of traffic, and sometimes you heard an elephant trumpet, a wolf howl, a big cat roar.

Suddenly, through the trees, appeared a shadowy figure of a man. He stopped, listened. Then he disappeared in the darkness.

Five hundred yards away through the dark trees, past the reptiles and the elephants and the apes, was the Victorian big cat house.

Outside, the young man reappeared. He crouched, unlocked the door. He stepped into the dark smell of the cats. There was a shattering roar.

Ten pairs of feline eyes opened wide, ears pricked, bodies tensed. The young man went quickly to the snow leopard’s cage. The great cat was heaving herself against the bars, purring voluminously; the young man swung over the guard rail and leaned through the bars. He clasped the big head with both arms and hugged her and scratched her back as she writhed against the bars, trying to push herself against him.

‘Hello, Jezobel—yes, you’re beautiful …’

The big snow leopard could not get enough of him, pushing and rubbing, and all down the row of cages the other big cats were pacing excitedly in anticipation.

He pulled out a small flashlight and hurried down the row of cages, into the keeper’s office next to the Siberian tiger’s cage. He pulled out a bunch of keys, feverishly selected one, inserted it. He swung open the steel door and stepped inside. There was a sound of swiftness in the dark, and a mighty weight hit him on his chest with a snarl.

He crashed onto his back, half-stunned, with the huge tiger on top of him in a mass of jaws and claws going at his head, and he was laughing under the rough slurpings of her tongue, whispering ‘Velvet paws, Mama!—Velvet!—’

He hugged her great striped chest as she stood over him, licking his face, then he shoved her firmly over and scrambled up. He pulled off his leather belt and looped it around the excited cat’s neck, buckling it firmly as she writhed against him. Then he put his arm around her shoulders and began to stroke her neck hard, to soothe her.

‘Sh—sh, Mama, sh—sh, Mama …’

Then he stood up and led her out of her cage, through the keeper’s office and out into the hall. The Siberian tiger padded excitedly beside him. He swung open the big door, and the cold night air flooded in.

He paused on the threshold, peering into the darkness. Then, holding the tiger by the belt, he started to run.

The old cow elephant sensed who it was as soon as she heard him at the lock. She flapped out her great ears, and gave a squeak, lumbering up to the bars of her cage. She snaked her trunk through, urgently sniffing: the young man unlocked the door and stepped into the smell and gloom of the Elephant House.

The cages were divided with walls so the elephants could not see each other. The cow elephant was pressed against her bars, trying to see him, and the two adolescent elephants were reaching out with their trunks, snorting and snuffling. Across the hall the solitary hippopotamus was staring wide-eyed into the darkness, her nostrils dilated.

‘Hello, Jamba …’

The young man scrambled through the bars of the cow elephant’s cage. Her trunk curled around him; delighted, snorting, she lifted him off his feet. ‘Yes, Jamba, yes, my beauty …’ He lay against her face, hugging her and grinning, and the great animal shuffled and squeezed him. Then he whispered, she released him immediately, and he slid back down her trunk.

‘I’ll be back in a minute, my lovely …’

He hurried down the row of cages, touching the trunks that were groping for him, greeting the elephants by name. In the far corner the hippopotamus had her square snout jammed through the wide bars, shoving with her haunches. The young man climbed through the bars, and she reversed massively and lumbered against him. He put his arms around her big fat neck and hugged her. His eyes were moist, and the hippopotamus’s eyes were rolling with delight.

‘I’m sorry, Sally … I’m sorry, old lady … You’d be fine in the summer but not in the winter …’

Big fat Sally, the only hippopotamus in the zoo, was huffing and grunting, her huge mouth slopping as she shoved herself into his embrace.

He gave her one last hug, then turned and scrambled tearfully through the bars. Sally lumbered after him, and floundered into the bars, her flanks quivering; he strode across the hall and wiped his wrist roughly across his eyes. The old hippopotamus stood there, squeezed against the bars, and she gave a big heartbreaking snort. The young man did not look back.

He hurried back to Jamba’s cage, pulling out his flashlight and a wrench. He flicked the light on the locking mechanism, and set to work to open the elephant’s door. All the time the hippopotamus stood rammed against her bars, grunting at him, her intestines half-clogged with the coins, lipsticks, and marbles the public had tossed down her cavernous mouth over the years.

The young man was running out of time. He unlocked the door of the Ape House and ducked inside. In the keeper’s office he snapped on the switch for simulated jungle daylight.

The big silver-back male gorilla, the females and a baby blinked, scattered under their concrete tree. The male scrambled up onto all fours, staring intently; he bobbed excitedly and shook his head to show nonaggression, then came lumbering. He shoved his black hands against the glass panel, bobbing and shaking his head, and the young man grinned and bobbed and shook his head too.

He dashed back into the keeper’s office, inserted a key, swung open the cage door—and the gorillas crowded around.

‘Hello, King!’

He dropped to his haunches, his eyes moist. He could only take two. There was no more room in the trucks.

three (#ulink_59aeb2b9-f781-548d-b3e4-fb27fbd24e41)

It was two o’clock in the morning.

The circus gear lay abandoned on the grounds of the Bronx Zoo, a mess of barrels and seesaws and hoops and ladders.

Fifty miles away, on Highway 22, the two big circus trucks were hammering through New Jersey. The Western-style letters, The World’s Greatest Show, had been hastily spray-painted out.

In the back of the first truck the three elephants from the zoo were squeezed in with the three elephants from The World’s Greatest Show. The compartments of the other truck held all the lions and the tiger from the circus, the tiger from the zoo, the circus bears, the chimpanzees and the gorillas. Most of them were lying down to steady themselves, wide-eyed in the darkness, their adrenalin pumping.

In the cabs, the engines were loud, the radios playing. The driver of the second truck was a big strong man with a big gut, a wide face and straight black hair. Until an hour ago he had worked for The World’s Greatest Show as an animal keeper and driver. He was tense, but sometimes a little smile played on his wide mouth, sometimes he whistled distractedly along with the radio. His name was Charles Buffalohorn and he was a full-blooded Cherokee Indian. On the sleeping bunk behind his seat was a knapsack, stuffed full, a sleeping bag strapped to it. These, plus maybe a few hundred dollars in the bank, were all he owned in the whole wide world.

Four hundred yards ahead were the taillights of the other truck. David Jordan’s face was gaunt, his eyes frequently darting to the wing mirror, watching the truck behind. Every time the music stopped on the radio he tensed for a newsflash. Now and again he changed stations, listening hard.

Up on his bunk there was also a knapsack and a plastic bag containing a pig’s carcass, bought that day from a wholesale butcher. On the seat beside him was Champ, the male circus chimpanzee, fast asleep. Champ was supposed to live with the other chimpanzees, but he liked to sleep in the cab with the young man, whenever he could get away with it.

On the floor of the cab slept a big furry dog. He looked like a husky, or maybe a German shepherd, but his face was almost pure wolf.

The elephants were crammed tight, great gray flanks pressing. Sometimes a trunk found its way out of the congestion and groped around, sniffing and feeling, and then it was a difficult business to recurl it, squeezing and shoving. The three circus elephants were dismayed by the strangers suddenly in their midst, for instead of the enormous territory an elephant needs, they had this piece of truck, their only permanent place on this earth.